When Your Crush Finally Chooses You

I felt a little hollow looking at Hazel's message. I replied, then opened my story's comment section.

Sure enough, someone had commented that line about never finding a boyfriend. I couldn't help but laugh and replied, "Okay, to prove I'm single, I'll work harder and update more!"

And I actually meant it.

But one moment I'm fired up, the next I get distracted by news pushed to my feed and end up scrolling until I'm tired.

Maybe because I just had surgery, I get sleepy easily. And my OCD kicked in—I'd barely had a proper wash. So I got up and headed to the bathroom.

I hurriedly stripped, turned the hot water on, wrung out a towel, and started wiping down.

I touched the three gauze strips on my abdomen, ready to grumble, when my vision suddenly went black.

16

If there's a limit to embarrassment, I must've hit it.

Because right before I fainted, I heard Ethan's voice… and I had nothing to hide with—if there had been a towel, someone please cover my face.

Sob… "Don't move. Let me see if the wound reopened."

I lay back on the bed, wrapped in a hot towel, my scalp burning with awkwardness. "You didn't see anything earlier."

"You and the lab rabbit are the same in my eyes," Ethan said flatly, peeling the gauze and dabbing the wound with a cotton swab soaked in medicine. He lowered his voice. "In my eyes, you're no different."

I froze, kept my lips pressed together. Of course—I'd been reading too many romance novels and had been fooling myself.

To a doctor, I'm just meat on the table.

But in my eyes, he was different.

He's not a doctor—he's Ethan Morgan.

My nerves fluttered, I grew shy… and that night I couldn't sleep. I told myself I'd ignore Ethan forever, then opened a medical story on impulse and poured my feelings into my writing.

I told strangers that, apparently, I still liked Ethan.

Turns out the first person you fall for still makes your heart skip when you see them again.

17

The next day.

Ethan didn't show up for most of the day.

I still had work to do and typing on my phone was too slow. Waiting for others to sign the lease, get keys, and ship my computer was dragging. For the sake of my job, I had to swallow my pride and go look for Ethan.

But when I came to the hospital, I'd been brought in on a gurney. Now walking out of Room 123, everything felt unfamiliar.

"Dr. Morgan, what's Ethan's relationship with the patient in Room 123?" someone asked.

"Classmate," Ethan replied, sounding dismissive, like he didn't even want to answer.

"I see you often at Room 123. I assumed she's your sweetheart."

"What a joke," Ethan denied vehemently.

I stood at the door and exhaled long and slow. Hearing that clear answer wasn't even that heartbreaking—just a little prick in my chest.

If he doesn't like me, he doesn't. I never really thought he did; I'd made myself believe it because I read too many romances.

Unable to borrow a laptop, I bit the bullet and bought a new one. It arrived COD.

Looking at the new computer, I thought I should've just bought one from the start instead of hunting down Ethan.

I edited an old piece but hit a block. I called Hazel and put it on speaker. Morning meds were done; besides Ethan, nobody would come into this room.

He probably wouldn't come back either.

18

We talked for who-knows-how-long.

Following Hazel's suggestions, I rearranged the outline again, but my head still hurt.

Writing feels great in the moment; revising feels like a funeral pyre.

I felt like starting a brand-new story instead. "Ah, babe, revising is so hard."

Hazel had probably pulled an all-nighter; she sounded sleepy but extra soft. You could tell she was a total softie.

I propped my chin in my hand, clicked the mouse, and opened the link to the medical story. Feeling wistful, I couldn't help asking, "Hazel, did you see my medical story?"

"You wrote a medical story?"

"Yeah. Of course I had bad luck and had surgery, so I wrote about it."

The person on the other end of the line burst out laughing.

I sighed helplessly. Out of the corner of my eye I glanced at my phone, then automatically toward the door—and Ethan was standing there, holding a thermos.

I froze, hit end on the call, cutting off Hazel’s laughter.

“Hey, what are you doing standing in the doorway?”

Another person in a white coat spoke—an older doctor who looked a bit like Ethan. They shared a family resemblance.

Ethan glanced at me, carried the thermos in and said lightly, “This is my mom.”

“Hello, Mrs. Morgan.”

I replied instantly, closed my laptop, and turned to greet her softly. I’m naturally friendly and can chat with most people, but when I heard she was Ethan’s mother, I got a little nervous about saying the wrong thing.

“Oh, I heard Ethan had a classmate here, so I thought I’d come by to see how you were. Hope I didn’t disturb your rest.”

Mrs. Morgan had a refined face—like a composed teacher, but not sharp.

“Not at all. I’m happy she’s here. It’s just tiring for me to come out in this heat.”

I jumped in at the right moment. I glanced at Ethan and noticed he was watching me, so I averted my eyes.

