He walked over to her side, sat on the edge of the bed, and hugged her from behind: "What are you laughing at?"
Jasmine Yale nestled in his arms, watching the cartoon, and chuckled again: "The cartoon is funny."
"Even a cartoon can make you laugh like that."
Sylvan Cheney didn't find anything particularly interesting about it; he wasn't very interested in the television.
But she liked watching, so he sat by the bed, keeping her company.
Jasmine's small hand tightly clutched his arm, her little head buried in his chest; such a posture felt very insecure.
Sylvan Cheney's large hand warmed her belly, sitting there with her.
The episode of the cartoon was very short.
When it was over, Jasmine Yale didn't react at all, her gaze blankly fixed on the TV.
"Jasmine Yale."
"..."
"Jasmine Yale." Sylvan Cheney raised his voice.
"Huh?" She came back to her senses, lifted her head slightly, and asked, "What is it?"
"The cartoon has already ended."
