段锐把煎蛋翻了个面，油星溅到手背上，他皱了皱眉却没出声。厨房窗户透进来的晨光把油烟照得纤毫毕现，他听见身后拖鞋摩擦地板的声音。
“哥。”段琰的声音带着刚睡醒的沙哑，温热的气息突然贴在后背上。少年人的手臂环住他的腰，下巴搁在他肩头，”培根要焦了。”
段锐僵了一瞬，锅铲在平底锅里刮出刺耳的声响。”去坐着等。”他声音比平时低了八度，手肘往后轻顶了下，”别在这儿碍事。”
段琰没动，反而收紧了手臂。段锐能感觉到弟弟的心跳透过两层睡衣传来，和自己的渐渐同步。这个认知让他喉咙发紧。
“段琰。”他这次连名带姓地叫，关掉炉火转过身。少年比他矮半个头，睡翘的头发让他看起来格外稚气，可眼睛里闪烁的东西让段锐不得不移开视线。”正常兄弟不会这样。”
“那正常兄弟该怎样？”段琰歪着头，手指却悄悄攥紧了段锐的衣角，”像隔壁王叔家那对？一年见两次面，微信聊天记录全是’爸问你今年回不回家’？”
段锐掰开他的手指，把煎蛋倒进盘子：”至少不会在厨房抱着不放。”他把盘子推到餐桌对面，”吃完我送你去学校。”
段琰撇撇嘴坐下，用叉子戳着蛋黄。金黄的汁液流出来，他盯着看了会儿，突然说：”我们班李铭昨天被打了。”
段锐正在倒咖啡的手一顿：”为什么？”
“因为他给隔壁班男生送情书。”段琰抬头直视哥哥，”有人拍下来发到年级群里，现在全校都知道他是同性恋。”
咖啡壶嘴滴落最后一滴褐色液体。段锐放下壶，声音平静：”你别掺和这种事。”
“我当着全班面说他们无聊透顶。”段琰咬了一大口培根，含混不清地说，”然后他们开始传我也是。”
玻璃杯在桌面上磕出清脆的响声。段锐指节发白：”你疯了？”
“我说错什么了？”段琰放下叉子，”李铭又没碍着谁，他们凭什么——“
“凭这就是现实！”段锐突然提高音量，又迅速压低，”你知道外面的人会怎么说？你以为只是被嘲笑几句就完了？”他深吸一口气，”今天放学直接回家，别跟那些人起冲突。”
段琰盯着他看了很久，最后扯出个笑：”知道了，段警官。”他故意用小时候的称呼，把最后一片培根塞进嘴里，”遵命。”
段锐看着他背起书包出门，单薄的背影消失在电梯门后。他站在原地，直到咖啡变冷。
教室后排的窃窃私语像一群挥不散的苍蝇。段琰把物理书竖起来，铅笔在纸上无意识地画着圈。前桌女生突然转过来：”他们说的是真的吗？”
“什么？”段琰没抬头。
“你和李铭…”女生压低声音，”那种关系？”
段琰的铅笔芯啪地断了。他抬头看见半个教室的人都在偷偷往这边瞄，李铭的座位空空如也。
“我和他没关系。”段琰声音不大但足够清晰，”但就算有，关你们屁事？”
教室里瞬间安静了几秒，随即爆发出更大的嗡嗡声。戴黑框眼镜的男生从后排喊：”这么激动，该不会你也——“
班主任的脚步声打断了这场闹剧。段琰攥着断掉的铅笔，发现自己的手在微微发抖。不是因为害怕，而是某种更尖锐的情绪。他想起早上段锐紧绷的下颌线，突然特别想笑。
放学时天空阴沉得像要滴墨。段琰刚走出校门就被三个男生堵在墙角，领头的他认识，是校篮球队的张昊。
“听说你今天特别威风啊？”张昊用篮球抵住段琰胸口，”为你小男朋友出头？”
段琰没动：”让开。”
“急什么？”张昊凑近，呼吸喷在他脸上，”交流交流嘛。你们这种人是不是都——“
段琰的拳头比脑子快。他听见鼻梁骨与指节相撞的闷响，随即后脑勺狠狠磕在墙上。疼痛炸开的瞬间，他想的居然是段锐会怎么骂他。
“操！”张昊捂着鼻子后退，血从指缝渗出，”你他妈找死！”
段琰抹掉嘴角的血，书包带子还牢牢挂在肩上：”第二拳想挨哪儿？”
围观的人越来越多。张昊的朋友拉住他：”算了，跟变态计较什么。”他们骂骂咧咧地走了，留下段琰靠在墙上，心跳如雷。
雨点开始砸下来时，段琰才意识到自己没带伞。他慢吞吞地往公交站走，衣服很快湿透了。站台上几个女生看见他，立刻往旁边挪了几步，交头接耳的声音刚好能让他听见。
“…听说他们兄弟俩也不正常…”
“真的假的？他哥不是警察吗？”
“所以才恶心啊…”
段琰盯着积水里自己的倒影，雨水把它打得支离破碎。公交车来了，他故意坐在那几个女生正前方，她们立刻噤了声。
段锐的公寓黑着灯。段琰把湿透的球鞋脱在门口，发现自己的手还在抖。浴室镜子里的人嘴角青紫，校服领子沾着血迹。他打开水龙头，冷水冲在指关节上，刺痛让他倒抽一口气。
“怎么回事？”
段琰猛地回头。段锐站在浴室门口，警服衬衫被雨淋得深一块浅一块，目光钉在他嘴角的伤上。
“摔了一跤。”段琰关掉水龙头。
段锐走近，手指抬起他的下巴。这个动作太过亲密，两人都僵了一瞬。”谁干的？”段锐声音很轻。
“说了是自己摔的。”段琰想扭头，却被捏得更紧。段锐的手指温热干燥，和记忆中一样。
“李铭的事？”
段琰突然笑了：”怎么，段警官要抓人？”他看见哥哥瞳孔收缩，”放心，我没提你。”
段锐松开手，像是被烫到：”去换衣服。”
“你怕什么？”段琰追着他走进客厅，”怕别人知道警察的弟弟是同性恋？还是怕他们发现我们——“
“段琰！”段锐猛地转身，两人几乎鼻尖相碰。段锐能闻到弟弟身上雨水和血的味道，”别说了。”
“为什么不能说？”段琰不退反进，”因为我们是兄弟？因为这样’不正常’？”他声音开始发抖，”那你为什么每次喝醉都——“
段锐捂住他的嘴。手掌下的嘴唇柔软温热，这个认知让他胃部绞痛。”别这样。”他声音哑得不像自己，”我们不能…”
段琰咬了他的掌心。不重，但足够让段锐松手。”那你能什么？”少年眼睛亮得吓人，”装作是我哥？装作那些晚上都没发生过？”
雨拍打着窗户，像某种倒计时。段锐突然感到无比疲惫：”你会后悔的。”
“我不会。”段琰说得很慢，像在发誓，”但你再推开我，我会。”
段锐的手机突然响了。两人都吓了一跳，来电显示是”母亲”。铃声在安静的客厅里尖锐刺耳，段琰扯了扯嘴角：”要告诉她你儿子多恶心吗？”
