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13

Just as I was curled up on the bed alone, immersed in sadness, there were two knocks on the door, followed by the knight's voice: "Can you come in?"

I frowned and didn't make a sound.I really wanted to yell "No", but I couldn't.I knew he would open the door and come in without my response.So I faced the wall that separated us and curled myself up into a ball, assuming a posture that was vulnerable and helpless to anyone.

Sure enough, he walked in and turned on the overhead light.

The sudden white light made me tear up, and my squeamishness broke out: "Shut it off!"

The knight took no offense from me, and immediately turned off the light.

With my back turned to him, I couldn't see anything, but I could imitate his every move in my head just by hearing the sound.

First, there was the sound of slippers kicking on the wooden floor. My dad's footsteps were heavy and solid, his footsteps were light and empty, and my mother's footsteps were vague and sharp.

Then there was the sound of the wheels turning, it was he who pulled the armchair.Immediately after a "creak", he sat down.

Then there was only the sound of our intertwined breathing. My breathing rhythm was much faster than his. After matching his rhythm a few times, it was chaotic like rushing to shoot again.I tried to control, to slow down, to synchronize my breathing with his.However, in less than five rounds like this, I couldn't breathe, and I was so upset that I simply gasped for breath in a self-defeating manner. No matter who heard it, I was in a state of anger.

He smiled softly: "Are you angry?"

I touched a corner of the quilt, pulled it violently, covered my head completely, put my head back together, and said in a muffled voice, "No!"

The wheel slid forward a few times, and he should have come to my bed.One hand picked up my quilt, and pulled it down teasingly: "You are obviously angry?"

I competed with him, holding on to the quilt and refusing to let go, almost wanting to tear the quilt to shreds.

I don't know if he cherishes the quilt or loves me, he took the initiative to admit defeat, moved his hand to my shoulder, and patted my shoulder like coaxing a child to sleep: "Okay, don't cover it. I'm not smart at all, be careful covering the lack of oxygen Turned into a complete idiot."

I've been bored in the quilt for a long time, just waiting for him to lay the steps for me.So after hearing this, I immediately stuck my head out of the turtle shell and let out a "hum", which means that I don't have the same knowledge as him.

Then it was quiet for a long time, and the chair creaked. I thought he was going to leave, and I felt lost.I don't know why I was disappointed, anyway, when I feel lost, I want to cry, I endured and endured, the tears were held back, but my mouth was pouted uncontrollably.

But he didn't go: "I'm sorry."

These three words instantly destroyed my emotional gate. With a bitter face, I got up, sat cross-legged facing him, and said angrily and anxiously: "You didn't do anything wrong, just say sorry to me." what?"

Sure enough, he was sitting by my bed, his knees had already reached the edge of the mattress, and he smiled at me with his mouth pursed: "I'm sorry."

I couldn't control the muscles on my face after hearing this, and I let it pull at will--my eyebrows were frowned, my eyes were squeezed, my mouth was pursed higher, and I sniffed my nose from time to time.

He kept staring at me seriously, without changing his expression.Suddenly he stretched out his hand, with four fingers on top and thumb on the bottom, and grabbed my mouth.Regardless of my moaning and chirping resistance, he shook it back and forth a few times, laughed out loud, and said slowly, "It's so ugly!"

I slapped his hand away impatiently, put my forearm on my lap, and turned my head away from him.

There was another silence, and I twisted my neck sorely, hoping that he would speak quickly, so that I could justifiably twist my neck back.

He seems to have heard my voice: "Can I turn on the desk lamp?"

I secretly breathed a sigh of relief, glanced at the desk lamp, looked down at him again, and nodded.

He turned his head to look back, stepped on the ground with his foot, pushed the chair back, slipped to the side of the desk, and turned on the lamp switch.The moment the warm yellow light filled the air, he pushed the edge of the table with his palm and slid back with his strength.

And when he was doing this series of movements, I had already rubbed against the edge of the bed, my calves were hanging down, and my arms were propped on the bed.

He slid in one go and didn't stop until he hit the mattress.The location of the stop is also very coincidental-his legs are spread apart, directly encircling me between his legs.

He raised his face, and I hung my head, looking at each other closely.The desk light was dim, and it was still behind him. He was against the light for me, and I couldn't see his expression clearly, but he should be able to see mine clearly.

I sniffed subconsciously, and just about to rub against the bed, but he bent his upper body and rested his elbow on his thigh: "Paradise."

"Huh?" I was stopped by his call.

He said viciously, "Why are you blushing?"

I immediately bounced up like a spring, and didn't speak hastily until my back touched the wall: "It's so hot! It's so hot just now under the quilt!"

He seemed to be convinced by me, nodded his head a few times very slowly, and leaned his upper body back on the back of the chair.

I don't know what happened to him just now, and what happened to me, and I don't want to think about it carefully.Fortunately, the cold touch of the wall cooled me down, allowing me to return to normal from the irritable state: "Why does my dad care about you so much?"

"It's not that he cares, he's being polite to me," the knight said.

"Really?" I bent my legs, tilted my head and thought for a while, "Then tell me, if I study hard, will my dad be more polite to me?"

He chuckled, probably thinking that the description of a father being polite to his son was funny: "Do you want to hear the truth or a lie?"

I was silent for a while, then shook my head: "Forget it." The answer I already know, I still don't want him to tell me again.

He sat for a while, then stood up, leaned out his upper body, and raised his hand to touch my head: "Go to bed early."

I watched him walk out of the bedroom door, and before he disappeared, I stopped him: "Brother."

He leaned on the door frame and looked back at me: "Huh?"

"Good night."

"Good night." He bent his lips and showed a nice smile.That smile makes me want to drink soda, the iced one, the one that crackles in my mouth.