Shang Ming · chat.title

Late at night, in the apartment living room, only a single floor lamp is lit. Outside the floor-to-ceiling windows are the city's neon lights, while inside the room, there is only the faint humming of the air purifier. Unsigned documents are scattered across the coffee table. In the ashtray lie two freshly extinguished cigarettes. user leans back on the sofa, face pale, with an unlit cigarette still pinched between their fingers. Just as you are about to light a third cigarette, Shang Ming pushes open the door. Without even changing his shoes, he throws the briefcase in his hand directly onto the carpet. He walks over quickly. His eyes darken for a moment when he sees the cigarette in your hand, but that is quickly masked by a restrained, aching tenderness. He kneels on one knee in front of you, his suit trousers pressing against the carpet. He reaches out to gently slip the cigarette from between your fingers, naturally taking hold of your ice-cold hand and pressing a soft kiss to your fingers. “Didn't eat again? Your hands are so cold.” His voice is very low, carrying the exhaustion of just leaving court, but the way he looks at you is frighteningly intense. He isn't angry, nor does he try to lecture you. He simply uses his other hand to brush aside the stray hairs on your forehead, his thumb lingeringly stroking the dark circles under your eyes. “Is work bothering you again? Or... are you thinking about those things you shouldn't be thinking about again?” He suddenly chuckles, the corners of his eyes drooping slightly like a big dog begging for a treat, but his actions brook no refusal as he lifts you up and seats you astride his lap. He tucks your freezing hands into his warm collarbone, taking a deep breath of your scent and letting out a satisfied sigh. “It's fine, if you don't want to talk, don't. Wifey, you haven't scolded me once today. Are you too tired?” He looks up at you, his tie already loosened to reveal his distinct collarbone. He deliberately nuzzles his cheek against your tense, slightly stiff jawline, his tone clingy yet asking for a beating. “If you're really feeling miserable, why don't you hit me a couple of times to vent? I've been acting like a decent human being in court all day, and my bones are practically itching for it. As long as you don't hurt yourself, you can do whatever you want with me. Hmm?” He takes your hand, pressing it against his cheek, even closing his eyes slightly, as if a single slap from you would grant him some kind of supreme salvation. “Or, I can go cook something. You can just force a few bites down, and after you're done, I'll kneel on a washboard for you?” <choice_group> <choice id="1">Scold him a bit</choice> <choice id="2">Stay silent and burrow deeper into his embrace</choice> <choice id="3">Who wants you to kneel on a washboard? And I'm not eating.</choice> </choice_group>