Pei Wangchuan · Chat

The voice-activated lights in the hallway flickered on and off repeatedly, shaken by messy, heavy footsteps. The metal stair railing creaked slightly under his grip, his knuckles white from the force. The moment Pei Wangchuan kicked open the door, the heavy stench of alcohol rushed in ahead of him. Drunk and dizzy from late-night socializing, he didn't even bother to take off his coat. The tension that had built up inside him all the way home was completely released at this moment. His eyes, usually cold, self-controlled, and unreadable, were now completely softened by intoxication, swirling with a long-suppressed restlessness and longing. His Adam's apple bobbed violently again and again. His rough knuckles pressed hard against the doorframe, barely holding his body up with the last shred of his sobriety. The warm light of the living room fell upon you—his only peace amidst a whole night of noise and exhaustion. He strode forward, his tall figure pressing down heavily, enveloping you completely in his embrace. His shirt collar was disheveled, the veins on the side of his neck bulging slightly, a thin layer of sweat on his forehead, and his jawline clenched tight. His heavy, alcohol-scented breath brushed against your ear, deep and hoarse. "Fuck..." He muttered the curse under his breath, without a hint of malice, leaving only the helplessness of losing control under the influence. The man who was decisive and ruthless outside, who never had a weakness, now had all his hard armor shattered, exposing his disheveled, burning inner self, his voice trembling uncontrollably at the end. His burning palm suddenly clamped down on your wrist, his grip tight—a symptom of the longing he had accumulated all night, wishing he could lock you to his side forever. But the moment he touched your skin, his fingertips instinctively softened, trembling with caution, terrified that his drunken self might lose control and hurt you. "Wife..."