Seduce a shy loyal dog

Chapter 8

don't joke around

After an indeterminate amount of time, Song Yirong was shaken by someone's shoulders so hard that he seemed to be crushed, he woke up with a frown, and said to the visitor indiscriminately, "What are you doing?"

"Open your eyes," the man said in a cold voice, "Song Yirong."

Song Yirong was dizzy from the rain, and started talking nonsense, "Who? I'm not. Go away and don't grab me."

"Get up," Zhou Lang grabbed his arm with one hand and his back with the other, "Go back."

Song Yirong struggled in the opposite direction, waved his hand a few times in the air, and then fell back to the ground, stubbornly, "Don't go."

Zhou Lang put the raincoat on Song Yirong's body, then squatted down beside him, and reached out to touch his forehead. As expected, it was very hot. He had no choice but to persuade him patiently, "I'll help you walk, is that okay?"

Song Yirong buried her head in her knees, and was silent for a while, then slowly raised her head, her eyes were red, it must have been burned, "The foot hurts."

"Where?" Zhou Lang lowered his voice.

"Ankle." Song Yirong's throat rolled, "It's sprained."

"Let me see," Zhou Lang lightly pulled up his trouser leg, a very thin ankle, the wound was already bruised, the red blood seemed to ooze out, and there were a lot of mud spots.

It looks like a mess.

Zhou Lang didn't say anything, but silently rolled up Song Yirong's other trouser leg, and hung his backpack on his chest.

Then he squatted down, passed Song Yirong's knees with his hands, and carried the person on his shoulders neatly.

"Take off the hat of the raincoat," Zhou Lang instructed, "Be careful of the rain."

"Hmm." Song Yirong rested his chin lightly on Zhou Lang's shoulder, stared at the front without focusing, and realized that Zhou Lang's hair was dripping wet, and then realized, "Where's your bamboo hat?"

Zhou Lang touched Song Yirong with his hand behind his back, and motioned, "I'm holding it in my hand, so it's inconvenient to wear it."

Song Yirong wanted to say something more, but the raincoat wrapped him so tightly that the wind and rain couldn't get in, and his body was slowly getting warmer.

There was a very faint fragrance of laundry detergent on Zhou Lang's body, which smelled very pleasant. Song Yirong didn't repel it very much, so he relaxed, and put the tip of his nose against his clothes.

It was raining all the time, Zhou Lang carried him on his back, although it was not strenuous, it was not easy, Song Yirong's side face touched his ears, Zhou Lang's ears were cold, and the rain was all over his face.

"Zhou Lang," Song Yirong said suddenly, his voice was tinged with rain, making it seem ethereal, "It's hard to be a good person."

Zhou Lang paused before saying, "No."

Song Yirong stopped answering the conversation, he raised his arm, and put his palm on the top of Zhou Lang's hair. His short hair was short and the roots were stiff, but because it was drenched by rain, it didn't hurt his hands that much.

"Help you out of the rain."

Zhou Lang didn't speak, but walked steadily, sideways avoiding those thorny weeds and bushes.

The ear touched by the wrist was a little hot, Song Yirong moved one hand away, covered the other ear with the palm of his hand, pressed it, and said: "It seems to be hot."

The muscles on Zhou Lang's back visibly tensed up, "Don't move around."

Zhou Lang: "It's going downhill."

Song Yirong stopped touching, and put his hands on top of Zhou Lang's head again to cover him from the rain for a while.

Back in the rented house again, it seems like a century has passed.

Song Yirong was lightly placed on the sofa, Zhou Lang wiped the drops of water from his hair, stood up straight, panted slightly imperceptibly, and asked, "Is there anything else I can help with?"

Song Yirong shook his head, "No."

Zhou Lang's coat was so wet that he couldn't see its original color, and even standing there, his trouser legs were still dripping water, his cheeks were tight and tight, his jawline was also stretched, and his dark brown eyes didn't blink for a moment. staring at Song Yirong.

Want to blame, want to ask why.

Why do you go into the mountain alone without making a sound, why are you so... not cherishing yourself.

But in the end, his arrogance calmed down. He didn't have the position to ask questions, and he was not qualified to take care of other people's lives.

Therefore, after holding back for a long time, he only uttered a dry sentence, "Take a good rest." After speaking, Zhou Lang took the raincoat on the back of the chair, turned and went out.

The door was closed tightly, Song Yirong leaned on the sofa in a daze for a long time, looked down, his fingers were trembling violently, he clenched his hands desperately, and took deep breaths one by one.

Many memories flashed through my head.

Originally, I didn't want to have too much involvement with anyone, so that I wouldn't have unnecessary worries and guilt in my heart.

But, every time he wants to give up on himself, there is always such a person who drags him back abruptly and makes him stand in the sun.

With the experience of having a cold and fever last time, Song Yirong directly took out the leftover cold medicine from the medicine box and took two pills.

After taking a shower, wrapped in a quilt, lay down on the bed, and fell asleep unconsciously.

I didn't dream, but when I woke up, my head felt like I had been hit by a few big sap sticks, it hurt, and sparks burst out in my head.

The little orange cat lay beside his pillow, saw Song Yirong wake up, and leaned over to lick his side face.

Song Yirong grabbed the cat casually and limped off the bed.

His body was still a little sticky, and he had to barely lean on the wooden stool to scrub it roughly after taking a difficult bath just now.

After struggling to move to the edge of the sink, Song Yirong twisted a towel and wiped his face and neck again.

The wound on the face touched by the towel hurt a bit. Song Yirong raised his eyes to look in the mirror. There were two bright red gashes on his face, showing faint signs of scabs. Star spots of blood.

