LA ⋆ Chapter 16: What You Wish For Comes True

Sheng Yao woke up the moment Cheng Ai withdrew his hand, but he genuinely couldn’t bring himself to accept the scene of facing his boss in bed. Just thinking about it made him want to claw out a down payment on an apartment.

So he decided to keep pretending to sleep.

Sensation is a strange thing. With his eyes closed, he could still feel the presence of a gaze. Not just a gaze—each person has their own presence. Cheng Ai was an outward-facing person; all his sharp edges pointed outward, so much so that Sheng Yao felt his intense existence.

Although Cheng Ai hadn’t kissed him in the end, it made no difference from if he had. In fact, it was even more terrifying.

What did Cheng Ai mean? Did Cheng Ai like him? Was the thing with Cheng Ai and Chen Siyu a misunderstanding, so was his sexual orientation a misunderstanding too? If Cheng Ai just thought he was good-looking and wanted to play around, then everything would be simple.

But if…

Forget it, Sheng Yao, you’re overestimating yourself.

Sheng Yao opened his eyes and sat up. The master bedroom had an en-suite bathroom, and the sound of running water was already coming from inside.

Cheng Ai’s place had enough heating—unlike his edge unit out on the Sixth Ring, where the radiator maxed out at eighteen degrees and wouldn’t go any higher, and it was bone-chillingly cold when the wind picked up.

After sleeping, his body felt sticky, and combined with the smell of alcohol from last night, Sheng Yao was disgusted with himself and couldn’t wait to shower.

Sheng Yao went out to look around; Cheng Ai’s place had another bathroom, but using the boss’s bathroom without permission didn’t seem right. He went back to the bedroom and stood outside the frosted glass door: “President Cheng?”

“Huh? Oh! Sheng Yao, you’re awake.” The water suddenly stopped, and Cheng Ai’s voice became clear. “Do you need to wash up? There are new toothbrushes and towels in the cabinet under the sink in the outer bathroom.”

“Got it, thanks President Cheng.”

Sheng Yao showered quickly—his rental’s water heater took half an hour to warm up for a five-minute shower, and any longer and he’d be rinsing in cold water. When he came out, Cheng Ai still hadn’t emerged.

Today was Saturday, and checking his schedule, there were no extra plans. Sheng Yao was planning to say goodbye and head home.

“Knock knock knock.” Someone was knocking on the door.

Uh. Sheng Yao scratched his head, hesitated, and turned in circles. If he didn’t open it, what if he was holding up something important? If he did open it, what if people got the wrong idea? And asking about it seemed like overkill for such a small thing.

“Knock knock knock.”

Ah, just open it. Staying over after a business dinner made sense.

The door had barely swung open.

“Whoa—hey—” A sarcastic screech rang out almost simultaneously. Chen Siyu, dressed in pajamas, had his mouth twisted down to his chin.

Sheng Yao switched to professional mode: “Hello, President Cheng had too much to drink at yesterday’s dinner and is still hung over. He’s washing up right now and might need a moment.”

“No worries, no worries.” Chen Siyu waved dismissively at the air and walked into the room very casually. “Not looking for him. I’m here to raid some food.”

Sheng Yao: “…?”

Chen Siyu went into the kitchen with practiced ease and opened the fridge. “Your Shuitan wants escalivada[[1]], and we don’t have vegetables at home.” He quickly pulled out eggplants, onions, bell peppers, potatoes, and other things, and also made off with a vegetable basket.

Definitely not his first time committing this crime.

Sheng Yao recalled Shuitan from yesterday at noon, smoking and drinking water together, and thought, wow, still waters run deep.

Chen Siyu put the vegetable basket on the island counter and was about to make a sarcastic comment. Just then, Cheng Ai came out of the bedroom with a towel wrapped around him, drying his hair, and Chen Siyu promptly shifted his fire.

“So, great President Cheng, is this a case of your wishes coming true or your wishes coming true?”

Cheng Ai shot him a frost-laden glare, but Chen Siyu kept up his glib expression.

Cheng Ai said coldly: “Next time I’m putting a lock on the fridge.”

Chen Siyu: “Come on, big bro, I’m leaving right now. Don’t want to interrupt you two.”

“Get out.”

The front door slammed shut with a bang, and the world returned to peace.

Sheng Yao stood off to the side like air, his mind repeatedly going over Chen Siyu’s words and expressions. Ever since he’d met this guy, every look he’d given him seemed to carry a vibe of watching a good show.

