Fang Long had rarely been kissed like this before.

The young men she’d dated before had been more interested in exploring her body—a kiss or two and they went straight for the main event.

Zhou Ya wasn’t like that.

He kissed her for a long time, from the initial forcefulness and directness to a gentleness now mixed with firmness.

Lips and tongues pressed together, saliva exchanged.

Her alcohol, his cigarettes, both became a catalyst, letting the flame within their bodies burn sky-high.

Fang Long, nearly out of breath, surrendered first, bracing against Zhou Ya’s chest to sit up, tilting her head back to gasp lightly: “Wait, wait a minute…”

Zhou Ya wasn’t doing much better himself, his lower belly scorched hot by unruly fire.

But Fang Long was sitting on him, whether intentionally or not, pressing right against him.

Even through several layers of not-so-thin fabric, he could still feel her.

Zhou Ya breathed in great gulps, unable to look away from Fang Long’s noticeably reddened, moist lips.

“Really useless…” Zhou Ya muttered. “Who was it that talked big just a moment ago?”

“You—you just wait… let me rest a moment, mm—”

Zhou Ya didn’t let her finish resting, cupping the back of her head again and chasing her lips for another kiss.

His fingers accidentally caught on her hair tie; when he withdrew his hand, the tie came loose too.

Her long hair tumbled down, swaying gently against both their cheeks.

Fang Long had dyed her hair chestnut before New Year. The dim yellow wall lamp in the parking lot lit it up, turning the color golden, with sparkling light caught in the ends.

Zhou Ya glanced at it, unable to help himself, opening his palm to catch that fine, scattered starlight.

Then he tousled it messy again.

“Mmph—”

Just as she’d barely caught her breath, it was cut off again. Fang Long, exasperated, swatted a few slaps onto Zhou Ya’s shoulder.

But soon she sank back into the tangled, ambiguous sentiment again.

Fang Long pressed against Zhou Ya’s chest, lowering her head to bite his lip.

This mouth that usually had nothing nice to say turned out surprisingly soft and pleasant to kiss.

But his pectoral muscles were rock hard, nothing pleasant to squeeze there.

Fang Long’s hand traced downward, and while Zhou Ya was lost in the kiss with her, her fingertip secretly hooked at something through his clothes.

His whole body felt electrified. Zhou Ya, like grabbing a cat by the scruff, pinched the back of her neck, panting roughly: “…Fang Long, you’ve got some nerve.”

It was just kissing, yet the two of them had already stirred each other up.

Zhou Ya felt like he might burst; Fang Long’s eyes stung with tears from the discomfort.

The sealed car cabin felt heavy and hazy as if filled with seawater, and just as the last bit of oxygen was about to run out, a beam of light shone in from behind.

Zhou Ya snapped back to his senses in an instant, pressing Fang Long’s head down, hiding her within his own shadow.

It was the parking lot security guard, waving a flashlight around.

“Who—who’s there?” Fang Long, somewhat dazed, lay against Zhou Ya’s chest, hearing nothing but the drumlike pounding of his heartbeat.

“Security guard.” He gently stroked Fang Long’s back. “Don’t move.”

The guard first shone the light toward the back of the car, then, seeing there really was someone inside, walked up and knocked on the driver’s window, saying half in warning, half teasingly: “Hey, kid, don’t be messing around here.”

Zhou Ya shielded Fang Long in his arms, glancing sideways at the old guard: “Got it, we’re leaving now.”

Unable to see clearly into the car, the old man tried to shine his flashlight in. Zhou Ya frowned and slapped his large hand against the car window.

The old man jumped, startled, and didn’t dare approach further, muttering as he walked off: “Driving some beat-up van… no wonder you can’t afford a hotel room…”

Zhou Ya heard it but wasn’t bothered; instead, the person in his arms bristled again.

Fang Long wrestled herself free from his embrace, about to curse the guard out with “such snobbery, judging people by appearances”—but just as the first word left her mouth, Zhou Ya stopped her.

With his lips.

Fang Long let out a small whine, her flare of arrogance extinguished.

The two of them lingered a while longer, gradually calming down.

Fang Long straightened her clothes, climbed back to the passenger seat, retrieved her bag, and found the key to return to Zhou Ya.

Zhou Ya, still straining down there, paid it no more mind, and started the car again.

“Want some late-night snack?” Zhou Ya asked Fang Long as he turned the wheel. “You barely ate at dinner tonight, are you hungry?”

Fang Long feigned astonishment: “How do you know I didn’t eat enough? Weren’t you busy with your blind date?”

Zhou Ya caught the sarcasm in her tone, but in a better mood now, his voice even brightened a little. “That was your aunt’s arrangement, I had no idea beforehand.”

“So what do you think of Sister Xiao Ying?”

“Nothing much.”

