Chapter 77
Lin Qianqian, reassured by Lu Yin’s words, quickly climbed into bed. Lu Yin had already changed the sheets while she was showering. Lu Yin’s practical care, her unspoken affection, always touched her deeply, and she resolved to be more obedient, to control her own childish impulses, her playful provocations.
Despite her exhaustion, she waited for Lu Yin, snuggling into her arms as soon as she lay down, her body seeking warmth, comfort, reassurance.
Lu Yin held her close, her hand gently stroking Lin Qianqian’s hair.
“What time are we leaving tomorrow?” Lin Qianqian asked.
“I’ll wake you up,” Lu Yin replied, pulling Lin Qianqian closer as she slipped down slightly.
“Am I heavy?” Lin Qianqian asked suddenly.
Lu Yin looked down at her, her voice soft. “When you were a child, I used to hold you like this every night. You were so small then.”
“I still am,” Lin Qianqian mumbled, her face buried in Lu Yin’s chest. “In your arms, I’ll always be your little sister.”
While abroad, she had longed for Lu Yin’s embrace, searching for a substitute, a replacement for the warmth, the comfort, the sense of belonging she had always found in Lu Yin’s arms.
She had bought a large deer plushie, had even used the same shampoo Lu Yin used, but her bed had remained empty, the familiar scent a painful reminder of Lu Yin’s absence.
Rainy nights, sunny days, she had waited for Lu Yin at the school gates, the faces around her unfamiliar, the language a foreign tongue, the memories of their shared past a distant echo.
She had hoped Lu Yin missed her too, her social media posts a carefully crafted performance, a subtle plea for attention, a desperate attempt to reconnect.
But they had both been too stubborn, too afraid, their pride a wall between them.
“Sister, we have to have a future together…” Lin Qianqian whispered, her voice thick with emotion, unable to bear the thought of another separation, another loss.
As long as Lu Yin didn’t give up on her, she would cling to her, their lives intertwined, their love a constant, unwavering force.
“What are you afraid of?” Lu Yin asked, her gaze intense, her voice a soft command. “Tell me, Lin Qian.”
“I’m afraid of so many things…” Lin Qianqian said, her voice barely a whisper. “Growing old, getting sick…”
The first heartbreak, the first betrayal, had left scars, her insecurities now a constant companion, her fear of the unknown a heavy weight in her chest.
She met Lu Yin’s gaze, her own fear reflected in Lu Yin’s eyes. “But most of all, I’m afraid of you not loving me…”
“I won’t leave you,” Lu Yin said, her words a promise, a reassurance Lin Qianqian desperately needed to hear.
But in her heart, she knew she was the one who needed Lin Qianqian, her love a lifeline, her presence a guiding light in the darkness.
She didn’t want Lin Qianqian to leave her.
“Sister, teach me how to paint again. I’ll be serious this time,” Lin Qianqian said, her fingers toying with the edge of the duvet. “And then we can hang the painting in the loft.”
“Okay, what do you want to learn?” Lu Yin asked. “Something simple, or something more challenging?”
It didn’t matter. She wouldn’t be able to learn anything anyway.
“I still want to paint a round sun and a house,” Lin Qianqian said. “And two little people, standing beside the house. You and me.”
She needed these small acts of creation, these tangible expressions of her love, to reassure herself, to quiet the doubts that lingered within.
Every love letter, every painting, every shared moment, a testament to their connection, their bond.
Lu Yin, of course, wouldn’t refuse. She was like an indulgent parent, her love for Lin Qianqian unconditional, her willingness to fulfill her every whim a constant source of both amusement and exasperation.
Lin Qianqian leaned in and kissed her, the memory of their every kiss, every intimate touch, etched into her mind, her body.
She had always been afraid, her desire for Lu Yin tempered by the weight of their familial connection, the fear of rejection, of reprisal, but her love, her longing, had always been stronger.
There was no bittersweetness to their relationship, no agonizing wait for reciprocation. Lu Yin’s love, like a promised candy, had always been there, sweet and intoxicating, a source of both comfort and a dangerous, addictive pleasure.
She would often tease Lu Yin with suggestive words, her boldness earning her a playful slap, a gentle reprimand, but also, a tightening of Lu Yin’s embrace, her touch more possessive, her gaze more intense.
She knew Lu Yin’s desires mirrored her own, and she pushed the boundaries, her playful provocations a test, a challenge.
But this New Year had been a disappointment, her plans disrupted, her desires unfulfilled.
And her new ear piercing, a small act of rebellion, throbbed with a dull ache.
She touched it instinctively, and Lu Yin gently took her earlobe, examining the piercing.
“Does it hurt?” she asked.
Her ear was slightly red and swollen, a sign of irritation.
“It’s a little sore,” Lin Qianqian said, wincing as Lu Yin’s touch pressed against the sensitive skin.
“Tell me if it gets worse. We can go to the hospital.”
“The piercer said it’s normal,” Lin Qianqian said, taking Lu Yin’s hand, their fingers interlacing. “It should be fine in a few days.”
She leaned closer, her voice a playful whisper. “But our conversation just now…it sounded a bit dangerous, like we were…”
Lu Yin slapped her mouth lightly, a gentle warning.
“You always do that. You won’t let me say those things,” Lin Qianqian complained. “I didn’t even say anything! What if you’re the one with the dirty mind?”
“Then don’t say anything at all,” Lu Yin said, her hand covering Lin Qianqian’s eyes, her touch warm and comforting.
Lin Qianqian yawned. “Fine, I’ll save it for later.”
Lu Yin turned off the light, her silence a familiar response.
“Wake me up tomorrow! Don’t leave me alone at the hotel!”
Lu Yin’s hand covered her mouth again, silencing her.
