Ziyan was washing his white shirt, but her gaze kept falling on those black boxers.
It's said that washing a man's underwear is embarrassing, but what made Ziyan blush even more was that the man, now, aside from a bath towel, had nothing else on his body.
She washed them carefully, and when she took them out to hang, he was resting his hands on the sofa, his eyes on her: "Done washing?"
Ziyan just glanced at him, nodded, then quickly looked away and opened the glass door of the balcony. The wind gushed in.
As she hung each piece of clothing and looked at the heavy rain outside and then at the still-dripping clothes, she guessed they probably wouldn't dry by tomorrow...
If it really doesn't work out, she didn't know what to do.
She'd think about it when the time comes; he should have some solutions.
Planning to walk past him into the room, she realized something was amiss. After all, he was a guest in the house, and moreover, he wasn't exposing much wrapped in a blanket.
