Dragged down the stairs by Luo Ye, Feitan's face was tense, but the tips of his ears had flushed faintly. This was the first time Yezi had held his hand.
I can't skip washing my hands today. Yezi likes cleanliness. If I don't wash before eating, he'll dislike it. I still have to wash them.
Anyway, Yezi was with him now. He could hold his hand whenever he wanted. It was a couple's rightful privilege!
But his palm seemed sweaty. How could he dry it? Yezi wouldn't dislike him, would he?
As Feitan's thoughts ran wild, Luo Ye frowned slightly. "Are you nervous?"
The hand he was holding felt sticky and damp. Was Feitan so nervous that his hands were sweating?
If this had been before, he would have shaken off that damp hand long ago. But they had just confirmed their relationship—what if Feitan misunderstood if he did that?
For once, Luo Ye found himself in a dilemma.
He really did not understand why lovers liked holding hands so much. Wasn't holding someone else's hand hot? He could not relate at all. He had only held Feitan's hand for a moment before regretting it. He should have grabbed his sleeve instead. At least sleeves did not sweat.
"No!" Feitan answered hurriedly, but silently pulled his hand free and wiped it haphazardly on his clothes.
Even if Yezi had not said anything, he knew Yezi did not like anything damp. He dried his hands every time he washed them, so holding Feitan's hand must have been uncomfortable too. He should dry it himself first, so Yezi would not be put in an awkward position.
Luo Ye's gaze flickered as he watched him, uncertainty rising in his heart. No way—had he shown his disgust on his face? Had Feitan noticed and