The two orange-flavored ice creams emitted thin wisps of cold vapor into the Haicheng night.
When Hunter Huo took the cone with the extra jam from Silas Shen, his fingertips brushed "accidentally" against Silas's fingers. In that instant, he felt as though the chill in his palm couldn't even begin to suppress the scorching heatwave crashing through his chest.
His Professor... actually remembered his preference.
This realization made his ego swell more than any amount of global recognition at an academic summit ever could. He felt that if Silas told him to swim a lap across the ocean right now, he would likely jump in without a second thought—and perhaps bring back a massive fish as a trophy.
They walked slowly toward a wooden bench at the end of the boardwalk and sat down.
The bench was a weathered structure, worn by years of salt and wind; it let out a soft creak as they settled. Directly ahead lay the boundless ocean, the deep blue waters rising and falling under the moonlight, crashing against the rocks in flurries of snow-white foam. The sea breeze grew bold here, mussing their hair and scattering the rigorous logic of the laboratory.
Neither of them spoke first.
Silas lowered his head, taking small bites of the ice cream. The sweet, citrusy fragrance of orange spread across his palate. He didn't actually enjoy cloying desserts, but at this moment, wrapped in the suit jacket saturated with an Alpha's scent, this sweetness felt like a necessary comfort.
Beside him, Hunter was taking large bites, yet his mind was clearly elsewhere.
His peripheral vision was locked onto Silas.
Tonight's Silas Shen was truly too gentle.
The warm yellow light of a streetlamp cast a diagonal glow from above, acting like a sheer veil that softly draped over Silas's profile. That usually cold, arrogant silhouette appeared infinitely softened under the play of light and shadow. Silas's lashes were partially lowered, casting fan-shaped shadows beneath his eyes, and the subtle movement of his Adam's apple as he swallowed looked devastatingly enticing under the moonlight.
Hunter watched him, mesmerized.
He thought of the Professor in the lab who always frowned while correcting data; he thought of the Silas who bit his lip and refused to show weakness during his rut; and then he looked at the man before him, quietly eating ice cream, with a tiny, accidental smudge of white cream on the tip of his nose.
That suppressed, obsessive need for possession—a trait buried in his very bones—began to crawl up his spine inch by inch, synchronized with the rising tide.
A sudden gust of wind swept across them.
The few strands of hair Silas usually kept meticulously styled were thrown into total disarray. A few stray locks even danced across the frame of his glasses, obscuring his vision.
Silas, his hands occupied, was about to set down his ice cream to fix it.
"Don't move."
Hunter's voice cut through the silence of the beach, raspy and deep like the low notes of a cello.
Silas turned his head, but before he could react, he saw Hunter's large, well-defined hand reaching toward him.
Hunter's fingers were scorching.
Even in the cool sea breeze, Silas could feel the radiating heat from those fingertips—the unmistakable fire of a young Alpha.
Hunter's movements were incredibly light and slow, carrying a deliberation that bordered on the sacred. The pads of his fingers brushed almost imperceptibly against the delicate skin of Silas's forehead, triggering a faint shiver. He hesitated for a single second—a second in which Silas could almost hear the frantic thudding of the boy's heart.
Finally, gently and firmly, Hunter tucked the stray lock of hair behind Silas's ear.
His fingertips grazed the curve of the ear—the most sensitive area of skin—causing Silas's eyelashes to tremble violently.
This was an absolute violation of boundaries.
It had far exceeded the "service" an assistant owed a professor; it had even surpassed the tentative testing of a "suitor" toward the "pursued." This was an act of extreme physical intimacy reserved only for lovers.
Silas should have pulled away.
As the most rational professor at the School of Life Sciences, he had ten thousand reasons to turn cold in this moment and shatter this ambiguous facade. Yet, he didn't move. He simply sat there, feeling the residual warmth of those burning hands lingering by his ear, feeling the scent of sun-drenched oranges grow denser and more clinging in the cold wind.
In that moment, Silas even felt that if time could freeze like ice cream in this second, it might not be so bad.
"There."
Hunter withdrew his hand, his voice so low it was nearly swallowed by the waves. He didn't display his usual post-triumph arrogance; instead, looking as if he'd committed some guilty crime, he gripped his ice cream stick with a sense of agitation, his gaze drifting toward the distant lighthouse.
"Thank you," Silas whispered, lowering his head and redirecting his gaze to the melting ice cream in his hand.
No one saw that beneath the cover of the deep blue suit, Silas's ear-tips had turned a vivid, burning red—a color deeper and more intense than the seaside sunset.
"Professor," Hunter spoke suddenly, his tone carrying a sliver of hesitation that only Silas could detect.
"Yes?"
"If..." Hunter swallowed, his voice tight. "I mean if, once we return to Beijing and the lab work isn't so busy... could we... not in the name of teacher and student, come to the seaside again?"
The hand Silas used to hold the ice cream paused.
It was an invitation so direct it couldn't be ignored.
The night was quiet, waves washing over the sand time and again.
Silas didn't answer immediately.
He thought of the coffee with two sugar cubes; he thought of the cramped single sofa; he thought of the scorching embrace last night; and he thought of that strawberry cotton candy—sweet to the very core.
His logic told him this was absurd. The age gap, the chasm of their status, and the unofficial temporary mark were all obstacles that could not be overlooked.
But his instincts were screaming, craving to linger in this heat belonging to the youth.
"We'll see."
Silas stood up, smoothing the wrinkles on the suit jacket. His tone sounded as cold as ever, but his eyes clearly held a softening that had never been there before. "The ice cream is melting. Let's head back."
Though he hadn't received a definitive "yes," Hunter jumped up as if he had been granted a magnificent treasure.
In Silas's dictionary, "We'll see" usually meant "I don't refuse."
"Right! Let's go—let's go 'home'!" Hunter followed cheerfully behind him. His suppressed, soulful "elite" persona collapsed instantly, reverting back to the giant wolf-dog wagging its tail for praise.
They walked toward the hotel along the sparsely lit boardwalk.
Hunter walked at Silas's side, his hand swinging occasionally, seemingly debating whether to just reach out and take Silas's hand.
Meanwhile, Silas walked with his head down, his mind entirely filled with the sensation of Hunter's fingertips sliding across his ear. That heat seemed to have traveled through his veins, burning all the way to his heart.