novelraw Chapter 168 One Moment of Impulsiveness
Chapter 168 One Moment of Impulsiveness
"Okay." Lu Xiran's voice was very soft, as if she were talking to herself.
She helped him to the bed and pressed him down to lie down. His body sank into the mattress, finally completely relaxing. She sat on the edge of the bed, her fingers running through his hair, finding his temples, and gently circling them. The pressure was just right. The position was just right. Everything was just right.
She learned it specifically for him three years ago.
Gu Yanshen closed his eyes. Her fingers slid from his temples to his hairline, from his hairline to the back of his neck, and slowly pressed back down. Her breath was light, tickling his face.
His eyelids grew heavier and heavier.
Her hand paused for a moment. He thought she was leaving. His fingers twitched, trying to grab her sleeve, but he no longer had the strength. Then her hand fell back and continued pressing.
He finally fell asleep.
Lu Xiran didn't know how long she had been sitting there. Long enough for his breathing to gradually become even and his brows to slowly relax. She withdrew her hand and gently covered him with the blanket.
She stood up.
She should go.
She hadn't finished packing her luggage yet; her flight was at 10 AM tomorrow, and she still had a lot to do.
She turned around.
Her sleeve was pulled. Not grasped, but clenched. His fingers curled up, gripping a small piece of fabric at the cuff of her sleeve, so tightly that his knuckles turned white. But he didn't wake up.
Lu Xiran sat back down, gently pried his hand open, and then placed her fingers in his palm. His hand closed.
He first woke up when she thought he was fast asleep. His body tensed abruptly, his breathing became rapid, and his fingers tightened, gripping her hand painfully. She leaned down, placed her other hand on the back of his hand, and gently patted it twice.
"I am here."
His breathing gradually calmed down, his fingers loosened slightly, then clenched again, as if confirming something. Then he drifted back to sleep.
He woke up a second time in the early hours of the morning. He called out "Ranran," very softly, almost like a sleep-talking. She responded, but he didn't wake up. His brow was furrowed; she reached out and smoothed it, and his breathing became steady again.
The third time, the fourth time. Each time, he made sure she was still there. Each time, she gently patted the back of his hand and said, "I'm here." Later, he stopped being alarmed. His hand remained holding hers, the warmth from his palm making her reluctant to let go.
As dawn approached, he turned over and pulled her into his arms. He wasn't awake; his body was searching for her on its own. His arms encircled her waist, drawing her close to his chest, his chin resting on the top of her head. His breath fell on her hair, even and long.
She nestled in his arms, listening to his heartbeat. Slow and steady, like a ship finally reaching shore.
The sunlight streamed in through the gaps in the curtains, a thin line falling at the foot of the bed.
She didn't sleep. She couldn't bear to sleep. She watched the line of light slowly widen, changing from gray to gold, and from gold to white.
He slept soundly and peacefully, as if he hadn't slept like that in a very, very long time.
She gently placed her hand on the back of his hand that was wrapped around her waist. He didn't wake up. His fingers twitched slightly, as if he sensed something, or perhaps it was just instinct.
Lu Xiran hesitated whether to leave, but Gu Yanshen grabbed her sleeve tightly.
That night, because Lu Xiran was watching over him, he slept soundly and peacefully.
Gu Yanshen suddenly woke up.
The bed was empty beside him. He lifted a corner of the blanket, revealing the slight indentation on the sheet where she had lain, the warmth of her body now gone. His heart leaped into his throat, making it hard to breathe.
He glanced at the time—9:30.
Has she boarded the plane? He stared at those three numbers, his mind buzzing. It was a 10 o'clock flight; she should have already boarded and was about to leave. She was finally going back to Switzerland.
This was what he wanted. He pushed it away himself. He kept telling himself this was the best ending. But his heart felt like it had been ripped out of his chest, thrown to the ground, and crushed.
He picked up his phone and dialed a number. "Could you help me check..." His voice was hoarse and unlike his own.
He didn't even have time to put on his clothes. Barefoot on the floor, he pushed open the guest room door and rushed out—
She is cooking porridge.
The white porridge in the pot was bubbling and steaming. She heard a noise and turned around. She saw him standing there wearing only a thin nightgown, his hair disheveled, his eyes red, barefoot, and holding his phone to his ear.
"Feed?" came the voice on the other end of the phone. "Mr. Gu..."
"No need. Thank you." He hung up the phone.
"What's wrong?" she asked.
He didn't answer. He walked to the edge of the island and sat down, his gaze fixed on her, as if afraid she would disappear in the blink of an eye.
She didn't leave.
She didn't leave.
Lu Xiran saw that he was wearing that thin nightgown, so she picked up a thick loungewear from the sofa and draped it over him. When her fingers touched his shoulder, she looked down and saw his feet—bare, with prominent veins on the insteps and curled toes, probably from the cold. She frowned and reached for slippers.
He didn't move. He kept staring at her without even blinking.
Lu Xiran touched her face. "What's wrong? Is it because I haven't put on makeup yet?"
I like you without makeup.
He blurted it out. The words didn't go through his mind; they just rolled straight out of his heart. He looked at her, at her stunned expression, at the tips of her ears slowly turning red, at her turning away.
He reached out and pulled her into his arms, hugging her from behind. His arms encircled her waist, his chin rested on her shoulder, and he drew her close to his chest. Her back pressed against his chest, she could feel his heartbeat, fast as if she had just woken from a nightmare.
"Why didn't you go to Switzerland?" His voice was muffled in the crook of her neck, hoarse from just waking up, and trembling uncontrollably.
"Your insomnia isn't better yet." She lowered her head. "I can't just fly back next week, can I? I have to let your insomnia be cured before I go over."
He held her tighter. Reason told him he had to let her go. She should go back to Switzerland and continue her life.
But he couldn't do it.
He wanted to be willful just this once—just this once—to keep her by his side, regardless of the consequences, regardless of tomorrow, regardless of anything else.
"Did you sleep well last night?" she asked softly.
"Mmm." He buried his face in the crook of her neck, his voice softening, with a hint of coquettishness that he himself didn't even realize.
"I told you my method, okay?"
"Mmm." He greedily inhaled her scent, that indescribable, comforting aroma emanating from her. He didn't want to let go. He was afraid that if he did, she would disappear.
"You have to let go of me," she shifted, "or the porridge will burn."
"It tastes good even when it's burnt."
"Don't delay me from making porridge," she said with a smile, "I can't ruin Yun Yu Ji's reputation."
He reluctantly let go. She slipped out of his arms, went to the stove, turned down the heat, and stirred it with a wooden spoon. The porridge was fine, thick, with the rice grains blooming and bubbling in the pot.
He sat by the counter, watching her ladle the porridge, watching her bring the bowl over, watching him set down a small dish of side dishes, watching him sit down. Sunlight streamed in through the window, falling between them. He picked up his spoon, took a spoonful; it was scalding hot, burning from his throat all the way down to his stomach.
"slowly."
"Um?"
You're going to miss your flight.
"I know."
"So when are you leaving?"