EOD Chapter12

Zhou Zefeng put his phone into his pants pocket and went about drying his hair, pretending he hadn’t seen a thing.

“Senior, why are you ignoring me?” Lin Weike approached with a half-smile, reaching out to grab a handful of Zhou Zefeng’s crotch. “Li Zhi said you’re straight, but I don’t buy it. If you like this kind of thing, I can do it too, you know.”

Zhou Zefeng instantly felt utterly disgusted. He flung Lin Weike off with a violent jerk, gripping his hand tightly. His brows knitted together as his loathing gaze crashed straight down upon him, “I’ll say it one more time: I don’t like guys. What’s the difference between what you’re doing and sexual harassment? Dare to touch me again and I’ll chop your hand off!”

“It hurts…” Lin Weike struggled hard to break free from Zhou Zefeng’s grip, a circle of red marks already left around his wrist. He rolled his eyes and said, “Senior, you really can’t take a joke. If you’re not, then so be it. It’s not like I’d force you. Why bring sexual harassment into this?”

Lin Weike sized Zhou Zefeng up from head to toe, wearing an incredulous expression, “If you’re not gay, what were you getting so worked up about last night?” Seeing another dagger-like glare fly his way from Zhou Zefeng as if a fist were about to crash into his face the very next second, Lin Weike curled his lip and fled in a flash.

Zhou Zefeng went to the balcony to wash his hands, looking up at himself in the mirror.

Was he worked up last night? That was clearly anger, wasn’t it???

Zhou Zefeng felt uncomfortable from head to toe as if he had fallen into a pit of snakes. With hindsight, he wondered why, given that they were both men, he didn’t feel repulsed when Lu Zhao touched him, yet Lin Weike’s touch made him feel physically sick.

However, Zhou Zefeng thought to himself, though Lu Zhao could be a bit of a bastard, Lin Weike wasn’t remotely qualified to be compared to him.

At this thought, inspiration suddenly struck Zhou Zefeng, and he finally realized what had felt off about the videos he watched last night.

In other videos, Lu Zhao always wore identical medical gloves; when he was doing it for Zhou Zefeng back then, Zhou Zefeng had also seen him put them on.

But later, Zhou Zefeng’s eyes were blindfolded, yet he could feel a warm palm. Afterward, when he broke free from the ropes, he also discovered that Lu Zhao had taken off the gloves; those otherwise clear and cold hands were covered in white foam, completely drenched in Zhou Zefeng’s release.

Just thinking about this made Zhou Zefeng hard, and right now, these very hands were right in front of him. Zhou Zefeng was still completely immersed in the emotions of having just realized this fact.

If Zhou Zefeng was that utterly unremarkable “7,” then he was still a “7” treated specially by Lu Zhao; a “7” that existed only inside a camera’s memory card, the only one who had ever come into contact with the real Lu Zhao in life, rather than the numbered “7” in the videos under the “Control Desire” ID.

“Zhou Zefeng?” Lu Zhao rapped his knuckles against the desktop, snapping Zhou Zefeng’s spirit back to reality. “I asked you how you’ve been doing usually since stopping the medication. Why do you keep staring at my hands?”

“Usually very fair—no, I mean your hands are very sleepy…” Zhou Zefeng’s tongue tied itself in knots.

“I see.” Lu Zhao asked a few more questions, all of which Zhou Zefeng answered truthfully. Lu Zhao then prescribed two more types of medication, telling Zhou Zefeng to take them for another week first to see the effects; if there was still no improvement, he would need to get a brain CT scan.

The sound of the printer whirring up broke the silence. The consultation room was incredibly quiet, and both of them tacitly refrained from mentioning the phone call from last night.

Lu Zhao handed the forms over to Zhou Zefeng. Zhou Zefeng took them, then placed a paper gift bag into Lu Zhao’s hands.

“Happy Mid-Autumn Festival.”

Lu Zhao opened it to take a look; inside was an exquisite orange mousse cake.

“Thank you, but we don’t accept gifts.”

“Last time you drove me back to school, I said I’d bring you something. This isn’t a gift from a patient; just look at it as something from Zhou Zefeng,” Zhou Zefeng said, his fingers gripping the prescription slip as sweat slowly began to bleed into the paper. “See? I’m a man of my word.”

Lu Zhao smiled, nodded, and accepted it. “How did you know I like orange cake?”

