Gu Chuan returned to the classroom.

He’d been the last to leave for the freshman orientation.

And the first to come back.

He locked eyes with An Qianmeng, who was still giggling “hehe” at short videos on her phone.

“J-Just for a moment…”

An Qianmeng instinctively closed the app, tucked her phone into her long sleeve, and added a flustered promise.

She didn’t even know when this reflex had formed.

Snapped back to reality, her cheeks burned with embarrassment.

Back when they were together, her endless scrolling had drawn Gu Chuan’s quiet complaints.

To soothe her “boyfriend,” she’d always vow, “Just a tiny bit longer.”

What happened next? Predictable. She’d scroll until her phone died…

But now? No need for promises.

They’d already broken up.

Head bowed in shame before Gu Chuan, she noticed the cup of hot water he’d brought her—now completely empty.

Seeing her expression had softened, Gu Chuan blinked his gentle eyes and murmured,

“The teacher’s almost here.”

He returned to his seat, opened his biology textbook—not randomly.

Straight to the table of contents, found the feline chapter, dove right in.

Classmates flooded back from the auditorium, chattering excitedly. Resentment, mockery, sidelong glances sweeping toward Gu Chuan’s corner.

An Qianmeng, caught in the crossfire, hurriedly asked her friends what happened.

Gossip about him swirled until homeroom began.

Gu Chuan remained utterly indifferent.

If Wen Tinghan had been there, he’d have silently fumed on Gu Chuan’s behalf, his fair, delicate face—almost girlish—paling with quiet indignation.

Gu Chuan would’ve ended up comforting *him*.

He never understood: why did Wen care more than he did?

Yet that very loyalty made Gu Chuan cherish him deeply.

Wen Tinghan still hadn’t shown up after orientation.

*Must’ve taken a day off. I’ll call after school.*

Beyond that, Gu Chuan’s thoughts were wholly fixed on caring for a nekomimi girl—

studying biology texts in class, secretly searching on his phone between lessons.

Today’s Gu Chuan left the biology teacher stunned.

*Had the sun risen in the west?*

The perpetually lazy window-seat boy… listening intently? Taking notes?!

Gu Chuan earned his first high school praise.

He was just as shocked as the teacher.

*So… is a cat girl a lucky charm?*

A complicated warmth stirred in his chest.

Then came An Qianmeng’s message, capped with an angry emoji:

**An Qianmeng:** “How many secret love debts are you hiding?! And what’s this ‘underclassman’ nonsense?!”

Gu Chuan finally opened QQ. The “99+” notification startled him.

Beyond her texts and cat emojis: QQ’s relentless ads, news, weather—courtesy of that scheming penguin mascot.

He cleared every red dot. A rare OCD habit.

Then replied:

**Gu Chuan:** “I’m surprised too.”

**Gu Chuan:** “Eat less spicy these days. Did you finish the ‘little cutie’ I bought last time?”

*(He’d once called them “sanitary pads.” But she insisted on “little cutie.” He humored her.)*

**An Qianmeng:** “Even if I did… would you buy more? We’re not together anymore… unless…”

**Gu Chuan:** “No problem. Transfer me the cash. I’m heading downstairs anyway.”

**An Qianmeng:** “Idiot! Idiot! Idiot!”

**Gu Chuan:** “?”

Her fingers trembled typing. Unconsciously, she whispered “idiot” aloud—drawing curious glances.

Her pink twin-tails swayed gently.

She watched him stride downstairs, heart torn between annoyance and fondness, then buried her face on the desk.

Each cramp in her abdomen summoned his memory.

Her own touch never soothed like his—so gentle, so comforting…

“Idiot,” she murmured, pearl-like teeth lightly clenched.

Gu Chuan bought sanitary pads and drinks.

Before An Qianmeng, he’d dated others, lived with his sister—yet never knew pads came in day/night/mini sizes.

*Maybe because she’s such a silly girl.*

Why pour so much heart into a fake relationship?

Pretending… turned real.

Her dependence. Her coquettish pouts.

So adorably fragile—a single tap would make her cry for hours.

But he’d never hurt her. His heart softened for this girl who called *him* “idiot,” yet was the incurable fool herself.

The day they broke up, Gu Chuan felt a hollow ache.

It led him to linger in the closed school, wander dark streets at night… and find “Xuechun.”

An Qianmeng cried all night, eyes too swollen to open—but still sent:

*“Day One of not saying good morning to Gu Chuan the idiot!”*

After sobbing all night… *this* was her playful revenge?

A girl who remembers “good morning” is rare.

One who says “*no* good morning”? Never let her go.

He grabbed cola and coconut milk. *Must warm it—she won’t drink it cold.*

First time he bought it, she forgot to mention that.

Yet drank the whole opaque-white bottle.

Milky trace at her lip, eyes shy and flustered: “T-Too much… can’t… ngh…”

Voice so tender it made ears burn.

Worse? They’d been in the hallway’s shadowy corner—the usual couple’s spot.

Two passing girls saw and heard everything.

To be continued…

Rumors spread instantly.

An Qianmeng’s mischief, Gu Chuan’s blame.

She had stomach cramps too that day.

Truly… “companions in hardship.”