My straight roommate is so good

Qiao Song had something on his mind, and long after the dorm lights were out, he still couldn’t fall asleep.

He wrapped himself in his warm blanket, lying on his back as he stared at the dim ceiling. What kept flashing through his mind was the confrontation he had with Ling Jianshu outside the school earlier in the evening.

He vividly remembered that when Ling Jianshu found out he was gay, his whole demeanor shifted into a defensive mode, avoiding him as if he were something to be feared.

When he tried to get closer, he instinctively stepped back, as if afraid that he might get contaminated by something dirty…

For a homophobic straight guy, those reactions were understandable, but for some reason, he still felt a little bitter when he thought about it.

After much contemplation, he finally identified this unpleasant feeling as a psychological gap.

He figured that it was the sudden distance between them that had caused his emotional imbalance. They had been so close before, but now, they were suddenly estranged.

With this realization, he felt a lot more at peace.

The distance was due to their differing sexual orientations. But, like any other preference, being gay was just that—a preference, not a mistake in life.

He hadn’t done anything wrong, and really, neither had Ling Jianshu.

Since that was the case, there was no need to dwell on it anymore. Whether they grew apart or came back together, it would all happen naturally.

He let out a deep breath and closed his eyes.

Feeling relieved, he relaxed, his brow no longer furrowed, and slowly drifted off to sleep.

Compared to him, Ling Jianshu wasn’t finding it so easy to move on.

On this cold winter night, the wind outside was fierce, with frigid air sweeping across the empty, silent schoolyard.

Ling Jianshu had initially found a step near the stands by the podium to sit on, but within minutes, he was shivering from the cold.

Not wanting to return to the dorm, he got up, jumped off the stands, and started walking laps around the track, hoping that a bit of movement would help stave off the chill.

The wind made his temples feel cold, but it did nothing to clear his muddled thoughts.

There were some things he just couldn’t figure out.

By instinct, as someone who was homophobic, just thinking about the word “gay” should have made him feel disgusted.

So why? When he thought back to the moment Qiao Song’s face flashed with disappointment as he stepped back, his heart inexplicably ached.

He didn’t want to lie to himself.

He admitted that, even knowing Qiao Song liked guys, the feeling that lingered in his mind was more worry than aversion.

No matter how they interacted in the future, at least for today, he was worried that his avoidance might have hurt Qiao Song.

Normally, he would send him a message asking why he hadn’t returned to the dorm, but today, it was Cheng Yuan who reached out. It seemed that Qiao Song didn’t want to annoy him anymore.

Thinking of this made him feel a little anxious.

Part of him wanted to go back to the dorm, to apologize in person for avoiding him earlier, and to tell him that he didn’t actually want to hurt him.

But he couldn’t go back, because he was trapped in his own web of confusion, wanting to figure things out before discussing anything further.

On one hand, he felt Qiao Song represented everything he had always hated about gay people, and he should be avoiding him. On the other hand, he was just Qiao Song—his friend—and he shouldn’t be reduced to a label like “gay.”

He had never been in such a situation before.

He had spent years adamantly hating gay people, but now, for the first time, he found himself wavering…

From the sparse stars and faint moonlight to the first light of dawn, he spent the entire night in the freezing wind. Yet his mind was still a tangled mess, like a knotted ball of weeds that he couldn’t untangle.

Avoiding Qiao Song wasn’t a long-term solution.

By noon the next day, Ling Jianshu, exhausted and with a pounding headache, decided to head back to the dorm for some rest.

As fate would have it, just as he neared the Software Engineering Building, he ran into him, who was on his way to the cafeteria for lunch.

The two walked right past each other, their eyes meeting briefly, but neither stopped.

Qiao Song was the first to avert his gaze, brushing past him without a word, as if they were strangers.

Ling Jianshu continued walking mechanically, only stopping after he entered the building. It was then that he belatedly turned to look in the direction Qiao Song had left.

By then, he was out of sight.

He pursed his lips, his brow furrowing tightly without him even realizing it.

Did they really have to become this estranged as roommates?

Even if they did, why was Qiao Song the one ignoring him? If he remembered correctly, *he* was the one who was supposed to be homophobic, wasn’t he?

