My Straight Girlfriend with Skin Hunger Syndrome - Chapter 48

Chapter 48

Ying Yuan froze.

Her body was as rigid as the surging tides in her heart were turbulent.

The towering waves had crashed over her, leaving her soaked to the bone, water dripping from every inch.

She needed long, deep breaths to calm herself, but even the slightest movement would alert Yi Shanshan, who was pressed tightly against her abdomen.

The more she focused on where they were touching, the less control she had.

The more she told herself to remain calm, the more chaotic her heartbeat became.

She knew Yi Shanshan would say anything that came to mind. Yi Shanshan never hesitated to shower her friends with praise, nor was she afraid to express gratitude and affection.

Yi Shanshan was like a clingy, affectionate little animal, speaking only her raw, unfiltered feelings.

But you can’t take her words seriously.

But you can’t take her words seriously.

Ying Yuan repeated the mantra to herself.

You can’t let yourself develop expectations, needs, or unrealistic fantasies because of this.

“I…” Ying Yuan didn’t dare look down at the head nestled against her chest. Instead, she fixed her gaze blankly on a crease in the quilt. “I’ll go peel the grapefruit for you.”

She picked up the thread of conversation, steering it away from dangerous territory. She buried all the details that mattered most deep in her heart.

Then she did what she knew was undeniably right.

“Okay.” Yi Shanshan was unusually compliant today. She nuzzled Ying Yuan once more before releasing her grip.

Ying Yuan picked up the green pomelo. Its deep green skin was taut, the fruit firm, radiating the vitality of unripe freshness.

Unable to peel it by hand, Ying Yuan turned to go to the kitchen for a knife.

“I have a knife!” Yi Shanshan called out quickly, stopping her.

Leaning forward, she pulled open the bedside table drawer and retrieved an exquisitely crafted knife.

“Here,” Yi Shanshan said with a smile. “Pull up a stool and sit down to peel it.”

The knife felt heavy and solid in Ying Yuan’s hand.

She lowered her gaze to examine it: the ornate sheath was inlaid with deep blue gems, and the handle was carved into the shape of a skull.

Ying Yuan: “This…”

Yi Shanshan: “Just a fruit knife. I bought it because it looked cool.”

Ying Yuan: “Oh.”

Yi Shanshan: “What’s wrong? Don’t you think it suits my style?”

Ying Yuan nodded honestly. “Mm-hmm.”

Yi Shanshan wrinkled her nose and put on a fierce expression. “Exactly! I’m actually a yandere psycho killer hiding in school behind a sweet facade!”

Ying Yuan: “……”

Yi Shanshan: “Now that we’re alone here, two women isolated in this room, I’m going to chop you up and stir-fry you later.”

Ying Yuan: “……”

Ying Yuan pulled up a stool and sat calmly by the bed, peeling the pomelo for Yi Shanshan.

Still chattering away? With so much energy, Shanshan’s illness can’t be too serious.

Ying Yuan carefully sliced the unripe pomelo peel into small, even segments, then peeled away the entire flesh in one piece.

The faint squeaking sound of the peel separating from the flesh underscored the room’s quiet.

Concentrating, one could hear Yi Shanshan’s slightly labored breathing, shallow and close, right in front of Ying Yuan.

Ying Yuan glanced up, pinching a piece of rind between the back of her knife and her fingers, and held it out to Yi Shanshan.

Yi Shanshan stared blankly.

“Smell it,” Ying Yuan said. “Is this the scent you like?”

Yi Shanshan immediately leaned in, closed her eyes, and inhaled deeply.

“Ah… it smells wonderful!” she exclaimed.

Ying Yuan smiled happily, carefully retracting the knife’s tip. “Here, take it. Smell it as much as you want if you like it.”

Yi Shanshan accepted the rind, holding it under her nose.

“Ying Yuan,” she murmured softly, “my memory isn’t very good. When did I ever say I liked this smell?”

Ying Yuan froze.

To be precise, Yi Shanshan had never explicitly stated that she liked the scent of pomelo rind.

But Ying Yuan remembered: last winter, when Yi Shanshan had a similar cold—her voice hoarse and her nose congested—she had come to Ying Yuan and asked her to open her coat, then burrowed completely inside.

It was a large, long cotton-padded coat, easily able to envelop Yi Shanshan entirely.

Yi Shanshan nestled against her chest, nuzzling her like a pitiful puppy. Despite her stuffy nose, she sniffed Ying Yuan’s neck up and down, her soft, cool nose tip brushing against her skin.

“Ying Yuan,” she murmured, “you smell so good.”

“You have a special scent today… it burrowed right into my nose.”

“Mmm… even my headache is gone.”

After that day, Ying Yuan kept wondering what the scent could be.

She took off the coat and buried her face in it, sniffing repeatedly. To her, the lingering fragrance of Yi Shanshan on her clothes was the truly special scent.

Finally, she reached into the coat and hoodie pockets and pulled out the homemade wardrobe fresheners she’d made on a whim a few days earlier.

They were strips of grapefruit peel, meticulously scraped clean, cut into thin strips, dried, and stuffed into small pouches.

Winter coats have deep pockets, and she’d worn the coat without checking them beforehand.

After racking her brain, Ying Yuan concluded that this was the only possible explanation.

So today, when she heard Yi Shanshan’s weak, sickly voice, the grapefruit pouches were the first thing that came to mind.

But it was the wrong season, so all Ying Yuan could get her hands on were these hard, tart green pomelos.

How could she explain such a memory to Yi Shanshan?

She was determined to prevent them from reverting to their old relationship, so she dared to keep those past embraces buried deep within her memory, where they would never see the light of day.

