Shi Yuan leaned against the wall and slowly shuffled to the dining table, staring intently at the lavish spread of dishes with a grave expression. He thought to himself, “I was too impulsive. I shouldn’t have agreed. What if I throw up again?”
His stomach was already churning faintly, and his mind began to replay the gruesome scenes of eating and vomiting.
Yet the aroma kept wafting into his nose.
Shi Yuan swallowed hard, once, then again, ultimately succumbing to the tantalizing scent. He picked up his chopsticks, carefully took a small bite, and placed it in his mouth.
The next second, he froze.
The familiar, authentic flavors exploded on his tongue, and Shi Yuan felt so moved he could cry.
For a moment, he forgot his physical discomfort, feeling only that his Chinese stomach, adrift in a foreign land, had finally found salvation.
Hawthorne sat across from him, chin resting on his hand, watching him unhurriedly.
Shi Yuan noticed and felt the hairs on his body stand on end. “I was careless”
Hawthorne usually wouldn’t even spare an extra word. How could he suddenly be so kind? There must be a trick.
This was clearly a last meal before execution.
Was the psychopathic killer finally going to turn on his gentle roommate?
Shi Yuan’s ears grew warm under the gaze, but afraid of alerting Hawthorne, he steeled himself and kept eating.
When his bowl was finally empty, Shi Yuan set down his chopsticks and secretly breathed a sigh of relief. “Thank goodness I didn’t vomit. I need to get away from this dangerous place”
Just as he was inwardly celebrating, a wave of violent nausea surged up from his stomach.
Shi Yuan’s face paled instantly. He clapped a hand over his mouth, abruptly stood up, and tried to dash toward the bathroom.
But he rose too quickly, stumbled, and lurched forward, landing squarely in Hawthorne’s arms.
To be precise, he ended up sprawled across Hawthorne’s lap.
Shi Yuan had no time to feel embarrassed. His throat tightened immediately.
“No!” “I’m really going to throw up!”
His mind was a chaotic mess, and all he wanted was something to block his mouth.
Instinctively, he looked up. Before him was Hawthorne’s firm chest. Almost without thinking, he wrapped his arms around Hawthorne’s waist, clinging tightly, and buried his face deeply into it.
Between vomiting while being watched by Hawthorne and vomiting while watching Hawthorne, he chose to vomit directly on Hawthorne.
“Mmph—” He shut his eyes tightly in agony.
Strangely, the expected wave of nausea didn’t worsen.
Shi Yuan pressed himself against Hawthorne’s chest, his forehead resting against the other’s torso. Through the thin fabric, he could clearly feel the warmth radiating from Hawthorne.
It was as if an invisible hand gently cradled his churning stomach.
Slowly, the discomfort miraculously subsided.
Hawthorne froze completely, his hands hovering in mid-air, unsure where to place them.
The person in his arms was soft and warm against him, his waist held tightly, and his breaths falling entirely against his chest.
His heart raced wildly. It took a long moment before he finally found his voice, hoarsely calling out, “…Shi Yuan?”
“He didn’t vomit?”
Shi Yuan lifted his head dazedly, his expression blank.
And at that moment—
His arms were still wrapped around Hawthorne’s slender waist, his chin resting against Hawthorne’s chest.
He tilted his face upward, his amber eyes glistening as they met Hawthorne’s gaze. His eyelashes trembled slightly from the earlier fright, and his lips remained rosy and moist.
At first glance, the posture resembled a kitten acting spoiled, and upon closer inspection, it was exactly that—acting spoiled.
Hawthorne’s breath grew heavy, his gaze fixed on Shi Yuan’s moist, soft lips. It took immense restraint to resist the urge to lower his head, bite down hard, and then knead them repeatedly.
His eyes darkened slightly as he slowly spoke, his tone carrying a hint of coaxing. “What’s wrong?”
Shi Yuan snapped back to reality, a shiver running down his spine.
This smiling tiger was definitely threatening him!
In the blink of an eye, Shi Yuan released his hands, sprang out of Hawthorne’s embrace, and dashed toward the bedroom. He slammed the door shut with a bang, pressing his entire back against it as he gasped for breath.
