All Chapters of Your Distance: Chapter 21 - Chapter 30

After dinner, Bob wanted to go for a walk.Timothy clicked his tongue. "You're not that old, are you? Why are you behaving like an old man?"Bob replied, "I used to walk my dog, so I got used to walking after dinner."Timothy asked, "So, where's the dog now?"Bob said, "My ex-wife took it."Timothy pulled a face as if to say, 'Man, you've got it rough.'Bob found it amusing. "What kind of expression is that?""It's just, you know, exes always take something you don't want them to and leave something you don't want them to leave behind..."Timothy glanced around, once again feeling an overwhelming emptiness. "Did your place always look like this?"Bob also looked around and said, "Yeah, some things are missing."That was it; he did not elaborate further.After that, he went upstairs, grabbed a pair of trousers, and handed them to Timothy, who was sitting on the carpet with his bare legs exposed. "Put these on. We're heading out."Timothy pulled on the pants. They were too bi

Timothy quickly let go of Bob's hand as soon as the kiss ended. Holding hands felt too intimate.Sex was like eating. It was a necessity. As an adult, there was nothing embarrassing about fulfilling a basic need.However, holding hands was optional—it was intimate and equivalent to having a deep, emotional conversation. Young people were often shy about exposing their bodies. However, they become more reserved about exposing their emotions as they mature.They had already exposed their bodies to each other multiple times, but when it came to revealing his inner self, Timothy felt the timing was not quite right. No wonder Bob said to take it slow—the wisdom of the older generation was not to be trifled with.After Timothy let go of Bob's hand, Bob did not try to hold his hand again. The two continued to walk side by side toward the gas station, keeping a small distance between them.After a few steps, Timothy asked, "Where was I?"Bob replied, "You were saying that my ethics as a

When Timothy woke up, he found himself alone in the bedroom. He got out of bed and pulled the curtains open.The sunlight flooded in, causing his pupils to constrict before he adjusted to the brightness. The light was warm and comforting.Bob was sitting on one side of the balcony with a folder and some papers on the wooden table in front of him. He looked like he was working.Timothy leaned comfortably against the doorframe between the bedroom and the balcony, his shorts loosely hanging off his hips. The front of his shorts was slightly raised; his morning wood had yet to subside."Morning," he greeted Bob, his voice a bit hoarse. Understandably so—he had cursed too much the previous night.Bob glanced at his watch and said, "Yeah, morning."Timothy asked, "What time is it?"Bob replied, "Two in the afternoon.""No wonder," Timothy muttered as he walked forward, putting his arms around Bob's neck from behind. "I'm starving so badly. Bob, you should cook for me.""What do you

When Timothy finished washing up and went downstairs to the dining room, Bob had already changed and was reading a newspaper.The table had freshly baked croissants, fried eggs, fresh orange marmalade, Nutella, butter, and a short glass pot of hot coffee.Timothy noticed that nothing on the table had been touched yet. Bob was waiting for him. It felt like a parent waiting to send their child off to school.Timothy looked down at himself. He was wearing nothing but Bob's pajama pants, which he had put on commando because he could not find his underwear. There was no way he could go to class like that."Uh, where are my clothes? My jeans and shirt?" Timothy asked.Bob's eyelids lifted slightly, his gaze moving from the newspaper to Timothy. "Where did you take them off?"Where did he take them off? Timothy started to recall. Bob had stripped the shirt off him yesterday, and he vaguely remembered it had been thrown onto the balcony on the second floor. He could not remember what had

It was a Souverän Black-Blue pen. It featured a body of black and dark blue stripes, a silver nib, and gold accents.The more Timothy looked at the pen, the more he felt it resembled Bob himself—appearing deep and profound at first glance but full of flair when inspected up close. Bob was a pen connoisseur.The teaching assistant had not finished handing out the lecture notes when a student jokingly said, "Professor, you're handing out notes? I must've forgotten to check my calendar this morning—is it Christmas?"The classroom erupted in laughter, and a few students shouted, "Merry Christmas!"Timothy glanced up at Bob. Did he really say he wanted to improve everyone's learning efficiency? Right...Professor White had been teaching for years and had never cared about his students' learning efficiency. Then, he was suddenly playing the good Samaritan—no wonder everyone felt like it was a holiday.Bob's gaze swept past Timothy; they made eye contact for less than a second, but Timo