Chapter 6 : Flavor

The rain fell relentlessly, timed with * uncanny precision*, making Qi Yuanhan wonder if Ye Qinghe had orchestrated the day’s events.
Of course, she knew Ye Qinghe lacked such power.
Ye Qinghe merely exploited the weather—a woman skilled at crafting romance and capturing hearts.

The windshield wipers frantically swept the glass, overwhelmed.
The city, baptized by the downpour, shook off its stifling heat.
Gusting winds whipped leaves into chaotic swirls on the streets.
This rain brought a chill to the sweltering summer.

Ye Qinghe’s neighborhood was a far cry from Qi Yuanhan’s opulent villa district.
Price-wise, Qi Yuanhan instinctively estimated: this area, still prime, was worth millions.
They rode the elevator up, Qi Yuanhan’s dress soaked through.
Her pleated skirt, now clinging to her skin, resembled a body-hugging dress, accentuating her curves—provocative, even to her own eyes.

The elevator was crowded, residents coming and going.
Qi Yuanhan tucked herself into a corner, Ye Qinghe tactfully shielding her.
At Ye Qinghe’s floor, she reached for Qi Yuanhan’s hand.
Qi Yuanhan stared at her fingers, unmoving, until Ye Qinghe tugged her skirt.

Ye Qinghe opened her door, offering Qi Yuanhan a pair of slippers.
Qi Yuanhan’s gaze instinctively scanned the shoe cabinet—only women’s shoes, no men’s.
The slippers fit perfectly.
The apartment, modest at 200 square meters, was a loft.

The first floor held two bedrooms and a living room, decorated in an Instagram-chic style.
The second-floor hallway was lined with books.
Ye Qinghe handed her a towel, “Wipe off first?”
Aware of her disheveled state, Qi Yuanhan took it, drying her hair.

After a few swipes, she sensed something off, lowering the towel to find Ye Qinghe watching her.
Qi Yuanhan turned, back to Ye Qinghe, but the gaze shifted to her back.
It was the first time she’d noticed such blatant scrutiny—not quite sneaking, more like appraisal.
She’d once looked at Ye Qinghe the same way.

In hindsight, such frank stares were impossible to miss.
Ye Qinghe asked, “You don’t like women, do you?”
Qi Yuanhan hummed in agreement.
Ye Qinghe headed upstairs, entering a room.

She emerged with a garment, now wearing a long T-shirt, barefoot, the hem barely grazing her thighs.
Qi Yuanhan momentarily forgot what Ye Qinghe had worn earlier.
Ye Qinghe smiled, “Wear this later? It’s all I have.”
She unfolded a black camisole dress—low V-neck, lace hem shorter than her T-shirt, with a rabbit-tail-like puff on the back.

Qi Yuanhan couldn’t fathom the design’s intent.
Ye Qinghe added, “Sorry, this is the only unworn piece. You’d mind my used clothes, right?”
But this outfit—did she think Qi Yuanhan wouldn’t mind?
Qi Yuanhan met Ye Qinghe’s eyes, her smile loaded with meaning.

After a beat, Qi Yuanhan took the dress, “Where’s the bathroom?”
“I’ll show you.”
Ye Qinghe led her to a first-floor bathroom, turning on the water, testing its temperature.
Qi Yuanhan reached for her skirt’s zipper, pulling it an inch, then noticed Ye Qinghe lingering.

She turned, “We’re both women, so sharing a shower’s fine, right?” Ye Qinghe said.
Qi Yuanhan nearly retorted, You like women, so it’s inappropriate, but the words felt loaded—implying Ye Qinghe was into her.
“Is the hot water limited?” Qi Yuanhan quipped, aiming for sarcasm.
Ye Qinghe nodded, “Actually, yeah. The heater’s faulty—mid-shower, it turns cold.”

She closed the door, stepping in, and stripped off her T-shirt.
In a flash, Qi Yuanhan shut her eyes, fumbling for the doorknob.
Ye Qinghe killed the lights, plunging the room into darkness.
Hot water cascaded over Qi Yuanhan.