He felt unsatisfied and decided that tonight, after Qiao Song returned from his piano practice, they would have a proper conversation.

Qiao Song had a smooth day of classes, and his piano practice in the evening went well too. He didn’t stay too late, coming back to the dorm around 9 PM.

After taking a shower, he sat down at his desk and buried himself in reading through a dozen more pages of Western Music History.

When he had finished his study for the day, he glanced at Ling Jianshu, who was sitting with his back to him.

Ling Jianshu was focused on his computer, his long fingers tapping away on the mechanical keyboard, the screen displaying a black programming interface—clearly working on an assignment.

Qiao Song didn’t dare interrupt, thinking to himself how programmers really did have an enigmatic world of their own.

But in the next moment, Cheng Yuan leaned over to peek at Ling Jianshu’s screen and exclaimed, “No way, Jianshu! Your code actually has a compile error? That’s impossible. Did the software glitch or something?”

Liu Junming, hearing this, turned his head too. “For real? I’ve never seen Jianshu make a mistake in his code.”

Cheng Yuan replied, “For real, swear on it! See for yourself.”

Liu Junming came over just in time to see Ling Jianshu calmly tap a few keys, adding a missing half-parenthesis on line 1754 of his program.

This time, the code compiled successfully with no issues.

Liu Junming: “…”

Cheng Yuan: “……!”

The two computer science students exchanged puzzled glances, both confused by Ling Jianshu’s rare mistake.

He glanced up at them with calm eyes and asked indifferently, “Have you finished your assignments?”

“Not yet, I’ll get back to it.” Liu Junming, sensing the situation, wisely returned to his seat.

But Cheng Yuan, unafraid of consequences, stayed put with a curious look on his face. “I’m still not done, but that’s not the point! I’m really curious, how could you—”

A sharp look from Ling Jianshu.

Cheng Yuan immediately went silent, admitting defeat before things could escalate. “Uh, well… Even a horse stumbles sometimes. Everyone makes mistakes, right?”

Ling Jianshu replied coldly, “Cheng Yuan, if you say one more word…”

The most terrifying threats are the ones left unfinished.

Cheng Yuan didn’t dare to ask what the consequence would be, dropping to his knees metaphorically in surrender: “I won’t say anything more! Calm down, I really won’t…”

Though he admitted defeat verbally, his natural curiosity was hard to stifle. Back at his desk, his peripheral vision still stole glances at Ling Jianshu.

Internally, he analyzed the situation and concluded that Jianshu’s unusual behavior likely had something to do with Qiao Song.

Sure enough—

As Qiao Song closed his Western Art History book, turned off his desk lamp, and stood up to go wash up, Ling Jianshu’s previously fluid typing paused suddenly. At the same time, the program’s compilation window lit up in red again…

After the lights were out in the dorm, Qiao Song lay on his side, back to Ling Jianshu, facing the wall.

His phone lit up with a new WeChat message. He assumed it was from Ling Jianshu, but when he opened it, it turned out to be from Cheng Yuan.

Cheng Yuan: **[Qiao, did you and Jianshu have a falling out?]**

Qiao Song: **[No, we didn’t.]**

Cheng Yuan: **[Then why haven’t you two talked at all tonight?]**

After a brief hesitation, he replied: **[I didn’t really notice. Maybe it’s because we’re close to finals and everyone’s busy studying.]**

Cheng Yuan typed for a while before sending: **[True.]**

Qiao Song wasn’t sure if Cheng Yuan really bought his half-baked excuse and didn’t want to dwell on it.

He turned off his phone, thought for a moment, then rolled over to glance at Ling Jianshu on the opposite bed.

Though the room wasn’t lit, the moonlight stubbornly pierced through the gaps in the curtains, adding a faint glow to the darkness.

In that dim light, he noticed that Ling Jianshu’s dark eyes were also looking at him.

Their eyes met. Though neither could see the other’s expression clearly, there was an unmistakable feeling of unspoken emotions hanging in the air.

Ling Jianshu’s mind was still on what had just happened.

