My Straight Best Friend Thinks It's Bro Stuff novel · Chapter 11 of 24

Chapter 11: Friday

Fu Lingchen read the word Friday, and then opened the green notebook to the page headed THE TREEHOLE.

Tang had come in at ten that night with his jaw clenched and Luo Bin's phone in his fist.

He was now pacing the living room in his socks.

"Somebody told them about the MRI," said Tang. "Who knew about the MRI? You, me, the professor. Who else?"

"No one," said Fu.

It was nearly true.

He ran his finger down the three lines he had written three weeks before.

Cen: Friday.

Captain: Wednesday.

Roommate: Tuesday.

The post said Friday.

He had expected the satisfaction to feel sharper.

What he felt was tired, and a little sick, because he had hoped to be wrong.

"Lingchen?"

"Leave it with me," said Fu.

"Leave it? They're going to say I'm hiding an injury from Coach! I can't swim Nationals if Coach thinks..."

"Zhiyuan."

Tang stopped in the middle of the carpet.

Fu closed the notebook and looked up.

He kept his voice level, because that was what Tang needed.

It was also the only part of himself he had ever been able to trust.

"Answer nothing. Say nothing to anyone, not Luo Bin, not Coach. I will deal with it. Can you do that for me?"

"I hate it," said Tang.

"I know."

"Fine." Tang dropped onto the sofa with a thud. "Fine. Okay."

Fu heard the word and did not move.

He picked up a mug of tea and held it with both hands until they stopped being cold.

On Monday afternoon, a stranger was waiting in the corridor outside the taping room.

It took Fu a moment to place the gap in his front teeth.

"Ji Hao," he said.

"Doc Fu."

Ji Hao had a team jacket on and no phone in his hand, which seemed to bother him.

"Have you got a minute? I'd like to ask you to hit me, but I'll settle for a minute."

Fu let him in and shut the door.

Ji Hao sat down on the physio table and put his head in his hands.

"I didn't know about you," he said. "Honestly. I thought he was just a straight guy who didn't see it."

"I thought it was a long shot, and I'm good at long shots, and then I saw your face."

He shook his head.

"I've been a complete idiot."

"You were honest," said Fu. "That's not stupid."

"It was more complicated than honest."

Ji Hao took out his phone after all.

He thumbed to a message thread and held it out.

The sender had a cartoon fish for a profile picture.

The first message was dated three weeks earlier.

"Tang Zhiyuan likes big gestures. He's shy underneath."

It went on.

"If you want a yes, do it live, at the 200 final, in front of everyone."

"Put it on your own stream. Don't ask privately."

The second said, "He'll say yes if the whole pool is watching. Trust me."

The third said, "Don't mention this to anyone. It will spoil the surprise."

"Who is the fish?" asked Fu, though he knew.

"I thought he was a fan. He knew things about Tang."

Ji Hao rubbed his neck.

"I only worked it out when the clip went up. The Treehole had it with a headline within the hour."

"They were ready for it."

"Cen Mingyu," said Fu.

"I can't prove it was him. The account's a burner."

"You can prove you were told what to say," said Fu. "That is enough. May I have copies?"

Ji Hao sent them without another word.

Fu stood at the window with his back to the room.

Down in the pool, a whistle blew, and the team started a set.

"I'm sorry," said Ji Hao. "He didn't say yes, you know. I'm not saying that to make you feel better. He said 'bro.'"

"I heard."

"What are you going to do?"

"Not what Cen wants," said Fu.

That night his mother called.

He took it in the bathroom with the fan running, sitting on the edge of the bath.

"Chen-chen. Why are you whispering?"

"Tang's asleep."

"Is he now. In your bed." Lin Shuqin let a silence go by, and Fu waited for it. "What did he say about the pool?"

"I don't know what you told him, Mama."

"I told him the truth. I said it wasn't about his grades." She sighed. "He laughed and went to peel garlic. Your Tang is stubborn."

"He isn't mine," said Fu.

"Fu Lingchen."

His mother's voice dropped into the tone she used on suppliers who lied about prices.

"You promised yourself you wouldn't say it first. I know. You told me when you were eighteen, crying into my rice."

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