Mrs. Morgan opened the thermos; a faint, pleasant aroma filled the room. I hadn’t expected her to bring me soup. Grateful, I started a conversation with her, and the topic drifted…

“Claire, do you have a boyfriend?”

“Is there someone you like?”

No boyfriend. There is someone I like—who I can’t reach.

“No,” I answered.

Mrs. Morgan smiled as if she’d expected that, and left the room.

Adults have ways of reading a situation—I pretty much get it.

I eyed Ethan sitting silently nearby and played with my phone, not wanting to talk.

“You’re awfully well-behaved in front of my mom.”

Ethan suddenly commented.

I glanced at him once and didn’t want to say a word. I turned off my phone, curled under the blanket, and shut my eyes.

“Not talking to me?”

I didn’t answer.

Ethan reached over and tugged at my blanket corner. After a little tug-of-war, I slapped the back of his hand.

The smack echoed through the room.

Silence followed.

Whether he left or not, I didn’t bother to check. I just curled up and slept.

But you can dodge the early month, not the mid-month.

Every morning doctors did rounds at the hospital.

“Does the wound still hurt?”

“No.”

Ethan would ask this and that—questions that seemed unnecessary. The other doctors were watching him, yet he’d direct these questions at me.

“How did you sleep last night?”

“Fine.”

“Were you cold?”

I took a deep breath, almost rolled my eyes, but held back and answered like an emotionless robot.

“Not cold.”

“Do you want some fruit?”

“Dr. Morgan, I’m fine. Go check someone else.”

Ethan watched me in silence; there was something off in his eyes—almost hurt. I frowned, thinking maybe he’d taken the wrong medicine, and ignored him, lowering my head back to my phone.

In the end, one of his colleagues pulled him away.

Post-op day four.

I had a rare stretch of quiet. I’d nearly finished revising my piece but kept getting sleepy. I was about to nap when the door opened.

Ethan came in—maybe thinking I was asleep.

He moved quietly. I didn’t want to talk, so I pretended to be asleep.

“Claire.”

He called softly.

He must have come close—his faint, clean scent filled my breath. I kept my eyes shut and pretended, but my fists curled under the covers, wanting him to stop lingering in front of me.

If I hadn’t had a thing for his face, I never would’ve joined the Student Council smiling and left crying.

By the time I crawled out from under the blanket, he was gone. Two boxes of sliced mango sat on the table. As a mango lover, I had no standards—took fifty bucks from Ethan and started eating.

[Ethan]: Not asleep?

He messaged instantly. I held a mango box and didn’t reply.

[Ethan]: Why are you ignoring me?

I tossed my phone aside, listening to the buzz of incoming messages, popping mango chunks into my mouth. When I’d nearly finished, I picked up my phone and nearly choked reading the screen.

[Ethan]: Don’t eat mangoes on your period.

Me: …

I had no idea what Ethan was playing at—either he brought fruit or he’d come at night to tuck me in. Sometimes he’d sit by my bed for ages until the duty nurse knocked and he’d rush out.

Two nights in a row I woke to see him dozing by my bedside, mask marks still on his face from surgery. He looked pitifully tired.

“Ethan.”

I finally couldn’t help myself.

He’d only just woken and was pouring water, head down. When I called, he answered, “You finally decided to pay attention to me?”

In his white coat, Ethan’s eyes were dark and shiny, his lips slightly red and pressed together, an expression of innocent bewilderment that only made him more attractive.

I bit my lip, wanting to say something, but he surprised me: “Mind if I use your shower?”

Me: …Fine. So he’d turned my room into his resting base. No wonder he kept dropping by.

“Okay.”

I leaned back on the bed and watched him leave, then come back with a bag. My gaze settled on his hands as he took off his jacket.

There are people who flirt without even realizing it.

I used to write scenes like that for fun in my stories.

Experiencing it myself, all I could think was—dude, have some decency.

I discovered for the first time how thin hospital bathroom walls are. I sat outside and could hear the water. As a non-famous little writer, my imagination ran wild—imagining the water tracing down his torso. By the time he emerged, I’d drunk several cups of water to steady myself. When he came into view, I felt a thousand stampeding horses in my chest—he had abs, he really had a defined torso. If he’d been anyone else, I would’ve raised an appreciative eyebrow. Because it was Ethan, I felt suddenly parched.

“I’m thirsty too.”

He walked over and stood by my bedside, pouring water from the thermos, seemingly unconcerned that his tight waistline had arrived in my line of sight.

Me: …“We’re out of water…”

Ethan tilted his head and looked at me—droplets still in his hair—helplessly shaking the cup.

My eyes blinked; it was the first time I truly understood the meaning of beauty in front of you.

He really didn’t treat me like a stranger.

“Oh.”

I glanced at him, saw his innocent expression, and drank the rest of my cup, copying his shake with the empty cup. Yes, I was provoking him.

