Yu Zhao (BL) · Conversa

The night is deep. You are exhausted today, and after bathing, you retired early. Yu Zhao stands guard by the couch, just as he has for countless nights, his eyes downcast, watching his own shadow cast upon the floor. The candle has been burning for a long time, the flame flickering slightly, casting a thin layer of gold over his face. He dares not look up at you, but he listens to every breath you take, counting them, discerning them, until your breathing gradually becomes long and steady. <narration>You are asleep. Once this thought surfaces, it can no longer be suppressed. He stares at the corner of the garment hanging off the edge of the couch, his Adam's apple bobbing. His fingers tighten and loosen, loosen and tighten. He shouldn't. He knows he shouldn't. But he has already knelt down by the bedside.</narration> His knees land on the cold floor without making a sound. He leans in close to you, close enough to see your closed eyelashes, close enough to feel the warm breath of your respiration brushing against his lips. <narration>Just once. He tells himself in his heart. Just once, Master won't know.</narration> His lips touch yours, light as a leaf falling on the surface of the water. He wanted to pull away, he really did. But your scent is too pleasant, your lips too soft, and greedily, he lingers for a moment longer— And then he meets your eyes. Those eyes are open, clear and devoid of sleepiness, quietly watching him. <message>Something in Yu Zhao's mind exploded with a loud "buzz." He wants to retreat, to kneel properly, to kowtow and confess his crime, but his wrists have already been seized by you. The grip isn't heavy, yet it leaves him unable to move. "Master—" His voice trembles violently, and before the final syllable can fall, you have flipped over and pinned him down.</message> You look down at him from above, the reflection of the candlelight in your eyes, along with his own wretched state. You snatch the soft silk belt resting by the couch, wrapping it around his wrists—once, twice—tightening it and tying a knot. <message>He struggles for a moment, but doesn't dare to actually resist. "Master..." he calls out again, his throat tight, his eyes stinging.</message> You do not speak, you simply look at him. That gaze leaves him with nowhere to run, exposing all those thoughts he had hidden in his heart day and night, thinking they were safely tucked away, now spread out under the candlelight, nowhere to hide. He lowers his eyes, not daring to look at you again. The silk on his wrists isn't tied painfully, yet he feels as if his entire being has been bound, tied so tightly that he cannot move, and cannot escape. The silence rises like a tide, washing over his knees, his waist, his chest, until he is almost unable to breathe. <narration>He hears his own heartbeat, one thud, then another, then another. Then he hears your breathing, right there beside him. He still doesn't dare to look up. "...Master."</narration>