It Seems Like My Senior Seems to Like Me - Chapter 69

“Can you hold me for a bit?”

The frail voice fell softly onto the carpet of the bedroom, so weak that it carried no echo.

By the head of the bed, Pei Suye was leaning against the headboard, looking utterly drained. Her long black hair spilled down from behind her ears to her chest, catching the light in soft dark strands. Her complexion had always been delicate, but with fever tinting her porcelain skin faintly red, she looked all the more fragile.

She gazed steadily at Ye Wanjia. Illness stripped away her composure, leaving only raw affection in her eyes. Her gaze was misty, lingering, almost pleading.

So even Pei Suye could beg sometimes.

Ye Wanjia sighed, set down the spoon she was stirring with, and walked over. Sitting on the edge of the soft bed, she leaned forward and gently wrapped Pei Suye into her arms.

“Mm…” Pei Suye had no strength to lift her arms in return. Instead, she closed her eyes, nestled into the crook of Ye Wanjia’s neck, and found a comfortable spot, her cheek brushing lightly against Ye Wanjia’s ear like a graceful, lazy cat in its owner’s arms.

“Ye Wanjia, you smell so good,” she murmured, her voice like feathers.

Ye Wanjia’s head throbbed: “We used the same shower gel.”

Pei Suye, completely out of it, replied, “Then you smell good too.”

Ye Wanjia both wanted to punch her and couldn’t help but pity her. In the end, she just coaxed her softly, then pulled back.

“Alright, come have some porridge.”

She picked up the bowl beside her. It had cooled, no longer scalding, just right to eat. She scooped a spoonful, propped it with the bowl, and brought it to Pei Suye’s lips.

Pei Suye had never felt so happy before. Her weary eyes suddenly lit up like candles catching flame—bright, curved, radiant, sparkling like crystals.

From her perspective, Ye Wanjia seemed to be surrounded by a golden halo.

Her little Leaf had grown up. She used to go barefaced everywhere, but now she wore light makeup every day. Just like now—her dark brows symmetrical, the arches neat and graceful.

Her hair was shorter too. It used to reach her waist, but now it just touched her shoulders. When tied back, a stray lock always slipped down the right side of her face—effortless, beautiful.

And her cooking had improved. The porridge was perfectly done, the grains soft, melted into the broth just right.

Wait.

Wasn’t this porridge something she cooked herself?

Her sluggish brain took five whole seconds to replay the memory. Yes—it really was her own cooking, not Leaf’s.

But it still tasted delicious. With Leaf personally feeding her, looking at her with such gentle eyes, even plain rice porridge turned into a feast fit for kings.

Delicious.

One spoon after another, her mouth didn’t stop, nor did her eyes. They stayed locked on the person before her, so full of feeling they almost brimmed with tears.

At last, Ye Wanjia couldn’t stand being stared at anymore. She tossed the spoon back into the bowl and asked:

“Can you stop staring at me?”

Hm?

Her fevered mind lagged another five seconds before processing the words. Then she nodded obediently:

“Okay.”

And so, her lovestruck eyes dropped dutifully, fixed straight on the tiny flower pattern on the spoon, and did not move again.

Tch.

Ye Wanjia clicked her tongue inwardly. How could someone as sharp and clever as Pei Suye become such a dazed fool when sick?

Was this still the same Pei Suye who once gave speeches in fluent English on stage?

The same Pei Suye who once drove off a harasser with a single swing of an umbrella?

No—now she was just an obedient little kitten.

A beautiful little kitten.

“Little Leaf.”

When the porridge was finished, Pei Suye continued staring blankly at the bowl, even following it with her eyes as it was moved from the bed to the nightstand.

“All done,” she reported weakly, as if announcing her meal results.

Ye Wanjia turned and saw her still staring intently at the empty bowl. For a split second, she swore she saw a halo of cartoonish cuteness glowing above her head. She quickly rubbed her eyes and waved a hand in front of her.