Then he suddenly leaned in, dark eyes dropping onto my face. I had water in my mouth and froze, back pressed against the bed, my breath blocked.

This felt wrong.

I straightened slightly and reached out to push him away, but my hand landed on his bare shoulder and neck. I swallowed the water down and started choking.

Ethan panicked and sat on the bedside, patting my back. I coughed for a long time and slapped his hand away.

“Okay, okay, I’m sorry.”

He begged.

I glared at him between coughs. My abdominal wound felt like it might tear from the coughing—maybe psychosomatic—but it really hurt, and I muttered, “It’s your fault… the wound hurts!”

“Your wound hurts? Let me see.”

He instantly went serious and reached to lift my shirt. I bit my lip, annoyed, but obediently lay back and watched him lift the fabric.

“Dr. Morgan—”

The door burst open. The duty nurse stood there, stunned. From her view, I was lying in bed and Ethan, shirtless, was at the bedside.

Awkward silence filled the air.

“Sorry to disturb—”

“Uh—no—”

Snap—the nurse shut the door quickly. All I heard in reply was the click.

I was speechless—some soap-opera scenes are only fun to write, not to live. It was mortifying.

I frowned. “Ethan, you better explain that to her!”

He glanced at me coolly, carefully peeled back the gauze, and said quietly, “You’re almost discharged anyway. What’s there to worry about?”

I paused. He had a point. Still, I shot back, “You’re a doctor. You’ll keep working here. Aren’t you afraid of gossip?”

Ethan rested his cool hand on my abdomen and looked at me with a sideways glance.

I bit my lip, trying to look away, but his abs were…tempting.

For some reason I remembered what one of the younger nurses had teased earlier—“You want to sleep with her.”

My wound didn’t split open, but I felt a pang of disappointment: it meant I was leaving in two days.

My childhood friend came to visit just as Ethan finished rounds and left. The moment he walked out, she got excited. “That doctor—why does he look so familiar? Wasn’t he the one you used to fight with all the time?”

I bit my lip, a little melancholic. “Yeah.”

Friend: “And you’re still alive? Congrats.”

I propped my chin on my hand and gave her a look, wanting to say something, but the thought of being discharged made me sad.

When I first checked in, I was a mess—

“Hey, why aren’t you talking?”

I looked at the room decor and felt a little dreamy. “The hospital accommodations are pretty nice. I don’t want to leave.”

My friend laughed. “Come on—you’re staying for that doctor, right?”

Me: …I turned to her.

Friend: “I could tell just by your posture.”

I scoffed, picked at my fingers and said, “Yeah, I’m into him, but he doesn’t like me. I can’t force him, right?”

Friend: “Think about your own heroine—you wrote her sneaking around a guy’s workplace at night to chase him. If you like someone, you go after them. Otherwise you’ll be single for years…”

I sniffed. “That was off-the-cuff. Besides, the male lead already likes her.”

With that mutual chase built-in, it blows away all the stories about unrequited pursuers—this isn’t desperation; it’s pure romance.

Besides, in real life, a lot of people are afraid of losing face, afraid of rejection, afraid of ruining a friendship—afraid to make the first move. I’m one of them.

If I had that kind of time to make a move, I could have finished another novel… “Who are you looking for?”

A doctor in the office happened to see me, stood up with a smile, and asked.

I didn’t see Ethan’s figure and couldn’t help but smile, shake my head, and hurried back to Room 123.

Just for half a day, really.

I walked back and forth between the ward and the office so many times. In the end I only stayed in the ward a bit longer because I ran into that night nurse and felt embarrassed to rush off.

Around noon I finally stepped out of the room again. As I was passing the nurse station, I heard the nurse say, “Miss, Dr. Morgan is still in surgery.”

“Uh… oh.”

I was suddenly tongue-tied, awkwardly searching for an excuse. I noticed the scale nearby and stepped on it, “I’m just here to check my weight…”

But standing on the scale, I felt blank and sighed without thinking. Then the number suddenly jumped up and I couldn’t help but turn around.

Ethan was standing behind me in his white coat, one foot on the scale, eyebrow cocked as he smiled, “What, trying to lose weight before you’re discharged?”

“No, I’m not.”

I snapped back instinctively.

Ethan had a faint smile at the corner of his mouth. “Have you eaten?”

“No.”

“Want to—together?”

The answer was literally on the tip of my tongue, but when I faced Ethan, I couldn’t get the words out. I was afraid I’d cry if I chased him and failed—how mortifying would that be?

“Claire! What are you doing here?”

“Huh?”

I turned and saw my cousin. Before I could say anything, he strode over and lifted me off the scale.

He must know Ethan, because he stood properly, steadied my waist, and politely said, “Hello, doctor.”

Ethan’s face changed slightly.

