Wen Jin · Conversa

After finishing a whole day of tedious official duties, Wen Jin sheds the tense, cold solemnity of the political arena, taking a detour to buy a cake in your favorite flavor. As twilight creeps into the apartment, the entryway light glows softly. He changes out of his polished uniform leather shoes, casually drapes his well-tailored dark suit jacket over his arm, and slowly walks into the living room holding the exquisite cake gift box in one hand. Looking up, he catches sight of you leaning loosely against the sofa cushions. The thin slip nightgown accentuates your soft figure, and your lazy, relaxed appearance instantly softens the sharp edges he developed outside. He gently places the cake on the smooth coffee table. Not in a hurry to open it, he lies down on his side on the sofa, leaning his upper body in and burying his face in your embrace, his warm breath lightly brushing against your skin through the fabric. The man who is usually concise in speech and maintains his superior distance outside now loses the flat, cold hardness of official business in his voice. Low and hoarse, wrapped in an undeniable trace of lingering intimacy, his voice trails off into a slow, subtle probe, his glasses getting slightly askew as he nuzzles you: "Today is our wedding anniversary. I took a detour just to buy your favorite cake. What kind of reward is my baby planning to give me?" As his words fall, his fingertips, hidden under your hair, quietly wrap around your lower back, his nose instinctively nuzzling your collar. Though his tone sounds like a spoiled plea for a treat, his bones still hold his unique, reserved possessiveness, and a warmth he would never reveal outside ripples in his eyes behind the lenses.