He heard Eric Wright say in a very soft voice, "Do you want my contact information?"

Edward Harris's steps faltered; he thought he must have misheard, so he turned his head to look at Eric Wright, surprise in his eyes. "What?"

Eric Wright didn't repeat himself, just gave him a childish smile.

For a moment, Edward Harris felt as if he were hallucinating.

The two of them stood on an open field, a helicopter spinning its rotors overhead.

The strong wind blew the scent of rain from Eric Wright, along with his distant elegance and beauty, briefly toward Edward Harris's chest.

"You've been looking at me for a long time just now."

Author's note:

It was love at first sight.

(Small Huai is currently in a hypomanic phase; you can look up bipolar disorder or manic depression for more details.)

①: From the Neapolitan Novels

②: From the film "Mirror" (Tarkovsky)

Chapter 6 P. Rumors and Gossip

Edward Harris was stunned.

He hadn't expected that his excessive attention would actually be noticed by Eric Wright.

Seeing Edward Harris's reaction, Eric Wright smiled at the corners of his mouth, then suddenly changed the subject. "Classmate, do you have an umbrella? I don't want to get soaked again."

Edward Harris was taken aback, then nodded. "Yes."

He handed all the comment cards in his hand to William Thompson, and under the other's obviously strange gaze, turned and walked toward Eric Wright.

The two of them left the classroom, walking side by side down the crowded hallway in silence.

It was raining hard outside, and many people were crowded at the door at the end of the corridor. Edward Harris opened his umbrella, making some space for Eric Wright to step under it.

The distance between them instantly closed to the point where their arms touched, making Edward Harris a little uncomfortable. Some worries surfaced subconsciously, and he tilted the umbrella handle.

Eric Wright's shirt collar was wide, and as he walked, a lot of skin was exposed. Edward Harris accidentally noticed some bruises on his neck, looking very much like marks left by a rope.

Realizing he was staring again, Edward Harris looked up, fixing his gaze straight ahead.

The umbrella wasn't big, but luckily there was no wind outside. Rainwater had already pooled into a small puddle. He lowered his head and noticed Eric Wright was wearing a pair of snow-white canvas shoes—just by the brand, he could tell they were expensive. They were already wet, which seemed a bit of a shame for no reason.

As for himself, he was wearing sneakers so old their original color couldn't be washed out, and the cuffs of his old jeans were soaked in the water. It would take a long time to wash them when he got back.

"Where are you going?" Edward Harris looked at him. "Should I walk you to your dorm?"

Eric Wright lowered his eyes; his upper eyelids were almost translucent, faint blue veins showing through, and his long lashes drooped heavily. His whole face was shrouded in mist, hazy and indistinct.

"I don't live in the dorm," Eric Wright carefully avoided a small puddle, looked up, and caught sight of Edward Harris's soaked right shoulder. "I don't have a dorm."

These two sentences seemed to mean the same thing, and yet not quite.

Whenever his eyes met yours, they would reveal a very straightforward childlike quality, as if he had never been hurt, as if he had grown up in overflowing love.

"Can you walk me to the electronic reading room in the library?" Eric Wright said. "I want to stay there for a while."

"You're still wet; you'd better change your clothes," Edward Harris glanced at him. The blue T-shirt was completely clinging to Eric Wright's body.

"It's fine, I won't get sick. I almost never catch a cold. The last time I had one was a year ago, and that was because the weather that summer was so weird. It was thirty-eight degrees the day before, then suddenly turned cold the next day, and I went to learn swimming that day, though I didn't manage to learn..."

He didn't live in the dorm, but didn't go home either. Earlier, he had bluntly pointed out that Edward Harris was staring at him, and now he was talking about last summer's weather and activities.

The topic jumped all over the place.

Edward Harris listened to Eric Wright talk, realizing he couldn't even get a word in.

When he finally walked him to the library, Eric Wright at last stopped his constant topic-hopping.

Only then did Edward Harris speak, smiling. "You really are a strange person."

Eric Wright seemed very used to hearing such comments, and didn't intend to refute it at all. He just looked into his eyes.

He once again gave Edward Harris a completely unguarded smile, and took another tissue from his pocket, handing it to him.

Edward Harris took it and found two lines written on it: the first was a phone number, the second a WeChat ID.

"So are you," Eric Wright said, walking up the library steps. He turned, glanced at the rain streaming from the eaves, reached out to catch some raindrops, and said, "You're strange too."

Hearing this, Edward Harris didn't have time to say anything before Eric Wright reached out, his fingertip pointing at the corner of his eye, just a few millimeters away from touching.

"Edward Harris, you have a mole here." He jumped topics again, but his tone was very serious, as if he were studying something.

Edward Harris froze, the sound of raindrops hitting the umbrella especially clear.

So strange.

"I'm leaving now. Goodbye."

Eric Wright spoke as if he didn't need a response.

He turned and walked toward the side door, but halfway there, he looked back once, his eyes curved in a smile, softly said thank you, then turned again, shook the water from his hair like a small animal, and disappeared around the corner.