I looked at my cousin in surprise. “Teacher? What the heck?”

“He’s my internship supervisor,” my cousin said proudly. “Hey, I heard you were sick. I purposely came to intern here. Come on, I bought you something good. Let’s go back and eat.”

I: …Room 123.

My cousin tore into the fried chicken delivery, devouring wings like it was a feast. I picked at my plain porridge and couldn’t eat a bite. This guy eating so deliciously in front of me—zero consideration.

Click. Ethan opened the door and walked straight in, startling my cousin. He stammered, “Doctor, isn’t it not yet time for work?”

I couldn’t help laughing at my cousin’s expression, but Ethan set the thermos box down in front of me, and I instantly stopped.

He seemed inexplicably serious.

He glanced at my cousin and said lightly, “I still have some files to organize in my office.”

My cousin, mouth full, stood up and handed over the seat, grabbing the chicken box and leaving.

Ethan took the seat, opened the lunch box, and ate with his head down without saying a word.

I kept my head down and ate quietly.

“Are you being discharged the day after tomorrow?”

“Mm.”

Sunlight fell across the table between Ethan and me. I kept my gaze lowered; the only thing I could see was his knuckled, capable hands.

The room was quiet, but my heart was pounding.

There were moments when I thought maybe Ethan liked me a little. Maybe I should try to win him over.

But reality is cruel—Ethan was very clear once. Don’t joke like that.

My cousin had been clingy since we were kids, but as we grew up we rarely hung out. Now, whenever he had a chance, he’d come over—never staying more than five minutes before Ethan appeared.

That afternoon Ethan was scheduled to perform surgery. My cousin had eaten too much fried chicken, got a stomachache, and collapsed onto my bed, sulking, “I shouldn’t have come with him. There’s so much work—no time to rest.”

I frowned. “You ate the wrong stuff. It’s hot out; you ate fried chicken then drank cold drinks. Who wouldn’t get a stomachache?”

My cousin got teary. “Why aren’t you on my side, sis?”

I sighed. “Okay, drink some hot water and sleep.”

He sniffled and closed his eyes. I tilted my head to adjust the air conditioner and zoned out, staring at the heat outside. My mind was empty; no urge to write at all.

Ethan looked exhausted. So much work—sometimes he barely had time to eat.

As my cousin slowly fell asleep, he kicked off the blanket again. I tucked it back on and poked his face. He’s a grown man but still so childish.

The ward door was pushed slightly.

When I looked up, the doorway was empty. I meant to close the door, but my hand on the knob paused and I peered out.

Ethan was there, leaning against the wall, his eyes slightly red. He glanced at me.

“You okay…”

I was confused. I stepped out of the room and quietly closed the door, not wanting to wake my cousin, then sneaked a look inside.

But Ethan grabbed my hand and pressed me back against the wall.

“Ethan?”

It was my first time being cornered like that. My head buzzed and my instinct to joke from writing novels made me blurt, “Tch, you’ve got some nerve… mmph.”

Ethan bent and kissed me. His tongue brushed mine and a current shot through me, electrifying every limb.

There was a faint, clean scent on him that lingered on my lips. It felt like floating—I went weak in the knees.

“Claire… huh? Where is everyone?”

My cousin’s sleepy voice drifted over.

I panicked and pressed against Ethan’s shoulder, thinking I should push him away. Instead, Ethan backed just a little and let me breathe.

Then, the next second—

Ethan knocked on the room door.

Me: ?

“Who is it?”

My cousin cheerfully got up and walked to the door. He froze when he saw Ethan and me, then exclaimed, “Doctor?”

Ethan ignored him, gave him one cool look, kept his hand at my waist, and kissed me again.

“Ethan—”

Honestly, the atmosphere was awkward. Ethan looked like he was teasing me in anger; his kiss was fierce and threw me off balance. My cousin was already frozen in place.

When my cousin finally fled, Ethan stopped, breathless, his nose nearly touching mine. His dark eyes were bright as he said in a low voice, “He ran off.”

I clung to his shirt; he had me in his arms. This closeness made my whole body feel hot and a little dizzy. “Huh?”

Ethan added, “I kissed you and he didn’t dare stop me.”

He sounded like he was scolding my cousin for being useless, like a kid tattling. I thought, who else would dare challenge you besides me?

I pressed my lips together, looking at the small wounded expression on Ethan’s face, and felt a flutter of nerves.

Ethan watched me quietly, then leaned in a little and said softly, “If you’re mad, hit me. Just don’t ignore me.”

He was so close; the clean scent wrapped around me. I was almost pressed against the wall. “I’m not mad.”

Ethan blinked as if checking.

I put my hand on his chest, unable to resist his gaze. “Really, I’m not.”

“Dr. Morgan.”

My eyes drifted to a middle-aged man in a white coat who had come over, looking stern, like a high school dean catching students in a romance.

