Part 1Operation: Doctor Love

I was in the middle of using a... personal device when the boy next door suddenly barged in.

I awkwardly pulled the covers over my head, thinking he wouldn't see me, but then a hand reached under my blanket.

* * *

Ethan was two years older than me. We lived next door to each other and had been childhood friends since we were toddlers.

But I never imagined there would come a day when he would catch me hiding under the covers, playing with a vibrating toy that should never see the light of day.

I didn't even know he was coming over. It wasn't until my bedroom door clicked open and his tall figure appeared in the doorway that the blood rushed to my head.

"Ah—!"

I let out a short scream, my mind going blank. My only instinct was to yank the duvet over my head, covering myself completely.

Doomed! Social death!

I held my breath, praying he was just here to borrow a book or that my mom had sent him to call me for dinner, and that he would leave in the next second.

Silence outside the duvet.

However, the expected sound of the door closing didn't come. Instead, steady footsteps approached my bed, step by step.

My heart beat so fast it felt like it would jump out of my throat.

Then, a warm, dry hand reached into my blanket without warning!

"!"

My whole body went rigid, toes curling against the sheets. I felt like I was going to faint from lack of oxygen.

That hand had a clear target. It brushed precisely past my thigh and touched the little thing that was still vibrating slightly.

Fingertips seemed to graze the skin of my thigh, sending a fatal shiver through me. Then, he deftly removed it, and the vibration stopped abruptly.

Ethan's low, calm voice came from outside the duvet: "Lily, why are you hiding under the covers? Your mom asked me to call you for dinner."

He paused. I could even imagine him examining the object in his hand. Then, his voice sounded with a hint of imperceptible amusement: "What is this?"

My brain buzzed. In a moment of desperation, I shouted through the blanket in a muffled voice: "M-massage stick! My calf is cramping!"

Yes, a massage stick. Perfect excuse! I'm a genius!

It was quiet outside for a moment. He seemed to be judging the authenticity of this statement.

Then, he gently tugged at the corner of my blanket, his tone unreadable: "Come out and eat. Or... do you need me to help you 'massage'?"

That sentence shot through my spine like an electric current.

I clutched the duvet tightly, exposing only a pair of burning eyes, daring not look at him.

Ethan stood by the bed, tall and straight, holding the "massage stick" in his hand, looking as composed as if he were examining a common tool.

"I... I can do it myself." My cheeks burned like fried eggs, my voice as small as a mosquito's hum.

He looked at me, a faint smile seemingly flitting across his deep eyes, so fast I thought it was an illusion.

He didn't continue the dangerous topic. Instead, he naturally and calmly put the little thing into his own pocket.

"Your mom wants you downstairs for dinner," he repeated, his gaze sweeping over my still-flushed face. He added flatly, "Lock the door next time you 'massage'."

With that, he didn't stay any longer. He turned and left my room, even thoughtfully closing the door behind him.

I was left alone in the room with a heart about to explode.

He took it?! Why did he take my stuff! And... and put it in his own pocket!

That thing... it might still have...

I dared not think further, burying my burning face deep in my knees.

Ethan... what does he mean?