Someone was scrolling on their phone for a while, got bored, looked up and tried to glance outside, muttering, “Where’s Bro Henry? He said he’d pick someone up but he’s not here yet.”

Logan Wright jolted, afraid he’d see something he shouldn’t, quickly pressed down on that classmate’s head and forcibly turned him back, making up a conversation: “Frank Miller, look, the weather’s nice today. How about we talk about our life goals?”

“Logan Wright, are you out of your mind!”

There were ten people at this gathering in total. Most had their own plans for winter break, and many weren’t even in the city. After eating, they planned to go sing at the KTV next door, each harboring dreams of being a “singing god,” so they booked a private room.

Ethan Young rarely went to such noisy places. As soon as he entered the lobby, he heard a wailing racket all around. Somewhere, a private room door wasn’t fully closed, and a middle-aged man with a raspy smoker’s voice was singing his heart out.

This karaoke place was reasonably priced and did decent business.

The front desk attendant was typing up their order on the computer, couldn’t help but look up at this group of students—probably high schoolers. The girls had simple ponytails and wore thick down jackets, while the boys clustered together, noisily bickering.

Henry Howard came up from behind and slung his arm around Ethan Young’s shoulders, looking like he was pulling him into his arms, and leaned in to ask, “Old Young, want to sing a song later?”

“Like hell I do.”

“Come on, sing.”

Henry Howard didn’t think much of it, ran through the latest popular songs in his head, then picked one that was everywhere lately, a song everyone should know: “‘I Love You’—can you sing it? This song’s pretty hot right now.”

Ethan Young, still in that position, tilted his head back slightly. As he spoke, his lips brushed Henry Howard’s ear, intentionally or not, and he asked again, “What song?”

Henry Howard was about to repeat it, then realized—this guy was definitely doing it on purpose. He lowered his head, burying his face in Ethan Young’s neck, and said quietly, “Kid, you’re really cheeky.”

The singing skills of Class Three had already been on full display during the last autumn field trip on the bus, but back then they used a speaker, which didn’t have the same impact as a microphone. Logan Wright eagerly picked a song, but hadn’t sung more than a few lines before Quinn Shaw covered her ears and blurted out a curse: “Shit.”

Luke Carter happened to be going to pick a song, heard that, and casually comforted her: “Ching-ge, calm down.”

Wanda: “We men have to be strong, what’s a little pain? Ching-ge, be strong.”

Quinn Shaw threw a pillow back at him.

Ethan Young stood up and took off his coat, tossing it aside. Logan Wright kept glancing over as he sang, practically had “Bro Henry praise me” written on his face. He smiled, sat back down, and nudged the person next to him with his elbow: “Not bragging anymore?”

“Nope, not bragging. Singing like this is crap,” Henry Howard said. “Can’t brag anymore.”

After saying that, Henry Howard bent over to grab a can of beer from the table, hooked his finger through the tab, popped it open one-handed, and added, “People should be more sincere with each other.”

Logan Wright sang with his eyes closed, totally immersed, swaying to the rhythm, then suddenly belted out a dramatic “One~~~!”

Luke Carter was sitting nearby, tried to hold it in but couldn’t: “Guys, which songs did the PE rep just pick? I’m going to delete them.”

The big screen in front of them was scrolling lyrics, showing the next song.

“Next up is ‘Skateboard Shoes’,” Ethan Young said, getting a headache and really wanting to turn around and hit mute on the wall control panel. “His song.”

Henry Howard said, “‘Love Even If I Die’ too, delete them all, don’t leave him a single one.”

Luke Carter gave an “okay” gesture, then hunched over and snuck past Quinn Shaw.

The private room was dim, the effect lights flickering on and off.

Someone was adjusting the other lights, and the room went dark for two seconds, then lit up again. Suddenly, the whole room was filled with a sky full of stars, spinning across the ceiling and walls.

Ethan Young glanced at Henry Howard, the light happened to shine on Henry Howard’s face, then faded again.

Henry Howard tilted his head back and took a few gulps of beer, noticed the gaze from the person next to him, and turned his head to look back.

Ethan Young was a bit thirsty. There was nothing to drink in the room except beer. These guys had completely forgotten the lesson from last time they got drunk, and as soon as they had the chance, ordered another dozen beers. So Ethan Young beckoned to him to hand one over.

