Yichen's POV — Present
She closed her eyes.
For a moment, I forgot how to breathe.
The soft curve of her lashes trembled, her lips slightly parted. Her breath brushed against my skin, warm, uncertain.
I leaned in. Just a little closer.
Then I stopped.
What the hell was I doing?
My hand hovered near her collar, the fabric between my fingers. My brain screamed at me to pull away, to remember who I was — who she was.
But instead of retreating, I forced my voice out, low and controlled.
"There's… makeup on your collar."
Her eyes snapped open, confused, blinking up at me like I'd just spoken another language.
I pointed at the smudge on the white fabric. "You stained my shirt."
"Oh." Her tone dropped flat. "That's what this was about?"
"What else would it be about?" I replied quickly, turning back toward the counter before she could see the truth written all over my face.
What else, indeed.
I grabbed the pan, forcing myself to focus on something — anything — that wasn't her lips or the way her hair framed her face.
Fried rice. That's safe. Neutral. Simple.
Oil, vegetables, eggs. Stir. Breathe. Pretend my heart isn't trying to beat through my ribs.
She sat at the counter, still wearing my shirt — too big on her, hanging off one shoulder. I hated that it looked better on her than it ever did on me.
"What are you cooking?" she asked softly.
"Fried rice," I muttered.
"With… vegetables?"
"Unfortunately."
She giggled. It wasn't loud, but it was real — the first real sound I'd heard from her all night.
By the time we sat down by the window to eat, the rain had stopped. The city outside sparkled like it was showing off for us. Neon lights, endless buildings — and somehow, in the reflection of the glass, only her face stood out.
We ate in silence at first. It wasn't awkward. Just quiet. Heavy.
Then I asked it — the question that had been clawing at my chest since the moment I saw her outside Yiran's apartment.
"Why did you go back there?"
She froze, chopsticks halfway to her mouth.
"Do you…" I exhaled slowly, forcing a hint of humor into my voice, "do you like to suffer? Is that… a kink or something?"
Her jaw dropped. "Excuse me?!"
I shrugged, acting nonchalant. "I'm just asking. Some people go skydiving for fun. You go stand outside your ex's apartment in the rain."
Her glare could've burned through steel. "I went there to get my earrings."
I tilted my head. "You went through all that for earrings?"
"They're not just any earrings," she said defensively. "I loved them."
"Loved," I repeated. "Past tense."
She frowned. "They mean something to me. They have history."
"History doesn't always mean value," I said quietly. "Sometimes it just means… you've been looking at the wrong thing for too long."
She blinked, unsure how to respond. I kept my tone casual, but I could hear the double meaning behind my own words.
"You only love them because they remind you of something — or someone — you've already outgrown. If you look closely," I said, setting down my chopsticks, "you might find another pair that suits you better. One that actually compliments your beauty."
Her eyes softened, like she'd caught the meaning.
And I cursed myself for letting it slip.
I hadn't meant to say that. Not yet. Not when she was still hurting, still looking backward.
But when she nodded, slow and thoughtful, something in my chest eased.
"I guess I'm still holding onto the past," she said, her voice quiet as she savored another bite.
That shouldn't have hurt.
But it did.
I wanted her to forget the past. Forget him.
Forget the man who didn't deserve a single tear from her.
She leaned forward suddenly, reaching across the table for the bottle of spicy oil beside me.
"Wait—careful—"
Too late.
The bottle tipped, spilling its contents in a bright red streak across the table. The oil splashed, sliding over her hands, her sleeves… and right onto my shirt.
"Oh my god, I'm so sorry!"
She jumped up immediately, grabbing a handful of tissues and rushing toward me.
"It's fine—"
But she was already dabbing at my chest, her fingers brushing the soaked fabric, tapping against my skin.
It wasn't fine.
Not even close.
Her hair fell forward, brushing my arm as she leaned closer. The faint scent of shampoo, the warmth of her hands — it was too much.
My mind went blank. My pulse went wild.
When she finally stopped, I noticed a red streak in her hair. Without thinking, I grabbed another tissue and reached out.
She turned, startled.
"I—did I get some on my hair?" she asked innocently.
Her voice was so soft, so unaware of what she was doing to me.
"Yes," I said, my throat suddenly dry. "Hold still."
She obeyed, tilting her head slightly as I gently wiped the strand clean. My fingers brushed against her neck. She shivered. Or maybe I did.
This was dangerous.
Every second with her felt like walking on thin ice — one step away from falling straight into something I couldn't climb out of.
When she looked up again, her eyes met mine.
"I should take a shower," she said softly. "Can I use yours?"
Why did that sound so… indecent?
My brain froze. My throat worked in a slow, painful swallow. "Sure," I managed to say, though my voice came out lower than I intended.
I stood up quickly, keeping my distance.
"Follow me."
I led her down the hall, opening the door to the bathroom. "Towels are in the cabinet. I'll… find you something to wear."
She smiled. "Thanks."
Then she closed the door, and the faint sound of running water filled the silence.
I leaned against the wall outside, trying to steady my breathing.
This was insane. I'd faced boardrooms, negotiations, scandals — but none of them had ever made my heart race like this.
It wasn't supposed to be like this.
She wasn't supposed to matter this much.
I ran a hand through my hair and returned to the living room, forcing myself to sit down.
And that's when I heard it — the sound of her phone buzzing on the table.
I shouldn't have looked.
I really shouldn't have.
But I did.
The name flashing on the screen made every muscle in my body tighten.
❤︎ Yiran ❤︎
My brother.
Of course.
I stared at the name, fury rising like fire in my chest. Why was he calling her? At this hour?
Was this why she couldn't move on? Was he still talking to her behind everyone's back?
The phone buzzed again.
Before I could think better of it, I picked up.
"Hello?" I said, voice low, sharp.
There was a pause. Then his confused voice came through the line.
"Who is this? Where's Hua?"
My jaw clenched. "Why do you want to know where my fiancée is?"
Silence.
I could almost hear the shock on the other end.
Good. Let him choke on it.
For once, I didn't care about being the composed, polite brother.
Not when it came to her.
___
₍₍⚞(˶˃ ꒳ ˂˶)⚟⁾⁾
Yichen's jealousy is starting to show... Should he have answered the call—or not?