Chapter 11: Were You Nervous the First Time You Slept Beside a Woman?

Ban Ban didn’t know when she’d fallen asleep. She only remembered watching the half-open door from beneath the covers until her eyelids grew heavier, the gap blurred and everything went dark.

The clock in the primary bedroom went around several times. When its hands passed midnight, there was finally movement in the corridor: footsteps so soft on the carpet they were almost inaudible.

The door opened a little. Ban Ban frowned in her sleep, her lashes fluttering twice.

Wen Ting’an looked in. She was curled at the outer edge of the bed, wrapped tightly in the quilt with only her head showing. Her hair spread across the pillow, and her cheek was squeezed into a little mound against it. The bedside lamp was still on, casting a warm glow over her face.

He closed the door quietly and showered, keeping the water low. When he came out, he wore dark gray pajamas and had towel-dried his hair. As he sat on the bed, the mattress dipped slightly.

Ban Ban woke almost at once. Her eyes remained closed, but her lashes moved and her breathing changed. She’d slept uneasily, some part of her still waiting for footsteps. Now they had come, and another person’s warmth and weight occupied the other side of the bed. All her senses awakened at once.

She slowly opened her eyes.

In the bedside light, Ting’an reclined against his pillow about an arm’s length away. Fresh from the shower, he carried a faint scent of body wash.

She pushed herself up and rubbed her eyes. “Why are you home so late?” Her voice was husky and nasal with sleep.

He turned to her. Her hair was messy, a red pillow mark on her cheek, her eyes half closed. She looked like a cat just woken from sleep.

He looked away. “Something urgent came up,” he said quietly.

She nodded without pressing him. A little more awake, she pointed to the pillow supporting him. It matched hers, pale gray with a freshly changed case, one she’d deliberately chosen from the cupboard that afternoon.

“I prepared a new pillow for you.”

He glanced at it. It was about the height he usually used, the fabric soft to the touch. Clearly she hadn’t chosen it at random. “Thank you.”

She pointed to the sofa, where a new pale gray quilt was folded neatly. “I prepared a new quilt too.” Her voice dwindled as her gaze moved between him and the sofa. “Would you like to use it? Or share mine?”

Her ears turned red as soon as she asked. She clutched the edge of the quilt, unsure where to look, finally settling on the stitching at the edge of her pillow.

Ting’an turned toward her. Looking at her red ears, he spoke gently, drawing out the last word. “What do you think, Ban Ban?”

He said her name particularly softly, reproducing the gentle southern inflection, the last syllable rising and falling like a feather.

Her heart skipped a beat. Head lowered, she gripped the quilt tighter. “E-either is fine.”

She was tucked inside the covers, shoulders drawn in, ears red all the way to the pink skin at her nape. She was obviously extremely nervous, yet still trying to sound composed as she said either was fine.

He lay down, lifted a corner of her quilt and pulled it over himself. “If either is fine with you, it’s fine with me.”

Her breath stopped for a moment. She felt his arm reach past her. When the quilt settled again, less than a fist’s width separated them. The warmth that had been hers alone now mingled with his, along with the scent of his body wash.

Ban Ban slowly lay down too, stiff as a board. Flat on her back, hands properly at her sides, she didn’t dare move even a finger. With the covers to her chin, she stared at the ceiling and breathed shallowly, afraid a louder breath might break something.

Ting’an looked over. She lay like a mummy, eyes wide, lips pressed together, so stiff her lashes barely moved. He watched for two seconds and smiled.

“Relax. We’re only sleeping.”

She shifted her eyes toward him. “I’m a little nervous. It’s my first time sleeping beside a man.”

His smile deepened. For some reason he was pleased. “You’ll get used to it.”

She rolled onto her side to face him, wrapped in the quilt with only her eyes visible. After a few seconds’ hesitation, she asked, “Did you come home late on purpose because you felt awkward about sleeping beside me?”

In the dim light, her eyes shone with cautious inquiry and a trace of hurt.

“No. There really was something urgent.”

“Oh.” She tucked her chin into the quilt, then emerged again after a moment. “Were you nervous the first time you slept beside a woman?”

He hadn’t expected her to ask so directly. Her eyes held no calculation or probing, only pure curiosity, like a schoolchild asking a teacher whether he’d had homework as a child.

He didn’t know how to answer. Any answer seemed wrong.

After two seconds’ silence, he reached through the gap between the covers, put an arm around her waist and drew her toward him.

She landed in his embrace, her face against his chest, feeling his warmth through his pajamas. His arm circled her waist, his palm resting lightly on her back, neither tightening nor letting go.

Her mind buzzed. Heat spread from her ears to her cheeks and neck until her whole body felt warm.

His voice came from above her. “Sleep. Let’s not talk about the past.”

She stayed rigid for about ten seconds. Through the fabric she could hear his heartbeat, steady and unhurried. Slowly she breathed out, her body relaxing bit by bit.

He patted her back twice, awkwardly, the way one might soothe a child, but it worked. “There, relax.” His voice was lower still, almost lost in the night. “We’ll sleep together every day from now on. You have to learn to get used to it, starting today.”

Face buried against his chest, she murmured agreement.

She suddenly remembered what her sister had said: Older men really know how to charm a girl. She hadn’t understood then what that meant. Now she did.

An older man.

Actually, Ting’an wasn’t old. Thirty-three was a man’s prime. His face showed no weariness of age; he was tall and straight, broad-shouldered and long-legged. His masculine appeal wasn’t something he dressed up to create; it came naturally from within.

He had more composure than a young man in his early twenties and more energy than a man of forty.

Closing her eyes, Ban Ban thought that he wasn’t old at all. He was attractive. She liked him.

She turned the thought over, then quietly nestled a tiny bit closer. Her nose touched a cool button on his pajama top. His arm tightened slightly around her waist. He did nothing else, simply held her.

Only their even breathing remained in the bedroom.

Ban Ban didn’t know how long she lay in his arms. Eventually her breathing steadied, her body soft against his side. At some point her hand had come to rest on his arm, fingertips loosely hooked around the edge of his sleeve.

Ting’an didn’t move. He listened to her breathing and felt the weight of her hand on his arm. He lowered his head, his chin touching the top of her hair, then closed his eyes.

The night-light still glowed, a small warm pool around the two people nestled together on the bed.