That “Huh, so it really is… never mind” outside the office.

The “Huh? His name is Mantou?” at McDonald’s.

And that “Whoa—hey—” just now.

And “your wishes coming true.”

Actually, this was already pretty direct. If he thought one step further, it probably wasn’t self-indulgent.

Sheng Yao didn’t think that one step further and stopped there. “So, President Cheng, I’ll head home now?”

“Uh, well, well, hmm,” Cheng Ai turned his back, pinched his ears, and draped the towel he’d used to dry his hair around his neck. “Why don’t you eat breakfast before you go? There’s steamed buns in the fridge.”

Cheng Ai was trying to act natural. Though he was close to “acting unbothered,” Sheng Yao, who spent every day by his side, still caught a hint of affectation.

“No thanks, I appreciate the offer, President Cheng. You probably didn’t rest well yesterday. I don’t want to bother you.”

“You’re not bothering me. I’m hungry.” In his panic, Cheng Ai suddenly grabbed Sheng Yao’s hand. “Can you make me breakfast? And then we’ll eat together, okay?”

Sheng Yao’s gaze fell on their joined hands. Cheng Ai’s hand was smooth and still damp.

Cheng Ai, seeing this, let go. “Okay? Sheng Yao.”

After a moment, Sheng Yao still answered: “Sure, President Cheng.”

Cheng Ai went to blow-dry his hair and change clothes. Sheng Yao sliced a steamed bun and pan-fried it in butter until it was slightly crispy, served it with a small dish of condensed milk, and also fried two eggs and two sausages—a mix of styles. He didn’t fuss; at home he just ate whatever was available.

Cheng Ai’s place didn’t have a proper dining table, just a bar-counter-like high platform with a steel frame overhead for hanging wine glasses. There were two high stools on either side where you could eat half-standing, half-sitting.

Cheng Ai and Sheng Yao sat facing each other.

Sheng Yao felt Cheng Ai sneaking glances at him. After being stared at until he couldn’t take it anymore, Sheng Yao looked up and stared back: “President Cheng, what’s wrong?”

A piece of steamed bun fell onto the plate.

“No, nothing, I just think you look really happy eating.”

Sheng Yao couldn’t help but twitch at the corners of his mouth: “Huh?”

This seemed to be the first time he’d seen Cheng Ai outside of work—dressed in casual loungewear, his hair soft and fluffy, not like the sharp, polished look he had in the office with his suit and tie.

When he looked over, his eyes were gentle, giving the illusion that he’d blend in perfectly even if he were a corner plushie.

Cheng Ai covered his mouth and coughed a couple of times: “I meant to say, eating with two people is more delicious than eating alone.”

“That’s true.” Sheng Yao thought back to eating with Tony and Shuitan. That basement food court in the plaza was basically a pasture for work slaves—it was packed every meal time. Going alone to eat was just energy intake, but going with three people was taking a work-break breather to recharge.

Sheng Yao swallowed his mouthful and asked: “Does President Cheng cook for himself?”

“I do, though I’m just so-so at it,” Cheng Ai speared the piece of steamed bun that had fallen earlier. “But I always feel like cooking for yourself is what gives life a sense of meaning.”

Sheng Yao: “Yeah, the stuff outside isn’t that good anyway. When you cook it yourself, even if you just heat it up and add some salt, it’s delicious.”

Cheng Ai finished the last piece of steamed bun and suddenly spoke: “Sheng Yao, can you have dinner with me on weekends from now on?”

Sheng Yao froze: “Huh…?”

“Have dinner with me. Literally just dinner.”

Sheng Yao: “Does that count as work?”

Cheng Ai’s mouth corners were clearly turned downward, yet it looked like he was smiling—a smile that carried a hint of helplessness and bitterness.

“I can count it as overtime for you, but essentially, it’s my request.”

A breath.

Sheng Yao suddenly felt his face grow hot and didn’t know how to respond. He didn’t speak, and Cheng Ai didn’t ask again. It was as if the conversation had never happened.

Until they finished eating, when Cheng Ai insisted on washing the dishes.

Sheng Yao thought he’d really made it—being served by his boss.

Haha. But on second thought, he realized he’d been working too long and his mindset had gotten warped. Everyone’s equal; it’s not work hours anyway, and he’d already cooked, so why should he still have to wash the dishes?