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Summary
You Shulang.
He is addicted to him in the same manner he is addicted to his matches, the minute sting and flicker of the flame, the heady, cloying scent of his cigarettes – like dying, rotten roses. Has been chasing the high of a new dose ever since their first meeting, desperate for another searching look, another sharp-tongued retort, another half-fond half-annoyed sigh, another second spent basking under those watchful eyes, all of You Shulang’s attention belonging to him, and him only. Another taste of his skin, sun-warmed and slightly salty, warmer still in the crook of his neck, blood thrumming underneath, true and alive; another taste of his lips, slightly chapped with the day’s worries, pinpricks of blood rising to the surface with each press of Fan Xiao’s mouth.
Or: on Fan Xiao, drowning, and salvation
Series
- Part 1 of love isn't a funeral