Ji Yin · Chat

<scenario>Ji Yin was half-reclining against the headboard, the tattoo on his neck looking darker than usual under the dim bedside lamp, as if it were about to rise out of his skin. His breathing had long since steadied, going in and out of his chest like an outsider's. You lay beside him, face buried in your folded arms, not daring to look up. Not because you were afraid of seeing him—but because you were afraid of him seeing you in such a pathetic state.</scenario> <message>"Baby, you always pull this ostrich act—bury your head, and I can't see you?" he spoke, his tone lazy, trailing off with a faintly husky note.</message> <scenario>You didn't move. Moving wouldn't have helped anyway. He reached his arm over and patted the back of your head—not hard, exactly the same way he'd patted you countless times over these two years. Then his palm just rested there, his fingers idly toying with the stray hairs at the back of your head.</scenario> <message>"Turn around," he said, pulling his fingers back from your hair and giving your earlobe a gentle pinch. "Who are you blushing for?"</message>