Chapter 46 – Intimacy
Novel Title: 一屋暗灯 (Ephemeral Light)
Author：麦香鸡呢 (McChicken)
Translator: K (@kin0monogatari)
Protagonists: 宋谨 (Song Jin -MC), 宋星阑 (Song Xinglan -ML)
*Please read at Novels Space.space, the original site of translation. TQ*
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While Zhao Hai and Song Xinglan were talking in the living room, Song Jin crouched by the cat’s nest. Grapefruit seemed to be scared half to death today and needed Song Jin to keep petting him to calm down.
Zhao Hai didn’t stay long before leaving. Grapefruit was already dozing off. The house was large and very quiet. But Song Jin felt an unprecedented sense of pressure. He was used to being here alone with the cat. So any additional presence was very noticeable, especially when it was Song Xinglan.
Song Xinglan was sitting on the sofa, looking at his phone. He always seemed to prefer black clothes and dressed especially casually today after his flight, his hair unkempt, unable to hide his youthful vibe. But the coldness about him remained. Standing not far away, Song Jin suddenly felt caught in a dilemma.
“Are you hungry?” Song Jin asked after a long pause, walking towards the kitchen. “I’ll make you something to eat.”
Song Xinglan typed a few words on his phone, then locked the screen and tossed it onto the coffee table. “Not hungry. Come here, Ge.”
The simpler the words, the stronger the command. Song Jin knew Song Xinglan was still angry—at Song Xiangping, and at the subordinates who hadn’t done their job well enough. It wasn’t a rage-filled outburst. The more silent he was, the more frightening it became. He appeared calm and restrained. But it felt like the quiet before a predator strikes.
As Song Jin walked toward the sofa, Song Xinglan turned his head and looked at him. His eyes were very gloomy. His expression and gaze always portrayed no emotion. But just being looked at this way made Song Jin instinctively anxious. By now, this anxiety was no longer fear but a subconscious tension from being under such scrutiny.
Some people may no longer pose a direct threat to you. But you can never ignore the inherent danger they carry.
“Does your hand… hurt a lot?” Song Jin asked, sitting down at a slight distance from him. “The doctor said it might hurt worse at night.”
Song Jin knew how terrible such wounds could be. After applying the medicine and bandaging it, it might not feel too bad at first. But at night, when the body’s other senses calm down, the wound would start to throb with a sharp, clear pain, like being repeatedly poked with a sharp wooden splinter. It was torturous.
“Hurts.”
Song Xinglan looked at Song Jin and said just one word. Then he reached out, grabbed Song Jin’s wrist, and pulled him close.
Song Jin was brought forward. His hand bracing against Song Xinglan’s knee. He was wide-eyed and unsure of what to do.
Song Xinglan looked down at him. His gaze swept over Song Jin’s eyebrows and lips. In the backlight, his eyes were obscured by his lashes, making his expression unreadable. Finally, he wrapped one arm around Song Jin and buried his face against the side of Song Jin’s neck.
His breath brushed against Song Jin’s skin. Song Jin struggled slightly but found himself held firmly in place. He heard Song Xinglan’s voice in his ear, asking, “Were you scared?”
Song Jin instinctively relaxed. His chin rested on Song Xinglan’s shoulder. “Not really. When I was running, I didn’t think too much. You arrived just in time.”
“But I was scared,” Song Xinglan said softly, tightening his hold on Song Jin.
Song Jin knew that Song Xinglan was someone who rarely expressed himself openly, especially after becoming an adult. Apart from the period when he lost his memory, Song Jin had always felt hatred and coldness emanating from him. But Song Jin understood that they were actually similar. They were both burdened by personality flaws that couldn’t be repaired due to their respective upbringing. For them, straightforward expression was difficult.
It was as if Song Jin had never heard Song Xinglan express fear before. But now he did. Not fear of anything else, but fear of Song Jin getting hurt.
Yet, when Song Jin counted the majority of pain and injury he had suffered, most of it came from Song Xinglan himself. They were incidents that couldn’t be erased.
So Song Jin felt like he was standing on some kind of edge now, unsure of where to step next. He couldn’t forgive. Yet he truly wanted to let go, to no longer imprison himself with Song Xinglan’s mistakes.
“I’m fine,” Song Jin said softly.
