At the bathroom door, Long Linger was hugging Huang's clothes, stubbornly waiting. Sometimes she could be very persistent too—if she wanted to see him, she just had to see him.
Through the glass door, she could vaguely see his silhouette, gradually blurred by splashing water and mist.
Sometimes when she thought about it, her chest felt stuffy.
The door opened. Huang came out with a white towel wrapped around his waist. His hair was still wet, droplets sliding down along his sharp features. Standing in front of her, that strong sense of familiarity rushed at her all at once.
Thinking about the disagreements of the past few days, Long Linger's heart turned sour, her eyes stung, and she couldn't help it—her tears started falling.
Huang stood in front of her and suddenly reached out, slowly helping her wipe away her tears. She pushed his hand away with a bit of resistance.
"Don't touch me!"
