Yingqu Liuzi was pampered by her wealthy daddy.

Shen Yu'an had a very long dream.

In his dream, he returned to China. His mother was cooking porridge in the kitchen, and he was watching TV in the living room.

The porridge was ready, and Mom brought it out, saying, "Drink it while it's hot." He reached out to take it, but the bowl was too hot, and he pulled his hand back.

Then the dream ended.

Something touched his forehead. It was cool and slightly damp, like a summer evening breeze.

Shen Yu'an wrinkled his nose but didn't open his eyes.

That cool sensation came again, moving from my forehead to my cheek, touching it lightly, and then moving away.

"The fever has subsided."

A sound came from a great distance, deep and resonant, like the sound of a cello.

Shen Yu'an turned over, buried her face in the pillow, and slowly her consciousness surfaced.

He opened his eyes.

The curtains weren't fully drawn, and a ray of morning light squeezed through the gap, falling on the floor. It was already daylight.

Shen Yu'an blinked, her mind still a little fuzzy.

Then he saw the person by the bed.

Xize was lying on a chair by the bed, not sitting, but sprawled out.

His tall frame slumped in the chair, looking very aggrieved.

His upper body was lying on the edge of the bed, one arm under his head and the other arm hanging down by his side, his fingertips almost touching the floor.

His posture was very uncomfortable. The chair was too small for him, and his head was tilted to one side, forming an awkward angle between his neck and body.

Shen Yu'an was stunned.

He stared at the person lying next to his bed, his mind slowly starting to work.

Last night. I had a fever. He sent me a message.

Then...then this person came.

He remembers opening the door, his legs going weak, and being picked up.

What happened after that is very blurry. I vaguely remember feeling something cool on my forehead, remembering someone was always by my side, and remembering him holding a very warm and dry hand that he never pulled away from.

Shen Yu'an looked down at his hands.

My palms were empty, but there seemed to be some tactile sensation between my fingers.

He looked at Xize lying there, and his heart felt like it had been gently squeezed by something, a sour and swollen feeling that he couldn't quite describe.

The morning light peeked through the gap in the curtains and fell right on Xize's head.

His hair is usually combed meticulously, giving him a noble and aloof appearance.

But now it's messy; the hair in front of her forehead hangs down, covering half of her forehead, with a few strands sticking up, disheveled from being pressed down.

Sunlight shone on his hair, and the deep golden strands were illuminated by the light, their edges coated with a faint halo, like the hair of an angel in a church stained glass window.

Shen Yu'an had never thought that a man's hair could look so good.

No, that's not right.

He had never thought any part of a person was so beautiful.

When he was asleep, Caesar Lester was neither as aloof and cold as he usually was, nor as gentle and heart-pounding as he was when he was being gentle.

He looked like a painting. A painting that Shen Yu'an really wanted to paint.

Shen Yu'an lay on her side, quietly watching him for a very long time.

His heartbeat, which started slowly, gradually quickened until he could hear a buzzing sound in his ears.

He had never felt this way before.

It's something deeper and heavier.

It's a dependency.

It's the kind of dependence where you feel "I'd be scared if this person wasn't around," and the kind of dependence where you feel "I'm not afraid of anything when he's around."

Having lived alone in a foreign country for so long, Shen Yu'an never developed a dependence on anyone. He knew that dependence was dangerous, because it meant exposing one's vulnerability, and that when that person left, one would fall hard.

Therefore, he never allows himself to depend on anyone.

But now, looking at the man sleeping beside his bed, watching him curl up in an uncomfortable chair all night taking care of him, watching those hands that were usually so clean when signing documents now dangling a few centimeters from the floor—

He felt he was finished.

Dependence is something you can't simply have or not have as you wish.

It's here, and that's it.

Shen Yu'an buried her face in the pillow, her eyes welling up with tears.

It's not because I'm sad, it's because my heart is too full, so full that it can't hold any more.

Xize moved slightly.

His eyelashes trembled, and he slowly opened his eyes.

When she first opened her gray-blue eyes, she looked a little dazed, as if she hadn't fully woken up from sleep.

He blinked twice, his gaze slowly focusing, meeting Shen Yu'an's eyes.

Eyes facing each other.

Shen Yu'an lay face down on the pillow, the blanket pulled up to her chin, revealing only her fair face and a pair of moist black eyes.

Xize stared at him, stunned for a second.

He then quickly straightened up, the chair leg scraping softly on the floor. He reached out and touched Shen Yu'an's forehead, the back of his hand against his skin, pausing for two seconds.

"The fever has subsided." The voice was a little hoarse, the kind of hoarseness one gets when someone has just woken up, lower than usual, with a lazy, magnetic quality.

He didn't remove his hand immediately; the back of his hand was still pressed against Shen Yu'an's forehead, and his thumb inadvertently touched Shen Yu'an's temple.

"How are you feeling? Do you have a headache?"

Shen Yu'an shook his head, his throat still hoarse from not fully recovering: "It doesn't hurt anymore."

"Are you still feeling sore?"

"A little."

"What about your throat?"

"Dry."

Xize withdrew his hand and stood up. He had been sitting all night, and his legs were a little numb. He paused for a moment when he stood up, then steadied himself by holding onto the edge of the bed.

Shen Yu'an saw it and felt a pang of sadness in his heart.

"Sir, didn't you sleep all night?"

"I'm asleep," Xize said.

Shen Yu'an glanced at the chair, then at Xize's sweater collar, which was obviously wrinkled from his sleeping posture, but didn't call him out on it.

"I'll go get you some water." Xize turned and left the bedroom.

Shen Yu'an heard sounds coming from the kitchen: the faucet was turned on, a cup hit the countertop, and then the kettle started up with a low hum.

He slowly sat up in bed, the blanket slipping down to his waist. His pajamas were a little damp from sweat and felt uncomfortable against his skin, but he didn't want to change them because the cedar scent seemed to linger on them.

It probably got on him last night when Xize hugged him.

Shen Yu'an pulled up the collar of his pajamas and smelled it to confirm the scent. He then lowered the collar, his ears turning red.

Xize returned with a glass of warm water.

"Drink some water first to soothe your throat."

Shen Yu'an took the cup, held it with both hands, and sipped it slowly. The water was lukewarm, neither too hot nor too cold, just right.

Xize stood by the bed, looking down at him. Morning light shone through the gaps in the curtains, falling on Shen Yu'an's fluffy hair, making him look all fuzzy.

I couldn't resist touching it a couple of times.

"Are you hungry?" Xize asked.

Shen Yu'an thought for a moment, shook his head, then nodded. He didn't feel hungry, but his stomach was empty, and he should eat something.

"I'll cook some porridge," Xize said.

Shen Yu'an looked up, thinking she had misheard: "You're cooking?"

"Um."

"Can you cook?"

Xize paused for a second: "Cook according to the recipe."

Shen Yu'an wanted to tell him not to bother, but Xize had already turned and left. He listened to the sounds coming from the kitchen—the cabinets opening and closing, the pots on the stove, the refrigerator door opening and closing.

He hesitated for a moment, put the water glass on the bedside table, got out of bed, and tiptoed to the kitchen door.

Nishizawa stood in front of the stove in the open kitchen.

He took off his sweater and wore only a dark gray long-sleeved T-shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, revealing his muscular forearms.

He was looking at his phone; on the screen was a recipe titled "How to Cook a Good Bowl of Porridge".

Shen Yu'an leaned against the door frame, watching quietly.