A social phobic can also fall in love.

For the first time in his 20-something years, Yan Tingmo felt an overwhelming urge to dig a hole and bury himself alive.

Awkward. This was just too awkward.

Half-squatting, he subtly turned his body, silently chanting to himself, You can’t see me. You can’t see me.

Qi Xing stood at the bathroom entrance, backlit by the light, squinting at him, who seemed to think he had mastered the art of invisibility.

One squatting, one standing. One motionless, one moving. Qi Xing advanced, Yan Tingmo froze. Keeping his head low, Yan Tingmo prayed fervently for Qi Xing to ignore him and leave after using the bathroom.

But fate had other plans. He could distinctly feel him moving closer, his warm breath brushing against his ear as he spoke.

“Hey, classmate?” Qi Xing leaned down, feigning innocence as he asked, “Are you feeling unwell? Need some help?”

Yan Tingmo shook his head vigorously and, deliberately altering his voice, squeaked out, “I’m fine!”

His forced falsetto sounded sharp and shrill, like a rooster going through puberty. Qi Xing couldn’t help himself—his lips curved into a smile, and his eyes glimmered with amusement. “Sore throat, huh? Come on, I’ll take you to the infirmary.”

Yan Tingmo was on the verge of losing his mind. Since when was Qi Xing such a good Samaritan? Clutching his skirt tightly, his already flushed face deepened in redness, spreading to his neck and ears.

“Classmate, is it your foot that’s bothering you too?” Qi Xing teased with exaggerated concern. “Let me help you up.”

Sensing imminent danger, Yan Tingmo inwardly cursed Qi Xing’s meddlesome nature. Yet, his body betrayed him, springing up with lightning speed. To prove his point, he stomped his foot, signaling that he was perfectly fine.

Qi Xing, with a playful smirk, feigned surprise. “Oh, so you’re fine after all. Then what were you doing squatting in the corner?”

Yan Tingmo stayed silent, casting a resentful look his way.

Qi Xing’s chest tightened under his gaze, but he maintained his pretense of indifference. However, his eyes kept wandering back to Yan Tingmo’s face, unable to tear away.

Yan Tingmo, already strikingly handsome, looked even more captivating with his makeup. His almond-shaped eyes, accentuated by false lashes and eyeliner, appeared dramatically larger, while pearly eyeshadow added a luminous dimension to his gaze. Contoured cheeks gave his face an even more delicate appearance—Qi Xing briefly calculated it could be no larger than the size of his palm. His soft pink lips, slightly puckered, seemed to silently invite a kiss.

He looked away, but a word involuntarily surfaced in his mind: stunning.

The thought of someone else enjoying the sight of such a breathtaking Yan Tingmo stirred an inexplicable possessiveness in him.

Maybe I should just hide him away, he thought, the idea creeping into his mind like an unruly weed. Take him somewhere private until the convention is over and let no one else see him.

Before his imagination could run any wilder, the buzzing of his phone interrupted.

“Hello?” he glanced at Yan Tingmo out of the corner of his eye, catching him trying to sneak away.

Whatever the caller said, Qi Xing replied tersely, “Okay, I’ll be right there,” and ended the call. Folding his arms, he looked at Yan Tingmo, who had just lifted one leg to tiptoe out of the room but froze under his gaze.

Without speaking, Yan Tingmo suddenly beamed at him with an exaggeratedly sweet smile, taking a gamble. Surely he didn’t recognize me, right? Yan Tingmo told himself. There’s no way. With all this makeup, if he can still recognize me, I’ll chase after him myself.

Determined, he even added a little sway to his hips.

But in the next second, Qi Xing shattered his facade.

“Yan Tingmo,” he called out, his tone unmistakably sure. “Did you really think I wouldn’t recognize you?”

Yan Tingmo felt the ground crumble beneath him.

If Qi Xing recognized him, didn’t that mean he’d have to fulfill his bold internal wager? No way! He quickly dismissed the idea. This is my secret; no one else knows. If Qi Xing doesn’t know about the bet, there’s no need to act on it.

Qi Xing watched him for two minutes as he alternated between frowning, nodding, and grinning like a fool.

Did he get possessed or something? Qi Xing wondered.

Frowning, he reached out to touch his forehead. It wasn’t hot, and his body temperature seemed normal. Intelligence intact, but something was definitely off. Maybe he just needed more time to snap out of it.

And snap out of it he did—Yan Tingmo suddenly widened his eyes in disbelief, staring at him.

Wait a second. Had Qi Xing called him by name earlier? Did he fail to respond, leading Qi Xing to give him a frustrated slap on the forehead?

Thinking back, Yan Tingmo decided he was to blame for his own rudeness.

Regaining composure, he softened his expression and admitted in a small voice, “Yes, it’s me.”

Qi Xing stared at him silently, making him squirm with discomfort. His exposed knees felt oddly chilly.

“Um…” he offered a tactical smile. “The convention’s starting soon, so I’ll just… get going. You should…”

He hesitated before finishing, “You should hurry up and use the restroom. Holding it in isn’t good for your bladder.”

The moment he said it, both of them became acutely aware of their surroundings.

How utterly awkward.

Summoning all his courage, he darted around Qi Xing and bolted out the door.

Qi Xing stood there, stunned, feeling as if a gust of wind had just swept past him, leaving him empty-handed.

