"You go back first, I'll leave as soon as I'm done." Ah Yu sipped her milk, the sweet aroma mixed with the milky fragrance spreading on her tongue.
Zhong Hua didn't answer, turning to go to his workstation. Ah Yu caught a glimpse of him opening his laptop; the blue light from the screen reflected on his face, making his profile appear exceptionally soft in the twilight. Gradually, only the sounds of keyboard typing and the occasional hum of the printer remained in the studio. Outside, the sky had completely darkened, and the streetlights cast long, thin shadows on the floor through the blinds.
When Ah Yu finished editing the last photo, she raised her hand to rub her aching neck and realized that Zhong Hua had fallen asleep on the table. His arm was under his cheek, and wisps of hair fell down his forehead, covering half of his eyes. An open photography magazine lay beside him. Ah Yu tiptoed over, intending to drape her coat over him, but as she got closer, she noticed the page on his computer screen—the search bar prominently displayed "Relief methods for allergic rhinitis without side effects," followed by a dense list of recommendations for traditional Chinese medicine nasal strips.
It felt like something gently bumped into his heart, a warm sensation. Ah Yu quietly retreated, deliberately slowing down his pace as he packed his things. As he shut down the computer, the screen's reflection showed Zhong Hua's sleeping profile, his long, thick eyelashes like a quiet butterfly resting there.
The studio was unusually quiet at one in the morning, with only the low hum of the air conditioner emanating from it. Ah Yu put the documents into her bag, glanced at Zhong Hua slumped over the table, and finally tiptoed out, closing the door behind her.
He didn't see that the moment the door closed, Zhong Hua slowly raised his head.
Zhong Hua walked to Ah Yu's desk and, using the light from the streetlamp streaming in through the window, reached out and pulled open the tightly locked drawer. His fingertips groped among the files and clutter, quickly finding the cool plastic bottle. He took the spray bottle out, put it in his pocket, and then pulled a small box from his backpack. Inside were the herbal nasal strips he had painstakingly purchased that afternoon from three different pharmacies. The light brown strips resembled tiny leaves and emitted a faint minty scent.
He placed the nose strip in the most conspicuous spot in the drawer, then took a clear medicine bottle from his bag. Inside were anti-allergy pills, a mild formula prescribed by the doctor. Zhong Hua pulled out several colorful candy wrappers from the pen holder—they were specially kept from his last purchase of fruit candy—and carefully wrapped each pill with them, his movements as gentle as if handling fragile film.
When he wrapped the fifth candy, his fingertips paused. He remembered the winters in college, when Ah Yu would always snatch the fruit candies from his pocket, put them in her mouth, frown, and say, "So sour, but refreshing," while a faint redness would appear at the corners of her eyes. Once, when they were taking pictures of a snow scene, Ah Yu's fingers were stiff with cold, so he stuffed the candy into her hand, watching the bright orange wrapper stand out vividly against the snow.
The last candy wrapper was bright yellow, like the early spring sunshine. Zhong Hua put the wrapped pills into a small sealed bag, then gently tucked it into the side pocket of Ah Yu's camera bag, where spare batteries were originally stored, but he had now replaced them with new, fully charged batteries.
After finishing all this, he glanced at the wall clock; the hour hand pointed to two in the morning. Moonlight streamed in through the gaps in the blinds, casting dappled patterns of light on the floor like scattered stars. Zhong Hua walked to his workstation, placed the blue spray bottle deep in the drawer, and placed a thick photography yearbook on top of it.
The next morning, when Ah Yu walked into the studio, Zhong Hua was already sitting in front of the computer. Sunlight streamed in from the window behind him, gilding him with a golden glow. The coffee on the table was steaming, his usual milk-filled kind. "Good morning," Zhong Hua said, a faint smile playing on his lips as he looked up.
"Good morning." Ah Yu put down his backpack, and his nose started to itch again. He subconsciously reached for the drawer, but was interrupted by the warm water that Zhong Hua handed him.
"Have some water first." Zhong Hua's gaze lingered on his face. "Sister Lin said the meeting has been postponed to the afternoon, so you can take your time."
Ah Yu took the water glass, his fingertips touching the warmth of the glass, and suddenly remembered the image reflected in the computer screen last night. As he lowered his head to drink, he caught a glimpse of a drawer that was ajar. A thought struck him, and he put down the glass and went over. The moment he opened the drawer, he froze—the blue spray that had been inside was gone, replaced by a small white box with the words "Traditional Chinese Medicine Nasal Strips" printed on it.
“I put that spray away.” Zhong Hua’s voice came from behind. “The doctor said this nasal strip is gentler, you can try it.”
Ah Yu picked up the nose strip box, tracing the herbal pattern on it with his fingertips, and the itching in his nose seemed to lessen a bit. "But you can't..." He turned his head to complain, but saw Zhong Hua holding his camera bag, taking a small transparent bag out of the side pocket.
"Here, take this." Zhong Hua handed over the bag, which contained several things wrapped in colorful candy wrappers. Sunlight filtered through the wrappers, casting dappled patterns of light in his palm. "It's allergy medicine. I was worried you might find it too bitter."
Ah Yu picked up a bright yellow candy wrapper, his fingertips able to feel the shape of the pill inside. A small fruit pattern was printed on one corner of the wrapper, the kind of packaging he'd often seen in high school. He suddenly remembered that during evening self-study in his senior year of high school, Zhong Hua always liked to carry this kind of candy in his pocket. Once, when he had a stuffy nose from a cold, Zhong Hua secretly slipped him one, saying, "It's sour, it'll clear your nose."
"Do you still remember..." Ah Yu's voice was a little hoarse, and the end of her voice was softened by the sudden surge of warmth.
"Hmm." Zhong Hua responded, her gaze falling on his reddened eyes. "You used to say that sourness was refreshing, but now it's sweet."
Ah Yu unwrapped the candy, revealing a white pill lying in his palm. Sure enough, it had little flavor. He put it in his mouth, and his tongue quickly tasted the faint sweetness of the milk candy, mixed with the slight bitterness of the pill itself, like being gently wrapped in a layer of warmth. The itching in his nose had disappeared without him noticing, replaced by an indescribable warmth that spread from the tip of his tongue all the way to his heart.
Zhong Hua watched him purse his lips while sucking on the pill, and his smile deepened. As he turned to get the documents, the hem of his shirt brushed against Ah Yu's arm, carrying a hint of the warmth of the sun. Ah Yu looked down at the few candies left in his palm and suddenly felt that even the air of this early summer morning had become sweet.
Later that afternoon, at the meeting, Lin Wanqing, looking at the energetic Ah Yu, secretly nudged Zhong Hua's arm: "What secret formula did you use on him? He was listless all day last time we were shooting rapeseed flowers." Zhong Hua glanced at Ah Yu, who was talking to a client. As Ah Yu turned around, their eyes met, and the smile in his eyes was like the light shining through a candy wrapper, dazzlingly bright. He lowered his head and wrote "candy in the scent of medicine" in his notebook. The sound of the pen gliding across the paper was as light as a feather landing on his heart.
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