"Really don't know?" Zhou Mikang playfully ruffled his young wife's smooth hair, "If you don't know, then don't worry. I've got everything covered."
"Hmph!" Chuxia rolled her eyes at him disdainfully, slid down to lie flat, "I'm tired, going to sleep, goodnight."
"Are you really tired or just don't want to talk to me?" Zhou Mikang turned off the bedside lamp, stretched his arm under his wife's neck, and carefully tucked the corner of the quilt before lying down.
When he's home, he went through this routine every night. Initially, Chuxia found it hard to adapt and felt uneasy, but now she had grown completely accustomed to it.
She's not a sound sleeper and often ends up twisting her body or kicking off the blanket in the middle of the night. Every time, he would wake up in time to adjust the blanket for her. If this isn't true love, how can one do such a thing?
Nuzzling in his arms, scenes from their marriage flashed in her mind, and before long, Chuxia's breathing became steady.
