Monday came quietly.
By then, Yue had mapped the house in silence, where the light fell in the mornings, which floors creaked, which doors stayed slightly open. The kitchen was brighter than the rest.
She lingered at the entrance longer than usual, her pale fingers lightly brushing the edge of the doorframe, her long black hair falling over her shoulder like a dark silk curtain.
Fu was already there. Sleeves rolled. Back turned. The faint sound of a knife against a cutting board,steady, rhythmic.
Yue stepped in. Soft. Measured. Like she didn't want to disturb the air.
"I can help," she said. Her voice was quieter than she intended, a soft melody in the empty room.
The knife didn't stop. "You don't need to," he replied. Not cold. Just… final.
Yue hesitated, then moved anyway. A small rebellion. She crossed to the cabinet above the counter, reaching up without thinking. She was wearing one of the loungewear pieces his mother had sent, a bias-cut silk slip in a pale cream that matched her skin almost too perfectly. As she reached up, the silk slid upward, the hem skimming dangerously high on her thighs, and the thin straps dipped, exposing the elegant line of her collarbone and the swell of her chest.
She didn't notice. He did.
The knife slipped. A sharp, jarring sound—metal striking the board at the wrong angle.
Yue flinched, turning toward him instinctively. "Careful," she said softly.
He didn't respond. He just set the knife down, his jaw tight. "Leave it," he said after a moment, his voice sounding slightly strained. "I'll get it."
But Yue didn't retreat this time. She saw the flash of red on his index finger. Before he could pull away, she reached out, her small, cool hand catching his. She brought it to her face, her eyes wide with worry, checking for the depth of the cut.
Without a word, she reached out, her cool hand catching his. She didn't think; she reacted. She did what she had always done for her own wounds. Whenever she had a paper cut or a small nick while working late at her computer, she would press her lips to it, an instinctive comfort.
She brought his hand to her face. Her pink, soft lips parted, and she drew his finger into her mouth, sucking the wound clean.
The atmosphere in the kitchen didn't just change; it evaporated.
Fu went rigid. His entire body felt like it was made of live wire. Her mouth was impossibly soft and warm, and the sensation of her tongue flicking against the small nick sent a jolt of pure, unadulterated heat straight down his spine, settling heavy in his gut.
Yue's eyes remained on his hand for a heartbeat, her long black hair veiling her face. Then, the fog of instinct cleared. She realized she wasn't alone in her old bedroom. She realized whose hand she was holding.
She stopped abruptly, letting his hand drop. Her face flushed a deep, burning crimson that spread all the way to her chest.
"Sorry," she whispered, her voice trembling. "Old habit. If I... if I have a cut, I just... I wasn't thinking."
Fu stared at his finger. There was barely even a cut. It was a scratch at best, nothing that required her lips, her heat, her mouth. He could still feel the phantom pressure of her sucking on his skin.
Control, he thought, his pulse thundering in his ears. Control.
He turned back to the stove, his knuckles white as he gripped the handle of a pan. He didn't look at her. He couldn't. If he looked at her now, with her hair messy, her lips still damp, and her eyes wide with embarrassment,he knew he wouldn't be able to stay on his side of the line.
"Can you watch the food?" he asked, his voice rougher than she had ever heard it. He didn't wait for her to answer. He began unbuttoning his shirt as he moved toward the hallway. "I need to take a shower."
"A shower?" Yue asked, confused. "But you just started the eggs."
"A cold one, Yue," he muttered, his footsteps echoing as he retreated. "I need a very cold shower."
Yue stood alone in the kitchen, the scent of him still lingering in the air. She looked at her own hand, then at the pan on the stove, her heart hammering a frantic rhythm she couldn't explain.