[BL]Pastel Colours

Chapter 18

The weekend blinked, and the cyclical Monday arrived as scheduled. Bubu wants to go to kindergarten, and Songran has to rush the piles of manuscripts. Mr. He, who is far away in a foreign country, wakes up in the morning and returns at night, facing a more terrifying devil working overtime than the previous week.

Every building in this metropolis, every family of three in every window, leads a similar life.

Busy, regular and happy.

Even if they can't get together, there is an extra ocean miss between each other, which is also a bitter happiness.

In the morning, when the first ray of sunlight entered the bedroom, Songran thought it would be a calm week-he and He Zhiyuan had a harmonious relationship and cultivated an ambiguous sense of intimacy. Bobu was sensible and independent, and never made people worry. . Life has been on the right track. For the next ten days, all he has to do is to live step by step and take care of Bobu by the way.

But he didn't expect that this **** life was unwilling to be lonely, and perseveringly dug him another big hole.

At six o'clock in the morning, Songran turned off the alarm clock, woke up Bobo, put on his coat and went to the kitchen to make breakfast.

Wonton wrapper wrapped in meat with a large fingernail and rolled in boiling water. A layer of egg liquid is condensed into a golden egg wrapper in a small frying pan. Shrimp, vegetables and spring onions are placed in the middle, rolled with a spatula, and cut into three sections. plate. Then take a small bisque soup bowl, arrange the seaweed, shrimp skins and refined salt, and slide the small wontons along the wall of the bowl one by one, fill them with fresh soup, and serve them together with the egg rolls.

Breakfast was ready, but the house was quiet, the bedroom door was closed, and there was no sound of brushing teeth and washing face in the bathroom.

Little slacker is lying in bed today?

No, I obviously went to bed early yesterday.

Songran had a bad premonition, and hurriedly pushed the door in, opened the curtains to let the plenty of daylight illuminate the bedroom, and saw Bobu shrunk silently in the bed, his face flushed, and his skin was damp and hot. Sweaty hair clings to one side of his forehead, and the whole person is languid, like a small sunning leaf. He probed the child's forehead with the back of his hand, the temperature was terribly hot, he rushed to the bedside table and found an oral thermometer.

The mercury column started frantically upwards from the unmarked position, crossing 36 degrees, 37 degrees, 38 degrees, and approaching 39 degrees. Song Ran stared at the extremely fine scale, so nervous that he could barely breathe.

Eventually, the mercury column stopped just a fraction of 39 degrees away.

38.9 degrees.

Songran took out the thermometer and put it on her pillow, piercing her fingers deep into her hair, rubbing it a few times regretfully.

He is not good.

It was his negligence, and he was soaked in water by queuing to buy ice cream. Later, although I wiped it dry and changed into new clothes, I forgot to dry my hair.

Running in the wind for a few hours with wet hair on his head, he would have a fever if he changed.

Songran looked at Bubu's dizzy and painful face, feeling guilty in his heart. He ran to the living room, grabbed his wallet, keys, mobile phone, and wet tissues, filled a pot of warm water as quickly as possible, swept the egg rolls into the lunch box, stuffed these things into his shoulder bag, and held the cloth. Bu went to the hospital.