It Seems Like My Senior Seems to Like Me - Chapter 67

After finishing the phone call, Ye Wanjia came back in from the balcony. The lights in the living room were on, but Pei Suye wasn’t there.

Her gaze shifted deeper into the apartment. Both bedrooms had their lights on, but from the right room came the sound of air swishing against a quilt—

Pei Suye was making her bed.

Her coat was off, leaving her in a camel-colored wool sweater paired with a caramel-colored long skirt. Both hands held the corners of the quilt, lifting it up with a strong swing. Again and again, the quilt rippled through the air, spreading out in waves.

Her waist was slim and drawn tight, her figure lean and graceful—just the sight made Ye Wanjia’s palms itch, recalling the time she had touched those taut muscles while riding pillion, when Pei Suye’s abs rose and fell with the pedaling.

A strange feeling stirred inside her. She wondered—did Pei Suye never get angry? Never lose her temper? She had clearly said before that they were “just schoolmates,” yet here Pei Suye was, showing no sense of distance at all, patiently helping her with the bedding.

In that moment, a pang of guilt arose. It seemed like she was always the one who lost her temper, while Pei Suye chose to endure her endlessly.

She stopped at the doorway, one hand on the frame, lips moving softly—

“Thank you.”

Hearing the voice, Pei Suye lifted her head with a gentle smile and placed the pillow neatly at the head of the bed.

“You’re welcome. I didn’t have a spare quilt, so I bought this one earlier when I went to pick you up. Take a look—do you like it?”

Ye Wanjia’s gaze fell on the plump, fluffy quilt. Even lying flat, its downy texture was visible through the cover, promising warmth.

And not just warmth—along the edges of the duvet cover was a trim of white lace, each petal exquisitely delicate.

Her memory drifted back—once, the two of them had talked about how they would decorate their bedroom in the future.

Back then, Ye Wanjia had said:

“I want lace bedding—the kind with frilly edges!”

Pei Suye had laughed and asked, “Why’s that?”

She had replied in a soft, childish voice: “Because when I was little, my family didn’t have much money. We couldn’t afford nice things. I’d see those princess beds and dolls on TV and want them so badly. When I grow up and have money, I want my whole room filled with lace!”

Her gaze returned from memory to the lace trim before her.

Every word she had said—Pei Suye had remembered.

“Thank you.” She spoke again, then picked up her phone. “How much was it? I’ll transfer it to you.”

The smile on Pei Suye’s face froze slightly. “No need. The lab will reimburse it.”

But Ye Wanjia insisted: “Then I’ll transfer it to you, and I’ll get it reimbursed later.”

“No need.”

“I should—how much—”

Her words were cut off by a slightly displeased interruption: “——Xiao Yezi.”

That long-lost nickname, one that belonged only to her.

Ye Wanjia pressed her lips together, saying nothing, eyes dodging, refusing to meet hers.

Pei Suye took a breath, adjusting her tone back to the usual warmth.

“Even schoolmates can cover for each other for a few days, right?”

So, Ye Wanjia stopped insisting.

She realized—Pei Suye was her weakness. No matter how much she prepared herself beforehand, no matter how cold or heartless she resolved to appear, the moment they faced each other, her heart would soften.

Later, she sat in her room, unpacking clothes one by one, folding them neatly into squares and arranging them in the wardrobe.

Her heart felt like a leaf caught in the wind—soaring high into the sky, fearful of falling, yet intoxicated by the romance of brushing against the blue.

Gurgle…

Halfway through unpacking, her stomach growled. She glanced at her watch—it was already eleven.

She’d rushed back from the lab earlier, planning to make some noodles, but with all the chaos that followed, she hadn’t eaten anything at all.

And now, to her despair—there was no food delivery service here in Davis. She hadn’t brought any snacks in her luggage either. Her stomach was empty, her strength fading, even folding clothes felt exhausting.

Maybe… she could check the kitchen?

Back when they were together, Pei Suye would always make her little snacks—mung bean pastries one day, pumpkin cakes the next, then handmade chocolates after that. Even abroad, though there wasn’t much for baking, the kitchen should at least have some staples.

She glanced toward the opposite bedroom—the door was closed. Maybe Pei Suye had gone to sleep, or was in the shower.

Perfect—no awkward encounters.

She hurried toward the kitchen, only to find—rounding the short storage cabinet—that the kitchen was already lit and filled with the smell of cooking.

The so-called “small lamp” was the stove hood’s light.

Hearing footsteps, Pei Suye turned, her face gentle, a smile spreading. “Want some supper?”

Ye Wanjia froze in place. In that moment, the cooking light shone across Pei Suye’s profile, outlining her flawless features. The glow didn’t even reach her eyes directly, yet her gaze still sparkled brightly.

“…Okay.” The words slipped out before she could think.

Ten minutes later, two bowls of egg noodles sat on the small round table. One was noticeably larger, topped with a thick, freshly seared steak.

“You’ve been busy all night. I guessed you hadn’t eaten, so I made some noodles.”

Her slender hands slid the full bowl across to Ye Wanjia, her voice as soft as a spring breeze brushing willow leaves.

“Try it. I added some vinegar—you should like it.”

The tang of vinegar drifted up, making Ye Wanjia’s appetite stir.

“Thank you.”

She pulled the bowl closer, lifted a generous clump of noodles, blew twice in haste, and slurped them into her mouth. Her cheeks bulged like a hamster, her grape-dark eyes shining, just like a little animal sneaking food.

“Eat slowly, careful not to burn yourself.”

Pei Suye’s gaze rippled with tenderness as she reminisced: “You still love vinegar this much. I remember once you came back late, the cafeteria was out of food, and even when you were eating instant noodles, you insisted on going to the cafeteria just to add a spoonful of vinegar.”

Every one of her habits—Pei Suye remembered.

Swallowing, Ye Wanjia picked up another bite, blowing on it. Between breaths, she muttered: “Noodles without vinegar don’t taste right.”

The noodles were cooked perfectly—springy but not hard, tender without being mushy. The beef was full of flavor, clearly marinated by Pei Suye herself. In just two minutes, half the bowl was gone, and her hollow stomach finally eased. Looking up, she noticed Suye’s bowl hadn’t been touched.

“Why aren’t you eating?” she asked.

Pei Suye was still watching her with gentle eyes. “Too hot. I’ll wait for it to cool.”

Ye Wanjia instinctively said, “Just blow on it—you can eat it right away. If it cools too much, it won’t taste good.”

As soon as she said it, her eyes fell to the scab still on Pei Suye’s lip. Guilt flushed through her, and she quickly looked away—the scab hadn’t fallen off yet, and if it worsened, it could easily keep getting inflamed.

That night… she really had gone too far.

No—too far with her bite.

“Um…”

She slurped another mouthful of noodles, chewing as the sticky sound filled the silence, then swallowed and forced out:

“That night, when I was drunk—I’m sorry.”

Her thick lashes lowered, eyes fixed on the steak with a missing bite, wishing she could hide her whole face inside the bowl.

In that moment, she looked guilty—almost childlike.

It struck Pei Suye—since their breakup, Ye Wanjia had always seemed calm, detached, never ruffled. For the first time, she was showing such a vivid, vulnerable expression.

So vivid.

For a second, it felt like she was back in those sunny university days, with her lively, bouncing little Xiao Yezi.

Pei Suye’s brows softened, waves of tenderness welling in her eyes.

“Actually, I should be the one to apologize.”

“Mm?”

Ye Wanjia looked up from her bowl, and was met with a gaze as gentle as spring breeze, as Pei Suye’s voice brushed past her ear—

“Does your hand still hurt?”

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