段锐按掉电话，抬手想碰弟弟脸上的伤，最终只是叹了口气：”先处理伤口。”
段琰站在原地看他翻医药箱的背影，突然说：”我今天见到李铭妈妈了。她在教务处哭，说要把儿子转走。”他停顿一下，”她说’我儿子不是这样的人’。”
段锐的动作顿住了。
“你知道吗？”段琰继续说，声音轻得像羽毛，”我当时特别想问她，那什么样的人’该’是这样？”
酒精棉球按在伤口上时，段琰疼得缩了一下。段锐的手很稳，但呼吸明显变重了。”明天我去学校。”他低声说。
“不用。”段琰抓住哥哥的手腕，”我能处理。”
段锐看着弟弟年轻倔强的脸，突然意识到这个他从小带大的男孩已经学会隐藏伤痛了。这个认知比任何拳头都疼。”对不起。”他脱口而出。
段琰愣住了：”为什么道歉？”
“为…”段锐喉结滚动，”所有事。”
段琰看了他很久，突然凑近，在段锐嘴角飞快地碰了一下，像小鸟啄食。”那就别推开我。”他小声说，睫毛湿漉漉的，不知是雨水还是别的什么。
段锐僵在原地，心跳声大得盖过了雨声。门铃突然响了，两人像触电般分开。
“谁？”段锐声音不稳。
“段警官？我是楼下小陈。”物业的声音隔着门板传来，”您车灯没关。”
段锐深吸一口气去开门。等他应付完物业回来，段琰已经不在客厅了。浴室传来水声，弟弟的湿校服堆在洗衣机上，像一只被丢弃的壳。
段锐坐在沙发上，母亲未接来电的红色数字刺着眼睛。他想起段琰十四岁那年，发烧到四十度，抓着他的手说”哥你别走”。当时他请了三天假照顾弟弟，被父亲骂”惯坏了没出息”。
水声停了。段锐抬头，看见段琰穿着他的旧T恤站在走廊里，头发还在滴水。少年瘦得锁骨分明，嘴角的淤青在灯光下泛紫。
“冷。”段琰说，声音带着鼻音。
段锐张开手臂。这个动作如此自然，仿佛他们已经排练了千百次。段琰像归巢的鸟扑进他怀里，湿发蹭在他颈窝。
“我发烧了。”段琰闷声说。
段锐摸他额头，果然烫得吓人。他想起小时候段琰一生病就特别粘人，没想到这么多年过去，这点还是没变。”活该。”他轻声说，却把弟弟搂得更紧。
段琰在他怀里发抖：”哥，我害怕。”
这是今晚他第一次叫哥。段锐胸口像被撕开一道口子：”怕什么？”
“怕有一天你会选别的。”段琰的声音几乎听不见，”选’正常’的生活。”
窗外的雨变成暴雨，敲打玻璃的节奏越来越急。段锐低头，看见弟弟通红的耳尖和颤抖的睫毛。他突然想起第一次意识到自己对段琰的感情不止是兄弟时，也是这样的暴雨夜。那天段琰十八岁生日，喝多了靠在他肩上说”哥你最好了”。
“不会。”段锐最终说，手指穿过弟弟潮湿的发丝，”我保证。”
段琰抬头看他，眼睛亮得惊人：”你知道这意味着什么。”
段锐吻了他的额头，像小时候一样，又不像：”我知道。”
English version:
Duan Rui flipped the fried egg over, and the oil spat onto the back of his hand. He frowned but said nothing. The morning light that streamed in through the kitchen window illuminated the grease and smoke in sharp detail. He heard the sound of slippers rubbing against the floor behind him.
“Brother.” Duan Yan’s voice was husky from just waking up, and the warm breath suddenly brushed against Duan Rui’s back. The young man’s arm wrapped around his waist, his chin resting on his shoulder. “The bacon’s going to burn.”
Duan Rui stiffened for a moment, the spatula scraping loudly against the pan. “Go sit and wait.” His voice was lower than usual, and he gently nudged his elbow back. “Don’t be in the way here.”
Duan Yan didn’t move, but tightened his arm instead. Duan Rui could feel his brother’s heartbeat through two layers of sleepwear, syncing with his own. This realization made his throat tighten.
“Duan Yan.” This time he called him by his full name, turning off the stove and facing him. The boy was half a head shorter than him, his messy hair making him look particularly youthful. But the look in his eyes made Duan Rui look away. “Normal brothers don’t act like this.”
