Maybe it was the alcohol, but Eric Bennett became much more talkative. He snorted at the words, “Whether you can hold your liquor or get drunk after one glass, it doesn’t matter—Laura Clark... doesn’t like you.”

Wounded to the core, Brian Sullivan rubbed his face. “Laura Clark...” he murmured, as if lost in some memory. “Suddenly I remember, Eric Bennett... damn it, because of you, I even turned down the class beauty’s confession back then.”

“You think... you’re the only one who had it rough?” Eric Bennett said. “At graduation... I got dozens of love letters, but just to compete with you... I didn’t even have time to open them.”

“So why did you want to compete with me in the first place?”

“Why don’t you... ask yourself that?”

The two men, who had wasted years in endless rivalry, grew more agitated as they spoke. Fueled by alcohol, neither knew who threw the first punch, but suddenly they were wrestling, as if they wanted to send each other straight to the afterlife.

Luckily, their minds were foggy and their vision blurred, so nine out of ten punches missed. After a long scuffle, Eric Bennett’s tie was already loosened, his buttons lost somewhere, exposing a stretch of cold, pale neck.

He leaned against the headboard, pressing his nose bridge absentmindedly. Brian Sullivan, having thrown punches at thin air, squinted and collapsed on the bed, panting.

After a while, he seemed to sigh, “Feelings really are metaphysics. I never thought... Laura Clark was gay.” He closed his eyes, probably finding the hotel’s ceiling light too harsh. He fumbled and with a “snap,” turned off the main light, leaving only the two warm yellow bedside lamps.

He turned his head to look at Eric Bennett, suddenly recalling the man from the bar earlier. “Tell me... you’re not gay too, are you?”

A punch landed squarely on his abdomen. Eric Bennett cracked his knuckles, half-lidded his eyes, and shot him a cold glance. “I’m 1.88 meters tall. Even if I were gay... I’d be the top.”

He was so drunk he didn’t even know what he was saying. If he sobered up, he’d realize he’d already fallen into the pit dug by Brian Sullivan’s nonsense.

Fortunately, Brian Sullivan was also half-asleep and didn’t notice the huge loophole in his words. Instead, he latched onto the number and retorted instinctively, “I’m 1.884 meters.”

Eric Bennett: “I’m 1.8843 meters.”

Who can’t do decimals?

“Ha,” Brian Sullivan suddenly burst out laughing. “I’m 1.8844 meters.”

“Damn—” Eric Bennett glared at him, but Brian Sullivan only got more fired up. “Not only am I taller than you, but believe it or not, I’m longer than you too.”

“I don’t believe it.”

The competitive spirit between men seems etched into their DNA, especially under the influence of alcohol, where it can easily swallow all reason.

Brian Sullivan directly yanked down his own pants, then reached to pull down Eric Bennett’s. The tailored dress pants hugged the man’s long legs, making them especially pleasing to the eye.

Eric Bennett must have been blackout drunk too, with only one thought in his mind—not to lose to Brian Sullivan. He actually let the other man pull his pants down without protest. Both looked down at the same time, then met each other’s eyes, and almost in unison declared, “I’m longer than you!”

“Impossible,” Brian Sullivan grabbed Eric Bennett’s hand and pressed it against himself. “Measure it yourself.”

Eric Bennett’s hands were very pale, with long fingers and a slight callus. Because there wasn’t much flesh, the faint blue veins on the back of his hand were visible.

Maybe because of the alcohol, all his blood had rushed to his head, so his hand was a bit cold. The moment he touched Brian Sullivan, the latter suddenly shivered.

“Don’t move.” Eric Bennett’s mind was now single-threaded, focused only on measuring. His hand rubbed back and forth over a certain spot on Brian Sullivan, who, muddled, lowered his head. The visual stimulation made his brain go fuzzy.

Those hands, usually so steady and precise in surgery, were now roaming and kneading his body, making his heart pound inexplicably.

“What are you thumping for?” He scolded his own inexperienced heart while fumbling to grab Eric Bennett’s hand. The latter, interrupted, looked up in annoyance, a few strands of fringe falling over his eyes as he raised his head.

Only then did Brian Sullivan notice that Eric Bennett’s glasses had somehow been knocked off.

Eric Bennett had double eyelids, and maybe because he was nearsighted, things looked a bit blurry without his glasses. Those eyes, usually sharp behind the lenses, now appeared naturally gentle in the warm yellow bedside light.

This side of Eric Bennett felt unfamiliar to Brian Sullivan. The alcohol made him feel light from head to toe, as if he were walking on clouds, or dreaming.

Brian Sullivan stared blankly at Eric Bennett for a while, then suddenly noticed a small mole under his eye.

The mole was tiny, usually hidden by his glasses, so he’d never noticed it before. Now, seeing it for the first time, Brian Sullivan found himself fixated, unable to look away.

For some reason, Brian Sullivan thought that little mole was oddly alluring.

Eric Bennett’s face was that cold, pale shade, making the tiny black dot stand out even more. The sight of it made his vision swim, and with a swallow, he suddenly forgot who was lying on the bed.

The next second, as if possessed, Brian Sullivan pressed his lower lip to that little mole.

Eric Bennett’s eyelashes trembled, his eyes half-closed, looking a bit dazed. His mind was foggy, and after a moment of confusion, he turned his head away.