Can’t I Be Self-Taught?
I’ve encountered plenty of people who approached me with various ulterior motives since childhood.
However, I don’t get angry about it—such things are normal. It’s just that dealing with them can sometimes be a bit annoying.
I don’t find handling Bourbon annoying though. After all… I also want to obtain information about Rum from him. Moreover, he’s a smart person; while there’s inevitably some probing, the situation remains controllable and relatively hassle-free.
To be honest, if he really wanted to trade physical intimacy for information… as long as it’s information I’m willing to part with, I feel I might actually agree. After all, I do have this need right now, and he happens to meet the criteria.
While striding along, I reviewed the photos on my camera.
Hmm… although I got inexplicably kicked earlier, I did manage to capture some good shots.
Of course, I’ve now developed a grudge against that foolish couple. Tomorrow I’ll go sabotage their activities. I wasn’t joking with Bourbon—I seriously intend to carry out this plan!
“Although I probably can’t win top three, I should be able to snag an honorable mention…” I muttered to myself while secretly selecting the photos I planned to submit for the competition.
Today was Valentine’s Day eve, and the streets of Japan were already filled with the festive atmosphere, specifically manifested by chocolates being stocked on shelves with inflated prices.
I have no patience for making chocolates myself—in fact, I have no talent for cooking at all. So after trying a new Michelin restaurant, questioning the judgment of Michelin reviewers, and permanently blacklisting molecular gastronomy as overly flashy without substance, I reluctantly went chocolate shopping.
“Hmm… Gin doesn’t like sweet things, so dark chocolate would be the obvious choice…” I picked one up to examine, paused midway, then put it back and selected a regular milk chocolate from nearby. “But since it’ll be passing through my mouth anyway, I should just choose what I like!”
After completing all my tasks, I returned home relatively early today. I sat in the living room watching the latest episode of My Brilliant Friend while waiting for Gin to come home.
I wasn’t worried about Gin staying out all night. If that were to happen, Vodka would tip me off in advance.
Just to be safe, I’d specifically instructed Vodka about this.
“But he’s really taking his time… it’s almost midnight…” I checked the time, my gaze sharpening.
Leaving Gin alone outside on Valentine’s Day is dangerous—should I…
Before I could finalize my Plan B, the sound of the door opening echoed through the room.
I secretly breathed a sigh of relief, paused the recording, jumped up from the sofa, and scampered over with arms wide open, leaping toward him: “A Zhen, you’re back!”
He had just taken off his hat and hung it on the coat rack. He didn’t evade my assault-like pounce, allowing me to crash into him before wrapping one arm around my waist to half-carry me from the entrance to the living room before setting me down. He patted my head—the entire motion practiced and familiar, his words no different from usual: “Stop fooling around.”
…Sometimes I think Chianti isn’t wrong. There are moments when my position really does resemble that of a dog – waiting at home for someone to return, only to be picked up and given a few perfunctory pats before being told to go play by myself.
But today I had my own objective, so I endured it and obediently returned to the sofa, pressing play to continue watching my show.
After Gin finished changing clothes and came out, I turned off the TV and got up from the sofa. Following our usual routine, I poured him a drink and placed it on the coffee table, then sidled up next to him. Taking off my slippers, I sat on the sofa with my feet tucked under me, pretending nothing was going on as I slowly popped chocolates into my mouth one by one. All the while, I was secretly watching his movements from the corner of my eye.
I thought I was being quite discreet, but he still noticed. Frowning, he asked, “What scheme are you plotting?”
I immediately turned my head away and stuffed another chocolate into my mouth, mumbling vaguely while dragging out my words to play dumb: “Huh? What? Nothing at all.”
The silver-haired young man beside me just glanced at me briefly before ignoring me again, raising his glass to take a sip of alcohol.
This was the perfect moment – he was holding a glass in one hand, limiting his movements, and was clearly relaxed…
Seizing the opportunity without hesitation, I launched a surprise attack. Rolling over, I straddled his legs, wrapped my arms around his neck, and before he could react, leaned in to kiss him. He didn’t move, nor did he push me away.
I lifted my eyes slightly to meet his dark green pupils, unable to read any emotion there.
This… means silent permission, right?
I tightened my embrace around his neck and tentatively extended the tip of my tongue. I thought Gin would maintain his indifferent attitude, but when my tongue touched his lips, he directly opened his mouth.
…Huh? That easy?
My mind went somewhat blank, and I almost instinctively deepened the kiss. But before I could properly execute my plan, he directly raised his hand to thread through my hair and grasp the back of my head and neck. This felt less like a response and more like he had directly taken control. I could feel the hand on my neck applying slightly more pressure as his tongue skillfully explored my mouth – the roles had reversed in an instant.
The good news was, I had definitely successfully delivered my chocolate and could confirm he had eaten it;
The bad news was, it didn’t feel like I had given it to him so much as he had taken it, and with the chocolate mixed with the taste of strong liquor, my perfectly good milk chocolate somehow tasted like alcohol-filled chocolates.
I felt my heartbeat and breathing quicken, my head growing dizzy from what felt like oxygen deprivation. Even swallowing became difficult. When I met his intensely predatory gaze, I instinctively wanted to escape, closing my eyes as my arms around his neck gradually loosened their grip, instead clutching at the front of his clothes while unconsciously curling my toes.
Somehow… my whole body was starting to feel strange.
Some subconscious part of me knew this couldn’t continue, so I pushed against him with some force.
To my surprise, the moment I exerted pressure, he immediately released me on his own.
Only after regaining my freedom did I open my eyes to look at him. Gin’s dark green eyes were fixed on me, his expression somewhere between a smile and not.
“What are you doing?! Looking down on me?! Why?! I’m just inexperienced! With my learning ability, given some time and practice, I can’t even imagine how amazing I’ll become!”
Ignoring my faintly accusatory expression, he even had the leisure to comment, “You’ve eaten too much chocolate.”
My expression grew slightly more stifled—that’s because giving chocolate was my main goal in the first place!
My mood had already shifted. From the initial “Yay, I successfully gave him chocolate” to “Hmph, whatever, hope it makes you sick.”
“Still, there’s some improvement.”
…Huh?
I looked at him in surprise. Confirming there was no sarcasm in his tone—that he was genuinely praising me—I became happy, unable to suppress a slight upturn at the corners of my mouth. I lifted my chin a little, feeling somewhat proud. “Of course! I told you I’m a genius!Before I could revel in my triumph for more than a few seconds, the hand on the back of my head suddenly pressed down forcefully, grabbing my hair and forcing me to lift my head against my will.
I furrowed my brows, and before I had the chance to complain, I met the person’s icy, scrutinizing gaze before me… along with a voice deeper than usual, tinged with a hint of interrogation.
“Where did you learn this?”