Lin Qianqian didn’t sleep well. The bed was uncomfortable, the room small and unfamiliar, and she missed the comfort of her own bed, of Lu Yin’s arms around her.
When Lu Yin woke her up, she was grumpy, her eyes still closed, her arms and legs moving sluggishly as Lu Yin dressed her and then carried her to the bathroom.
The cold water woke her up, and she shivered, her voice a playful complaint. “I’m suing you for attempted murder! I…”
Lu Yin’s hand, wiping her face with a towel, silenced her.
They went back to the classroom, and after taking attendance, they boarded the bus, Lin Qianqian sitting beside Lu Yin in the back, the stuffy air making her feel slightly nauseous.
The ride to the countryside took two or three hours, and she slept, her head resting on Lu Yin’s shoulder.
The air in the forest was damp and cool, the trees still bare, the ground covered in fallen leaves. The students set up their easels, their faces turned towards the sun, the natural world their teacher, their inspiration.
Lin Qianqian’s eyes widened as she saw the camera in Lu Yin’s hand. “Where did you get that?”
She hadn’t used a camera in a while, her last photography gig the promotional shoot for the art institution, her passion for photography, like her other hobbies, a source of joy only when it wasn’t work.
She examined the camera, her fingers quickly familiarizing themselves with its features.
Lu Yin’s easel wasn’t with the students’. She led Lin Qianqian further into the forest, their hands clasped together, Lin Qianqian’s grip tight, her steps careful on the damp ground.
They found a spot by a small river, and as Lu Yin set up her easel, Lin Qianqian took her picture.
She had learned photography in college, believing it, like painting, a way to capture beauty, to preserve memories. This was her first time sketching with Lu Yin, their shared experience a moment she wanted to remember, to cherish.
She showed Lu Yin the picture. “I was hoping we could go sketching together sometime. I didn’t expect it to happen so soon,” she said, smiling.
She watched as Lu Yin sketched the landscape, the mountains, the river, her hand moving quickly, the lines fluid and expressive.
“Sister, I’m so glad you’re painting again,” she said, focusing the camera on a distant object, her words a casual observation, a subtle expression of her relief, her love.
Lu Yin glanced at her, then returned to her work.
“I was really worried you would give up,” Lin Qianqian said, her voice sincere.
No one could paint like Lu Yin, her talent far exceeding the accolades and awards she had received, her skill a testament to her dedication, her passion.
In Lin Qianqian’s eyes, Lu Yin would always be the most talented artist she knew.
“Do you want to try? I can teach you how to draw simple figures,” Lu Yin said, changing the subject, not wanting to dwell on the past, her focus on the present, on fulfilling Lin Qianqian’s wishes, her every whim a command.
“Yes!” Lin Qianqian said eagerly, looking around. “Where should I sit…?”
She grinned, sitting down on Lu Yin’s lap. “This is perfect.”
Lu Yin sighed, indulging her, handing her a pencil. “Start with a basic sketch.”
“A sketch? Of what?” Lin Qianqian asked, confused. “I don’t understand these technical terms…”
Lu Yin’s lips twitched. “Not technical terms. Just draw what you’re good at.”
Lin Qianqian’s eyes widened, then she grinned, drawing a large, round sun in the corner of the paper.
“I’m going to draw the biggest house ever!” she declared, her childish drawing surprisingly detailed. “We’re going to live in the biggest house!”
Lu Yin watched her, amused by her enthusiasm, her careful attention to detail as she sketched the roof, the windows, the chimney, her drawing a reflection of her own dreams, their shared future.
Then, she took Lin Qianqian’s hand, her gaze intense, and guided her, their hands moving together, creating their first shared masterpiece, a symbol of their love, their connection.
She added a small figure sitting beside an easel, a young girl holding a popsicle, her cheeks smudged with paint.
“A kitten,” Lu Yin said, her voice a soft tease.
“It’s a tiger!” Lin Qianqian protested, recognizing herself.
“A kitten,” Lu Yin repeated, enjoying their playful banter.
“It’s not!” Lin Qianqian said, her competitive spirit flaring. She bit Lu Yin’s lip playfully.
Lu Yin chuckled, her lips brushing against Lin Qianqian’s. “Now it’s a puppy.”
Lin Qianqian tried to pinch Lu Yin’s cheek, but Lu Yin turned her head away. “Hey! You won’t even let me touch you anymore!”
“The ground is slippery. Be careful,” Lu Yin warned, but as Lin Qianqian hugged her, the stool tipped over, and they both fell, Lu Yin’s body shielding Lin Qianqian’s from the impact.
Lin Qianqian froze, realizing her mistake, her body pressed against Lu Yin’s.
“Sister…” she whispered, her voice filled with a sudden fear.
Lu Yin, unfazed, pointed towards the sky. “Isn’t it beautiful?”
Lin Qianqian sat up, her gaze following Lu Yin’s, the winter sky a clear, vibrant blue, dotted with white clouds, the air crisp and clean.
“It is,” she said, her voice filled with wonder, the beauty of the natural world a welcome contrast to the turmoil within.
She leaned against Lu Yin’s shoulder. “Is the view always this beautiful when you go sketching?”
“It depends on luck,” Lu Yin said, sharing stories of her sketching trips, the unexpected downpours that had ruined her artwork, the encounters with wildlife, the time she had almost stepped on a snake.
Lin Qianqian listened, captivated, her own desire to experience these moments with Lu Yin growing stronger.
“Sister, let’s go sketching together again,” she said, picking up the camera. “I’ll take pictures! You just focus on painting!”
Lu Yin smiled and nodded.
Lin Qianqian snuggled closer, her heart filled with a quiet joy.
She would be with Lu Yin forever.
They were perfect for each other.
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