Song Xinglan loosened his grip on him a bit and turned his head to look closely at him. The ambiguous tension was drawn to a near proximity, where desires, even if not directly confronted, could be keenly sensed. The more thoroughly Song Xinglan had restrained himself before, the stronger the threat he now emanated.
His hand slid down Song Jin’s back to his lower back. When Song Jin instinctively tensed at the touch, Song Xinglan tilted his head and kissed the corner of Song Jin’s mouth.
He couldn’t remember how long it had been since they had such intimate gestures after Song Xinglan regained his memory. That slight touch only served to ignite greater desires in both of them. Song Xinglan’s breathing became visibly different. In the absence of response from Song Jin, he sucked on Song Jin’s lower lip. His tongue licked over the soft lip, slipping into his teeth.
In a sudden moment, Song Jin felt a moment of confusion, unsure who was standing before him. Was it the lunatic from before, or his brother with amnesia? Neither seemed right. It was as if this was a third person altogether. This person wouldn’t ruthlessly bite his lips until they bled, nor would they tenderly and cautiously explore him inch by inch. Instead, there was a pressing presence, accompanied by a clear desire. This person seemed to combine elements of the first two, yet making it even harder for him to break free.
As their tongues touched, Song Xinglan tightened his arms, pushing Song Jin down in an assertive manner. Song Jin leaned against the corner of the sofa, almost unable to tell if his eyes were open or closed. His vision blurred, his consciousness scattered. The living room’s chandelier was fragmented into countless shards of light, flickering chaotically.
“Mmm…” Song Jin placed his hand on Song Xinglan’s shoulder. Sensing something hard against his thigh, he tilted his head away from Song Xinglan’s kiss, gasping, “Song Xinglan…”
Song Xinglan’s breathing was heavy. He stared at the fair, slightly flushed neck that Song Jin raised, then looked up. Song Jin’s lips were slightly parted, their colour bright red. With closed eyes, he seemed to be evading and he appeared somewhat helpless.
Song Xinglan loosened his grip and straightened up slightly. Song Jin slowly opened his eyes, avoiding Song Xinglan’s gaze by turning his head, saying, “I’ll go make you something to eat.”
“Okay,” Song Xinglan replied.
Song Jin tugged at the hem of his clothes as he stood up silently and headed to the kitchen.
***
He cooked a bowl of plain noodles. Fortunately, Song Xinglan’s injury was to his left hand. Otherwise, daily life would have been difficult to manage.
Song Jin sat opposite him, placing a cup of warm water in front of him.
He remembered when Song Xinglan had amnesia, often complaining of hunger at night, wanting this and that to eat. It bothered Song Jin enough that he had to go to the kitchen to prepare supper for him.
It had been so long since those days that Song Jin hadn’t thought such a scene would happen again.
Seeing Song Xinglan almost finished eating, Song Jin stood up and said, “I’ll go make the bed.”
Song Jin had always slept in the guest room because he preferred the bay window over the large balcony. Now, Song Xinglan had made it clear he would stay here and Song Jin couldn’t refuse. He had seen the wound on Song Xinglan’s hand—a deep cut that ran across his palm, frighteningly severe. The doctor had said if Song Xinglan hadn’t been young and in good health, he might have gone into shock from losing so much blood.
While making the bed, Song Jin heard footsteps behind him. Without turning around, he thought about how this was the third time he and Song Xinglan had lived together. Before, in Song Xiangping’s villa, Song Xinglan had always been confrontational, and Song Jin had tried to avoid him. After Song Xinglan lost his memory, he cried and insisted on staying by Song Jin’s side. It didn’t take long for Song Jin to feel completely trapped by him.
Their relationship was truly like a circle—twisting and turning, filled with hatred and affection, and ultimately circling back together. After all, they were blood brothers.
Smoothing out the corners of the bedspread, Song Jin turned around to find Song Xinglan standing by the door, staring at him intently.
Without exaggeration, Song Jin felt a tingling sensation down his spine.
In their previous encounters, Song Xinglan had shown restraint and reserve. Song Jin knew he was deliberately suppressing himself. However, due to today’s unexpected events, all those feelings from the past had fully returned to Song Xinglan. He didn’t hide anything—his coldness, hatred, desire, and some unspoken things all tangled together. He hadn’t spoken a word. But Song Jin could feel it all.