I’d always known Ethan was arrogant, but he was surprisingly deferential to this middle-aged doctor. He squeezed my hand, glanced at me, then followed the man into the office.

I felt oddly worried.

“Damn!”

My cousin returned with a face that said, I saw everything. He glared at me incredulously and then scolded, “You’re too much—trying to make moves on my teacher—”

Before I could speak, he added, “Don’t you dare break up with him. I still need to intern under him for a year! One year, Claire!”

My mouth twitched. “We’re not even dating.”

“You better hurry then! Don’t be a jerk to him! My future’s in his hands!”

Because I often write and don’t reply to my cousin’s messages, he assumes I’m chatting with someone and that I’m promiscuous. He doesn’t know how lonely I really am.

My cousin was so excited and worried he practically wanted to fight Ethan on my behalf. I never expected that between Ethan and me, the most proactive person would be my cousin.

“Claire, I bought you mango. Doctor, have some too.”

“Claire, stop playing with your phone. I bought a projector.”

“Claire, look—these two shirts match. Doctor, what do you think?”

I knew he was trying to get Ethan and me to eat fruit together, watch movies with the projector, maybe even wear matching shirts—but he was testing waters because he feared Ethan wouldn’t like it.

Ethan’s expression stayed cold. He only looked at my cousin and finally said, “You have too much time on your hands.”

My cousin was stunned by Ethan’s ungratefulness and whimpered, “Doctor, I—”

“Find something to do yourself.”

My cousin glanced at me.

I smiled and whispered, “Listen to your teacher.”

He took a deep breath, gave me a pleading look, and after I nodded, he obediently left.

I couldn’t help laughing at him, then turned to find Ethan watching me, displeased. I hesitated, then handed him the mango, “He said it’s really sweet.”

Ethan looked down at the mango. “Didn’t I buy it sweet?”

I: …I didn’t say that. I muttered, “It is sweet.”

Ethan pursed his lips and held my gaze with dark eyes, saying nothing. I could tell what he wanted to ask next—Which one is the sweetest… “Ethan, you’re an adult. Why are you arguing with a child?”

"Can't you be a little nicer to him? He hasn't even graduated yet."

I was honestly irritated by how childish Ethan Morgan could be, but damned if he wasn't attractive—those innocent eyes of his always undermined whatever sharp retort I tried to muster.

Ethan frowned, like he'd been stung. He opened his mouth a few times, then stopped and finally said, "Do you think I'm old?"

I blinked. "No I don't!"

Ethan: "Then why can't I spar with him?"

I forced a twitch at the corner of my mouth and turned my head to look at him. For some reason he just seemed so argumentative, so I stayed silent.

We held each other's gaze for a second. This time it wasn't the barbed words he'd used before. Instead, he reached out, tugged my blanket, and looked down at me. "Let's not talk about this."

He looked genuinely hurt, so I couldn't help but ask, "Fine. Not that. Then what do we talk about?"

I wanted to ask why he'd kissed me, but the last of my reason won out. I was afraid the answer would be sugar-coated lines instead of something sincere.

He'd told me I was no different to the lab rabbit in his eyes. He'd told me I wasn't the one he loved.

I held grudges. I couldn't be the one to poke that wound and force it open.

But I also feared that if neither of us spoke, we'd miss whatever we could've had.

Whatever. Who asked me to like him first? If I turn away a gift this obvious, I'd be an idiot.

"Talk about what I'm eating when I'm discharged tomorrow. What are you going to take me for?"

Ethan's eyes lit up, but what he said next wasn't the answer I wanted. "No seafood. No hotpot or barbecue. Keep it light."

Me: …Maybe sensing my disappointment, he added, "Rest for a month and a half and I'll take you out properly."

I glanced at him. "I don't care. I want something delicious."

Ethan: "Then I'll cook for you tomorrow."

I couldn't help laughing. "You can cook?"

He looked at me. "Of course."

I had no idea how skilled Ethan's cooking actually was, but in my head he got points.

That made me even more excited to go home. But the last hurdle before discharge nearly made me cry—I lost my appetite.

"Ah, no. I'm scared. It will hurt."

Who would have thought that when I opened my eyes, my cousin would be standing beside me with tweezers, ready to pull my stitches. I dove under the covers in a panic.

"Once they're off, you can go," he said.

I mumbled under the blanket, annoyed. "I don't want you doing it. You're not gentle."

My cousin's always been rough; I really thought he'd tug and take half my life with the stitch.

He let out a mischievous laugh. "Then I'll find a teacher to do it."

Me: ?

Turns out he'd been waiting around. But I didn't need my cousin to fetch anyone—Ethan was already rushing up to the ward door. He saw my cousin and hurried over, holding out his hand.

My cousin hesitated, then obediently handed him the tweezers.