“Then what should normal brothers do?” Duan Yan tilted his head, but his fingers subtly tightened around Duan Rui’s shirt. “Like that couple next door, Uncle Wang’s? They meet twice a year, and their WeChat chat history is all ‘Dad asked if you’re coming home this year?’”
Duan Rui pried his fingers away and slid the fried egg onto a plate. “At least they don’t cling onto each other in the kitchen.” He pushed the plate across to the table. “Finish your meal, I’ll take you to school afterward.”
Duan Yan pouted and sat down, poking at the egg yolk with his fork. The golden juice spilled out. He stared at it for a moment before suddenly saying, “Li Ming got beaten up yesterday.”
Duan Rui paused in the middle of pouring coffee. “Why?”
“Because he gave a love letter to a boy from the next class.” Duan Yan looked up at his brother. “Someone filmed it and sent it to the grade group chat. Now the whole school knows he’s gay.”
The last drop of brown liquid fell from the coffee pot. Duan Rui put the pot down, his voice calm. “Don’t get involved in this.”
“I told the whole class they were ridiculous.” Duan Yan bit into a large piece of bacon and mumbled, “Then they started spreading rumors that I’m the same.”
The glass on the table clinked sharply. Duan Rui’s knuckles turned white. “Are you crazy?”
“What did I say wrong?” Duan Yan put down his fork. “Li Ming didn’t hurt anyone. Why do they—”
“Because that’s reality!” Duan Rui suddenly raised his voice, then quickly lowered it again. “Do you know what people outside will say? You think it’ll end with just some mocking?” He took a deep breath. “Go straight home after school today. Don’t get into any conflicts with those people.”
Duan Yan stared at him for a long time before finally forcing a smile. “Got it, Officer Duan.” He deliberately used the childhood nickname, shoved the last piece of bacon into his mouth, and added, “At your command.”
Duan Rui watched as he slung his school bag over his shoulder and left, his thin figure disappearing behind the elevator doors. He stood there until the coffee turned cold.
Whispers from the back of the classroom were like a swarm of flies that wouldn’t disperse. Duan Yan propped up his physics book, absent-mindedly drawing circles with his pencil. A girl in front of him suddenly turned around. “Is it true what they’re saying?”
