A week later.
The autumn wind caught a ginkgo leaf, making it twirl in the air before it drifted down in front of a pair of black canvas shoes.
Shawn walked toward his dorm, carrying his bookbag. His left hand, from the wrist to the palm, was wrapped in layers of white gauze.
As he passed, the usual campus clamor would come to a brief, stagnant halt. A guy throwing a frisbee froze with his arm in mid-air.
He felt that the Shawn he hadn't seen for a week was somehow different. It was like he had changed.
When Shawn's figure appeared at the end of the hallway, Leo was leaning against the door, chatting with someone. He saw Shawn at a glance, froze for a second, and then quickly walked over to meet him.
"Shawn! You're back!" Leo's voice echoed in the hallway. "I heard you were in the hospital these past few days, are you okay? What kind of illness was so serious?"
As he spoke, his brow furrowed unconsciously, and the corners of his mouth pulled down slightly. But in the next moment, he immediately covered it up with a more relaxed smile.
"It's nothing," i said with a slight, calm smile. "I just accidentally cut my hand."
Leo's gaze fell on the bandaged left hand. He nodded with understanding and was about to say something more when a coarse, mocking voice crashed between them like a stone.
"Yo, what's so funny?" Ben walked over unsteadily, his hands stuffed in his pockets, followed by two other football players. He had a malicious grin on his face, a smile that seemed less about expressing pleasure and more about baring his teeth. "Shawn, you little punk, don't tell me you went to the hospital to 'cut your wrists' just to hide from me! Haha!"
His laughter was dry and loud, bouncing off the walls of the hallway, making even the buzzing fluorescent lights seem quiet.
Leo's face instantly flushed red. He took a step forward, blocking Shawn, and yelled at Ben, "Ben, are you nuts? Can't you see Shawn's injured?"
"Oh, is he your boyfriend? Being so protective of him?" Ben raised his eyebrows dramatically, his lewd gaze sweeping back and forth between Leo and Shawn. "Are you a gay too?"
"You..." Leo trembled with anger, the veins on his neck popping. "You psycho!"
Just as he was about to retort verbally.
"Forget it," i'm voice was soft, yet it reached everyone's ears clearly. "Just pretend he's farting. Why bother with him?"
The sentence wasn't shouted, nor did it contain a trace of anger. It was like a statement, a calm description of an objective fact.
The air in the entire hallway seemed to freeze. The malicious grin on Ben's face stiffened. He dug a finger in his ear, as if he had misheard. "Fuck, what the hell did you just say?"
Shawn gently pulled Leo behind him with his right hand, then stood up straight. His movements weren't fast, but they carried a smooth and unhurried strength. He walked forward, one step, two steps, straight toward Ben, stopping only when their faces were less than half a foot apart. This distance invaded anyone's personal space and was full of provocation.
He looked directly into Ben's pupils, which were slightly dilated from shock, and repeated, word by word, in a tone so clear it was almost cold:
"I... just... said... that... you... are... farting."
Everyone around them stared with wide eyes, looking at the Shawn before them in disbelief. Leo felt a "boom" in his head, as if a volcano had erupted inside his brain.
Ben's face first turned the color of pig's liver, then went somewhat pale from extreme rage. He stared into Shawn's calm, unwavering eyes, feeling his dignity as a campus celebrity being trampled on as never before.
"You're fucking asking to die!" Ben's roar rumbled in his throat like the growl of a wild beast.
He poured all his strength into his right fist and, with a whistle that tore through the air, smashed it toward Shawn's face.
Crack!
Without warning, the sharp sound of a whip's lash cut through the air.
Ben didn't even see anything clearly, only felt a fiery, stinging pain on his right cheek. He subconsciously reached up to touch it, and a thin line of blood had appeared there out of nowhere.
What was that? He was stunned.
Immediately following the stinging pain, a strange, warm current surged from the wound, quickly spreading throughout his entire body. The feeling... was strange. He tried to clench his fist again but found the muscles in his arm had become somewhat heavy and sluggish.
Shawn's bandaged hand, with a nearly elegant, lazy flick of the wrist, moved again.
Another sharp sound tore through the air.
This time, an identical line of blood appeared on Ben's left cheek, perfectly symmetrical with the one on the right.
What followed was a wave several times stronger than before. It was no longer a simple warm current, but a dizzying, giant wave of morbid pleasure that instantly broke through the dam of his will. His anger, his violent impulses, all his aggression, were dissolved and evaporated in this bizarre pleasure.
He wanted to resist, to retreat, to scream, but his body had completely betrayed him. His muscles went slack, his knees buckled, and he fell to the ground uncontrollably.
As the silent lashes fell one by one, Ben's experience descended into an even more bizarre abyss. He felt like he was sinking, the ground beneath him no longer solid linoleum but a warm, soft mire that was slowly swallowing him with an irresistible force. He sank into this ocean woven from humiliation and pleasure, unable to escape, the very thought of struggling having vanished completely.
Finally, he lost all support and collapsed limply to the floor. He wasn't unconscious; his eyes were still open, but his pupils were unfocused, and a dazed, satisfied smile even hung on the corner of his mouth. He was like a doll with its bones and soul removed, completely tamed.