"Your hands are all pruned."
Zhou Liao sat down by the bed, and Lai Zhiyun flipped open his palm to see. The fingertips were wrinkled, and the hands were slightly pale.
"You've worked hard."
Lai Zhiyun held Zhou Liao's hand, caressing it, "You should have worn gloves."
"I forgot."
"Don't move, let me apply some hand cream for you."
Applying hand cream on Zhou Liao's hands, Lai Zhiyun's technique was very experienced, with a gentle force and even application.
"It will be better in a moment."
Zhou Liao sat still, seemingly unconcerned, allowing Zhiyun to busily attend to him.
"Disinfectant is really harsh on the hands," said Lai Zhiyun. "Give me your other hand."
Zhou Liao was very cooperative, extending his other hand and asking Zhiyun, "Do you miss home?"
"Of course, it's been twenty-one days since we left. But it's also fun to be out and about."
Being with Zhou Liao was just like the song described — every day felt like Valentine's Day.