“I thought that sister seemed pretty nice too, a bit like Sister Keyun before, that gentle type, very refined.”

Fang Long ran her fingers through her long hair, her tone flat and offhand. “Only now do I realize your taste runs pretty heavy—you don’t want them unless they’re wild…”

Zhou Ya shot her a glare, well aware of what she was like.

Give her an inch and she’d take a mile.

He didn’t dwell on the topic, asking again: “So what’ll it be? Late-night snack or not?”

“No need. I just drank a ton of water…” Only then did she remember her mini room, already three hours paid for, and let out a wail. “My Chivas! I haven’t even finished it! Can we go back to the KTV to grab it?”

“…You’re impossible.”

Zhou Ya reached over and tousled her freshly-arranged hair again. “Drink less. Those trashy exes of yours, who knows if they only fell for you when you were drunk—garbage, every one of them. Not stomping their mouths flat is already giving Ren Jianbai face…”

Fang Long burst out laughing, grabbed his hand, and pulled it down to rest on her thigh.

The road ahead stretched long. She rolled down the window.

The night wind was cold, but her palm was warm.

Ma Huimin had already gone to bed; the house was quiet.

While changing shoes, Fang Long asked Zhou Ya quietly: “Are you coming to my room tonight?”

The fire Zhou Ya had just tamped down flared right back up. Instinctively he glanced up at his mother’s firmly shut bedroom door, then said, voice lowered: “Not going.”

“I didn’t mean anything by it, we could just talk, that’s fine too.”

“No. My mom’s home.”

Fang Long protested: “Big Auntie’s already asleep.”

Zhou Ya held firm: “She’ll get up to use the bathroom.”

He patted her waist: “Go shower and sleep. You reek of alcohol—take your clothes out to wash, don’t leave them sitting for days.”

Fang Long rolled her eyes at him: “Anyone who didn’t know better would think you were my mother.”

Zhou Ya snorted, not bothering to respond, and grabbed his cigarettes to head to the balcony.

Now that things had happened, he needed to calm down and think carefully about how to move forward from here.

When Fang Long came out of the shower, Zhou Ya was still standing on the balcony, no lights on, wisps of white smoke curling up between his fingers.

She walked over lightly, but Zhou Ya still noticed.

He turned his head, casually snuffing out the barely-smoked cigarette in the tin can: “Done showering?”

Fang Long nodded, holding out a bundle of clothes to him: “Toss these in the washing machine for me.”

Zhou Ya took them, replying with a “sure.”

Fang Long’s hair was still wet; she wiped at the ends of it, her brows arching lightly: “I’m heading back to my room then.”

“Mm, go on.” Zhou Ya had said plenty tonight already, his voice long since gone hoarse; of the three words he’d just said, only “go” carried any actual sound, the other two were just breath.

Fang Long pouted: “That’s it?”

Zhou Ya could easily picture how hot the water must have been when she showered just now—she stood before him, her whole body giving off warm, humid vapor, her lips moist and rosy.

His left eyelid, at that very moment, suddenly gave a twitch.

He lowered his head, raising a hand to rub at his brow bone, and said: “At home, act like you’re at home—”

“Fine, Zhou Ya, real smooth.” Fang Long cut him off, tossing the towel she’d used to dry her hair onto the top of the pile of clothes. “Keep up the fake decency then, I’m heading to my room.”

She flicked her hair and turned to walk toward her room.

Leaving Zhou Ya with nothing but a trail of sweet, fruity fragrance.

Once she’d gone inside, Zhou Ya finally let himself smile, shifting his stance.

Fang Long had stripped off her clothes in a jumbled mess, sleeves tangled inside the garments. Zhou Ya shook each piece out one by one, straightening the sleeves and pant legs, before putting them into the washing machine.

Top, jeans, socks…

He paused. Two items were missing here.

The cigarette from before hadn’t been smoked much; Zhou Ya lit another one, smoking it slowly and unhurriedly, then took his clothes and went into the bathroom.

The moment he stepped in, he caught the scent of Fang Long’s body wash again, sweet as her kiss.

He forced himself not to think back on it.

When you couldn’t touch something, the craving wasn’t so bad. Once you’d tasted it, you only wanted more.

But the moment he closed the door, he saw a set of underwear hanging on the hook behind it.

A bra and panties, each on its own hook.

They were what Fang Long had just changed out of.

The bathroom door hook wasn’t hung very high; Zhou Ya’s line of sight landed squarely on the red lace panties.

As if possessed, he pinched them between two fingers and took them down.

The fabric was thin and soft, a vivid, brilliant red.

He took several deep breaths, and finally dropped the set of underwear into the sink.

After finishing his shower, he took the soap and hand-washed both sets of their underwear.

He hung them out to dry on the balcony, then started the washing machine.

Then, Zhou Ya walked to Fang Long’s door and knocked twice.

Knock knock.