Her slender fingertips were wrapped in two adhesive bandages; a larger pad covered her palm. Had Chen Yaoyi not known a day earlier she’d been cooking, he might’ve sworn May had just come back from a crime scene.
Blushing, she cradled a brand-new pink lunchbox. Hesitant, she twisted shyly, steps flustered, stealing glances at Chen Yaoyi.
Chen Yaoyi was on a call with his boss.
And right on cue—May appeared.
Since the call would last a while, she tiptoed in quietly. Chen Yaoyi waved her off—no need for that.
Today, May had clearly primped carefully: a white crop top barely containing her curves, denim shorts highlighting her soft, fair thighs, an oversized black jacket lending a mature edge. Yet the lollipop dangling from her lips added a childish touch.
The only mismatch? The free shopping bag from Lejia Supermarket, logo still visible.
She was late.
Cooking hadn’t taken long—especially with her mom, a kitchen master, guiding her. No exploded kitchen this time. Just simple dishes: egg fried rice, beef with Chinese broccoli, seaweed egg drop soup.
Her lateness came from primping. She’d dashed home at 5:30 PM after class, cooked sweating, showered, dressed up—and only then left.
Hence, the clock now read 7:30 PM.
Chen Yaoyi’s routine—dinner at seven, read, shower, read, sleep—was disrupted. But he wasn’t annoyed. Asking May to cook was already pushing it.
Seeing her bandaged palm drove that home.
He shot her a glance: *I still need a moment.*
May puffed her cheeks, nodded, and sulkily set the lunchbox on the bedside table.
Then—a spark. She eased the chair beside the bed, reached out, and gently tapped where his stomach should be under the blanket.
Off-target, thanks to the blanket.
Chen Yaoyi frowned, catching her tiny pink fists one by one with his free left hand. May giggled, placed her palm in his, and began poking his hand like a chick pecking rice.
He’d snatch her fingers the moment they descended. After a few rounds, May huffed, lunged forward, and buried her face in his blanket.
Sprawled by the bed, she grabbed his hand and set it atop her head.
Still. Silent.
Chen Yaoyi felt the gentle rise of her breath—and the faint tremor when she secretly grinned.
“Mm, okay. Got it. I’ll wrap up soon. Mm, okay…”
The second he hung up, May shot upright, eyes wide with expectation.
“Don’t do this again next time—”
Frowning playfully, he pinched her nose gently between thumb and forefinger, wiggling it twice.
“Mmm… mrr…”
A muffled protest. She tried pushing his hand away—but he pulled back first. She shot him a glare, then rubbed her nose softly.
*It didn’t hurt. But she was still annoyed.*
“And—powder’s caked here.”
“Ah! It’s ’cause I was in a hurry! Totally the hurry!”
“In a hurry… to see me?”
“Mmm… Y-yes! For your health! Don’t twist my words!”
She denied it, blushing hard—but the rosy gleam in her eyes gave her away.
“Come on! Try it!”
May perked up, fumbling open the lunchbox lid. *Click.* Steam and aroma flooded the room. Chen Yaoyi inhaled instinctively—*not bad.*
But no bedside tray. She glanced around, spotted yesterday’s tray shoved in the corner, set down the box, rushed over, wheeled it back, and locked it in place.
Only then did she unpack the three-tiered box onto the tray.
“Go on!”
Blush deepening, she gestured with her left hand. Seeing him unmoving, she tilted her head.
“What’s wrong? Don’t… like it?”
*Did it look bad?* Her shoulders slumped slightly.
“It’s not that. Where are my chopsticks?”
He mimed chopsticks with his fingers—no utensils. *The silly girl forgot.*
“Ah! Wait!”
She rummaged in the bag, pulled out disposable chopsticks, unwrapped them, and handed them over with a sheepish “Hehehe…”
Chen Yaoyi accepted them with a faint smile and began eating.
The fried rice was tasty but bland; the soup overly salty. The beef with Chinese broccoli? Likely Mom’s work—perfectly seasoned, tender, flawless.
“H-how is it…?”
She dared not meet his eyes.
“Really good! For a beginner, you did great!”
“Hehe! Who do you think I am!”
“Except… I found a bit of eggshell.”
“S-sorry…”
Her mood swing made him chuckle. May puffed her cheeks, flustered.
“Have you eaten?”
“Huh? Oh—me?” She blinked, thought fast, then winced. “Ah… forgot…”
She’d meant to eat before leaving—but saw the time and bolted.
“Here. Open up.”
He lifted a bite, held the box beneath, and leaned toward her.
“Huh?!”
*She* was being fed?!
“No! That’s *my* move! Don’t steal it!”
“Eat it or not?”
Staring at the chopsticks he’d used, May’s face burned crimson.
