Chapter 14: Quiet Intimacy

Wan Kun sat down on the sofa in the small living room. He Lijun came out holding a tube of medicine and washed her hands outside. When she turned back, Wan Kun had already tossed his bag aside.

He grabbed the hem of his shirt with both hands, lifted his arms, stretched his back muscles, and smoothly pulled the shirt off.

He Lijun suddenly turned around and washed her hands again.

Wan Kun sat there shirtless, waiting without the slightest discomfort. Maybe because he was often exposed to the sun, his skin was rather dark, which made his muscles look even more striking.

He also seemed quite satisfied with his physique. Whether intentionally or not, he spread his arms slightly, showing off his neat, well-defined abs. His jeans were worn low, and below his navel, a narrow line of body hair extended into his waistband.

He Lijun turned off the tap and walked behind him without looking sideways.

“Bend over.”

Wan Kun shifted and curled up like a big shrimp. When He Lijun saw his back, she forgot all her awkwardness.

“How did it get this bad?”

She stared wide-eyed.

His back was still red. Some areas were worse—blisters hadn’t been treated properly and had been rubbed open. The surrounding skin was tender and red. That it hadn’t gotten infected was a miracle.

Wan Kun leaned to one side and blew away a few loose strands of hair from his hand.

“It’s fine.”

He Lijun gritted her teeth. She fetched a basin of clean water, mixed in some diluted saltwater, and gently wiped the worst areas.

“Does it hurt?”

Wan Kun shook his head.

From behind, she could barely see his profile.

“Really doesn’t hurt?”

“Doesn’t hurt.”

She knew that was impossible. Remembering many things from before, she muttered softly:

“…You really can endure pain.”

Wan Kun chuckled quietly, with a boyish pride and smugness. She looked at him, but he didn’t turn around.

She carefully applied the ointment, fully focused, silent for a long time.

“Teacher…” Wan Kun suddenly spoke.

That word made her pause for two seconds.

She wanted to ask: Didn’t he say last night that she should pretend she no longer had him as a student? Did calling her “teacher” now mean last night didn’t count?

But she didn’t ask.

Teenagers’ hearts changed easily. There was no need to overthink.

Wan Kun looked at his palm and said,

“Your hands are cold.”

“Huh?”

She instinctively lifted her hands from his back and looked at her ointment-covered fingers.

“Cold?”

He nodded.

She glanced around.

“Then… I’ll wash with warm water first.”

He turned his head.

“No need. Keep applying.”

“But you said they’re cold.”

He lowered his head again, playing with his hands.

“Cold feels comfortable.”

She looked at him for a moment, then continued silently.

Because of what he had just said, she suddenly noticed how warm his back was.

After finishing, she told him to let it dry before dressing. He nodded and sat on the sofa.

“I’ll make a call,” she said.

He watched her enter the room.

The living room and bedroom were separated only by a sliding door. It was so quiet that he could hear her clearly.

“Yes, Peng Qian, it’s me.”

“I didn’t go to work today. Anything at school?”

“Oh, I see…”

“It’s fine. I’m okay.”

“Alright, I’ll be back tomorrow. Bye.”

It was a short call.

She came out and closed the door.

He looked up at her from less than half a meter away.

She paused, then closed the door fully.

Such a big person sitting there—it felt strange.

She went to her desk.

“When are you leaving?”

He looked at her calmly.

“If you don’t want me here, I’ll leave now.”

“The medicine isn’t dry yet. Can you go?”

He fell silent, then picked up his shirt and stood.

She immediately said without thinking,

“Stay and eat lunch first.”

He froze, holding the shirt, standing in the middle of the room.

Still shirtless, and so close, his presence felt overwhelming.

She turned away.

“Rest for a bit. I need to work.”

She sat at her desk.

Soon, she heard him sit back down.

What time should I cook?

She checked the time. It was only ten. Yet it felt like a whole day had passed.

She sighed.

In front of her were her Chinese textbooks and notes. She held a pen, ink slowly spreading on paper.

She came back to her senses and began studying.

She had her own way of focusing. Soon, she forgot about him.

When she finished her notes, she relaxed and turned her chair.

Halfway through, she saw Wan Kun.

……

She hurriedly stopped the chair.

Then she realized there was no need to worry about appearances.

He was asleep.

At some point, he had dressed and taken off his shoes, curled up on her single sofa. His head rested between the armrests, feet on the edge, wearing gray socks.

Even asleep, he looked restless. But he seemed less aggressive.

His jaw was firm, neck thick and long, veins visible.

She watched for a while, then went to the fridge.

Still so big, she thought.

She reached for noodles, then awkwardly grabbed eggs instead.

She scooped flour, quietly turned on the tap.

Cracking eggs. Mixing. Stirring.

Each step, she checked on him.

He slept deeply.

Relieved, she focused on cooking.

She heated the pan, poured oil, then added batter.

Suddenly—

“…What are you making?”

She gasped, her hand loosened, and the bowl hit the pan.

She hurried to steady it, but some batter spilled.

She turned off the fire and turned around calmly.

“Can you give some warning next time? You almost caused an accident!”

He was barely awake, shoes half on, hair sticking up.

It took him a while to react.

“Okay,” he murmured.

She turned back to cook.

He yawned.

“Where’s the bathroom?”

“Inside.”

He went in.

She sighed deeply.

Her apartment was long and narrow. Living room and kitchen in front, bathroom at the back, bedroom in between.

It was his first time in her bedroom. It was tidy, faintly fragrant. Yellow bedding with teddy bears.

He snorted softly.

In the bathroom, he splashed water on his face and neck.

There was a pink towel, but he didn’t use it. He wiped his face with his shirt.

Then he noticed the drying rack.

Two pairs of underwear.

Simple white, small, clean, hanging side by side.

He raised an eyebrow, scratched his belly, and left.

Food smelled ready.

He stood behind her, staring at her hips, wondering if she was wearing the same kind.

He almost reached out.

She flipped the pancake.

He snapped back.

“What are you making?”

“Egg pancakes. Set the table.”

He saw her goldfish.

She prepared the pancakes with ham and potatoes.

Turning back, she saw him bent over playing with the fish.

“…What are you doing?”

“Feeding it.”

The tank was full of food.

She sighed and changed the water.

“Wasteful,” he said lazily.

“You can’t feed fish like this.”

“Then how?”

“Fish are fed to death. Flowers are watered to death.”

“Never heard that.”

He looked innocent.

She put the tank back.

“Hurry up.”

They ate.

No spare chairs. He brought one.

He finished in two minutes.

Then stared at her plate.

She looked at him.

“There’s no more.”

Note

This chapter focuses on everyday intimacy—tending wounds, cooking, sharing space. Through small gestures and silence, it reveals the growing emotional bond and underlying tension between teacher and student, highlighting vulnerability, restraint, and mutual awareness.