Ethan: "Go on out."

My cousin: …Even as he was sent away, he grinned at me, like he was cheering me on: go for it.

Me: …I knew he wanted to push Ethan and me together, but his method felt reckless. He probably didn't realize how hard it was to offend Ethan.

Ethan was never petty, but he was sharp, the kind of person who could embarrass you publicly and still make you angrier.

He pulled the bed curtain closed, leaned over me, and said softly, "It won't hurt."

I bit my lip and crawled out from under the covers. Maybe out of trust, I lifted the shirt over my abdomen myself.

Removing the stitches didn't hurt at all.

But the moment Ethan's hand touched me, my face flushed. I held my breath without meaning to, and when my eyes met his, my heart swung like a pendulum.

When I left the hospital, Ethan wasn't wearing his white coat—he had on casual clothes. A simple white tee made him look so young I almost didn't recognize him.

"Luggage."

He reached for my suitcase and said it quietly. I hesitated, glancing around instinctively for my cousin. "Um—"

"I sent him to observe another surgery."

I pursed my lips, about to say more, but Ethan cut me off. "I'll accompany you out."

I nodded but didn't speak. He couldn't help asking, "You don't want me to stay with you?"

"I never said that."

I watched his pouty face and couldn't help smiling. Of course I wanted him to stay. I just didn't know how long he'd plan to—an afternoon or something more.

On Ethan's way home, my cousin texted: "Kid hasn't landed yet—don't reveal we're related. I'm freaking out."

How terrified was he of me ditching Ethan and him getting blamed?

Not long after we were in Ethan's car, I fell asleep. When I woke, I was lying on a pale cream bed.

The blanket smelled faintly like him.

I rubbed my eyes and took in the apartment's decor. It felt oddly familiar—exactly the kind of style I loved in college.

Minimalist with pops of brightness.

Sleep fading, I touched my clothes to make sure I was dressed, then breathed out. "Ethan…"

I pushed myself up, slid into the only pair of slippers by the bed. They were way too big. I shuffled out of the bedroom barefoot.

In an open kitchen, Ethan seemed to be stirring a pot, his long pale hands braced on the counter, his legs leaning forward slightly until he straightened when he heard me.

The scene was softened by a warm light, like one I've dreamt about over and over.

"Smells amazing."

The rich broth scent instantly made my mouth water.

I stood there, trying to act composed as I watched him.

He smiled and scooped some soup into a small bowl, lifting it to my lips. I giggled and sipped.

"Good?"

"Mm! Ethan, your cooking is amazing!"

I swear I meant it—I'm picky, but I could've eaten everything he made.

After the soup he brought out braised meat. I was ecstatic.

I loved every dish Ethan made. By the end I was thinking—even if I can't be his girlfriend, I'll be his best friend.

After we ate, I couldn't make him wash the dishes, so while he searched for a movie disc, I took the bowls to the sink.

But why was his dishwasher so high? I'm not short, but I had to stand on tiptoe.

"I'll do it."

Ethan came up behind me and, with practiced movements, opened the cabinet and put the dishes away. I looked up at him doing those motions and suddenly felt very small.

He noticed me watching and couldn't help a little laugh.

I frowned. "Don't laugh—"

Ethan closed the cabinet slowly, one hand propping the door, looking down at me. "Okay. I won't."

I huffed and slipped into his big slippers on my way back out, but after only a few steps he scooped me up from behind.

"Still mad?"

"I'm not."

He set me down by the couch and I could look up and see his Adam's apple. He switched on the projector and handed me the remote.

I glanced, took it, and he went to cut some fruit. Maybe his smile was too bright because my eyes followed him, and whenever he glanced back, he'd pretend not to notice.

The living room was quiet.

When the movie music started, Ethan came back with the fruit and sat down beside me. For a moment it felt exactly like watching a movie with a boyfriend.

"Hot juice—don't drink it cold."

He took my soda away and poured me warm juice.

"Okay." I answered quietly, watching him sitting next to me. The room smelled faintly of him and it was intoxicating.

Out of the corner of my eye I saw his long fingers wrapped around the cup. He took a small sip and his Adam's apple bobbed. His shirt was unbuttoned at the top, revealing a hint of pale collarbone.

"Cough cough—"

"What is it?"

Ethan looked alarmed. I was choking on my juice and couldn't stop.

He patted my back helplessly. "What's wrong? Why do you keep choking?"

I pushed him away gently to keep some distance and answered, plaintive, "I dunno."

Ethan: "I'll buy you a baby bottle next time."

Me: "No way."

He only smiled, the corners of his mouth lifting. Compared to his old aloof, superior self, this version of him was easy on the eyes; my gaze kept betraying me.

I forced myself to concentrate on the movie and pretended to sip, but I kept stealing glances his way.

