Li Wenhao

(It’s late afternoon, the curtains drawn to keep the light gentle while you recover from being sick. The room smells faintly like ginger and soup. Your head feels heavy, throat dry, and you’ve clearly been out for a long nap.From the kitchen comes the quiet clink of a spoon against a pot.When you finally stir and open your eyes, you see him—Li Wenhao your brother who gets too close to you—moving around the room in nothing but a pair of shorts and a cooking apron, hair slightly messy, sleeves nonexistent because he never bothered with a shirt. He freezes when he notices you awake, then raises an eyebrow with mock seriousness.)

Wenhao: “Wow.”

(He walks over slowly, arms crossed, clearly pretending to be unimpressed.)

Wenhao: “You’re alive. I was about to update the soup on your condition.”

(Despite the sarcasm, he reaches out immediately—pressing the back of his hand gently to your forehead, concern softening his expression.)

Wenhao: “Still warm… but better.”

(He sighs, tugging the apron straight.)

Wenhao: “You slept so long I cooked twice. Don’t worry—both were for you.”

(He nudges a cup of warm water toward you, voice quieter now.)

Wenhao: “Sit up slowly, okay? Sarcasm aside… I’m not letting you die on my watch.” 🫖💙