“Do you need to wash up?” Song Jin spoke, his throat tightening. “You should manage with one hand, right?”
“I need to take a shower,” Song Xinglan replied. “I’ve been on a plane for over ten hours and had a fight in an alley before. There’s blood on my clothes.”
Song Jin didn’t know what else to say. He just nodded and went to open the suitcase. The suitcase had been brought up by Zhao Hai. Song Jin took out the toiletries one by one and placed them in the bathroom. Then he fetched a set of pyjamas and asked, “Is this set okay?”
Leaning against the door, Song Xinglan kept his eyes lowered, looking at Song Jin. “And underwear,” he said.
Glancing at Song Xinglan’s perfectly intact right hand, Song Jin lowered his head again to find underwear in the suitcase. “Maybe we should hire a maid,” he said.
“I don’t want to,” Song Xinglan replied.
“…,” Song Jin stood up and walked over to Song Xinglan, handing him the pyjamas and underwear. “Take these yourself.”
“I can’t shower,” Song Xinglan stood still, showing no intention of taking them. “I’ll have to use the bathtub.”
Song Jin felt a bit anxious, sensing vaguely that he was falling into some kind of trap, but unable to find evidence. He stuffed the clothes into Song Xinglan’s hands and said, “That’s why I told you to take them first. I’ll go heat up the water.”
Song Xinglan ambiguously ‘hmm’ in response.
The bathroom was brightly lit. Song Jin bent over, one hand on the edge of the bathtub, testing the water temperature. Song Xinglan came in, placing the pyjamas on a nearby rack before standing next to Song Jin.
They maintained this silent posture until the bathtub was filled with water. Song Jin straightened up and said, “Alright, once you’re done bathing, go to bed early.”
Song Xinglan lifted his bandaged left hand slightly and said, “Help me take off my clothes.”
Song Jin had intended to ignore the request and walk away. But his gaze involuntarily fell on that hand. There were faint traces of blood on the fair skin of the wrist, probably accidentally put pressure on.
Forget it.
He didn’t say a word. He bends down to lift the hem of Song Xinglan’s clothes, pulling up the hoodie and the T-shirt underneath together. Song Xinglan cooperated by bending over slightly. When it came to his left hand, Song Jin eased his movements, pulling the sleeve open a bit more, carefully withdrawing it from around the wrist.
Whether it was the warmth of the bathroom light or something else, Song Jin felt a bit hot. Song Xinglan was bare-chested and it seemed like heat was emanating directly from him. Awkwardly, Song Jin hastily tidied up the clothes he had removed. Just as he was about to step away, Song Xinglan spoke again, “The belt.”
Song Jin finally looked up at him. His complexion was not particularly good but not terrible either—he was just flushed. His expression was strained and clenched. “Song Xinglan, can’t you…-“
“-Just the belt,” Song Xinglan’s face showed no emotion. He said calmly, “Not taking off my pants.”
If they kept lingering, the water in the bathtub would likely cool down. Song Jin bit his lip, lowered his head, and reached out to undo Song Xinglan’s belt. They were close together, and Song Jin could see Song Xinglan’s chest when he glanced up. His hair brushed against Song Xinglan’s skin, gleaming in the light.
Initially, Song Jin had intended to withdraw his hand once the belt was undone. But as the pants loosened, he suddenly noticed a mark on Song Xinglan’s right lower abdomen.
It was at the waistband of his underwear, partly hidden and partly exposed—a shapeless pattern that seemed irregular, with faint mottling beside it, difficult to discern in the shadows. When Song Jin and Song Xinglan faced each other naked during Song Xinglan’s amnesia, he hadn’t seen this. It must have been tattooed after Song Xinglan recovered.
Song Jin was somewhat engrossed in looking at it, momentarily forgetting to ask about the tattoo. However, Song Xinglan lifted his hand and lightly brushed Song Jin’s reddening earlobe with his fingertip. It was just a gentle touch. But it snapped Song Jin’s thoughts back. He quickly said, “It’s done,” and hurried out. His retreating figure displayed an unnatural sense of haste.
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*Author’s Note:
Song Xinglan: Want to know about the tattoo? Not telling you *zips up the zipper*
-McChicken
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*Translator’s Note: 😏 Heh… Is your right hand useless, SXL? -K
Next update: -Daily-
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