Earlier, he had searched “How do gay people view homophobic straight guys?” on the internet, and had seen numerous responses:

**”Do you even need to ask? Of course, they’re scared!”**

**”Same here! Just thinking about homophobes makes me want to run away!”**

**”Who wouldn’t be scared? Everyone knows homophobic straight guys tend to be violent. In their eyes, being gay is a sin. If they’re in a good mood, they might just make passive-aggressive comments, but if they’re not, you’re in for punches and kicks—it’s terrifying.”**

**”Violent tendencies, for sure! Don’t even ask how I know. :)”**

**”Wishing homophobes would stay far, far away!”**

**”Wishing +1″**

**”Wishing +2″**

As Ling Jianshu recalled those discussions, he silently observed Qiao Song on the other bed.

He wasn’t sure if it was just his imagination, but he had the feeling that he seemed a bit nervous around him…

However, in reality, what Qiao Song was thinking about was entirely different from what was on Ling Jianshu’s mind.

Qiao Song had also noticed his nervousness.

He reasonably assumed that this nervousness was because the homophobic straight guy was worried about being hit on by a gay guy.

So, to reassure him, he picked up his phone from beside his pillow and opened WeChat, intending to send a message to explain everything.

At almost the exact same time, Ling Jianshu’s phone lit up as well.

Qiao Song briefly met his gaze before looking away, then lowered his head to type.

**[Jianshu, don’t worry, even though I’m gay—]**

Too wordy. Delete and try again.

**[Jianshu, don’t worry, I—]**

Still not right. Delete again…

Had his language center short-circuited?

Why did it feel so hard to phrase something so simple?

He kept typing and deleting, unable to send even a single coherent message to Ling Jianshu.

This endless back-and-forth continued for several minutes until he finally received a message from him.

Ling Jianshu didn’t say much, just: **[Qiao Song.]**

That made things much simpler.

Qiao Song quickly replied: **[What’s up?]**

Ling Jianshu: **[I can’t sleep. Want to chat on the balcony for a bit?]**

Both typed at the same time, sending their next messages almost simultaneously.

Ling Jianshu: **[Don’t worry, I’m not going to do anything to you.]**

Qiao Song: **[Don’t worry, I’m not going to do anything to you.]**

Qiao Song stared at the almost identical messages in the chat, momentarily stunned.

Ling Jianshu was also taken aback.

Qiao Song slowly typed out a single question mark: **[?]**

Ling Jianshu: **[Let’s talk outside.]**

Before Qiao Song could respond, Jianshu added: **[It’s cold out, wear something warm.]**

Now he was even more confused.

Was Jianshu… caring about him?

This whole situation was becoming increasingly strange, and it seemed like a face-to-face conversation was indeed necessary to clear things up.

So, abandoning the idea of continuing the conversation over WeChat, Qiao Song responded with an emoji: **[Mm-hmm.jpg]**

On the outdoor balcony, the crisp, cold air mingled with the scent of winter’s withering branches, filling their lungs.

The bright moon hung high in the night sky, illuminating one corner of the balcony.

Qiao Song, wrapped in a thick down jacket, stood side by side with Ling Jianshu.

Breaking the silence first, he asked, “Jianshu, what did you mean by that message earlier?”

Ling Jianshu lowered his head slightly and looked into Qiao Song’s light-colored eyes, speaking softly, “I won’t hurt my roommate.”

“…Huh?” Qiao Song was even more confused now.

“I saw online that many people say they’re afraid of homophobic straight guys, that homophobes tend to be violent and attack gay people. While I do…” He paused briefly before continuing, “…practice boxing, I’m not that kind of person. You don’t have to worry.”

Ling Jianshu explained in all seriousness, carefully watching Qiao Song’s reaction.

At first, Qiao Song was stunned, then he couldn’t help but smile, his lips curling up. “Do you even need to say that? Of course you’re not that kind of person. I’ve always known that.”

Only then did Ling Jianshu breathe a sigh of relief, but he quickly asked, “If you knew, then why were you avoiding me?”

The question was asked with such sincerity, as if he genuinely didn’t understand the reason.

Straight guy logic was truly beyond the understanding of gay people.

Sighing helplessly, Qiao Song decided not to beat around the bush and gave a straightforward answer: “Because I don’t want to make you uncomfortable.”