Fang Jingcheng truly lived up to his reputation as a refined hedonist, treating his girlfriend with utmost care.

By the time they had both freshened up again, it was already close to 2 a.m. The warm pool water had melted the fatigue from Xia Fu’s bones, her travel weariness dissolving alongside the cream-like foam clinging to her skin, the fiery sighs, and the silver-white hair strands tangled with her long, dark locks, all swirling down into the dark drain.

The master bedroom’s bathroom was connected to the walk-in closet, so after her bath, she had ample time to select an outfit for bedtime. Since Fang Jingcheng had a carefree personality and loved the liberating sensation of walking barefoot, the cleaning staff would pay special attention to the floor, which was so spotless it could almost reflect a person’s image.

At first, Xia Fu felt a bit reserved and followed Fang Jingcheng around in slippers, but now those concerns had faded. She stepped barefoot onto the cool floor tiles, leaving a trail of faint, foggy footprints, each softly growing with her steps.

Watching those small footprints, Fang Jingcheng felt as though he was observing a tiny creature moving deeper into a dense forest. He gazed at her delicate ankle, watching her slightly reddened sole lift and fall, while unconsciously tightening his grip on the towel he’d just used to wipe her feet dry.

“She’s here, with me, in my home…”

This realization had never felt so clear.

“Wait for me,” he murmured, stepping on the faint, lingering warmth left by her damp footprints, following her steps.

She had a boyfriend who loved to dress himself up.

The spacious closet was nearly the size of a small bedroom. Not only were shoes, shirts, and jackets organized neatly, but even accessories like watches and rings had their own small compartments, softly illuminated by lights that added a dreamy glow to the whole display.

Xia Fu glanced around, finding the perfumes the most charming. They stood in various shapes and heights, crystal-clear and elegant, like a row of exquisite decorations, stirring a small hint of hidden vanity within her.

In the past, refined young ladies would always apply a bit of fragrance after a bath. Depending on the season, the scent would vary; sometimes it was fluffy talcum powder on the skin, sometimes a touch of refreshing floral water behind the ears, or other times, a dab of delicately fragrant cream, warmed by the hands.

She instinctively picked up a bottle with a wooden cap, dabbing a bit on her wrist, rubbing it in with her fingertips before leaning down to smell it. The scent was like a morning sunbeam resting on a pillow—fresh and clean, very pleasant, but somehow lacking something essential. So, she looked up at the approaching young man and asked, “Is this the one you usually wear?”

Although Fang Jingcheng answered affirmatively, Xia Fu didn’t fully agree. Wrinkling her nose, she mumbled, “It doesn’t quite smell like you,” then waved him closer with her hand.

Standing there, unclothed amidst rows of men’s clothing, was too much of a temptation for him. Fang Jingcheng unfolded a silk cardigan, draping it over Xia Fu’s shoulders.

“Weren’t you going to change into pajamas? Be careful not to catch a cold.”

Obediently, Xia Fu lifted her arms to make it easier for him to slide her into the sleeves. The light gray satin flowed down her thighs, feeling like a second skin, as thin and soft as air, warding off the barely perceptible chill. She playfully teased him with a sweet tone, “So considerate of you; with you around, I can never feel cold.” Her hand slid over his shoulder, reaching behind his ear, rubbing all the perfume from her wrist onto his skin.

Then, Xia Fu leaned down, finally finding the scent she loved most on his neck.

“Now it’s perfect. It smells best on you, plus you’re so warm…”

“I’m wearing your pajamas, so what are you going to wear?”

She trailed kisses along his jaw, her palm gently caressing his handsome face.

The same perfume could indeed smell different on different people. On her, the fragrance was like a hazy summer afternoon years ago, soaked in the loud cries of cicadas, and it left a faint sheen of sweat on the back of his neck. Fang Jingcheng felt this rush of warmth and explained, “I honestly don’t mind; I usually don’t wear anything when I sleep alone.”

