“Changing your application scared me.”
“Not that.” He shook his head, “Loving you, taking care of you, staying by your side—those were the right decisions.”
Huan’er’s eyes glistened with tears; she finally cried.
Only Jing Qichi could remove her armor—always reporting good news but never bad to her parents, silently enduring her co-supervisor’s cold violence while pretending it didn’t matter, staying up late on New Year’s Eve writing lab reports, afraid to eat properly lest she get sleepy and relying on endless cups of coffee—she thought of everything, even trivial things like throwing away lumpy instant noodles after just two bites. All her strength crumbled before him.
“I missed you so much.” Huan’er buried her face in his neck, “Even if Meng Po offered her soup of forgetfulness, I wouldn’t drink it—I’m afraid I’d forget to miss you.”
Jing Qichi couldn’t help but kiss her, from lips to teeth to tongue. He reached back to turn off the stove, quickly removed his apron, and held her close, kissing her until they both lost themselves.
This deep kiss seemed to answer their long-distance yearning.
Only one thought remained in his mind: this is my wife, the future mother of my children, the person who will accompany me through the long years ahead.
Huan’er, loving someone makes you think of all these things—think of all our tomorrows together.
“Wait,” Huan’er felt his body’s response and quickly stopped, “It’s my dangerous period, and we don’t have protection.”
Jing Qichi looked down at that secret reaction and sighed, “The Chinese supermarket doesn’t stock everything.”
Tesco was just around the corner, and there was a pharmacy downstairs, but he’d been so focused on cooking on his way back that he’d completely forgotten about this.
Opportunity truly only favors the prepared.
“I’ll buy some tomorrow,” Jing Qichi scratched his eyebrow, “Tomorrow.”
“I love you,” Huan’er said before kissing his mouth again.
“Alright.” Finally hearing those words, Jing Qichi controlled his nearly bursting heart and pretended to be calm, “Subject-predicate-object structure, can’t just do the verb alone.”
Huan’er, who had barely scraped by in liberal arts, didn’t understand his meaning, “What subject-predicate-object?”
Jing Qichi ruffled her hair, smiling faintly, “‘I love you’ is a subject-predicate-object structure. Just ‘love’ alone would make you a target for the anti-pornography campaign—that’s just harassment.”
“You!”
“Me, yes.” He turned back to the stove, facing away from her, “I’m willing to do housework, I’m willing to share your emotions, I’m willing to face difficulties with you, I’m willing to take care of you when you’re vulnerable, I… I need you, silly. These are the essence of my love for you.”
Huan’er hugged his broad back, always having this feeling—no matter when Jing Qichi seemed to always be a step ahead of her.
In matters of love.
“The oil’s hot enough, add the green onions,” she gave instructions while still hugging him, “Right, stir a couple of times then you can add the garlic sprouts.”
“Can you stay still?” Jing Qichi could barely move in her embrace, changing the subject as if coaxing a child, “Go check out the snacks, I bought jelly.”
“Really?” Huan’er dashed to the desk to rummage through the shopping bags, eyes sparkling, “Brother, I’m on duty tonight, I’ll serve you well.”
This girl, putting on her little drama.
Jing Qichi couldn’t help but smile, “Tomorrow, tomorrow brother will come prepared to handle you properly.”
“Sure thing.” Huan’er put a piece of jelly in her mouth, “Make it smooth, okay?”
“Chen Huan’er!”
“What! I didn’t even ask for mango flavor!”
Jing Qichi pretended to massage his temples in pain. Occasionally, just occasionally, he did admit defeat—living with a female doctoral student expert in both biology and chemistry, it was already good that those matters hadn’t become her research thesis.
Alas, it was too late for regrets now.