Unworthy

Chen Ju nervously tightened his grip on his backpack strap, his palm slick with cold sweat. Head bowed, he made straight for the seat.

Feeling someone sit down beside him, Jiang Zhou glanced over from the corner of his eye. The small, slender man sat hunched over, head bowed and shoulders drawn in, without moving.

He looked away and answered the person beside him absently. As he leaned back, his arm barely brushed the man beside him before the latter jolted upright as if burned. His bright black eyes fixed nervously ahead, not daring to look to the side.

“Brother Zhou, want to come up and sing one? I remember you took first place in the Top Ten Singers Contest back in college!” The speaker had attended the same university as Jiang Zhou.

Chen Ju looked at Jiang Zhou in surprise. This was the first time he’d heard that Jiang Zhou could sing. Back in high school, Jiang Zhou had worked part-time, and whenever he came to class, he would just sleep with his head on his desk.

Suddenly, Jiang Zhou turned his head, and their eyes met. Chen Ju froze for a moment, then hurriedly lowered his gaze to the table laden with fruit platters.

“All right.” When Chen Ju heard Jiang Zhou say that, his heart gave a sudden thump, then began beating faster. He’d never heard Jiang Zhou sing before. In the past, even getting him to say a few words had been difficult.

The sofa cushion beside him bounced up slightly as Jiang Zhou stood and walked over to the microphone. He sat on a tall stool, his long legs stretched casually in front of him, and lowered his eyes as he adjusted the microphone’s height.

From his place in the darkness, Chen Ju openly looked at Jiang Zhou for the first time that evening. Six years hadn’t changed much about him. It felt as if just yesterday they’d been sitting in the classroom together, enduring their dull lessons.

But Chen Ju wasn’t the same person he’d been back then. Now, he wasn’t even worthy of standing in front of Jiang Zhou.

At the thought, Chen Ju’s nose stung, and his eyes began to burn again. He lowered his head and quickly wiped them with his sleeve.

When he raised his head again, he met Jiang Zhou’s gaze. Chen Ju’s heart clenched, but after only a brief second, Jiang Zhou looked away, as though his gaze had merely passed over Chen Ju without registering him.

When Jiang Zhou finished singing, everyone applauded and praised him without holding back. A few people even egged him on to sing another song. Jiang Zhou smiled faintly and waved them off. “I’ve had a cold these past two days, and my throat hurts. I can’t sing too much.”

Everyone was only joking and didn’t press him. The next person went up to sing.

Chen Ju watched Jiang Zhou walk back. Gathering his courage, he said in a tiny voice as Jiang Zhou sat down, “Jiang Zhou, you sang really well.”

Jiang Zhou didn’t respond, and Chen Ju couldn’t tell if he’d even heard. Disappointed, he lowered his head. He should have spoken louder.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Jiang Zhou reach for the beer on the table. Jiang Zhou had just said he had a cold. He was sick and shouldn’t be drinking.

At the thought, Chen Ju instinctively grabbed Jiang Zhou’s wrist. When he met Jiang Zhou’s indifferent eyes, he finally came to his senses and hurriedly moved his hand to the beer can. Blushing, he said, “I-I wanted this one.”

Jiang Zhou didn’t pull his hand away. Fixing his gaze on Chen Ju, he parted his lips and said, “Chen Ju, you’re still the same as ever.”

Chen Ju froze and stared blankly at Jiang Zhou. Beneath the man’s cold expression, there seemed to be something more: a trace of disgust.

The chill of the beer seeped through the thin aluminum can and into Chen Ju’s palm. The warmth that had just risen in his cheeks vanished. Even with the air conditioner running, he felt cold all over.