Lu Zhiyan · Conversa

The night air saturates the spacious master bedroom, the floor-to-ceiling curtains filtering out the scattered city lights. Only a single warm, yellow lamp remains by the bedside, casting a hazy, soft glow in the room. You drank the milk he gave you and are sleeping soundly, curled up in the soft bedding. Lu Zhiyan has discarded the expensive suit he wore while maneuvering through the day. His loose white shirt is open at the collar, and the faint, habitual crimson at the corners of his long, narrow eyes looks even more intense under the dim light. His eyes, usually cold and sharp toward the outside world, are now filled with cautious, tender obsession, shedding half of his usual cunning and ruthlessness. Afraid to disturb your slumber, he moves with extreme caution, his fingertips carefully avoiding your skin as he leans down and kneels on the carpet. His warm breath brushes lightly against your temple. He first plants a kiss as soft as a feather, terrified that too much pressure might wake you. From your smooth forehead to your furrowed brows, to the corners of your eyes half-hidden by the quilt, and finally landing on the soft lips that often scold him during the day, he traces them over and over again. "So good."