The movie just happened to reach a scene with a thunderstorm and ghosts. The screen brightened suddenly, and with the flashing white light, Qiao Li finally saw what was wrong with Feng Yi. He was pressed against the back of his chair, eyes downcast, tugging at his crotch. 

Qiao Li glanced down at his lap. There was a large bulge, straining against his pants. Feng Yi, clearly uncomfortable, kept pulling at the fabric. His movements were small; after all, if someone discovered this embarrassing situation, he'd probably die of shame. Qiao Li stopped watching the movie and focused on him.

The screen dimmed again, signaling another scary moment. Screams erupted from girls around the theater. Amidst the shrill cries, she distinctly heard Feng Yi suck in a sharp breath. He'd grown impatient and abruptly pressed down on himself—only to suffer the consequences. Qiao Li was amused by his pained expression. Seeing that he’d stopped moving now that the theater was quiet, she stealthily reached out her hand.

The moment she touched his pants, Feng Yi flinched, nearly jumping out of his seat. He turned to look at Qiao Li in surprise. In the dim light, his eyes were dark and bright, sparkling like the Samoyed that loved rummaging through the neighborhood dumpsters. He quickly grabbed Qiao Li's wrist, but she pulled away.

She accurately located the source of the heat. Even through two layers of fabric, the warmth made her palm tingle. Fuzzy memories of the night she got drunk surfaced. She couldn't recall the exact shape of his pen1s, only the unbelievable heat and hardness.

Feng Yi, caught red-handed, wished he could crawl under his seat. Shame and helplessness made him want to drag Qiao Li away and logically explain that this was just an uncontrollable puberty-induced er3ction, and that he absolutely wasn't a p3rvert who got turned on by horror movies.

What logical explanation was needed? Qiao Li’s palm pressed gently, and all he could manage was a shaky, "Don't..." His voice was completely swallowed by the movie's sound effects. Okay, he admitted it, he was a p3rvert. Just the thought of Qiao Li, in the dark theater, touching his er3ction through his pants with her soft hand, made him flush and his mouth go dry.

Qiao Li leaned her head against his shoulder. The movie was terrifying, and couples and friends were huddled together everywhere, so her action didn't stand out. Resting against him, she realized just how flushed he was. He was practically radiating heat, a human furnace.

"Should I reach inside?" Qiao Li whispered in his ear.

Feng Yi avoided her gaze, desperately trying to think of sad things to suppress his ar0usal. Sad things… What sad things? He couldn't think of any. His mind was blank, filled only with Qiao Li's name.

He heard himself speak, his voice hoarse, "Yes..."

He said it! The conflicted yet eager expression on his face betrayed his racing thoughts. Qiao Li was thoroughly amused. She unzipped his pants.

Feng Yi held his breath, feeling her small hand slip past the waistband and undo his button. Then, her hand enveloped his hardened length. It couldn’t all fit; her hand was too small.

It was thick, soft to the touch, yet hard. Confined by his underwear, it strained pathetically to the left. She traced the outline with her fingertips, as if calculating its length. "Want what?"