Ever since hearing that "Come with me" in the laboratory, Hunter Huo felt as though he had cleared some spiritual meridian. Even his stride had taken on a certain arrogance—the kind born of being "spoiled and favored."
The word "Status," in Hunter's dictionary, was now equivalent to a decree of amnesty that allowed him to run rampant in Silas Shen's world.
He no longer stood at the edge of the red lines Silas drew, carefully testing with his toe for fear of making the cold professor freeze up. Now, Hunter began to act like a hound marking his territory, openly and methodically invading Silas's once-seamless life.
The change started first in that office in the Life Sciences building.
Silas had always been a neat freak. His desk held nothing but literature, test tube racks, and a cool-toned lamp—absolutely no clutter. Yet, starting from some unknown day, a Corgi-patterned mug appeared next to his stark white ceramic cup. The round, chubby body of the mug radiated a silly sort of joy, and somehow, Silas hadn't thrown it out.
Then came the refrigerator. In the communal fridge in the lab breakroom, Silas used to keep only a few bottles of mineral water and the occasional black coffee for a wake-up call. Now, transparent fruit boxes began to appear frequently, their lids adorned with colorful sticky notes featuring a flamboyant scrawl: "Exclusively for Professor Shen. No sharing. — Ran."
Inside the boxes, perfectly cubed cantaloupe, orange segments with the pith removed, and even pitted cherries were arranged with military precision, emitting an enticing fragrance.
But Silas's greatest headache was his private apartment.
That was his final refuge, which for years had smelled only of crisp fir and remained as sterile as a cleanroom. Now, however, the moment you pushed open the foyer door, that cool, woody scent was involuntarily entwined with a mild, bold, and somewhat predatory fragrance of oranges.
It was Hunter's scent. Even when the "puppy" wasn't there, his aura felt like a long-planned colonization, slowly consuming every corner of the apartment.
"Hunter Huo, did you move half of your belongings in here?"
Silas had just pushed the door open after work, and before he could even find his footing, his brow twitched uncontrollably.
On the once-empty, minimalist beige fabric sofa, a black hoodie lay slumped in a jarring fashion, with a bright red handheld game console tossed next to it. On the coffee table, alongside the professional journals Silas usually read, was a messy stack of sports newspapers and several half-finished cans of soda.
Hunter was half-crouched by the coffee table, looking as if he were conducting some monumental scientific experiment as he focused intently on peeling an orange. Hearing the voice, he turned his head, his blonde bangs swaying. He flashed a grin: "You're back, Professor? It's not half. I calculated carefully—it's only a third."
His skin was incredibly thick. He even put on an act of being "restrained," counting on his fingers: "Look, the bathroom only has one extra toothbrush and a cup. The closet only has three changes of clothes. The rest I plan to move in slowly over the weekend."
Silas stood at the door, looking at the youth who seemed as comfortable as a fish in water in his living room. He rubbed his aching temples with slender fingers, his voice still cool: "...This is my home."
"I know."
Hunter looked up, his deep, dark eyes full of mischievous light. His nimble fingers tore away the last bit of white pith from an orange segment. Then he stood up, his long legs crossing the space to stand directly in front of Silas.
The apartment lights were a warm yellow, reflecting off Hunter's aggressively handsome face and softening the sharp edge of a top-tier Alpha.
He held the perfectly cleaned, translucent orange segment directly to Silas's lips. His tone was light, sounding like a pout yet carrying the weight of a claim: "It's because I know it's your home that I want to move in. Professor Shen, a place where only one person lives is called a laboratory. A place with you and me... that's called a 'home.' Understand?"
Silas's heart skipped a beat in that instant.
This cloying sweetness, heavy with the scent of daily life, made him feel dizzier than any pheromone ever could. He looked at the orange, then at Hunter's eyes—which were filled with a "you can't do anything about me" look. He opened his mouth, about to utter a long-prepared rejection, but the cool, plump orange segment was swiftly tucked between his lips.
The sweet juice exploded in his mouth. That natural sweetness rolled down his tongue and into his throat, overwhelming even the last bit of his pale persistence.
"Sweet?" Hunter leaned in closer, his nose nearly bumping Silas's, his voice dropped low with an enticing magnetic pull.
Silas pursed his lips, forcing himself to break eye contact. His Adam's apple bobbed once before he managed to squeeze out a single word: "...Sweet."
It was indeed very sweet. A hundred times sweeter than any orange he had ever bought for himself.
Hunter smiled with satisfaction. He reached out, his fingertip brushing away a lingering drop of juice from the corner of Silas's mouth in a movement that was secret and intimate.
The proximity was too much. Silas could clearly feel the scorching temperature of Hunter's fingertip. He instinctively took half a step back, his back hitting the door of the foyer, his breathing becoming slightly erratic.
"Professor, Lin's wedding is next Saturday. I saw the invitation; it requires formal wear." Hunter acted as though he didn't notice the other's fluster, pulling a milk candy from his pocket and popping it into his mouth. "I haven't seen you in a proper suit yet. You're going to look incredibly handsome."
Silas leaned against the door, steadying his breath, his gaze falling on Hunter's brilliant blonde hair.
He had always understood that letting Hunter move in—letting this puppy invade his life—meant his orderly world would fall into total chaos. Yet, watching Hunter tirelessly plan his "two-thirds" blueprint, Silas found that the expected feeling of repulsion didn't appear.
On the contrary, he began to feel a sliver of anticipation. He wondered what that so-called "home" would actually look like when the apartment was truly filled with Hunter's things and the scent of oranges had completely saturated every inch of the air.
"Since we're attending a wedding, we should dress formally." Silas lowered his eyes, his tone returning to calm, though his slightly burning fingertips betrayed his state of mind. "Accompany me to the shop tomorrow."
"Understood! Whatever the husband says!"
"Hunter Huo!"
"Oops—whatever the Professor says, Professor!"
The youth's laughter echoed through the apartment. As Silas watched him hurriedly tidy up the coffee table, the corners of his mouth finally tilted up in a microscopic arc.