Why did he throw himself into his arms again?! Last time, he lost twenty years of innocence by doing that—has he learned nothing?!
Shi Yuan covered his face, spun in place twice, then pressed his burning ears against the cool door panel, finally calming down a little.
It seemed quiet outside. Shi Yuan pricked up his ears and heard the faint clatter of dishes being cleared.
Shi Yuan fell silent for a moment.
A strange sense of guilt suddenly washed over him.
A few seconds later, the bedroom door creaked open a crack.
Like a thief, Shi Yuan peeked out, then stealthily slipped into the kitchen and snatched the dishes from Hawthorne’s hands.
“You go rest. I’ll wash them.”
Hawthorne looked down at Shi Yuan. The little thing’s face was still pale, the corners of his eyes drooping—clearly not feeling well.
He frowned. “No need.”
Shi Yuan wasn’t that determined to begin with. As soon as Hawthorne spoke, he immediately took the easy way out. But not wanting to seem too impolite, when Hawthorne reached for the dishes, Shi Yuan grabbed his wrist and pretended to resist a few times. “It’s fine, really, I—”
Before he could finish, that familiar wave of nausea surged up again.
Shi Yuan’s mind went blank. Instinctively, he let go of the plate and reached to cover his stomach.
But he forgot he was still holding Hawthorne’s hand. The series of movements made it look as though he had actively pulled Hawthorne’s arm around his own waist.
Hawthorne silently felt the soft, warm curve of the waist beneath his palm.
Through the thin fabric, he could even sense Shi Yuan’s slight trembling.
Shi Yuan froze in place.
That churning sensation, bizarrely, slowly subsided once again.
Heat rushed all the way up to Shi Yuan’s ears.
The plate slipped from his fingers, clattering into the sink with a series of sharp crashes.
Shi Yuan snapped out of his daze.
He leaped sideways, darting to the corner of the kitchen.
Hawthorne subtly curled his fingers, the sensation of that soft warmth still lingering in his palm from moments before.
He took a deep breath, bent down, and fished the bowl out of the sink. “I’ll wash them.”
Shi Yuan’s face was burning up. He didn’t dare stay in the kitchen any longer, scrambling back to his room in a fluster. He threw himself onto the bed, burying his face in the quilt to cool down.
The quilt was stifling. Shi Yuan tossed and turned a couple of times, then suddenly his expression changed again. He jumped off the bed and rushed straight to the bathroom.
“Ugh—”
Shi Yuan leaned over the sink, his eyes reddening as he retched, feeling utterly defeated.
Why the hell wasn’t this over yet?!
As he retched, he suddenly paused, narrowing his eyes at the mirror.
Wait.
A bold and clever idea suddenly surfaced.
Shi Yuan thought back carefully.
It seemed… both times the nausea had stopped because of Hawthorne.
What should he do? Should he go ask Hawthorne for help?
Shi Yuan didn’t want to appear too spineless. Stubbornly, he washed his face, strode out of the bathroom, and walked toward the bedroom with his head held high and chest puffed out.
However, his feet seemed to have a mind of their own. Without realizing it, he took a turn and headed straight for the kitchen.
…
He was truly on the verge of being driven mad by this nausea.
If he kept vomiting like this, he feared he might really end up collapsing right there.
But the problem was, how should he bring it up? He couldn’t just say to Hawthorne, “Senior, your cooking makes me want to vomit, so please give me a hug!”
…
That didn’t sound like mere sexual harassment anymore.
That was just plain perverted!
Hawthorne had just finished washing the last plate and taken off his gloves when he suddenly heard movement behind him.
He paused slightly and turned around.
Under the warm yellow light, those jade-green eyes quietly gazed at Shi Yuan.
Shi Yuan abruptly halted his steps. “Senior…”
He stared at Hawthorne, his eyes slowly widening. “Why is your face so red?”
He abruptly turned his head away, coughed lightly, and his Adam’s apple bobbed.
“It’s nothing.”
But Shi Yuan’s eyes gradually lit up. “Senior, do you have a cold?”
Coughing, flushed face—what else could it be if not a cold?
This was the perfect opportunity to openly get close to Hawthorne.