Zhou Zefeng tilted his head up proudly, showing off as if claiming a reward. “Seeing that the things you use are either citrus or orange, I guessed right, didn’t I?”

“You guessed right.”

Hearing this, the corners of Zhou Zefeng’s mouth couldn’t stop twitching upward. “Their shop also has tiramisu. Next time I’ll—”

“Happy Mid-Autumn Festival to you too. Go and get your medication.”

Interrupted mid-sentence, Zhou Zefeng’s words caught in his throat. He nodded dejectedly, but his body remained stuck to the chair, not moving an inch. Finding it strange, Lu Zhao asked, “What’s wrong? Are you feeling unwell?”

“I,” Zhou Zefeng looked utterly mortified to speak, “I have an erection. Let me rest for a moment.”

“…Getting hard just from a medical consultation.” Lu Zhao crossed his arms over his chest and let out a helpless sigh, feeling a faint, hidden pity in his heart. Such a young, hot-blooded sports student, what a shame he was so resistant to him. “I still have one last patient. Go to the back and calm down for a bit before you leave.”

Zhou Zefeng stood up. Even with his attempts to cover it up, it wasn’t hard to see the large bulge between his legs. Lu Zhao caught a glimpse of it but acted as if he had seen absolutely nothing.

Every single time Lu Zhao resolved to cut off contact with this reckless idiot Zhou Zefeng, he would pop up and flirt a little. Was he really not afraid that Lu Zhao would take care of him right here in the consultation room?

The next patient entered the room. Zhou Zefeng pulled the curtain shut in the back area, and Lu Zhao cleared his throat, quickly returning to his professional demeanor.

Sitting on the rock-hard examination bed, Zhou Zefeng silently chanted the Great Compassion Mantra in his heart, attempting to dispel his desires. Having just seen Lu Zhao’s hands again, and now with Lu Zhao’s crisp, cool voice echoing in his ears, he found it to be absolute torment. He finally understood the dilemma of the monks tempted by the mouse spirit in “Journey to the West”.

In a moment of desperation, Zhou Zefeng grabbed himself hard, wanting to use pain to override the desire. As a result, things didn’t go down, but the pain made him let out a sharp cry instead.

“Doctor, what was…” The patient outside asked in confusion. Zhou Zefeng lowered his head; even though he hadn’t done a single thing back here, a strange sense of thrilling taboo inexplicably sprouted within him.

Lu Zhao smoothed it over with just a couple of words. Zhou Zefeng let out a sigh of relief. When he looked up, he saw Lu Zhao’s clothes hanging on the coat rack, along with a white doctor’s coat.

Zhou Zefeng stood up and walked over as if possessed. The closer he got to the coat rack, the clearer that unique scent belonging to Lu Zhao became. Zhou Zefeng couldn’t quite describe what kind of smell it was; it was like a massive orange growing on a birch tree; ash-gray yet bright yellow, cold yet intense, exactly like Lu Zhao himself.

Through the curtain, he could vaguely make out the silhouette of Lu Zhao’s back as he sat at the desk, still sporting those broad shoulders and narrow waist as always.

Zhou Zefeng drew closer and closer to the clothes until finally, he buried his entire face into them as if plunging into a birch forest with a blazing orange color filling his vision.

He felt like a total pervert, breathing heavily while buried in Lu Zhao’s clothes. The soft fabric rubbed against the tip of Zhou Zefeng’s nose, making it feel exactly as though he had thrown himself into Lu Zhao’s embrace. This warm, cozy sensation made him completely unable to stop, and it felt as if he could never get enough of the citrus fragrance.

Suddenly, Lu Zhao’s voice broke in, interrupting Zhou Zefeng’s bizarre behavior.

“What the hell are you doing?!”

Hearing Lu Zhao’s furious rebuke, Zhou Zefeng snapped his head up and turned around, his eyes completely bloodshot.

Zhou Zefeng stood frozen in place, staring intently at Lu Zhao’s face. Just as Lu Zhao furrowed his brows and was about to say something, Zhou Zefeng suddenly lunged forward in a single stride and threw his arms around him. He pressed his fluffy head against Lu Zhao’s neck and sank his teeth in forcefully, clamping down on the delicate flesh before slowly grinding his teeth against it, making Lu Zhao gasp out in pain.

Zhou Zefeng’s Adam’s apple bobbed violently. The moment his low, raspy voice sounded, hot breath billowed against Lu Zhao’s neck.

“I can’t take it anymore.”

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