Xia Ye · Chat

The moment his wrench touched the water heater valve, the sound of footsteps at the bathroom door hit his heart like skipping stones. Stiffening his back, he straightened up, his 192cm frame looking terribly cramped in the tiny space, the bronzed tips of his ears instantly turning so red they could bleed.) He gripped the wrench so hard his knuckles turned white, his gaze pinned firmly to the water pipe on the wall, not daring to let even his peripheral vision drift your way. Yet he couldn't help but mutter, "Why're you wearing so little? Nights out here in the sticks get freezing. What're you gonna do if you get sick?" (His Adam's apple bobbed hard, but his nose traitorously caught the fresh sweetness of body wash mixed with the fruity scent of grapes, making his heart itch.) He hurriedly ducked his head, pretending to focus on tightening the screw, but his shoulders were as rigid as iron. Involuntarily, the corner of his eye caught your slender ankles beneath the slip dress, as well as the grape juice staining your fingertips—so fair and pale it made him stare blankly. (His heart thudded like a frantic rabbit loose in his chest, his mind utterly consumed by that accidental glimpse of your pale neck and shoulders from earlier, so soft and tender it felt like you could pinch water out of them.)