Seduce a shy loyal dog

weird feeling

At that time, it was not yet dawn, and Song Yirong rarely wanted to get up early to code words, so he got up from the bed, stretched and walked outside. Through the glass door of the balcony, he saw Zhou Lang going out on a motorcycle from a distance. .

Going to work so early?

He himself is a full-time writer and has unlimited freedom of working hours, so he rarely experiences the fixed working hours of nine to five.

But looking at Zhou Lang like this, it seems that he will start work at six or seven o'clock.

Quite busy.

The "Dry Spring" signature paper that the editor mentioned last time was mailed to the town on Wednesday.

There should be several large boxes, so Song Yirong rented a van online and planned to transport those boxes home.

After finally moving home, I was sweating again.

Lulu circled around his feet, looking very anxious, Song Yirong poked its cheek, and said in a helpless tone, "Hungry again?"

Taking out the bag from the cabinet, he poured some cat food into Lulu's special shallow bowl, stroked its chin again, and said, "Eat it."

In the middle of the shower, the mobile phone that was playing music was quiet for a moment, and then the phone rang. Song Yirong turned off the water, wiped his wet hands, and picked up the mobile phone to read.

It was Qiu Min calling, and the bell rang persistently.

Song Yirong slid the answer button and put it to his ear.

"I'm Qiu Min."

"I know." Song Yirong looked at the drops of water dripping from his fingertips.

"You haven't called for a long time," Qiu Min said, "Try to keep in touch once a week, so I can understand your psychological state."

Qiu Min's phone, like an invisible rope, pulled him back into the small black box.

It seemed that the memories he had deliberately forgotten were deepened.

He then clearly knew that he had not been able to forget those things.

But the therapy had to go on, and he desperately wanted to hit that wall.

Then take the ax and smash it.

"However..." Song Yirong touched the water stains on the wall, feeling cold to the touch, "Didn't you call me earlier?"

"It is indeed," Qiu Min admitted frankly, "It seems that I am not competent as a doctor."

Song Yirong smiled cooperatively, "No."

Qiu Min was very quiet on the other end, "Are the stress reactions still happening as frequently as before?"

Song Yirong thought for a while, "Very little."

"It's a good sign." Qiu Min said, "You can slowly try to reduce the dose of the medicine you are taking, and I will send you a detailed explanation later."

"Well," Song Yirong was a little distracted, and unconsciously pushed the shower with his hand, and the water splashed on his back. Fortunately, the water was warm and not scalding.

"What's the sound over there?" Qiu Min asked, "Are you all right?"

Song Yirong turned off the shower, shook the water droplets splashed on his arm, and said flatly: "It's nothing, I accidentally spilled the water just now."

Qiu Min held the phone quietly, his whole arm was a little stiff, his knuckles moved with difficulty, and said: "Okay, let's do this first, and you can tell me if there is any situation."

Song Yirong: "OK."

The phone was hung up quickly, Qiu Min looked down at the extinguished screen, and couldn't help showing a wry smile.

It was too boring to stay in the house for a long time, Song Yirong wiped the tables and chairs under the tree, and sat down with a stack of autograph papers.

The leaves on the top of the head were whistling by the wind, and the birds were chirping in the ears, but it didn't make people feel noisy at all.

Song Yirong wrote slowly, and when he wrote a little, he used the box to hold down a few sheets, so as not to be blown away by the wind.

Time passed slowly, and the sun was faintly showing signs of setting.

The sky in Banqiao Town is always beautiful, Song Yirong thought so more than once.

Today's sky is very high and far away, and the azure blue comes out from the clouds, layer upon layer, as if melting into the sea.

He sharply heard the sound of a motorcycle from next door, as if Zhou Lang had returned.

Subconsciously put down the pen and was about to get up.

But Song Yirong immediately realized why he was in such a hurry.

He patted his clothes and sat down again, absent-mindedly wrote more than ten sheets, when suddenly there was a sound in the yard.

He turned his head and saw that the gate of the courtyard was blown shut by the wind.

The little flame went out with a puff, and an unspeakable loss surged up. This feeling was so weird that he couldn't get used to it.

The door creaked again, Song Yirong thought it was still wind, so he ignored it and kept writing.

pat.

Song Yirong caught a glimpse of a bottle of orange pulp on the table from the corner of his eye, raised his head, tapped the tip of the pen, leaving a deep black ink mark on the paper, and was startled, "Why are you here?"

With a calm face, Zhou Lang tapped on the bottle cap and said, "Taste the new one."

Song Yirong put down his pen and was stunned for a long time before he smiled, "Haha, why are you so good."

"Don't you like to eat this?" Zhou Lang thought for a while and said.

The back of Song Yirong's neck became hot, and the pen twirled unconsciously between his fingers, and said softly, "I don't like it that much..."

The table was still full of autograph papers, Zhou Lang glanced at them, "What are these?"

"Just some signature paper." Song Yirong said, "It's one of my jobs."

Zhou Lang seemed to understand, but guessed: "A writer?"

Song Yirong smiled and said, "Almost."

Zhou Lang: "Very powerful."

Zhou Lang kept standing with his back straight, as if he was being punished to stand. Song Yirong looked at him, his neck was sore, he squeezed his fingers, and said, "Sit for a while, don't stand."

"I'm leaving." Zhou Lang said, "There's no need to sit."

"Why did you go out so early today?" Song Yirong remembered seeing Zhou Lang go out this morning, "It's not even dawn yet."

"There's work on the construction site." Zhou Lang lowered his head to see the cement stains on his clothes, and lowered his voice, "I got up early."

"Keep busy," Zhou Lang took a step back, "I'm going back."