“Oh, that’s why you always video call me from the living room when you’re at home. Well, I guess I’ll just hold you like this, to keep you warm,” Xia Fu said, observing this strikingly handsome young man under the soft amber closet lights. She had no intention of leaving anytime soon.

Her gaze was warm and tender, yet with something more to it.

In that silent embrace, amidst this overwhelming sweetness, Fang Jingcheng felt an odd sense of unease. He tightened his grip on her, lowering his voice as he asked, “What are you looking at?”

“Looking at you.”

Perhaps it was his own sense of aesthetics, but Fang Jingcheng, with a significant attachment to his image, dressed meticulously every day, only going without his beauty contacts before sleep. His bare face, rare as it was, was often met with a tired Xia Fu who had no interest in scrutinizing his natural features.

Only tonight, she seemed intent on taking in every detail of him.

Fang Jingcheng felt a lump in his throat, his voice growing slightly dry, “…So, how is it?”

What did she think of this face, which his own mother had despised?

Of course, he wanted to believe his girlfriend wouldn’t hurt him. He eagerly anticipated receiving some form of affection from Xia Fu, but he couldn’t avoid feeling a bit anxious.

He rested his head in her palm as if offering his heart along with it.

The young man’s eyes were a light shade, reminiscent of melted caramel under bright sunlight, only slightly darker around the pupils, like a lychee pit or a small stone suspended in amber.

As though she were cradling a newborn lamb, Xia Fu brushed aside the stray hair on his forehead and tenderly stroked him, “The color of your eyes is so beautiful, like the sweetest acacia honey.”

Fang Jingcheng gradually relaxed, pressing further, “What else?” His warm sighs escaped through her fingers.

“Let me think…”

Aside from his eyes, his hair was also disguised.

Was it purely black? Or a softer honey-brown?

As she mused, Xia Fu ran her fingers through his hair, gently massaging his damp scalp, uncovering the roots that hadn’t yet been touched up due to a busy week.

In the midst of his silvery-white hair were traces of black strands, adding a wild edge to his refined looks, reminding Xia Fu of a wolf sprinting across a snowy plain.

But were wolf eyes usually this golden-brown?

Big doggy… big doggy…

She whispered to herself, unable to resist ruffling his hair, wanting to cradle his face in her hands.

“This mix of silver and gray looks really good on you; you’re so adorable.”

The slightly teasing gesture stirred Fang Jingcheng’s displeasure. He turned his face away from her fingers. Even with those honey-like eyes, the squint still hinted at a slight threat. “That’s not exactly a way to describe a man.”

“Then, how about ‘you captivate me and make it impossible to look away’?”

Xia Fu thought for a moment and repeated the words Fang Jingcheng had once used to praise her, word for word: “You’re perfect to me… flawless.”

Such a cheesy, uninventive line, hastily tossed back to her boyfriend, making her a downright terrible girlfriend.

Many words sprang to Fang Jingcheng’s mind to chide Xia Fu. He opened his mouth, ready to argue, only to find that her expression was entirely sincere. In that summer of their twentieth year, during that brief moment of eye contact, she truly felt this way about him. There was no one else behind him in her gaze; her feelings belonged to him alone.

Perhaps, in truth, the words of love we give are the very ones we long to hear.

The rising summer heat left them both dizzy. After a long silence, Fang Jingcheng swallowed, suddenly blurting out, “…The last bottle, it seems, was used in the bathroom.”

Xia Fu chuckled helplessly.

“Really, what are you thinking? I’m just holding my boyfriend, not up to anything mischievous.”

Unlike physical submission, in their relationship, he was the witty one; he wasn’t supposed to be at a loss for words like this.

Luckily, just as she teased, love didn’t necessarily require total surrender—if words failed, he could still kiss.

“Alright, I’m just here for a little kiss.”

He carried her back to the bed, whispering her name softly, grasping her ankle and passionately kissing from the top of her foot, making sure she could no longer say those intoxicating, irresistible words.

In his embrace, she felt like a piece of hard candy melting slowly in his mouth, sometimes lightly bumping his teeth when he mischievously nipped her, that slight dull ache sending an electrifying thrill through her.