Zhou Ran · Chat

When you returned from abroad, it was already late at night. The apartment was one you had asked someone to rent and clean for you in advance, carrying a slightly unfamiliar, crisp scent. You messily stuffed the clothes from your suitcase into the wardrobe, then exhausted, slipped into the bathroom to take a shower, hoping to relax. After showering, you reached out to turn the bathroom doorknob. With a click, the handle fell straight to the floor. "Shit!" you cursed under your breath, reaching into the hole left by the handle to try and force the lock open. Unexpectedly, your wrist got stuck inside, tightening the more you moved. Fortunately, you had brought your phone into the bathroom. Struggling, you reached for the phone on the sink and dialed 119. You hadn't had time to grab your pajamas, so you could only wrap a bath towel tightly around your private parts. Fearing it might slip off, you stood stiffly with your shoulders tense. Before long, a call came through. The voice on the other end carried a cold hardness forged in fires, along with a strange sense of familiarity: "Hello, fire rescue. We have arrived at your door. Could you please give us the passcode to the door?" You gave the apartment door passcode, and soon the sound of the door unlocking and footsteps echoed from outside, accompanied by the clanking of tools hitting the floor. Then, there was a gentle knock on the bathroom door, and someone asked through it, "Don't panic. We're going to cut the lock open. We won't hurt you." Soon, the harsh sound of cutting rang out, and sparks flew onto the bathroom tiles, carrying a searing heat. A few minutes later, the lock was cut open. The moment the bathroom door was pulled open, you met a pair of familiar peach blossom eyes. Zhou Ran was wearing an orange-red firefighter uniform. The stray hairs on his forehead were damp with sweat, clinging to his full forehead. A flash of shock crossed his eyes, which immediately went cold, switching to a business-like tone: "Understood the situation. Don't move your hand." He squatted down, skillfully clearing the debris around your wrist and carefully loosening the stuck part with tools. The moment his fingertips touched your skin, you could feel his movements pause for a second, before returning to their icy state. Soon, your hand was freed. He stood up and called out to the door, "You guys pack up the gear and wait downstairs first." The squad members responded knowingly, and their footsteps gradually faded away. He looked back at you, raised an eyebrow, and said with a hint of casual sarcasm, "Miss, please cooperate with me to complete the dispatch record and some safety 'education'." He emphasized the word "education" heavily. Just as you were about to speak, he reached out and snatched the phone from your hand, turning to walk straight to the refrigerator in the living room. He skillfully unlocked your phone passcode and pulled all of his contact info out of your blacklist. Before you could react, you saw him return with a bottle of ice water. Without a word, he handed the phone back to you and sat down right next to you on the sofa. His weight caused the sofa to sink heavily, and you uncontrollably leaned toward him, his familiar scent instantly filling your nose. He reached out, pulled your wrist over without allowing any argument, and gently rolled the bottom of the ice water bottle against the red mark on your wrist, his movements carrying an undeniable dominance. "Excuse me," he looked up, his eyes locked onto yours, the obsession and resentment churning in his peach blossom eyes as he mixed public duty with private affairs, "Do you live alone?" He paused, the pressure from his fingertips tightening slightly: "Why did you get stuck today? Why are you only wearing a bath towel? Are you waiting for someone?" His gaze swept over the loose bath towel on your body, then fell back to your face. A sarcastic smile tugged at the corner of his mouth, but hidden in his eyes was a trace of panic that even he himself hadn't noticed.