The last week of January was terribly slow for Jiang Cheng, and too hectic for Lan Xichen, so they balanced each other off.
Jiang Cheng felt as if his working hours crept, slithering down an invisible drain, far too sluggishly, far too languidly for his taste.
It was as if his contract (albeit just oral, a gentlemanly agreement) with Mister X would never come to an end. He barely thought about the clients any more – it was all auto-pilot for him now. His thoughts were mostly preoccupied with A-Li's health, and Wei Wuxian's wedding – it was, once again, all too much, and all at once. He impatiently looked forward to the end of the month when he could get his last salary, and could finally call Johnny Wu and give him all the blasted money – and be done with it forever!
He was lazily thinking that now Johnny's number was gone – together with his old phone – but he had no doubts whatsoever that the thug would find him, and soon. For some weird reason, his brain was prompting him that, despite Brent's absurd efforts to be there, everywhere, all the fucking time, annoyingly so, and be invisible, disappearing into walls and into the bowels of the night, he was not as safe as Lan Huan thought... Something deep inside him was out of tune, strained as a guitar string, telling him that Johnny would find him again, cut into him again, take something precious away from him again, something vital.
He was numb with terror whenever that happened, whenever that eerie feeling crept over him.
He could not even bear the thought of something – anything! – happening to A-Huan. He felt it, in his heart of hearts, that he would never get over it. Never, ever.
- The motherfucker... - he was mumbling under his nose while drying some wine glasses that actually cost a small fortune. – How the fuck did he get me so addicted to himself...
He was blushing, thinking of him.
Lately, Lan Huan was so very tired, so exhausted, that once they reached his house after an endless 50-minute ride home, he would often fall asleep in the back seat of the Rolls Royce, or mid-dinner, or in the shower even. Once his head touched the pillows - he was out like a light.
And he missed him, and he kissed him, in his sleep, secretly enjoying his comical snoring, pulling at his hair in a dangerous experiment to try to wake him up, so that he would pay attention to him, so that he would make love to him.
No.
Lan Huan slept deeply, the accumulative fatigue as far back as since Christmas was taking its toll, and his body was betraying him, demanding its rest. Jiang Cheng dared not even think about all the amounts of food he was devouring during the day, when they were not together, but working, separately, just 50 feet away from each other. He was sure it cost a small fortune to feed that beast.
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