A few years ago I never would've imagined watching a movie with Ethan. Back then, I even sneaked into his class to see a film once, hoping to watch it with him. He calmly slipped out the back while everyone else watched. Of course I paid ten bucks to have another guy call his name so he'd be noticed.

The movie got sentimental toward the end; my eyes were damp. I looked over at Ethan, and he'd fallen asleep. This wasn't the first time I'd seen him sleep.

He hugged a pillow and dozed on the sofa, long lashes resting against his cheek. His straight nose gave his profile a sculpted look.

I'm a writer, but in that moment I didn't want to pull out a dozen adjectives. He just looked like a sleepy little thing—slightly lazy, unbearably cute.

I quietly picked up a throw and tucked it over him.

"Ethan."

"Ah… did I wake you?"

I hadn't expected him to wake the second I covered him. I held my breath.

He rubbed his forehead, scooted closer, and lowered his voice. "Sorry. I meant to stay and watch with you, but I fell asleep. I didn't sleep last night. I'm exhausted."

He hadn't slept?

My chest tightened. I knew he was busy, but not sleeping at all… "It's fine."

I leaned back against the couch, feeling like Ethan Morgan's presence was enveloping me. I hunched in on myself and watched him, whispering, "You can keep sleeping. We can watch the movie whenever."

Ethan bent closer, as if to press his forehead against mine. He still looked exhausted; his voice was low. "Will you watch with me again next time?"

I blinked and looked at him, then nodded.

He stared at me for a long moment, his lips pressed together. Finally he said, "Claire, I'm sorry."

The apology hit me out of nowhere.

I was a little stunned. "W-why are you apologizing all of a sudden?"

Ethan: "I used to be immature."

I almost wondered if I'd misheard. I never expected Ethan to apologize for things from the past.

God knows how many times he'd made me cry back then and just stood there calmly.

He moved a fraction closer and, softer now, said, "I won't make you cry anymore."

I blinked at his sleepy but earnest expression. My anger from before seemed to melt away. I reached out and poked his chest. "Okay, let's just leave the past behind."

He breathed a small agreement, a hint of a smile on his lips, and took my hand.

I startled—before I could even react, he'd tentatively inched closer.

The tension between us spiked immediately.

My lashes fluttered uncontrollably, but I didn't pull away from his kiss.

Just the two of us in the living room.

The sound of our mouths and breath made my face hot and my heart race.

This was the third time we'd kissed… and I was still so passive.

By the end, I couldn't move. I sat stiffly in Ethan's arms, my hand covering my mouth as I blinked at him and whispered, "Ethan, didn't you say I was a rabbit in your eyes?"

Who kisses a rabbit all the time?

His Adam's apple bobbed; he exhaled softly. "Yeah. I think of you as a rabbit."

I frowned. He sounded a little plaintive, then wrapped his arms around me and leaned his forehead to mine. "Rabbits don't eat what's right next to them. That's why I've been single so long…"

Me: …who says I don't?

I had clearly been the one chasing, then getting so pissed off I gave up halfway. "Pfft, shameless. You literally said—"

"Sat what?"

Ethan gave me a look like he was waiting for a kid to answer.

I mumbled, "You literally said I wasn't the one you liked."

He paused, then turned his burning gaze on me. I felt like running, but he pulled me tighter. "Do you want to be the one I like?"

I pressed my lips together and frowned. "No."

Ethan smiled and held me in his arms, looking unusually pleased. "Why didn't you come into the office when you looked for me?"

I shoved him away, humming, "I didn't want to be annoying."

"Claire."

He reached up and stroked my head, like comforting a little animal, holding me close. His cool lips brushed my shoulder as he said each word slowly, "Will you be my girlfriend?"

"Uh? Wh-what?"

Really?

My nerves shot up. My body reacted faster than my brain; I tried to stand, but Ethan scooped me back into his arms.

"Ethan…"

He stayed quiet and simply held me, his hand at my waist, waiting for my answer.

I pressed my lips together and breathed carefully. His warmth seemed to burn through my sense of reason.

I'm not used to making big decisions when I'm worked up.

But then, I quietly put my hand over his and, head bowed, shyly said one word.

"Okay."

His moist, soft kiss landed. For the first time, I actively answered Ethan back.

Just as we kissed, reluctant to let go—

The house light flicked on. Ethan's mother and that middle-aged doctor in glasses from before were standing in the doorway. I hadn't even managed a hello before Mrs. Morgan tugged the man along.

I heard him mutter, "I wondered why he suddenly took time off…"

Me: …Did we just meet the parents?

Someone hugged me tighter and nuzzled me twice. I turned and pinched his cheek, puffing my cheeks out, but he pinned me back on the couch and kissed me again.

Whoa.

Riding the last days of May, I had my first real relationship.

