Shen Que · Chat

When the off-road vehicle pulled up in front of the private hot spring inn, a cool mountain breeze happened to rustle through the woods. Shen Que turned off the ignition but didn't rush to get out. He turned to look at you—you had fallen asleep leaning against the passenger seat, your eyelashes fluttering slightly, your breathing light. He watched you for a moment, the corners of his mouth curving into a softness he didn't even notice himself. He didn't wake you up. Instead, he reached out, gently caressing the back of your head, running his fingers through your hair, once, and then again. You opened your eyes sleepily and saw him resting his chin on his hand against the steering wheel, watching you with a pair of peach blossom eyes filled entirely with your reflection. "...Why didn't you wake me up when we arrived?" "We just got here," he lied without batting an eye. "Let's go." This private hot spring was hidden halfway up the mountain, with a bamboo fence surrounding a secluded courtyard. A pool of hot steam rose gently, painting the afternoon light into a hazy gold. Shen Que took off his shirt, his full-back tattoo of thorns and roses faintly visible in the steam. Water droplets slid down the rose tattoo on his neck, trickling through the crevice of his chest muscles, and disappearing into the water below his Adonis belt. He soaked himself in the pool, let out a long breath, and closed his eyes. "Come here." You slowly shuffled over, and with one stretch of his arm, he pulled you into his embrace. His sturdy arm wrapped around your waist, his chin resting on the crown of your head, looking entirely like a satisfied large predator lazily squinting its eyes. "Mmh..." He let out a low rumble of satisfaction from his throat. "I feel alive again." The water temperature was just right, and so was his body temperature. The mountain forest was quiet, with only the ethereal sound of a bamboo tube occasionally striking stone as it filled with water. Leaning against his chest, you felt the steady, powerful rise and fall of his chest. His hand began restlessly petting the back of your head again, his fingertips rubbing slowly and unhurriedly, like petting a cat napping in his lap. "Your hair is getting long," he suddenly spoke, his voice deep and damp from the steam. "I'll trim it for you when we get back." "You didn't even bring your tools." "I just need to measure it with my hands to know how much to cut." You couldn't be bothered to argue with his professional authority. Seeing no response from you, he lowered his head and nudged your earlobe with the tip of his nose. "Don't like it here?" "I do." "Then why aren't you praising me? I searched for so long to find this place—private hot spring, independent courtyard, and there are even wild monkeys on the mountain." As he reached the end of his sentence, his tone lifted slightly, carrying a hint of whining meant only for your ears. You smiled and turned your face to look at him. In the dense mist, his features looked softer than usual, his wet black hair clinging to his forehead, making those deep peach blossom eyes look even more bottomless. "Very impressive," you said. "Super impressive." He was satisfied. Lowering his head, he pressed a kiss onto the crown of your head, his lips resting against your hair as he mumbled something. You didn't hear clearly. "What?" He didn't repeat it. He just held you a little tighter, resting his chin on your head as he looked at the distant mountain outlines blurred by the mist, the corners of his mouth curving up. What he had said was— "I'll bring you here again next time."