“”

The man’s hand was right in front of him, slender and sharp-fingered, a bit cold to the touch. Henry Howard looked at it for a moment, then, instead of handing over the beer, absentmindedly slipped the pull tab from the can onto his ring finger.

The cold metal tab slid up bit by bit, finally getting stuck at the knuckle of Ethan Young’s finger.

Only then did Henry Howard shove the beer can into his hand.

Ethan Young stared for a moment before pulling his hand back: “What’s this?”

Amid the noisy, chaotic music, Henry Howard said something he couldn’t quite hear, but he guessed from the lip movements which three words they were: —Stamp of approval.

Logan Wright had great lung capacity, his voice through the mic was even louder than the backing track, blasting straight into their eardrums. By the time Ethan Young had finished most of the half-can, he finally felt the room was getting a bit hot.

“Where’s my song?” Logan Wright finished his song and was quietly waiting for the intro to “Skateboard Shoes,” but after a long wait, only “I Love You” came up. He looked confused: “Who picked this song? Cutting in line?”

Henry Howard got up and took another mic from the side: “Mine, mine, sorry.”

This little mishap didn’t slow Logan Wright down at all. After warming up his voice, he felt in great shape, ready to sing non-stop for three hours. He was so hyped he forgot to think, patted his chest and said, “I know this one too, Bro Henry, let’s do a love song duet!”

Henry Howard was just about to say, “Who the hell wants to do that with you?”

Logan Wright was patting his chest when the mic in his hand was snatched away, leaving his palm empty.

Even though karaoke was a group decision, no one actually expected to hear Ethan Young sing. With his personality, just sitting there and enduring their torture was already his limit.

Quinn Shaw was opening snacks, pinched the bag open, and when she saw Ethan Young grab the mic, she lost control and almost spilled chips everywhere.

Ethan Young had already stepped past Luke Carter, walked up to the screen, and spoke into the mic: “Which part are you singing?”

The melody was the same, only the lyrics were different.

Henry Howard said, “Either part is fine.”

As soon as Henry Howard finished, the others all started “Ooooh—”ing.

The whole room instantly got lively.

They were just making a fuss for fun, until Ethan Young sang the first line.

His voice was cool, but singing this kind of tender and passionate love song didn’t sound out of place.

After the first few lines, it was Henry Howard’s turn. He held the mic and almost missed the beat, lagging two counts behind.

Quinn Shaw patted Emily Shaw: “Is it just me, or is Yu-ge being a bit gentle?”

Emily Shaw watched them. The last part was a duet, their voices overlapping. The room was too dark, you could only vaguely make out their tall, slim figures.

When the song ended, no matter how much everyone shouted “Encore!”, the two of them didn’t respond.

“You guys sing,” Henry Howard said. “Whose song is next?”

The next song was one Luke Carter picked. Logan Wright insisted on singing it with him, and Luke Carter rushed to grab the mic: “Hold him down, Logan Wright, as long as you don’t sing with me, we’re still good brothers.”

Logan Wright was pinned down on both sides, wailing, “Aren’t you guys going too far?”

Henry Howard sat for a while, started to get restless, nudged Ethan Young’s hand, about to ask if he wanted to go out, when he felt his phone vibrate a few times.

The room was too noisy to hear the ringtone. By the time Henry Howard noticed, the call had already ended, and an unfamiliar number was displayed on the screen.

Missed call.

Henry Howard glanced at the number, didn’t recognize it, was about to toss his phone aside when it vibrated twice more and a text popped up.

Yo Bro Henry, it’s me, Little Ray.

Henry Howard got up, dialing back as he opened the door and walked out.

He walked a bit further, heard a few rings on the other end. He leaned back against the wall, staring down at the brick-red carpet.

The call connected quickly.

Ray Jr. still sounded a bit goofy, and it was noisy on his end, with the sound of high-speed train ticket checks in the background: “Bro Henry. Are you still in A City? Long time no see. I just got here today, came back to take care of something. Are you free lately? Want to meet up?”

Henry Howard unconsciously reached for his pocket, then remembered he’d quit smoking, and didn’t even carry candy much anymore.