Then he laughed—more out of exasperation than amusement. What am I, a monster? I’m the one who got dumped, so why does it feel like I’m the one who abandoned him?

Still, the unfairness of it all gnawed at him.

During our relationship, no touching, no kissing, no sharing a bed. Now that we’ve broken up, he’s out here living his best life?

With a stormy expression, Qi Xing returned to the convention hall, where the event had already begun. He found a seat, his eyes scanning the crowd, clearly searching for someone. Even when his club members called out to him, he remained unresponsive.

Meanwhile, Yan Tingmo rushed back to the hall, only to be pulled aside by the club president to learn a dance routine. His emotions seesawed as he clumsily twirled his fan and swayed his hips.

The moves weren’t particularly difficult, but they were undeniably alluring.

Zhang Miao hobbled on one leg, but it didn’t stop him from eagerly fawning over others nearby.

Yan Tingmo, swaying his hips in rhythm, cast a sideways glance at him, thinking to himself that watching others fall in love was far more entertaining than experiencing it himself.

The convention was packed with people. Though he only repeated a few simple moves, his striking looks drew in a crowd of admirers.

Among them, a group of young men, die-hard fans of the character Qiao, eagerly approached him, vying for a photo.

At first, Yan Tingmo didn’t quite understand what was happening. Under the persuasion of the club president, he reluctantly agreed to an endless stream of photo requests.

The school’s anime convention attracted not only students but also a significant number of people from outside the campus.

After a hectic session, he felt utterly drained. His legs ached, his waist hurt, and his body felt completely alien to him.

The event wrapped up at four in the afternoon. To express their gratitude, Zhang Miao offered to treat him to hot pot, while the club president gifted him an exquisitely crafted figurine.

Although Yan Tingmo didn’t fully grasp the appeal of the anime world, he appreciated the gesture. After politely thanking the president, he slipped backstage during a quieter moment to change back into his regular clothes.

However, the makeup on his face and the wig securely fastened to his head proved to be a challenge. Try as he might, he couldn’t remove the wig and considered asking his peers for help.

Unfortunately, his timing was poor—everyone was busy and didn’t notice his struggle. Not wanting to actively seek help, he was left wrestling with the wig alone in front of a mirror.

The wig was strapped on too tightly, and his attempts only made his scalp ache. Tears welled up in his eyes as frustration set in. Annoyed at his own helplessness, he wiped away the tears clinging to his lashes and resumed his battle with the wig.

Suddenly, a pair of warm hands covered his, gently stopping his movements.

The hands eased his away and deftly worked at the straps inside the wig. Within moments, the wig was removed.

Through the mirror, Yan Tingmo stared blankly at the figure behind him.

Qi Xing stood there, his expression indifferent as he carefully took off the wig. Then, without a word, he picked up a wet wipe from the makeup table and began removing his makeup with meticulous care.

The atmosphere between them was unexpectedly harmonious. One obediently bowed his head, while the other tenderly wiped away the layers of makeup.

Once the makeup was gone, Qi Xing silently cleaned his hands with another wet wipe, lightly tapping his knuckles on the chair’s backrest. In a low voice, he said, “Done.”

Yan Tingmo lifted his gaze in a fluster, just in time to see him calmly turning and walking away.

Not long after, He Shiyang and the others, growing impatient from waiting, pushed their way into the backstage area.

“Tingmo, are you ready?” He Shiyang called out loudly.

Yan Tingmo blinked, quickly straightening his clothes. “Yeah, I’m ready. Coming now.”

Since Zhang Miao’s leg injury made it difficult for him to walk far, the group chose a nearby hot pot restaurant with decent reviews.

He Shiyang and Zhou Wen supported him as he hopped along on one leg, grinning ear to ear as he looked at the senior they admired.

A concerned senior asked, “Should I go to the infirmary and rent a wheelchair for you? Isn’t hopping around exhausting?”

“No need!” Zhang Miao declared loudly. “It’s just a minor injury! I can manage!”

“But…” The senior hesitated for a moment, glancing at his head and murmuring, “I’m worried you’ll jiggle your head wound open.”

Though Zhang Miao didn’t hear the comment, Zhou Wen beside him did and burst out laughing, his hand shaking as he tried to steady him.

It was indeed a comical story. In a moment of excitement, Zhang Miao had leaped off the podium, twisting his ankle and hitting his head on the edge of a table. He ended up needing five stitches.

Sometimes, Yan Tingmo found himself admiring his courage to throw himself into love wholeheartedly. Maybe if he had that kind of bravery, things between him and Qi Xing wouldn’t have ended up this way—becoming the most familiar of strangers.

He stuffed his hands into his pockets and thought bitterly. Even if he had been brave, the outcome likely wouldn’t have been much different.

After all, who would like someone so boring, dull, and rigid?

What’s more, he couldn’t even understand what love was. How could he accept someone else’s one-sided affection and devotion?

Lost in thought, he absentmindedly ate a steaming hot beef meatball, his mind wandering far away.

He thought, If one day I fall in love with eating sweets, maybe then I’ll understand what it feels like to like someone. Having something to love—that must be a wonderful thing.

Caught up in his daydream, he smiled blissfully, prompting curious glances from his friends.

“Is Tingmo… falling in love or something?” Zhang Miao whispered to Zhou Wen.

Zhou Wen shrugged. “Not sure. Why don’t you ask him?”