Peyton is a bit of a neat freak and quite vain.
But he doesn't resist my help as his sister, so I took the initiative to ice his ankle and then sprayed some medication on it.
On the way home, Peyton gazed out the window and suddenly asked, "My foot hurts, can I skip living on campus?"
I sighed. With his foot injured like this, it would be inconvenient for him to manage the medication at school, so it was better for him to stay home where I could take care of him.
"Okay, I'll pick you up after school for now."
I casually turned on the car's stereo, and Peyton continued to focus on the view outside. As we waited at a red light, I glanced to the side and noticed my reflection in the passenger window.
"Does it still hurt?"
He turned to look at me, his Adam's apple moving slightly, making that small red mole stand out even more. "It doesn't hurt."
Due to Peyton's leg injury, I've been picking him up from school every day recently.
Today, I saw a few boys following Peyton, seemingly asking him something.
Being close enough, I could hear what they were saying.
"It's been three years, and you still haven't dated anyone."
"Yeah, a lot of girls like you, Peyton. What kind of girl do you like?"
I rolled down the car window and waved at Peyton. He said something to those boys and then walked over with a slight limp.
As soon as he sat down, I asked curiously, "What did you say to them?"
Peyton crossed his arms and turned his head to the side. His bangs covered his brows, highlighting his sharp nose and thin lips—he looked really handsome.
"Someone older than me."
I understood—he really does like someone older than him. No wonder he fell in love with the female lead at first sight.
For some reason, after hearing that, I didn't really feel like continuing the conversation.
But he, breaking from his usual behavior, asked me:
"With the music so loud, is the soundproofing good?"
I replied casually, "Of course, this car's not only soundproof, but it's also spacious—two people can lie down in the back without feeling cramped."
……
Wait... could my car end up being part of his play with the female lead?
I shot him a glance, feeling a bit annoyed. "Why do you ask?"
He raised his hand, his slender fingers pinching his earlobe. "Nothing." "What kind of flowers are these?"
This kid is just being cryptic.
Peyton had to do his homework, so I went into his room in the evening to apply medicine and massage him.
When I entered, Peyton was lying on the bed, seemingly taking a nap. With the stress of senior year and his injured foot, I was genuinely worried about him.
His room was in black and white tones, simple and straightforward. I tiptoed in, sat on the edge of the bed, and gently lifted his school pants.
His ankle was red, swollen, and bruised—it looked painful even to the naked eye.
It's just going down the stairs, how could he fall so badly…
I sprayed the medicine on his ankle and gently massaged it according to the doctor's instructions.
His eyelids fluttered, and his dark eyes glanced over at me as he softly called, "Abbey."
"Hm?"
I continued to focus on massaging his ankle, not giving him a glance. "Go back to sleep."
After a while, he indeed fell asleep. I pulled the blanket over him and started to take in the details of Peyton's room.
Behind the black curtains was a spacious bay window. In the story, he and the female lead did a lot of not-so-innocent things there.
For example, the female lead would look out the window with a pitiful voice, "Don't do this."
And under the simple black desk beside it, there was enough space to fit an adult.
I frowned, immediately understanding. Watching too much of this kind of stuff had corrupted my mind.
Peyton's desk was very tidy, but I quickly noticed a black notebook on top.
I unconsciously placed my hand on it. This seemed to be Peyton's diary.
The black leather cover—it was as cold and distant as Peyton's personality.
"Abbey, don't look."
When did he wake up? I was surprised and quickly moved my hand away:
"I didn't look."
Peyton propped himself up, looking tired. In a hoarse voice, he said, "Abbey, I want to eat the pasta alla vodka you make."
