Cecilia Ye remained frozen in place. After a long time, Fu Zhiyie finally lifted his head—his eyes were dry, the tears gone.

"Come on, let's get you to bed first."

A faint scent of tobacco lingered on Fu Zhiyie, masking his usual woody fragrance. Cecilia Ye always knew he wasn’t a fan of smoking. But, on those nights when he waited outside, she would see him light up every time.

She didn’t know what to say, so she called his name again. "Fu Zhiyie..."

"Hm?" Fu Zhiyie looked at her, patient, waiting for her to speak.

Fu Zhiyie, I think I might finally understand what you mean by 'liking someone.' But I’m afraid. I’m scared everything will repeat itself. My heart can’t get past that hurdle. I always worry you’re only choosing me because Vivian Belle is gone.

I also really want to tell you—you’re going to be a dad.

Her small hand hovered over her belly; the slight curve there was little more than if she’d had an extra bowl of rice—barely noticeable...

“It’s nothing. Let’s go upstairs. The attic might need a bit of tidying.”

“Okay.” Fu Zhiyie took her hand and led her up the stairs.

Cecilia Ye followed close, clenching her fists but not pulling away.

They went upstairs. To reach the little attic, they had to go out onto the terrace. The rain still hadn’t stopped outside.

Seeing Fu Zhiyie soaked, his hair dripping, Cecilia Ye told him to shower first.

There were no men’s clothes at her place. She searched everywhere, but in the end, she could only have Fu Zhiyie hand out his wet clothes for washing and toss them into the dryer.

But she couldn’t exactly let him walk out of the bathroom naked. She rummaged through her things again, but at barely one-sixty in height, even her biggest clothes would be way too small for him.

Finally, she found a big winter bath towel.

Only... it was pink. With a goofy little duck on it...

Well, no one else would see him, right? It should be fine.

Hearing the sound of water in the bathroom, Cecilia Ye knocked shyly on the door.

The door slid open, and a wave of warm steam rolled out.

"Your clothes are washing. I... um, don’t have anything else for you to wear... This is clean—I just washed it."

Her slender pale fingers clutched the overlarge towel, turned away, not daring to look at him.

Fu Zhiyie took the towel. Pink, very pink. But since it was Cecilia’s, it was perfect.

"You should put on something warm. It's chilly tonight."

Seeing her still in thin pajamas, Fu Zhiyie reminded her gently, then closed the bathroom door.

Cecilia Ye slipped back to her room, threw on a little knitted cardigan, and curled up in her chair with a picture book. She stared at the same page for a long time, unable to turn it.

Zoey Zhang played with a small ball by the bed, circling around and darting everywhere.

There was a noise from the bathroom door. Fu Zhiyie came out with the bath towel wrapped around his waist, bare-chested. Droplets clung to the ends of his black hair, a white towel slung around his neck as he dried it. Water trickled down his lightly tanned chest, tracing smooth lines until they disappeared beneath the edge of the soft pink towel.

“Cecilia, aren’t you going to sleep yet?” he asked, leaning against the door, eyes as dark as ink, watching the fuzzy head of the girl curled up on the chair.

Cecilia Ye glanced at him. “Um, you need to go up. The attic’s accessed from outside.”

She got to her feet, doing her best to ignore Fu Zhiyie. The tall man stepped aside from the door, watching her walk past. Her fragrant hair brushed across his chest as she went.

Hmm, our Cecilia smells so sweet.

The rain was still falling outside, but the terrace had a clear glass canopy—no rain there.

Cecilia Ye had only gone up to the attic once before. It actually wasn’t small, despite the sloped ceiling making it look cramped. White cabinets lined both sides, with a big double bed in the middle. At the head was a slanted white wooden-framed window.

In the mornings, sunlight would slant across the bed through that window. Tonight, though, the rain drummed ceaselessly against the glass, a little irritating.

The comforter on the bed had been left out too long and felt chilly to the touch. “Ah, I’ll go grab a fresh blanket from my room.”

Cecilia Ye turned to leave, but as she brushed past, her hand was gently caught—warmth, suddenly close.

Fu Zhiyie lowered his head, voice thick with heat, his words a breath against her small ear.

“No need. I’ll just sleep here. You should go to bed early, don’t worry about me.”

Cecilia Ye pulled her hand back, eyes dropping, and her gaze accidentally landed on the bath towel at his waist. Her face went hot; she immediately looked away.

"Alright, then. I’ll head down."

She slowly descended the narrow stair to the second floor, tidied up, and settled into bed herself.

The rain gradually softened. Fu Zhiyie lay back, pulled the cover over himself—it wasn’t cold at all, and still carried a sun-warmed scent.

He tugged off the bath towel and, thinking of Cecilia in it—soft pink, ridiculously cute—smiled. Everything here smelled like her. Wonderful.

Lying back, he gazed up through the slanted window at the black sky overhead. Raindrops tapped against the glass, fanning out into little bursts of water.

Knowing the girl at the heart of his thoughts was just a single wall away made Fu Zhiyie feel utterly content. Even the rain sounded sweet tonight.

Downstairs, the other occupant tossed and turned. Had Fu Zhiyie really cried today? The thought made Cecilia Ye muddled.

Fu Zhiyie was always calm, poised—even cold at times. No matter what happened, he always appeared aloof. All these years in the Fu household, she had never seen him cry—he seemed born with his emotions sealed away.

So letting him move in tonight—Cecilia Ye wasn’t sure if it was right or wrong. But if she’d had to watch him get drenched alone outside, she knew she couldn’t bear it.

The night deepened. Despite the tangle of thoughts in her heart, Cecilia Ye finally drifted off to sleep.

The next day, the rain had cleared, filling the air with the crisp scent of fresh grass.

Cecilia Ye woke up to the tempting smell of breakfast from the kitchen.

She slipped outside. Fu Zhiyie sat at the dining table, reading the newspaper. “You’re up? Eat something.”

He had put on his clothes from the day before, set the paper aside, and opened the lids on a simple breakfast spread.

Cecilia Ye padded past the dining room into the bathroom. As she closed the door and began to wash up, the familiar nausea hit—just like every morning lately. She ran water loudly, trying to muffle the sounds as she retched.

She looked at her reflection in the mirror, splashed some water on her face, then stepped back out.

Fu Zhiyie had finished setting up breakfast—light porridge, pickles, a fried egg, a custard bun, and some sweet corn.

Seeing her eyes rimmed in red, he couldn’t help it. “Still feeling sick?”

Cecilia Ye nibbled halfway through a sweet corn cob and shook her head, looking just like a little rabbit.