Singlehood Syndrome

As Xiang Mo descended the stairs, his thoughts gradually returned to a normal track. In fact, the events of today had shown some signs beforehand, but Xiang Mo thought Tan Song would stop at an appropriate point, so he chose to ignore it. The result was that the vague thoughts in his mind eventually turned into an inevitable decision.

“Don’t come here anymore, Tan Song.”

Xiang Mo’s footsteps stopped at the threshold of the first-floor studio. The open studio door faced the courtyard door leading outside, indicating his intention to see Tan Song off.

The silence during their descent seemed to have made Tan Song realize that something was amiss. He snapped out of it and sighed with resignation, “I really don’t understand you, Xiang Mo.”

“I said I didn’t want our relationship to get complicated.”

“Then why did you say I was your boyfriend?”

“Oh, because he wanted to pursue me.” After spending so much time with Du Chi, Xiang Mo had become quite skilled at fabricating stories. “I used you as a smokescreen.”

Another moment of silence passed between them.

“So, you really have no intention of settling down with someone?” Tan Song casually placed the convenience store plastic bag on the studio table, adopting the tone he used during their casual chats, “I don’t believe anyone can truly live without love.”

“I don’t need it,” Xiang Mo replied.

“It’s not that you don’t need it,” Tan Song paused, looking somewhat helpless as he gazed at Xiang Mo. “You’re just protecting yourself.”

Tan Song and Xiang Mo had met on a social media group for broken-hearted individuals, so Tan Song knew a bit about Xiang Mo’s situation.

After being encouraged by his boyfriend, Xiang Mo had organized an art exhibition. It was supposed to be the most spirited time for him, but after the incident, not only did his boyfriend not stay by his side, he left for abroad to pursue his dreams.

A person’s edges were easily smoothed, needing just a series of setbacks.

Xiang Mo didn’t deny Tan Song’s point; he had indeed closed himself off. But it was also because he enjoyed his current life and didn’t want to invest unnecessary emotional costs in trial and error.

“Think about it carefully,” Tan Song said as he stepped out of the threshold. “Feel free to contact me whenever you need.”

Xiang Mo knew he wouldn’t initiate contact with Tan Song again.

It wasn’t that he subjectively wanted to be so decisive, but the situation had reached this point. If he initiated contact with Tan Song again, it would carry other ambiguous meanings and wouldn’t be as simple as just fulfilling their needs, like they did before.

Perhaps Tan Song would think Xiang Mo couldn’t live without his body, or maybe he’d think Xiang Mo had changed his mind and wanted a serious relationship with him.

Xiang Mo wasn’t the type of person who would say good morning to someone he didn’t like, just for the sake of it.

Since there was no such intention, he wouldn’t let Tan Song misunderstand. So, Xiang Mo knew that his relationship with Tan Song had ended here.

The sky gradually darkened, and only a hint of orange sunset remained, resisting the arrival of the night in vain.

The watercolor that was half-finished had to be continued another day. But when Xiang Mo returned to the third-floor balcony, he found Du Chi sitting behind the easel, holding a paintbrush, and he had already completed most of the unfinished work on the paper.

Seemingly having heard some commotion, Du Chi turned around, looking at Xiang Mo. “Back so soon?”

It’s possible that some catastrophe occurred, as Du Chi’s clothes were smeared with all sorts of paint, and even his right cheek had some on it, which he seemed to be unaware of.

At first, looking at Du Chi in this state, Xiang Mo felt that he was somewhat cute, but unfortunately, as they say, a dog’s mouth can’t spit out ivory. Then, he heard Du Chi teasingly say, “Your boyfriend can’t last, Teacher Xiang.”

Taking a deep breath, Xiang Mo walked over to Du Chi, taking the paintbrush from his hand. “He’s not my boyfriend.”

“He’s pursuing you.” Du Chi touched his chin with his index finger and thumb, adopting a look that he knew everything. “You slept with him, but you don’t want to take responsibility.”

