Shiyue lowered her head, glancing silently to the side for a long moment.

“Let’s not wake him. He’ll just make a fuss the moment he opens his eyes.”

“Ah… okay. Got it.”

Though Shiyue said this, Yichen still sensed something off about her.

“Wait here. Dinner’s almost ready.”

With that, Shiyue headed straight for the kitchen.

Yichen pulled up a chair and sat down.

Since Shiyue’s kitchen was open-plan, he could see her back as she cooked.

An apron tied around her waist, her shoulders trembled slightly as she chopped something. The gentle sway of her silhouette made it clear she was skilled in the kitchen.

Back when Shiyue worked part-time at Yichen’s place, he’d always been the one cooking. It had been ages since he’d seen her cook herself.

Yichen suddenly thought of his sister, Zixuan. Truth was, Zixuan handled most of the cooking whenever she was home—so seeing her in the kitchen was ordinary. Yet for some reason, the memory of her cooking posture surfaced now, warm and nostalgic.

Shiyue’s family had always struggled financially. Few at school knew how tight things were for her—only her closest friends. She poured most of her free time into the tennis club, rarely spending money outside school, so her situation wasn’t obvious there.

Her household had four people: her mother, younger brother, and younger sister. Both siblings were in first grade. Her father had passed away when her brother was five. After his death, things grew dire—Shiyue nearly dropped out to care for her siblings, only continuing school after her mother fiercely insisted. By eighth grade, her mother fell seriously ill, worsening their struggles. To help, Shiyue started working part-time at a bar selling drinks. During the summer after ninth grade, she met Yichen. After a series of events, she began working at his home. Thanks to that job, her family’s situation improved enough for her to enter high school.

Yichen recalled last eating Shiyue’s cooking half a year ago, during a visit to her home with her mother and siblings. This was the first time she’d cooked just for him—and he couldn’t help feeling pleased.

Seeing Shiyue transfer a dish from the wok to a plate, Yichen hurried over to help.

“Does it suit your taste, Yichen?”

“Mm. It’s good.”

“I’m glad.”

At his approval, Shiyue secretly smiled. She’d mimicked the dishes Yichen made at home, assuming that was his preference. What she didn’t know was that Yichen had subtly adjusted those meals to match *her* tastes. When she first started eating at his place, he’d repeatedly asked for her feedback, reading her expressions to learn she preferred light flavors and disliked meat. Yichen himself wasn’t heavy-handed with seasoning, but he enjoyed bolder tastes and meat more than she did.

“Try this, Yichen.”

Shiyue held out a piece of daikon radish on her chopsticks. Yichen lifted his bowl—but she didn’t drop it in. Instead, she brought it straight to his lips.

“Shiyue…?”

She didn’t answer, her face unreadable. Yichen’s attention wasn’t on the radish, but on the slender, porcelain hand holding the chopsticks—so delicate it seemed sculpted, making him wonder how it could grip a tennis racket on the court.

As Yichen hesitated whether to take the bite, Shiyue’s hand trembled slightly. Only then did he realize he’d left her arm suspended too long. He closed his eyes, quickly taking the radish between his lips. His mouth brushed the chopsticks—a fleeting touch, yet startlingly distinct.

Opening his eyes, he saw Shiyue’s flushed face, a shy, happy smile playing on her lips. She slipped the chopsticks into her own mouth, gaze darting to her rice bowl as if avoiding his.

*(So cute.)*

His heart hammered. Thankfully, he kept the thought to himself—otherwise, her shyness might’ve kicked him out right then.

“How’s the taste?”

Shiyue suddenly looked up. Yichen realized he’d been holding the radish unchewed. He hastily swallowed.

“G-Great. Really good.”

At his flustered expression, Shiyue giggled. Yichen blinked, then laughed too.

After dinner.

“Let me help clean up, Shiyue.”

Yichen reached for the dishes.

“Just sit.”

She refused, clearing the table with practiced ease.

“You cooked *and* cleaned—I feel bad.”

“I eat your cooking all the time at your place.”

“But that’s part of your job.”

“Our agreement didn’t include dinner.”

Her tone turned serious. Yichen remembered how stubborn she got about these things and fell silent.

“Uh… okay. Thanks.”

Shiyue smiled faintly.

“I’ll just load the dishwasher.”

She nodded toward the silver machine beside the stove.

Watching her tidy up, Yichen felt oddly pampered.

Shiyue finished quickly, pressed the dishwasher’s start button, then stood motionless before it.

“Shiyue? What’s wrong?”

Just as Yichen rose to check on her, she spun around and walked straight to him.

“Shiyue?”

Her dark, gleaming eyes held his. Yichen instinctively leaned back in his chair.

Shiyue stopped before him, bent down, and placed her hands on his knees. Through her collar, Yichen glimpsed soft curves pressed together—and a black lace bra stark against her cute outfit. Her face drew close until he felt her breath, then her pink tongue flicked his lip corner.

“You had a grain of rice here.”

“Oh. Oh…”

Yichen’s heart raced wildly.

Shiyue stayed in that provocative pose, her chest still visible. Her cheeks were flushed, dark eyes hazy with moisture.

Yichen’s gaze flickered downward before he scolded himself for the instinct.

Her face inched closer—

“Sis! Sis! SIS!”

A boy’s voice shattered the moment from another room.

Shiyue froze, then straightened up, crimson flooding her face. Her expression held a flicker of regret.

“You should go. I need to check on Xiaohe.”

“Right… okay.”

Yichen felt dismissed, disappointment prickling his chest.

As he reached the door, Shiyue called out.

“Yichen—I’ll come to your place tomorrow as usual.”

Relief warmed him.

“Got it. See you tomorrow morning.”

He turned to leave, but her voice stopped him again.

“Yichen… are you free this Saturday?”

“Unless something comes up, yeah. Same as always, right?”

“Mm. Bye then.”

“Bye.”

Shiyue gave a small, smiling wave.

Yichen waved back and stepped outside.

Walking home, he replayed the evening.

Shiyue had seemed… different today. He couldn’t pinpoint how—but just thinking of her sent a strange, fluttering warmth through his chest.