Whenever she thought about them—especially in these quiet, private moments, looking into Yi Shanshan’s sweet eyes—she felt a strange force engulfing her. Her chest would grow warm, her lips dry, and her body seemed to move against her will.

Ying Yuan lowered her gaze, avoiding Yi Shanshan’s eyes.

With the knife in her hand, she pointed the tip at the deep green pomelo peel and sliced through it. Sour, tangy juice and aroma overflowed onto her fingers, filling the small space.

“I probably mentioned it sometime before,” Ying Yuan said. “I don’t really remember.”

“Oh…” Yi Shanshan didn’t seem to care about the lie. She quickly found a new angle, delighting in her own interpretation. “You don’t remember the details, but you remember what I like. Ying Yuan, you’re so thoughtful!”

Ying Yuan: “……”

Yi Shanshan: “And your fingers are so pretty! The way you handle the knife is so elegant.”

Ying Yuan’s fingers curled inward as she let out a long, silent sigh.

Just let her be, she thought. She’s just a little girl who loves to praise others.

And a sick little girl at that. She has every right to say what she wants and ask for what she needs.

The room fell silent. Ying Yuan finished her task, placing the sliced grapefruit peel on Yi Shanshan’s bedside table.

She rose to wash her hands, then urged Yi Shanshan to take a few more sips of water.

She also took the medicine cup to the kitchen to wash it.

When she returned, Yi Shanshan was lying under the covers, a slice of grapefruit peel perched on her nose, humming softly, her bare feet dangling off the edge of the bed, swinging gently back and forth.

Ying Yuan was now certain: Yi Shanshan’s feet simply wouldn’t obey her.

“Change your socks,” she said.

Yi Shanshan agreed readily, gazing at the ceiling and humming through her nose: “Mmm~”

Even when Ying Yuan approached her, she didn’t move.

“What’s wrong?” Ying Yuan asked. “Don’t feel like moving?”

The cheerful expression on Yi Shanshan’s face vanished instantly. Her features crumpled into a pitiful pout, like a forlorn puppy.

“Yeah, I just don’t wanna move~” Yi Shanshan sniffled. “My head’s all dizzy, and my arms and legs feel weak and floppy, like noodles. I can’t move a thing~”

Ying Yuan was about to ask if she’d taken her temperature when Yi Shanshan suddenly lifted her foot, bringing it right up to Ying Yuan’s face.

“Help me change, please~” Yi Shanshan whined, her voice dripping with coquettishness. “Ying Yuan, please~”

Ying Yuan stared, silent.

Silence meant another tempest was brewing within her.

Yi Shanshan was wearing a cotton nightgown at home, its hem not particularly short under normal circumstances. But with her leg raised like that, the hem naturally slid down, pooling deep on her thigh.

Yi Shanshan possessed stunning legs—smooth skin, perfectly balanced flesh and bone, shaped with the flawless lines of a manga drawing.

Her ankle, framed by delicate white lace, looked even more exquisite, its bone structure softly defined.

Just one glance was enough to make Ying Yuan’s face burn.

Unable to meet Yi Shanshan’s gaze, she lowered her eyes, focusing instead on the neatly aligned wooden floorboards beneath her feet.

“Do it yourself,” Ying Yuan said.

“No way!” Yi Shanshan vehemently refused.

“This really isn’t appropriate,” Ying Yuan protested.

“What’s inappropriate about it?” Yi Shanshan retorted. “You’ve already brewed my medicine, poured my water, and peeled my grapefruit. If you’re going to help someone, help them all the way! Why balk at this last little bit?”

Ying Yuan fell silent.

Yi Shanshan began rolling around in bed, wailing, “No, I don’t want to! I’m sick! I can’t do it myself…”

She tangled the quilt into a mess and twisted her nightgown into an even worse state.

Her entire body, pale and exposed, resembled crumpled, pristine white petals.

Ying Yuan nearly had to close her eyes. Yi Shanshan delivered the final blow, wailing, “Ying Yuan, you just despise me! You despise me! You were the one who insisted on coming to find me, and now you despise me? Waaah! My feet aren’t dirty! They smell nice too…”

Ying Yuan felt trapped by a magical curse, with no escape in sight.

When sick, Yi Shanshan transformed into a spoiled child, refusing to listen to reason.

Yet this child seemed to have received little care; before Ying Yuan’s arrival, she hadn’t even had a sip of warm water.

“Stop acting up,” Ying Yuan relented, steeling her resolve. “I’ll put them on for you. If you keep rolling around like that, you’ll catch another chill.”

“Ah,” Yi Shanshan gasped, the sound quickly cut short.

Though she had been the one to ask for it, she now stared at Ying Yuan in stunned disbelief, as if she had just witnessed the most unbelievable thing—like trading a single blade of grass for an entire bar of gold.

Ying Yuan avoided her gaze, her face flushed and her heart pounding.

She reached for the cotton socks at the bedside and said, “Extend your feet.”

Yi Shanshan immediately thrust both feet forward, lifting them high and positioning them perfectly for Ying Yuan to reach.

Ying Yuan pinched the delicate lace trim and peeled off the thin socks.

Yi Shanshan’s toes were red-tipped, whether from the cold or naturally vibrant.

As Ying Yuan prepared to put on the cotton socks, she realized they were too tight to slip on unless she stabilized Yi Shanshan’s feet.

Her gaze fixed on Yi Shanshan’s feet, her entire face flushing crimson.

“What’s wrong?” Yi Shanshan asked softly.

Ying Yuan swallowed against the rising heat in her chest, her throat bobbing before she managed to speak.

“Put your feet down, or maybe step on me… That’ll make it easier to put them on.”