“What?” Duan Yan didn’t look up.
“You and Li Ming…” The girl lowered her voice. “That kind of relationship?”
The pencil in Duan Yan’s hand snapped. He looked up and saw half the class glancing at him in secret, with Li Ming’s seat empty.
“I don’t have anything to do with him.” Duan Yan’s voice wasn’t loud, but clear enough. “But even if I did, what’s it to you?”
The classroom fell silent for a few seconds, then erupted into louder murmurs. A boy with black-framed glasses yelled from the back, “You’re getting all worked up, doesn’t that mean you—”
The homeroom teacher’s footsteps interrupted the commotion. Duan Yan clenched the broken pencil, realizing his hand was trembling. It wasn’t fear; it was some sharper emotion. He thought about Duan Rui’s tense jawline this morning and suddenly felt like laughing.
When school ended, the sky was dark as if ink were about to drip from it. Duan Yan had just walked out of the school gate when he was cornered by three boys. The leader was someone he recognized—Zhang Hao, a member of the school basketball team.
“Word is, you were acting pretty tough today?” Zhang Hao pressed the basketball against Duan Yan’s chest. “Did you stand up for your little boyfriend?”
Duan Yan didn’t move. “Move aside.”
“What’s the rush?” Zhang Hao leaned in, his breath spraying on his face. “Let’s have a chat. Are all people like you—”
Duan Yan’s fist was faster than his mind. He heard the dull sound of his knuckles meeting Zhang Hao’s nose, then the back of his head slammed into the wall. As the pain exploded, he found himself thinking about how Duan Rui would scold him.
“Fuck!” Zhang Hao staggered back, holding his nose, blood seeping through his fingers. “You’re asking for death!”
Duan Yan wiped the blood from the corner of his mouth, the strap of his school bag still firmly hanging on his shoulder. “Where do you want the second punch?”
More and more people gathered to watch. Zhang Hao’s friends pulled him away. “Forget it, don’t argue with a freak.” They grumbled as they left, leaving Duan Yan leaning against the wall, his heart thumping like thunder.
When the rain started pouring, Duan Yan realized he didn’t have an umbrella. He trudged toward the bus stop, his clothes quickly soaked through. A few girls at the station saw him and immediately moved a few steps aside, whispering just loud enough for him to hear.
“…I heard those two brothers aren’t normal…”
“Is that true? Isn’t his brother a cop?”
“That’s what makes it disgusting…”
Duan Yan stared at his reflection in the puddle, the rain distorting it into pieces. When the bus arrived, he deliberately sat right in front of the girls. They immediately fell silent.
Duan Rui’s apartment was dark. Duan Yan took off his soaked sneakers at the door, realizing his hands were still shaking. In the bathroom mirror, he saw the bruise at the corner of his mouth and the bloodstains on his school uniform collar. He turned on the tap, and the cold water hitting his knuckles made him gasp in pain.
“What happened?”
Duan Yan whipped around. Duan Rui stood in the bathroom doorway, his police shirt soaked unevenly from the rain, his gaze fixed on the wound at his mouth.
“I fell.” Duan Yan turned off the tap.
Duan Rui stepped closer, his fingers lifting Duan Yan’s chin. The gesture was too intimate, and they both stiffened for a moment. “Who did this?”
“I told you I fell.” Duan Yan tried to turn away, but his chin was held more firmly. Duan Rui’s fingers were warm and dry, just like he remembered.
“Was it because of Li Ming?”
Duan Yan suddenly laughed. “What, Officer Duan, are you going to arrest someone?” He saw his brother’s pupils contract. “Don’t worry, I didn’t mention you.”
Duan Rui let go of his hand as if burned. “Go change.”
“What are you afraid of?” Duan Yan followed him into the living room. “Afraid that people will find out the cop’s brother is gay? Or are you afraid they’ll find out about us—”
“Duan Yan!” Duan Rui suddenly spun around, their faces almost touching. Duan Rui could smell the rain and blood on his brother. “Don’t say anymore.”
“Why can’t I say it?” Duan Yan didn’t step back, instead moving closer. “Because we’re brothers? Because this is ‘not normal’?” His voice started to tremble. “Then why is it that every time you get drunk—”
Duan Rui covered his mouth. His palm felt the softness and warmth of Duan Yan’s lips, and this realization twisted in his stomach. “Don’t do this.” His voice was hoarse, almost unrecognizable. “We can’t…”
Duan Yan bit his palm. Not hard, but enough for Duan Rui to let go. “Then what can you do?” The boy’s eyes shone with an eerie light. “Pretend to be my brother? Pretend nothing happened those nights?”