In the evening, Song Yirong had an unprecedented early sleep, turned off the light early, lay down on the bed, and fell asleep not long after.

On Zhou Lang's side, the lamp was turned off until midnight.

There are information books and draft paper spread out on the table.

-

yard.

Song Yirong was lying on the rattan chair with the cat in his arms, his eyes were closed, and he stroked the kitten's head and chin with his fingers.

In the distance, Song Yirong heard the sound of the wheels of a suitcase rolling on the gravel road, followed by a girl's carefree voice: "Zhou Lang, I'm back!"

The voice was clear and crisp, and could be heard clearly from such a distance. Song Yirong's fingers patting the cat paused, and unconsciously staggered, grinding the smooth nails.

The sound of the wheels rolling gradually faded away.

Throughout the morning, Song Yirong was a little restless, and even the progress of "Going to the Mountain" was greatly slowed down.

Liang Chunlai's body and bones were very soft, Zhang Jianshan didn't dare to use too much force, but his heart was pounding like a hidden thunderstorm.

It's really raining outside.

Zhang Jianshan put on his coat, leaned on the door frame and looked out, because the rain splashed all over, his fingertips were a little damp and still hot.

Liang Chunlai's clothes had gone somewhere, so he had no choice but to walk into the back room with his upper body bare, walking a bit slowly, with a pair of butterfly bones on his back moving softly.

The bones are so beautiful, the hotness on Zhang Jianshan's fingers gradually spread, and it has a downward trend.

Liang Chunlai turned around suddenly, looked at him, and said in a weak voice, "Zhang Jianshan, you are not allowed to come again today."

Zhang Jianshan's Adam's apple rolled violently, and said in a subdued voice, "I... want to take a bath too."

...

What a strange feeling.

Song Yi went to the computer, stopped her fingers, licked the dry lips, unbuttoned the first collar, and stood by the window to enjoy the cool breeze.

The hair was blown by the wind, making the skin on the back of his neck a little itchy.

After closing the window, he drew the curtains again, slightly arched his back, and leaned loosely against the window.

White noise was playing on the phone. He closed his eyes, panted heavily, and his fingers became more and more sore.

It also began to rain in Banqiao Town, and water droplets splashed on the window panes, leaving winding white marks.

Song Yirong's exposed skin turned cold, and the sound insulation of the house didn't seem to be very good. Someone passed by under the balcony, and it seemed to be the girl's voice from the morning again, "Is there a small pumpkin to pick in the vegetable garden?"

"Yes." It was Zhou Lang's voice, "It's rare to come back, how long will you stay this time?"

"Haha, do you miss me?" Jian Ran counted with her fingers crossed, "I should be able to live for a month."

Song Yirong stopped his movements and unconsciously raised his brows. When he realized it, he had already put down his clothes and entered the bathroom.

The faucet was filled with well water, and it was cold to the touch, but it was inexplicably comfortable.

Song Yirong washed his face by the way, wiped off the water droplets on his face, and finally cleared his mind a lot.

Song Yirong spread out the signature paper, put the phone aside, and continued to play white noise, the sound was quiet, and he calmed down his messy nerves.

Holding the pen, he wrote for a while, then picked up his phone, clicked on WeChat, and glanced at the portrait of the poplar tree. The message box had been silent for several days.

He couldn't tell what it was like, he seemed a little dissatisfied, and he also asked in the chat box: Is there a small pumpkin in your small garden?

There was no message from the other side, Song Yirong took a small fork, poked a piece of orange meat boredly, and slowly put it into his mouth.

He swallowed for a while, frowning and swallowing.

Today's pulp is not sweet at all.

Song Yirong clicked on WeChat, and inexplicably poked hard on the profile picture angrily.

[I patted "Zhou Lang"]

A message suddenly popped up on the screen, Song Yirong was stunned, and was about to withdraw it with a movement of his finger.

However, in the next second, the chat box flickered, and another message appeared.

【"Zhou Lang" patted you】

Zhou Lang: Yes.

Zhou Lang: I was washing vegetables just now.

After Song Yirong saw the news of Zhou Lang's return, within 10 minutes, there was a knock on the door.

"Are you allergic?" Zhou Lang glanced at Song Yirong's neck, there was a spot of red, which was set off by the fair skin, which was particularly obvious.

Song Yirong took the little pumpkin from someone else, and held it heavily in his hand, something was wrong, and his voice was vague: "No allergies."

Zhou Lang said: "Maybe the weather is too hot."

Song Yirong gave a "Oh" moment, "Maybe," he stroked his hair behind his ears, half-lidded his eyelids, and said, "Wait for me."

After speaking, she turned and entered the room. It didn't take long before Song Yirong came out with an extra bag in her hand, and said, "Strawberry, here it is for you."

Zhou Lang raised his eyelids, looked at Song Yirong, and didn't immediately reach out to pick it up, "For me?"

"Yes," Song Yirong waved his hand at him, "You take it."

"It's very sweet, and uncles and aunts can also eat some."

Zhou Lang was silent for a while, then raised his hand to take it, "Okay, thank you."

He lightly hooked the rope of the plastic bag with his fingers, his strong forearm hung by his side, motionless, Song Yirong's eyes slowly moved up along the arm.

Zhou Lang stood casually, but his shoulders were broad and straight, and his figure and appearance did not look ordinary at all.

He suddenly stretched out his hand towards Zhou Lang, getting very close, as if he wanted to touch his face.

Zhou Lang stood where he was, resisting the urge to retreat, but his ears turned red, "What's wrong?"

Song Yirong stood on tiptoe, pinched away a leaf on the top of his hair, and showed him with his palm: "Here, the leaf."

Zhou Lang's eyelashes flickered, and he responded in a low voice, "Oh."