HIM Chapter 35: Most Want to Fall in Love
Bo Qin was 178 cm tall, and having to constantly face the camera meant his build was on the thinner side. It wasn't an exaggeration to say his frame was a full size smaller than He Xizhou’s.
So technically speaking, He Xizhou’s clothes weren’t suitable for Bo Qin at all.
Yet both of them seemed to overlook that detail.
They even overlooked the fact that Butler Wen, with his professional standards, wouldn’t have forgotten to prepare clothes for Bo Qin—such a rookie mistake.
And so, Bo Qin naturally walked into He Xizhou’s bedroom.
The room had a Nordic-inspired decor—mostly shades of gray, black, and white. Clean, cool, and minimalist. The master bedroom had only a large bed and a desk. Irregularly-shaped picture frames adorned the walls, and the air still carried that familiar cool fragrance Bo Qin had come to recognize.
It was exactly as he had imagined it.
This was his first time entering He Xizhou’s room, and as he stepped inside, Bo Qin thought: I’m entering He Xizhou’s private space.
Is He Xizhou the kind of person who really values personal space?
Bo Qin watched the man’s back as he walked into the walk-in closet and suddenly recalled how Tony once joked that He Xizhou was the untouchable flower on the snow-capped peak in the industry. His status, his looks, his physique—they drew countless admirers, yet no one dared to be presumptuous before him.
He Xizhou was born a golden boy. His life had been smooth sailing from the start, carefully cultivated by generations of wealth and resources to become the heir of a conglomerate. To people from a different social class, he could come off as cold and untouchable. Tony’s metaphor of the flower on a distant peak really did fit him well.
Bo Qin lowered his head in thought, when suddenly he felt something press down gently on his head. He Xizhou leaned in and asked with a smile, “What are you thinking about?”
Thinking about you.
Bo Qin smiled and shook his head.
No matter what, at least right now, to him—I must be… someone special.
He Xizhou raised a brow but didn’t press further. He turned to open the wardrobe and asked, “What kind of clothes do you want?”
Bo Qin leaned lazily against the wall, arms folded. “Whatever, anything’s fine.”
“My clothes are too big for you,” He Xizhou said. “All my high school clothes are at the old house—how about this one?”
He handed over a plain white cotton T-shirt. “These were bought by Uncle Wen. I haven’t really worn them.”
But I actually want something you’ve worn, Bo Qin thought with a hint of disappointment as he reached out and took the shirt. “It’s fine,” he said. “Give me a pair of pants too.”
He Xizhou flicked his forehead lightly—a tender, indulgent gesture. There was a smile in his voice as he said, “If your fans knew I was making their superstar wear my clothes, would I get assassinated?”
Later, when He Xizhou urged him to go to bed, Bo Qin was still reluctant to leave. Hugging the clothes He Xizhou had given him, he stood in the bedroom and nearly blurted out: Can we sleep together?
That would be way too shameless, Bo Qin thought. Good thing I didn’t say it.
The night was still and dark. Bo Qin lay on the big bed, one hand behind his head, staring into the darkness, lost in thought.
Insomnia often came with anxiety. It was painful to wander alone in the night while everyone else was sound asleep. That loneliness could eat away at you. But after experiencing it for so long, the anxiety stretches thin, and the senses grow dull. Eventually, Bo Qin realized—insomnia wasn’t that big a deal anymore.
He turned over and softly whispered He Xizhou’s name. He absentmindedly played with the edge of the pillow and buried his face in the white T-shirt, inhaling that faint, nearly imperceptible cool scent. He thought, He Xizhou treats me so gently.
He’d never seriously been in a relationship before, but he wasn’t clueless. At the very least, when he flirted with He Xizhou—testing the waters—the other man’s responses were always positive.
"Could it be... he likes me a little too?"
Bo Qin sighed, got up with his coat, and didn’t bother looking for his slippers. He went barefoot to the composing room next door.
Lying in bed thinking about whether He Xizhou liked him felt way too girlish. Bo Qin didn’t want to sink into those delicate and overly sentimental emotions.
He sat at the keyboard, letting his thoughts wander, playing aimlessly. After a while, he took out his phone—it was already two hours past midnight. The new song he’d prepared had officially released.
Using his alternate account, Bo Qin checked Weibo for reactions, listened to the song twice more. The fan comments were too emotional; he didn’t dare to open them, even though the song was written for them.
Then a thought suddenly struck him: if he publicly announced he was in a relationship, how many fans would leave him?