“You can look at me freely now.”

“Okay.”

With permission granted, Pei Suye lifted her gaze again, wide and innocent, and made her second request of the day—

“Can you kiss me?”

“What?” Ye Wanjia thought she’d misheard.

Pei Suye shrank into her oversized pajamas, her frame slim and pitiful. “Can you kiss me?”

“No.” Ye Wanjia’s tone was merciless.

“Why not?” Pei Suye pressed stubbornly.

“No reason. Because I said no.” Ye Wanjia almost slammed the bowl down.

“But you told me I could ask for things.”

“That doesn’t mean I’ll grant everything.”

“But…”

Sitting in bed, a loose strand of hair framing her flushed face, her fever-bright eyes slightly red, Pei Suye moved her lips softly, her voice tender as cotton candy:

“If you kissed me, I’d be really happy.”

In that moment, Ye Wanjia admitted—her heart softened, just a little. Her hands even twitched upward on their own.

Thankfully, reason prevailed. “But I wouldn’t be happy. Lie down and sleep.”

Luckily, Pei Suye was very obedient. Without fuss, she slid under the covers, even tucking herself in.

When Ye Wanjia left the room, she sighed all the way out.

Pei Suye really knew how to be willful when sick—demanding hugs, asking for kisses. How was this going to be when she grew old?

Halfway through the thought, her steps froze.

Her mind jammed, gears catching on something, stopping the whole machine.

After a couple breaths, the jam loosened, gears clicked back into motion, her thoughts rolling forward again.

Why had she thought about growing old together?

They weren’t even back together. How could she let herself think that far?

How could she?

Pei Suye was sick for only two days. By the third, she was back to her old self, waking early to wash all the sweat-soaked sheets and even going on a two-hour hike.

As for that sickbed clinginess—both of them silently agreed to treat it as if it had only happened in a dream. Neither brought it up again.

On weekends, Pei Suye often joined her labmates for cycling trips, or sometimes played tennis.

“Jessica, are you ready yet?”

That day, a striking girl with an East Asian face walked into the dorm. Not spotting Pei Suye at first, she ran right into Ye Wanjia.

She was very beautiful. Over 1.7 meters tall, her hair tied in a neat ponytail, a pink sports tank on top, white skort on the bottom. Her legs were long and straight, and she carried herself with an air of confidence.

Strangely, despite her beauty, Ye Wanjia felt a pang of bitterness at the sight of her.

“And you are?” Ye Wanjia asked.

The newcomer’s smile faltered ever so slightly, as if she felt the same. “My name is Adora. Or you can call me by my Chinese name—Du Ai.”

Ye Wanjia politely introduced herself too. “I’m Ye Wanjia. If you prefer English, you can call me—”

The girl interrupted, “—Leafage, I know.”

It seemed Adora didn’t want to exchange more words. She raised her voice, her tone suddenly softer and more delicate:

“Jessica, are you done yet?”

“Coming.”

Pei Suye emerged from her room with a tennis bag slung over her shoulder. In a white T-shirt and gray pants, sunhat in one hand, phone in the other, she looked fresh and brisk. As she passed Ye Wanjia, she paused briefly and asked:

“Wanjia, want to come exercise with us?”

Ye Wanjia was about to answer when Adora cut in again: “But she doesn’t even have a racket.”

Pei Suye only smiled tolerantly. “It’s fine, I’ve got an extra. If you want to play, I’ll lend you one.”

Normally, Ye Wanjia had no particular interest in sports. But the look on Adora’s face—like her joining would cause chaos—stirred a streak of rebellion deep inside her.

“Sure, let me change shoes.”

A tiny bud sprouted in her heart, sparked by something Wei Xiaoxiao had once said on the phone—

“You can try. Just follow your heart first.”

At that moment, she had no ulterior motives. She simply knew one thing—she didn’t like the idea of Pei Suye going off to play tennis alone with Du Ai.

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