She raised a hand to shield her face, water splashing the walls, creating a futile back-and-forth.
Qi Yuanhan, exasperated yet amused, snapped, “Stop it.”
Ye Qinghe said, “Sorry, too dark to see.”
It was pitch black, rain pounding outside.

Ye Qinghe waved the showerhead, water spraying wildly, as if they weren’t indoors.
Qi Yuanhan said, “Aim it at yourself.”
Ye Qinghe replied, “No, this one’s yours. I’ll use the other.”
Her words halted Qi Yuanhan’s exit.

The only light came from the water heater’s flickering digits, useless beyond outlining walls.
Whether intentional or not, Ye Qinghe passed the showerhead, grazing Qi Yuanhan’s shoulder, reaching again until Qi Yuanhan snatched it, “I’ll manage, thanks.”
Ye Qinghe hummed, stepping back.
The bathroom felt cramped, stifling.

Qi Yuanhan closed her eyes, rinsing her face, peeling off her sodden skirt.
Her hearing sharpened, two streams of water whooshing in unison.
Sharing a bathroom was a first, the other woman’s presence uncomfortably close.
It felt furtive, as if two women showering were doing something illicit.

“Need body wash?” Ye Qinghe kicked a bottle over, which clinked against the wall.
Qi Yuanhan hooked it with her foot, slowly retrieving it.
After ten minutes, she finished, recalling where she’d placed the dress.
She dressed in the dark, leaning against the wall.

Ye Qinghe rustled, wrapping up, then shut off her shower, “Lights on?”
Qi Yuanhan counted sixty seconds, flipped the switch, and blinding light stung her eyes.
Blinking, she saw Ye Qinghe, decently dressed, under the showerhead.
A strange surprise hit her.

Ye Qinghe voiced her thoughts, “What, thought I’d be stark naked?”
Qi Yuanhan didn’t reply, pushing the door open.
Ye Qinghe mopped up, dragging suds away, “Are you shocked I’m clothed or hoping I wasn’t?”
People excel at masking themselves, donning polished facades.

Qi Yuanhan was no exception, but Ye Qinghe was her foil, peeling her bare.
Ye Qinghe cleaned the spilled body wash, rinsing foam.
Qi Yuanhan, exhausted, stifled a yawn.
It was late, their actions straying far from routine.

Her life was a predictable loop—company, home, repeat—now derailed.
Qi Yuanhan said, “Arrange a room for me. I’m tired, need rest.”
She sharpened her tone, warding off Ye Qinghe’s teasing.
Ye Qinghe agreed, leading her to a second-floor room.

Her smile was pronounced, “I thought you’d head home. Staying over? That’s unexpected.”
Her words jolted Qi Yuanhan—she’d broken her core rule: never stay out.
Ye Qinghe excelled at exposing her flaws.
Qi Yuanhan wasn’t angry, just unsettled, a thrill stirring within.

Her tone hardened, “So, what’s your plan?”
“I’ve got plenty of ideas, but one night’s not enough,” Ye Qinghe teased, unrelenting, only softening when Qi Yuanhan frowned, “Alright, sleep time. Blow-dry your hair.”
Water from Qi Yuanhan’s hair soaked her back—she hadn’t noticed until now.

Night’s Rest
In a strange bed, Qi Yuanhan’s heart pounded—not the usual insomnia, but a restless urge, a longing to rebel fully.
She covered her eyes, inhaling the body wash’s scent, like a perfumer decoding notes.
Lemon, rose?
Or something else…

Morning came, her mind foggy from the rain’s oppressive weight.
Craving fresh air, she opened the door and heard Ye Qinghe’s voice.
Ye Qinghe, perched at the doorframe, had been waiting, “Need a morning kiss?”
Qi Yuanhan inhaled sharply.

Yesterday’s unanswered question clicked: the scent was Ye Qinghe’s natural fragrance.
Her body was steeped in this woman’s essence.