The keys echoed heavily as he pressed down hard. Bo Qin chuckled softly and took his hands off the keyboard.
At around 5 a.m., Bo Qin managed to sleep for an hour. When he woke up, Xiao Zhu called to ask if he was awake—they had a livestream scheduled for today.
Bo Qin rubbed his temples, listened to Xiao Zhu explain the livestream schedule for the second time. He felt a strange irritability creeping in, but he suppressed it and said, “Alright, come get me around noon. About 1:30.”
After hanging up, Bo Qin went to the bathroom to wash his face. He pushed his hair back and went barefoot downstairs. The first floor was quiet. He headed to the kitchen and opened the fridge, looking for food.
“Bo Qin, why aren’t you wearing shoes again?”
Bo Qin turned around and saw He Xizhou in sportswear, his hair damp with sweat. His handsome features softened a bit from the moisture, and the black T-shirt clung to his chest, outlining his toned muscles. The sheer masculinity was overwhelming.
“I was too lazy to find them,” Bo Qin replied. “Aren’t you going to the company?”
“It’s still early. I’ll go later.” He Xizhou went to the entryway, brought over a pair of blue fleece slippers, squatted down, and placed them at Bo Qin’s feet. “Put them on. It’s chilly in the morning.”
Bo Qin slipped on the slippers. “Ge, do you want breakfast?”
He Xizhou was wiping his sweat with a towel around his neck. Hearing that, he smiled and looked at Bo Qin. “Why, are you going to make it for me?”
Bo Qin scratched his head. “…I meant I’m hungry.”
He Xizhou walked over and flicked his forehead. “Alright, alright. I’ll take a shower and come down to cook.”
Bo Qin grinned at him.
Unable to resist, He Xizhou reached out and ruffled his hair hard. Bo Qin swayed with the motion, hair getting messy. “Stop messing up my hair, ge, any more and I’ll turn stupid.”
Bo Qin loved He Xizhou’s sandwiches. He eagerly tied an apron around He Xizhou’s waist from behind, outlining his slim figure, and sneakily copped a feel. “I also want that sweet strawberry milkshake from last time.”
He Xizhou rolled up his sleeves, went to the fridge, and said, “No strawberries today, but we’ve got blueberries.”
Bo Qin: “Blueberries are fine too!”
As long as you make it.
He Xizhou shook his head with a smile and began making sandwiches. Bo Qin leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, watching him.
He Xizhou asked, “Will you be back tonight?”
“I can’t. I’m going to Country B for a music collaboration,” Bo Qin sighed. “I’ll be gone for about a week.”
“That long?” He Xizhou frowned. “When you get back, you have a fashion show. Can your body handle it?”
“It’s not a tight schedule,” Bo Qin said casually. “I’m used to it.”
He Xizhou handed him some washed blueberries. Instead of using his hand, Bo Qin lowered his head and bit one directly, his lips brushing against He Xizhou’s fingers.
He Xizhou gave him a look.
Bo Qin licked his lips and said seriously, “Pretty sweet.”
He Xizhou raised an eyebrow, then lowered his head and kissed the spot on his finger Bo Qin had touched. Looking up, he said, “It is sweet.”
Bo Qin blushed instantly.
The blush didn’t fade even when Xiao Zhu came to pick him up. When he arrived at the studio, even Chen-jie was surprised and asked if he had a fever.
Bo Qin was so flustered he mumbled his way out of it. Chen-jie looked at him like he was a kid but didn’t press further. She just said, “It’s a personal livestream. Just relax, chat with the fans and all.”
Bo Qin: “…What if I get nervous?”
Chen-jie sighed. “Sweetheart, you’ve been in the industry six years. Time to toughen up!”
Bo Qin sighed too. “Even after sixteen years I’ll still be nervous.”
To ease his nerves, the livestream was held in the composing room. Lighting and equipment were all set up. Tony gave Bo Qin a light touch-up to make him look refreshed. While chewing gum and looking in the mirror, Bo Qin said, “My hair’s gotten long again.”
Tony, styling his hair, said, “Wanna cut it? Your fans seem to love your short hair.”
“How do you know?”
“After your concert, when you cut it short, your fans flooded my Weibo begging me to make it a permanent look. Though even when it grows out they say the same thing.”
Bo Qin chuckled. “They actually found your Weibo?”
“Of course,” Tony said. “Your longtime fans know the ins and outs of the industry. I’ve worked with you for four, five years—they can find me if they want.”