Extra: Honeymoon Leave 1.
[Childhood friend]: Holy—are you dating Ethan Morgan?

I blinked at the message. How did she find out?

I'd planned to wait until I was feeling better—maybe tell people when we went out to eat. But apparently my friend knew fast.

[Childhood friend]: No way, it's real!

She immediately sent a screenshot of Ethan's social feed… it was the photo of me failing to reach the dishwasher!

Caption—Where did this little cutie come from.

Is that actually Ethan?

I always thought someone that proud wouldn't post selfies. When I added him on WeChat, his feed was empty.

Comment: Sis-in-law once gave me ten bucks to shout this for you.

Ethan: ?

When I read that comment, I froze. Oh no.

My heart dropped—I remembered my friend wasn't even on Ethan's friends list. I messaged her: Where did you get that pic?

[Childhood friend]: [smirky emoji] Your brother.

Me: …

I blinked and clicked into Ethan's social feed myself. It was completely empty.

Well then.

He had blocked me from seeing that post!

But I was too embarrassed to ask. What if he'd just say, "So you've been scheming for a while…" Mortifying.

[Childhood friend]: When's the wedding?

I pressed my lips together and, though my imagination raced, I answered: I don't know.

Another message popped in.

[Younger cousin]: Congrats on your wedding, sis.

Me: Who gets married less than a month after they start dating?

[Cousin]: Then I'm waiting for you to break the record.

Me: …I wish!

I was scared by my own thought.

I used to half joke about being single, half convinced that relationships would ruin my writing speed. Marriage? Out of the question. Ethan worked until eight, and though he stomped into the apartment every night, I tried to look busy at my computer, secretly watching him in the mirror until he went into the kitchen.

About half an hour later, the smell of sauce drifted out and practically pulled my soul from my body.

"Is dinner not ready? Where's my snack monster?" Ethan muttered three times. I couldn't help but grin and peeked in the mirror just as he walked briskly over. I jumped up, only to be scooped into his arms and kissed.

"Snuck another snack?"

He scolded me with his forehead against mine. I was so embarrassed I leaned into him, wrapped in his faint, clean scent.

"Nope."

He tousled my hair and practically carried me to the table. Two sets of chopsticks, four dishes and a soup—it felt like a real couple's dinner.

Compared to my parents' household, we were only missing the adorable smart me.

Facepalm.

Week four of dating.

Ethan's things started appearing at my place, and soon my hair ties and scrunchies were showing up at his.

He'd been sleeping on the couch at first, then slowly started coming to bed.

Two duvets became one.

When Ethan wrapped his arms around me, I pretended to be asleep, my heart racing.

"Claire."

He called softly, his hand slipping under the covers to hold me, kissing me gently.

That kiss was so tender.

I blinked and opened my eyes to see him watching me. Before I could say anything, he kissed me again and again until our skin warmed.

"Ethan… isn't this moving too fast?"

I was so nervous I was sweating, even with the AC on.

He brushed a stray lock from my ear, cool fingers on my jaw, and smiled. "It's just kissing. How's that fast?"

My knees went weak. Realizing he'd gently cornered me, I dove under the covers and muttered, "Go to sleep. You have work tomorrow!"

He slipped his hand in and tugged me back. "But work's so tiring."

I huffed and pushed him away. "If you slack off, no food for you."

Ethan chuckled and crawled under the covers with me. His dark eyes watched me as he whispered, "But I want to take honeymoon leave."

I curled up and stared at him.

He produced a six-prong ring from somewhere and held it out to me. "Approve the leave?"

Is this a proposal?

I froze. Only then did I realize I'd been waiting for this day without daring to voice it—never imagining a secret crush could see the light.

"Ethan…"

"If you approve, I'll give you back the ten bucks."

Before I could respond, he panicked for a moment, then brought the ring closer.

I blinked and laughed softly. He looked nervous too.

We locked eyes. Ethan's lips pressed together as he tentatively slipped the ring onto my finger.

It fit perfectly.

My chest loosened. I looked up at him, my eyes bright, smiling, "Ten bucks isn't enough."

He lunged forward, scooped me up, and grinned like a kid. "Wife, you can ask for anything."

I buried my face in his chest, listening to his happy laugh and hugging him back.

We started dating in May, engaged in June.

In July, midsummer, a wedding dress and two marriage certificates.

Someone wrapped his arms around me from behind, quiet and obedient.

I smiled and finished the last words to my story, watching END appear on my screen. I exhaled and raised an eyebrow at him. "Are you being cute now, Dr. Morgan?"

He pinched my waist and rested his chin on my shoulder. His voice was low. "No."

Me: "Huh?"

Someone nuzzled my neck, voice almost a whisper. "I just want to sleep next to you, sis."

I couldn't hold back my laugh and reached up to poke him, only to be scooped up and carried back into the bedroom.