Ms. Qing Fang's cheeks were burning red as she rummaged through her wardrobe, trying to find a clean set of pajamas. After much internal struggle, she finally picked out one of her more modest sets, took a deep breath to calm herself, then stomped her foot lightly and walked out of her bedroom.
The moment she opened the door, she screamed, "Aah! Pervert! Doug Feng, why are you sitting there without a shirt? Put some clothes on!"
Doug, sitting on the sofa in just his boxer shorts, had been casually watching TV while blow-drying his hair. He turned and raised an eyebrow, slightly amused.
"Ms. Fang, you never gave me anything to wear. What was I supposed to do, conjure clothes out of thin air?"
He set the hairdryer down and muttered to himself, Is this really that big a deal? I'm not even completely undressed… She's a grown woman in her twenties—has she really never seen a shirtless guy before?
"W-Well, just hurry up and put something on! You'll catch a cold like that!"
With her face flushed red, Ms. Qing Fang tossed a bundle of pink fabric onto the sofa without looking directly at him. Then she turned away, her breathing clearly uneven again despite her best efforts to stay calm.
Doug picked up the sleepwear she threw over—it was pink, had some butterfly patterns on it, and a bit of lace on the sleeves. Pretty tame, as far as her sleepwear went.
He sighed and muttered, "What's the big deal? It's just skin…"
Moments later, he called out, "Alright, Ms. Fang. I'm dressed. You can turn around now."
She turned to look and instantly stifled a laugh. "What… What are you wearing?"
Doug had squeezed himself into her pajama set. Ms. Qing Fang was barely 160cm tall, while Doug was nearly 180cm. The sleeves stopped halfway down his arms, and the pants didn't even make it past his calves. The hem barely covered his navel. The whole get-up made him look like a backup dancer at a budget cabaret show.
"Ms. Fang, you're not allowed to laugh," Doug grumbled, turning toward the mirror in the living room and catching sight of his own reflection. "If you keep laughing, I'll just sleep like this without anything on."
"Alright, alright! I won't laugh anymore," she giggled, eyes crescent-shaped. "It's almost midnight. I'll get you a blanket so you can sleep out here. If the sofa's too uncomfortable, just let me know and I'll swap—you take the bed, and I'll sleep here."
She pulled a fluffy blanket out of the closet and handed it to Doug. Then she stretched her arms above her head and yawned.
"You should try to sleep early. If anything comes up, just call me."
"Okay. Good night, Ms. Fang."
"Good night, Doug."
Doug took the blanket from her hands, and for a second, he felt an odd pang of disappointment watching her walk into the bedroom and quietly shut the door.
Click.
The bedroom lights went out. Now, only the pale silver moonlight from the windows lit the living room.
Doug curled up on the sofa. The blanket and the pajamas smelled faintly of her—a soft floral fragrance he'd grown familiar with.
It wasn't long before sleep overtook him, and the only sound in the room was his soft breathing.
But then—
"Mm… ah…"
A faint noise stirred him.
To most people, it would've been inaudible, but ever since his body had undergone its strange changes, Doug's senses—especially his hearing—had become much sharper. In the quiet of the night, the subtle murmurs from the bedroom cut through like whispers in his ear.
"What's going on…?" he murmured, half-awake. "That sounded like it came from Ms. Fang's room."
Worried, he sat up. Is she okay? She sounded… uncomfortable.
Hesitating only briefly, Doug walked to the bedroom door. It wasn't locked.
"Ms. Fang? I heard something… Are you alright?"
He opened the door gently and turned on the light.
"Ah! Turn it off—!"
Ms. Qing Fang winced at the sudden brightness. She was lying in bed, face flushed, shifting restlessly under the covers, clearly in discomfort. Her breath was shallow, and she looked like she had a fever.
"Ms. Fang…?" Doug rushed to her side and touched her forehead. "You're burning up!"
Her voice was faint and weak. "Doug… I don't feel so good…"
Her body writhed slightly under the sheets, like she couldn't get comfortable. Doug instantly recognized the symptoms. This was exactly how she'd looked the night he rescued her from that hotel incident.
"She must still have some of that stuff in her system…" he muttered, clenching his jaw.
"Hold on. I'll get you some cold water or call a doctor—"
But before he could finish, Ms. Qing Fang, still half-unconscious, reached out and wrapped her arms around his neck.
"Wait—Ms. Fang?!"
She pulled him down instinctively, murmuring incomprehensibly. Her cheek brushed against his. Doug froze.
His mind went blank.
What the hell is happening?
He quickly composed himself and gently pried her arms off. "Okay, this is serious. I need to cool her down before it gets worse…"
He got up, grabbed a towel from the bathroom, soaked it in cold water, and returned to place it on her forehead.
Ms. Qing Fang mumbled something again, her voice dreamy, lost in fevered sleep.
Doug sighed, sitting by her side to make sure she didn't suddenly get worse. As the minutes passed, her breathing began to even out, the heat on her skin gradually cooling under the damp towel.
Eventually, she settled back into a more peaceful sleep.
Doug stayed by her bedside just a little longer, then tiptoed back to the sofa, unable to shake the strange tightness in his chest.
What a night…