"My grandpa couldn't sing either, actually. He was really bad at it even when he tried," Tao Hua drifted, unaware of how comfortable he was positioning himself. It never once crossed his mind that if others were to see, the view would be rather questionable. Nor did he understand the true intentions behind Shan Si's words.
Such was the power of three bowls too many!
"He taught me how to read, write…tried to teach me how to paint, but it all ended up looking like chicken scratch," Tao Hua playfully lamented, one hand gripped to Shan Si's outer arm, and the other on his inner shoulder.
In the wake of his bewilderment, a shudder of reality finally hit Shan Si, and he carefully motioned moved the arm wrapped around Tao Hua's waist, gripping his side, and pushing him just a few inches further from him; closer to his knee.
Reluctantly, too.
This was subconsciously accommodated by the blubbering mess of a drunken flower, who was none-the-wiser to Shan Si's prevailing dilemma.
"Apparently, mother was the same way; she couldn't paint a picture to save her life. But she could write and was very talented with calligraphy! Soooo, he illustrated while she wrote stories. Like in the book you stole from me and read without my permission."
Said with such causality, it made the corner of Shan Si's mouth twitch, smothered in a flurry of unwelcome emotions. He contemplated the various ways he could remedy such discomfort, but that was instantly handled at the mention of a certain realization.
He interrupted with, "You didn't write all the stories?"
Tao Hua shook his head, watching Shan lower his head in thought, his brows pinching.
"And you said your mother could sing?"
This time, Tao Hua nodded his head.
"Was she a singer?"
"No," Tao Hua began, rather humorously tragic and somehow bringing back that twitched smile in Shan Si; with a few heaves of heavy breath to spare. "Shan Si is a bad listener. Mother can sing, but she's not a singer. Singer means you make money; singing means you do it as a hobby."
It was an awful explanation, and there were quite a few times Tao Hua stumbled over his words, yet he continued regardless of whether Sahn Si was aware of the meaning or not.
"Grandpa said Mother wouldn't take money even if it was shoved in her face. So she's not a singer. See? She sings, not a sing—"
"Which stories in the book did she write?"
Pursing his lips, Tao Hua stared down at Shan Si rather displeased. "Does Shan Si not want me to explain? I-I'm trying."
This was going to be a lot harder than Shan Si thought—extracting information from this innocent flower. A few ideas crossed his mind, but many of them left him vulnerability to his own uncontrollable desire.
"The stories in the book are written by me and Mother. But we're not writers; we write. It's as I said before, Shan Si…"
As Tao Hua droned on more, explaining what was already COMPLETELY UNDERSTOOD, Shan Si tilted his head toward his shoulder, eyes cast upward. Eventually, he interjected another time with a laugh scornfully directed at himself.
"I'm a lot more reactive than I give myself credit for," Shan Si muttered, causing Tao Hua to look at him with confusion. "Guess it can't be helped."
It was aimed at two things in particular, the clearest one being his recollection of accusing Tao Hua of writing each and every story in that book, the other problem better left unsaid.
And somehow, it still went unnoticed by Tao Hua.
"What do you—" But before Tao Hua could finish, Shan Si sat upright, tightened his grip around the man's waist, and leaned in. Tao Hua's entire body nearly flushed a deep red, just as every part of him was pressed against Shan Si's front, and his face smothered into his shoulder.
The familiar scent of spice and pine engulfed Tao Hua's already feeble senses, making it difficult for him to keep composure.
Which was an impossible task, to say the least.
But it wasn't a hug, far from it. Shan Si was reaching for the low table, picking up the half drank bowl of wine. Sitting back, he tugged Tao Hua back a bit, keeping his back straight and holding the bowl up to his cheek.
Tao Hua side-eyed it, watching the blurred image of a grey bowl pat his cheek a few times until brushing his lips.
"Go on," Shan Si said craftily. "Finish it."
"I thought we were talking about my book—"
"We will. I'm very interested in your life, Tao Hua," Shan Si said. "But I want you to finish this first—as they say: every single grain is the product of hard work."
Tao Hua didn't understand, and even more so when he looked down at the rim of it, and what it stood for.
"That's yours."
"And? You drank out of my other bowl—and look at us," he laughed. "The bowl is the least of our problems. Drink."
Hesitation still bogged Tao Hua stubbornly.
"Two options," Shan Si said graciously. "You can drink it from the bowl, or…even better: I can drink it and feed it to you—"
Tao Hua immediately unhooked his arm from Shan Si's shoulder, grabbing the bowl with both hands, and chugging down the entirety of it.
Eyes half-lidded, Shan Si glanced off to the side and sarcastically jested, "I'm not sure if I should be offended or not."
Bowl still pressed to his lips, Tao Hua apologetically said, "I hah'ent hah mah—"
Shan Si reached up and lowered it from Tao Hua's mouth, staring at him with an irked smile.
"Oh…oops. Heh." Tao Hua mumbled, embarrassedly looking away as Shan Si placed the bowl on the ground.
However, Shan Si reclined, looked back up at Tao Hua with a leering and shifty smirk, and asked, "What was that you were saying?"
In their current position, it was akin to before, except this time Shan Si held himself on both his elbows, propped on the red carpet behind him, and lowered himself enough for Tao Hua to look down at him. Meanwhile, Tao Hua was still sitting on his leg, a thigh inner, and a thigh outer.
The longer he stared down at him, the hotter things felt, until he subconsciously began to mutter, look away, and try to move himself off. All ended in failure; Shan Si lifted a hand, putting all his weight on one arm, and grabbed Tao Hua's waist.
"I asked a question," Shan I tutted. "You were so eager to explain things earlier, what happened? Three and a half bowls in, and you're already becoming shy again. That's not how this is supposed to work."
But even if Tao Hua tried, all his words became breathless; heavy, and too much to bear. He stared down at Shan Si, almost horrified at himself once more, and it only worsened as Shan Si pushed himself from his lazy posture and adjusted himself uncomfortably close to Tao Hua.
"What is it you haven't had?" he asked, wrapping his arm back around Tao Hua's waist, inching dangerously lower. "Go on and tell me. You always leave me so curious, Tao Hua. Such a tease."
Chapter end.
ILLUSTRATION IN THE COMMENTS.