Who Needs a Relationship When You Have a Cat?

Chapter 20

How to put this...

Ai Qing—who had never so much as held a girl’s hand and whose entire education in female anatomy came from late-night videos—never imagined that the first hurdle he’d face would be dressing a girl.

Ordinary clothes would have been bad enough.

But underwear? A bra and panties? That, too, was suddenly his problem.

“Look, this clip—can you copy it?”

Making a last-ditch effort, he pulled up a scene of the leading lady getting dressed and hit replay for Xiao Yu. “Just... put them on like she does. Easy.”

Head tilted, Xiao Yu—still in her borrowed blue jacket—stared at the screen, utterly lost.

Becoming human had sharpened her mind; after a little more than a week she could catch scattered words. Full sentences, though, still tangled into knots.

So what was Ai Qing trying to show her?

She studied the woman on the video, then tilted her face back, blinking, innocence itself.

“...Sigh.”

Ai Qing exhaled.

Fine. He’d done his pedagogical best.

If not for twenty-odd years of moral upbringing, he would have crossed to the dark side long ago. A gentleman behaves when no one’s watching—so the sages say.

Ai Qing knows he isn’t a gentleman.

But Xiao Yu is innocence incarnate, and even he has lines he won’t cross.

“All right, sit sideways.”

He laid the garments on the table, guided her shoulders until she perched half-turned, spine to his chest.

Deep breath.

“Stay still. I’ll do it.”

Eyes squeezed shut—he couldn’t say why—he reached over her shoulder, fingers brushing the zipper of the blue jacket. One quick pull and the room filled with the soft hiss of parting teeth.

The oversized jacket glided down her milk-smooth skin, slipped off the curve of her shoulder, pooled first on the chair, then on the floor.

A blue lotus, half-opened, in the lamplight.

Now only his closed eyelids stood between him and the view.

The curtains were already drawn; warm lamplight painted the room. Bent low to finish the zipper, Ai Qing’s forehead nearly touched her collarbone. One lift of his lashes and the world would change forever.

Xiao Yu felt only the pleasant coolness after cloth. Accustomed to fur, she missed its cover and hugged herself, curious fingers gliding over new skin.

Ai Qing snatched his hands back the instant the jacket cleared her arms, half-stepped away, and groped for the bra on the table.

Mental checklist from WikiHow:

1. Bend forward.

2. Hook straps over shoulders.

3. Scoop, centre, fasten.

He laid a tentative hand on her shoulder—softer than silk—and nearly forgot the mission.

“Lean forward a bit,” he murmured, knowing she wouldn’t understand but needing the sound of his own voice.

Gently he pressed between her shoulder blades; she complied, shivering at the warmth of skin on skin. A sensation better than being petted in cat-form, she decided. If only he would touch her like this more often.

Ai Qing slid the straps up her arms—right, then left—fumbling, sweating, grazing the curve of a breast in passing. His body reacted with traitorous honesty; he endured.

Straps finally parked on her shoulders, he whispered, “Head up, back straight,” while recalling step two: adjust straps for comfort. No idea what “comfort” felt like to her, he moved on.

Step three: gather the breasts into the cups, pull the band around, fasten the hooks.

He eased the underband upward, fingers unavoidably brushing soft flesh, held his breath, guided the hooks to her back, and—after three clumsy tries—heard the tiny snap of closure.

“Mm...”

Xiao Yu felt the unfamiliar lift, the sudden absence of weight, a strange new lightness. Magic—though the straps bit a little.

Behind her, Ai Qing quietly came back to life, lungs working again.