“It’s not what you think,” Xiang Mo slightly furrowed his brow, patiently explaining, “We’re just bed partners, and he crossed the line.”

Suddenly, Du Chi’s previous words echoed in his ears – saying that they wouldn’t talk about feelings, but who knew if he was serious.

The two phrases had similar meanings, but the one explaining had changed to be about Xiang Mo. A sense of foreboding arose in his heart, and indeed, Du Chi lazily smirked as if he had been waiting for this moment, borrowing Xiang Mo’s words to say, “Oh, a scumbag.”

… As the saying goes, “an eye for an eye.”

Looking at the paint on Du Chi’s cheek, Xiang Mo suddenly realized that a mischievous bad dog should be well disciplined.

“Do you really know how to paint?”
There was not a hint of blame in his actions; instead, Xiang Mo displayed a hint of indulgence. He grabbed a wet tissue from the nearby table, bent down slightly, and met Du Chi’s gaze as he gently asked, “How did you manage to get paint on your face?”

His fingers, separated by the tissue, softly touched Du Chi’s face as he concentrated on the area stained with paint.

Du Chi appeared visibly stunned, his gaze sweeping over Xiang Mo’s lips, then resting on his collarbone, and finally… looking at the deeper parts.

Could he see it?

He probably could.

Xiang Mo’s short-sleeved shirt was loose at the neckline. As he bent down, it naturally slipped down. From Du Chi’s perspective, he should be able to see something that no one else could, something that only he could see at this very moment—a secretive expanse of skin.

Xiang Mo’s skin was fair, smooth, and delicate. Even in the dim sunset, it was hard to see clearly, but one could still feel the allure of that hidden treasure.

Du Chi’s eyes were blatantly staring, his Adam’s apple moving visibly up and down.

Xiang Mo raised an imperceptible eyebrow, a trace of mischief flashing in his eyes.

This smelly dog thought he could bully him.

He straightened up, drawing the line at any further teasing. Xiang Mo picked up another paintbrush, dipped it in a darker color, and began to outline lines on the canvas. “Your colors are a bit messy; the buildings and the background are mixed together.”

Du Chi finally snapped out of his daze, realizing that his silly look just now was somewhat amusing. He gazed at Xiang Mo with eyes filled with surprise and unexpected pleasure. However, he didn’t dwell on being “teased” by Xiang Mo and instead looked at the delicate brushstrokes on the canvas. “It seems you like to use lines precisely.”

“Uh-huh.” Xiang Mo focused on adjusting the composition. “That’s my style.”

Especially in figure drawing, Xiang Mo would even depict the texture and fuzziness of the skin because if he couldn’t replicate the beauty of the human body itself, he’d feel it was better not to draw at all.

“When are you going to draw figures again?” Du Chi suddenly asked.

Xiang Mo was in the midst of painting and didn’t think much about it. He casually replied, “No models available.”

His figure drawings didn’t always require real-life models. Some were based on public images online, while others were products of his imagination inspired by movie or television scenes.

In the past, Xiang Mo had tremendous creative enthusiasm, and even for images, he would draw with great seriousness. But now, he no longer needed to improve his skills through quantity, so if there were no real models available, it felt like a waste of his energy to just draw images.

After making some minor adjustments to the details, the composition suddenly became clean.

Xiang Mo admired his twilight watercolor painting with satisfaction when suddenly his wrist was pulled by someone, causing him to lose his balance and fall to the side.

Afraid of ruining the painting brush in his hand, Xiang Mo instinctively raised his right hand. However, focusing on the brush’s movement had the consequence of him being caught off guard and falling into Du Chi’s embrace.

Du Chi held Xiang Mo’s waist with one hand, took the paintbrush from his hand, and tossed it into the water bucket, looking straight into Xiang Mo’s slightly dazed eyes. He said, “I’ll take my clothes off for you to paint, artist.”