The rain beat against the window, like some kind of countdown. Duan Rui suddenly felt incredibly exhausted. “You’ll regret it.”
“I won’t.” Duan Yan spoke slowly, as if swearing. “But if you push me away again, I will.”
Duan Rui’s phone suddenly rang. Both of them jumped, the caller ID reading “Mother.” The ringtone was shrill in the silent living room. Duan Yan tugged at his lips. “Are you going to tell her how disgusting your son is?”
Duan Rui pressed the call to hang up, raised his hand as if to touch his brother’s face, but sighed instead. “First, treat your wound.”
Duan Yan stood there, watching his brother rummage through the medicine cabinet. He suddenly said, “I saw Li Ming’s mom today. She was crying in the administration office, saying she wanted to transfer her son.” He paused. “She said ‘My son’s not like this.’”
“Do you know?” Duan Yan continued, his voice as light as a feather, “I really wanted to ask her back then, what kind of person is ‘supposed’ to be like this?”
The alcohol swab touched the wound, and Duan Yan flinched in pain. Duan Rui’s hand was steady, but his breathing grew noticeably heavier. “I’ll go to school tomorrow,” he said softly.
“No need.” Duan Yan grabbed his brother’s wrist. “I can handle it.”
Duan Rui looked at his younger brother’s stubborn face, suddenly realizing that the boy he had raised had already learned to hide his pain. This realization hurt more than any punch. “I’m sorry,” he blurted out.
Duan Yan froze. “Why are you apologizing?”
“For…” Duan Rui’s Adam’s apple bobbed, “Everything.”
Duan Yan stared at him for a long time, then suddenly leaned in and quickly kissed the corner of Duan Rui’s mouth, like a bird pecking for food. “Then don’t push me away,” he whispered, his eyelashes damp, whether from the rain or something else.
Duan Rui stood frozen in place, his heartbeat loud enough to drown out the sound of the rain. The doorbell suddenly rang, and both of them jerked apart as if struck by electricity.
“Who is it?” Duan Rui’s voice wavered.
“Officer Duan? This is Xiao Chen from downstairs.” The property manager’s voice came through the door. “You left your car lights on.”
Duan Rui took a deep breath and went to open the door. By the time he returned after handling the property issue, Duan Yan was no longer in the living room. The sound of water ran from the bathroom, and his brother’s wet school uniform was piled on top of the washing machine, like an abandoned shell.
Duan Rui sat on the couch, the red notification of his mother’s missed call stabbing his eyes. He remembered when Duan Yan was fourteen, feverish with a 40°C temperature, clutching his hand and saying, “Ge, don’t go.” At that time, he had taken three days off to care for his brother, only to be scolded by his father for “spoiling him and making him useless.”
The water stopped. Duan Rui looked up to see Duan Yan standing in the hallway, wearing his old T-shirt, his hair still dripping. The boy was so thin that his collarbones were clearly visible, and the bruise at the corner of his mouth appeared purple under the light.
“Cold,” Duan Yan said, his voice nasally.
Duan Rui opened his arms. The gesture was so natural, as if they had practiced it a thousand times. Duan Yan flew into his embrace like a bird returning to its nest, his wet hair brushing against his neck.
“I have a fever,” Duan Yan murmured.
Duan Rui touched his forehead. It was, as expected, burning hot. He remembered how Duan Yan had always been particularly clingy when he was sick as a child, and now, so many years later, that hadn’t changed. “Serves you right,” he whispered, but held his brother even tighter.
Duan Yan shivered in his arms. “brother, I’m scared.”
It was the first time he had called him “brother” tonight. Duan Rui’s chest felt as if it had been ripped open. “Scared of what?”
“Scared that one day, you’ll choose someone else.” Duan Yan’s voice was almost inaudible. “Choose a ‘normal’ life.”
Outside the window, the rain turned into a downpour, the rhythm of the raindrops on the glass growing faster and more urgent. Duan Rui lowered his head and saw his brother’s flushed ears and trembling eyelashes. He suddenly remembered the first time he realized that his feelings for Duan Yan were more than brotherly. It was also on a night like this. It was Duan Yan’s eighteenth birthday, and after drinking, he had leaned on his shoulder and said, “Ge, you’re the best.”
“It won’t happen,” Duan Rui finally said, his fingers threading through Duan Yan’s wet hair. “I promise.”
Duan Yan looked up at him, his eyes shining brightly. “You know what this means.”
Duan Rui kissed his forehead, just like when they were younger, but also not. “I know.”