Afternoon in Haicheng felt as though the light had been switched to half-speed—viscous, golden, and brilliant.
Silas Shen had always considered himself someone with a near-pathological pursuit of order. In his lab at Beijing University, his test tubes were always set at a precise 45-degree angle, and his schedule was accurate to the minute. Yet, during these two weeks in Haicheng, all his principles had been utterly routed by the variable known as "Hunter Huo."
Taking care of a "disabled" top-tier Alpha was far more exhausting than tackling a national-level research project.
"Professor, the water seems a bit cold." In the bathroom, Hunter sat on a small stool. His left arm—that giant mummy—was sealed in layers of plastic wrap and encased in a massive waterproof sleeve, looking both comical and pathetic.
Silas rolled up his sweater sleeves, revealing wrists as cold and white as porcelain. He tested the water temperature, his cool features softening slightly in the swirling steam. "38 degrees Celsius. It's perfect. Hunter, you're an Alpha, not a greenhouse flower."
Despite his sharp words, Silas's movements were incredibly gentle. He held the showerhead, carefully avoiding that precious left arm, letting the fine streams of water flow down through Hunter's blonde hair. Silas's slender fingertips, slick with shampoo, pressed lightly against Hunter's scalp.
Hunter closed his eyes in bliss, letting out a low, soft sigh—like a giant dog finally being petted in the right spot.
Silas's fingertips carried a slight chill, and the pressure of his massage was exactly right. This intimacy, which bordered on overstepping, caused the orange-scented pheromones in the bathroom to dance restlessly again. Silas held his breath, trying to ignore the domineering yet supplicating fragrance.
"Professor, your fingertips are so soft," Hunter said suddenly, his voice sounding exceptionally deep through the steam.
Silas's fingers stiffened for a split second before he applied a sharp press. "Shut up, or the water is going into your eyes."
"Oh." Hunter shut his mouth obediently, but the corners of his lips quirked into a successful smirk.
To him, these two weeks were indeed heaven.
He could righteously ask Silas to do up the top button of his shirt. He could watch Silas frown and complain about him "not behaving," only to patiently pick up the blanket that had slipped to the floor and tuck it back in. He even discovered that if he just winced slightly and pretended to endure pain, the iceberg-like Professor Shen would show a flash of irrepressible panic in his eyes.
That was an emotion called "caring." Even if Silas refused to admit it to his death, it had already taken root in those clear eyes.
After washing his hair, Silas took a dry towel and carefully wiped it for him.
"Turn around," Silas commanded.
Hunter turned obediently, and the distance between them closed instantly. Due to the steam, Silas's long, slightly curled eyelashes were beaded with tiny droplets of water. Being this close, Hunter could even smell the faint, sweet scent mixed into the cold fir—the scent of a fresh mark.
Silas was focused on drying the back of Hunter's head, his fingertips occasionally brushing against the shell of Hunter's ear, sending tiny sparks of electricity through the boy.
Hunter watched Silas. The sunlight streaming through the window gave Silas's silhouette a fuzzy golden halo. In that moment, Silas wasn't a high-and-mighty academic giant; he was a lover who would feel heartache because Hunter was hurt, who would peel apples for him, and whose ears would turn red at a single tease.
Yes, in his heart, Hunter had already claimed that word: Lover.
While Silas turned to peel an apple, Hunter quickly grabbed his phone with his right hand and snapped a picture.
In the frame, Silas stood by the window. He was slightly bowed over the fruit, his expression as serious as if he were solving a world-shaking theorem. The sunlight traced the curve of his slender neck, where a very faint, lingering tooth-mark was visible—the exclusive brand Hunter had left behind.
Hunter looked at the screen, his heart beating so hard it threatened to crack his ribs. He quietly set the photo as his lock screen.
"Playing with your phone again?" Silas walked back, holding the peeled apple, which had been cut into uniform, perfect pieces. "The doctor said you need to supplement your vitamins."
"Just checking tomorrow's weather," Hunter lied without blinking, taking a piece of apple with his right hand. "So sweet."
Silas sat in the nearby armchair and picked up an academic journal, his expression returning to its usual composure. "The stitches come out tomorrow. If the healing is good, we go back to Beijing the day after."
The moment Hunter heard "back to Beijing," the apple in his mouth lost its flavor.
Haicheng was this hotel; it was a sanctuary where he could shamelessly cling to Silas. But Beijing University... that was labs, teaching buildings, and countless eyes watching the Professor. Once they returned, they would have to revert to being a well-behaved teacher and student.
"What is it?" Silas perceptively noticed his silence.
"Nothing." Hunter looked down at his "mummy-arm," a dark glint flashing in his eyes.
He was thinking: How great would it be if this wound never healed? If he could always be a "useless person" who needed Silas's care, would he be able to occupy the center of Silas's vision forever?
"Professor."
"Hmm?"
"Will you always be this good to me?" Hunter looked up, his gaze holding the stubbornness unique to youth.
Silas's finger paused on the page of his journal. He looked up at Hunter, the afternoon sun melting into a very faint, soft ripple in the depths of his cool eyes. He remembered Hunter clutching his hand last night, drenched in sweat from the pain, whispering "Professor, don't leave." He remembered every night of these two weeks spent falling asleep in each other's presence.
Some defenses, once they crumble, can never be rebuilt.
"That depends on whether you behave." Silas closed the journal, stood up, and moved to the bed to fluff Hunter's pillows. "Rest. It'll be time for your medicine soon."
Hunter lay back into the soft covers, his nose filled with the lingering scent of Silas.
He thought: Heaven probably isn't much better than this.
The tides rolled in, sounding as if they wanted to bury all the secrets of these two weeks deep beneath the sea. However, the "vacation balance" would eventually hit zero. Back in that city of pure logic, could this blood-stained, mark-induced ambiguity truly continue to grow as wildly as it did in Haicheng?