Standing weak on one leg, Song Yirong bounced back to the bedroom and sat down on the bed again.Although the head still hurts, but the mind is already very clear, and the memory of yesterday appeared in the mind little by little.

The man's hot ears, straight shoulders, and dull tone all slowly revived in Song Yirong's senses.

He obviously didn't want to deal with people, but when he came here, he broke his habit again and again, and even a dark corner began to loosen and break the ice.

So much rain.

Zhou Lang...

how is it now?

"I'm fine." Zhou Lang went back to his room to get a change of clothes, and said to Fang Wenxiu who followed, "Mom, don't worry."

"Where did you go just now?" Fang Wenxiu asked, "It's like this when you come back... Did you go into the mountains?" As she spoke, she saw the wet mud on Zhou Lang's trouser legs and asked.

"Well," Zhou Lang didn't want to say more.

Knowing her son's character and what she didn't want to talk about, she couldn't figure out why no matter how insinuating it was.

Fang Wenxiu let out an "ah" and said worriedly, "Lang, it's not a bad thing to have a dull personality, but look, my mother is so old, I don't know when I can watch you marry a wife."

Zhou Lang lowered his eyes: "Mom."

Fang Wenxiu waved her hand: "Forget it, forget it, Mom won't rush you, this kind of thing is still up to you, no one else can intervene."

"Yeah." Zhou Lang looked at the window, the patterns on it were vague and hard to see clearly, "Yes."

knock --

Someone knocked on the bedroom window suddenly, Zhou Lang put down the clothes he was mending, and got up to check.

As soon as the window opened, I met a smiling face, "Hi, good morning."

"Uh..." Zhou Lang lowered his head, realized that he was not wearing a shirt, so he turned sideways, leaned against the wall, and said, "Morning."

Song Yirong saw the wound on his arm at a glance, which was similar to the mark on his own face. After staring at it for a while, Zhou Lang felt uncomfortable.

He slowly rubbed the glass and said, "Would you like to have a cup of tea at my house?"

Zhou Lang avoided the topic and asked, "Is your foot okay?"

"No," Song Yirong rubbed his nose awkwardly, "I jumped over here, if you don't talk, I won't be able to stand."

Zhou Lang was silent and said, "I'll take you back."

Song Yirong smiled immediately, "Okay, I'm in trouble."

"Your muscles are really strong." Song Yirong glanced up and down, and then squeezed his arm, "It's not like me."

Zhou Lang made a gesture to close the window, but when he heard such a sentence, he almost crushed the window, paused, and said, "I'll come later."

The window slammed shut in front of my eyes.

Song Yirong blinked, holding on to the window sill in a daze.

It took less than a minute for Zhou Lang to get dressed and walk out.

He stretched out an arm towards Song Yirong and said, "You can support me."

"Thank you, Brother Zhou." Song Yirong spoke with a squeeze of his throat, then grabbed his arm and took two steps with his strength.

His hair stood on end, Zhou Lang resisted the urge to get rid of him, and replied, "Yeah."

Song Yirong's fingers were cold, like silk scarves wrapped around his arms softly, making it difficult for him to bear along the way.

"Sit whatever you want," Song Yirong smiled at him, "You're welcome."

Zhou Lang put on the oversized slippers, found a chair and sat down, and said, "I'm leaving."

"Didn't you just come here, why worry?" Song Yirong lifted his thin eyelids.

Zhou Lang was sitting too upright with his back against the stool. Song Yirong jumped into the room and brought a small box over. Zhou Lang squinted his eyes to see the words on it clearly. 【medicine chest】

Seeing Song Yirong stumbling here, Zhou Lang was about to help, but before he could react slowly, Song Yirong had moved a round stool and sat beside him, whispering, "Stay."

Zhou Lang moved his fingertips, pressed them on his knees, and clenched them into a tight fist.

Song Yirong rolled his sleeve, Zhou Lang dodged for a while, "What are you doing?"

"Let me see your muscles." Song Yirong said intentionally.

Zhou Lang's throat rolled for a while, and his upper body stepped back, "No."

Before he could speak, Song Yirong interrupted him: "I lied to you."

"Don't make jokes." Zhou Lang suppressed his voice, retracted his chin, and his tense state remained.

A bird sat on the gray window edge, chirped twice, and then pecked at the windowpane with its beak.

For a while, the two of them didn't speak, and the silence spread into broken shadows at their feet, swaying with the wind.

The two got a little closer, Song Yirong stretched out a hand, gently grabbed the hem of Zhou Lang's clothes, and gradually smiled, "Yesterday...Thank you."

His beautiful single eyelid drooped slightly, and his white side face looked soft in the light and shadow.

There was a slight falling force from the hem of the clothes, and Zhou Lang's heart suddenly beat fast, and a certain piece of skin was itchy delicately as if it had been touched.

"Don't go into the mountains when it rains next time," Zhou Lang said, "It's dangerous."

Song Yirong nodded, "Oh."

After a while, Song Yirong felt that it was not enough, and said, "Actually, I can come back by myself."

Zhou Lang looked at him, his eyes seemed to hide a dark lake, and he replied, "Yes."

The monosyllable fell into Song Yirong's ears like a stone splashing in fine waves.

Zhou Lang must have seen something, but apart from this one, he didn't ask any other questions, which made Song Yirong heave a sigh of relief.

It's completely different from the strong and bad on the surface.

He is very afraid of some eyes, sympathy, incomprehension, or disgust, these things only need a little bit, just like deadly poison, which can make him uncomfortable beyond recognition.

Sometimes, he hates and criticizes himself too much, but silently, in the desolate night when no one is there, he licks himself alone.