Tony styled his hair to reveal his whole face—a neat, youthful look. “Who else is as dedicated as me? I do your hair, makeup, outfits, styling—like a one-man team.”
Bo Qin: “And I pay you like a whole team.”
Tony fell silent.
Before going live, Bo Qin studied the platform a bit and got the hang of it. Still, when he saw the flood of comments, he was stunned.
Squinting, he looked at the screen. “What is all this? It’s going too fast, I can’t read anything.”
Another wave of comments rushed by, filled with animated gift effects. Bo Qin laughed. “Now I can see. It’s all ‘ahhhh!’”
He leaned back in his chair. “Good afternoon, everyone. Have you eaten yet?”
A staff member behind the screen said, “Fans are asking if you’ve eaten.”
Bo Qin said, “No lunch, but I had breakfast.”
He got used to the comments gradually and could finally read some. He responded: “Had breakfast a bit late, so not hungry now.”
Fans asked what he had for breakfast.
Bo Qin seemed to recall something, smiled faintly, and said, “...A sandwich. It was really good.” He looked down and tapped his keyboard, seeming a little shy, then smiled and changed the subject. “What did you guys eat?”
Fans started naming dishes. Bo Qin leaned closer to read, read out a few names, and even gave some light commentary. After that section, he fell quiet.
He rarely did personal livestreams. Brand streams always had hosts to guide the flow. This kind of open chat with fans—he had no experience.
He smiled. “Sorry, I’m not very experienced. Not sure how to chat without it being awkward.”
One comment read: “We’re all family, just do whatever’s comfortable.”
That one hit, and soon the comment section filled with agreement. Bo Qin’s heart felt warm and fuzzy. He looked down, a bit shy, then said, “Let me play something for you.”
Bo Qin rolled his chair to the keyboard, smiled at the screen again. “Suddenly getting nervous again.”
A stream of heart emojis flooded in: “Baby, don’t be nervous, no matter how you play, it sounds beautiful.”
As the livestream continued, Bo Qin relaxed and started having fun interactions with fans. Near the end, the staff picked a fan question: “What’s the thing you want to do most right now?”
Bo Qin looked over at Chen-jie. They had worked together for years—just one glance, and she knew he might say something risky. She raised a file and made an “X” sign, shaking her head.
Bo Qin looked away and softly said, “What I want most… is to fall in love.”
That single sentence sent Zhu Guanyun into overdrive for the rest of the afternoon. Bo Qin’s fanbase was thrown into turmoil. After dance practice, Bo Qin scrolled through his alternate account, feeling the anxiety and unrest through the screen.
Li Qingyang sat beside him, watching their dance video. Neither spoke for a while.
Eventually, Li Qingyang coughed. “Bro, you’ve got guts.”
Bo Qin: “You mean I’m reckless.”
“…A little,” Li Qingyang said, turning off the video. Sitting side by side, he added, “We’ve known each other for years, and you’ve never had any romantic interests. Sometimes I think you’ve ascended to immortality.”
“Not immortal. Just never met someone I liked,” Bo Qin replied, putting away his phone with a smile.
“Were your fans really upset?”
Bo Qin nodded.
“Expected,” Li Qingyang said. “You’ve never had any scandals, your PR is squeaky clean, and even your shows are mostly serious with no romance. They just weren’t ready.”
“I know,” Bo Qin said. “I used to think I’d do everything right until the end. Be a well-loved idol—skilled, clean, emotion-free, no private entanglements.”
“Tsk.” Li Qingyang slapped his leg. “So what if you date someone? You can still write songs, dance, act. Everything you have today is earned by yourself—not handed to you by fans.”
Bo Qin looked at him. “But the songs need people to listen to them. The dances need people to watch. The shows need viewers. Those people include the fans.”
Bo Qin smiled. His post-practice sweat had mostly dried, and the earlier restlessness was gone. His voice was calm. “Fans are very important to me. I wouldn’t be here without their love. But I also want a life of my own. The two aren’t mutually exclusive.”
“It just might hurt them.” Bo Qin covered his face with a towel. “The moment I said it, I knew I was hurting them. And I still selfishly did it.”
Li Qingyang: “So who’s the person you want to date?”
Bo Qin: “None of your business.”
“Damn!” Li Qingyang lunged to choke him. “Are we even friends?”
Bo Qin laughed and kicked him.
Chen-jie knocked and peeked in. “Wow, looks lively in here.”
Comments
Post a Comment