Qing Hang had been drinking. Without that little bit of looseness, Cheng Wanyue never would have gotten the upper hand tonight.

Tonight, they were determined to see things through properly.

“Don’t bother with those,” he said, leaning back against the headboard, glancing at the small items on the table.

“Those?” Cheng Wanyue looked over, feigning surprise, deliberately misreading him. “You want to play?”

Before he could clarify, she lifted her chin, pleased with herself. “If you behave, I might consider it.”

Now that she had the upper hand, she wanted to see what it felt like to be in charge for once.

The air between them was warm, teasing, full of the kind of nervous energy that came with trying something new. There was a faint sweetness in the air, unfamiliar compared to his place.

Their skin tones were similar, though his had taken on a faint flush from the alcohol. The marks she’d left on him earlier — a bite here, a scratch there — stood out a little darker, evidence of how thoroughly she’d gotten carried away.

Meiqiu, their small pet, was curled up in the corner of the sofa, hidden almost entirely behind a backpack. They could hear the soft rustle of paws against paper, rising and falling. Against that, Qing Hang’s quiet, uneven breathing was even more noticeable.

Only one lamp by the door was lit, casting a soft yellow glow across the room. Through the sheer curtains, the city lights blinked faintly in the distance.

Cheng Wanyue took her time, moving slowly, savoring the unfamiliar feeling of being the one setting the pace. She braced one hand on his shoulder, her silhouette casting a soft shadow against the wall.

He pressed his face into the curve of her neck, placing gentle, lingering kisses there. His breath was warm against her ear, and every touch of his bound hands was an unspoken invitation for her to keep going.

Cheng Wanyue wasn’t experienced.

But beginners could still be bold.

She moved carefully, unhurried, and Qing Hang’s arms tensed against the restraint, low sounds slipping from him that were somewhere between discomfort and pleasure.

He rarely made any sound at all in moments like this.

His usually composed voice had gone rough and unsteady, and she found she liked hearing it far too much — so when he tried to kiss her, she turned her head away instead, teasing him. Frustrated by her inexperienced, halting rhythm, he caught her lips with his own the next chance he got, and she let out a soft, helpless sound in response.

After only a few minutes, she was worn out.

She was that sort of delicate — she went still on top of him, refusing to move another inch.

Just as he had earlier, in the bathroom, Qing Hang lifted his arms over her head, wrapping her into his embrace, taking over and steadying them both.

Meiqiu wasn’t asleep, and every so often let out a small noise, as if keeping watch over the room.

Time blurred together in warmth and closeness, and at the peak of it, Cheng Wanyue’s eyes filled with tears — his kiss the only thing quiet enough to hold back the sound she almost made.

It felt like surfacing after being pulled under, gasping for the last thread of air.

He was like something that wrapped tightly around her, pulling her down into deep water, impossible to escape, carrying her along with the current. Just as her breath and her thoughts both started to give out, he brought her back up to the surface, right before she lost herself entirely.

Once the intensity faded, his kisses turned gentle again, brushing softly against the corner of her mouth, coaxing her to breathe.

His palm, damp with sweat, moved slowly along her back — equal parts comfort and quiet apology.

Qing Hang waited until she’d caught her breath before holding his bound wrists out to her. “Help me untie this so we can shower.”

“Help who?” Her eyes were still glassy with tears, and her glare had absolutely no bite to it.

“You.”

“And who am I supposed to be?” she asked.

He leaned in close to her ear and murmured, “Princess Rapunzel.”

That answer satisfied her. After she undid the belt, she noticed the marks left on his wrists. “You should wear long sleeves to work.”

“I don’t work during the day.”

“Night shift?”

“Mm-hmm.”

“All night?”

“Mm-hmm.”

“That’s rough. But impressive.”

Back in high school, Qing Hang’s goal had been to get into medical school. Cheng Wanyue used to rest her chin on her desk and watch him study while the rest of their classmates fooled around. She’d whisper to him, “Qing Hang, you’re going to be an amazing doctor one day. You’ll help so many people.”

Now, drifting toward sleep, she asked him sleepily whether she looked better with long hair or short hair.

He said both suited her.

She insisted he pick one.

In Qing Hang’s memory, Cheng Wanyue had always kept her hair long. Like her sister, Cheng Yanqing, she hated having anyone touch her head — it made her irritable no matter who tried it — and even running late for class, she always made sure she looked put together.

All through high school she’d wanted to dye her hair, showing him picture after picture she found online, but the school’s rules never allowed it, so it stayed a daydream.

“Long hair,” Qing Hang said, tightening his arms around her and pressing a light kiss just behind her ear. “Wanyue, grow it out.”

Cheng Wanyue smiled. “Actually… I like long hair too.”

Her hair grew slowly. It would take another two years to reach the length she wanted.

The hotel only served breakfast until nine. Cheng Wanyue had gone to bed late and woken up even later. When the front desk delivered their freshly cleaned clothes, Qing Hang opened the door to bring them in, but she still didn’t want to get up.

His phone rang, and he answered first.

Cheng Wanyue heard him address the caller as “senior sister,” which woke her up a little more.

Senior sister, junior brother — what was all that about?

They weren’t even in school anymore.

They launched into some research discussion she couldn’t quite follow. Wanting water, she stretched a foot out from under the blanket and nudged his leg. Wiggling her toes got his attention, and — still on the phone — he got up to grab the bottle of water from the table, twisting the cap off one-handed.

She had nothing on, and when she sat up, the blanket slipped from her shoulders, revealing quite a lot of pale skin.

Qing Hang lost his train of thought for a moment and missed what Li Yu had just said. “Sorry — could you repeat that, Senior Sister?”

Cheng Wanyue finished the water and lay back down, hugging the pillow with her back to him.

Qing Hang switched off the air conditioner. “Okay, I’ll make time to stop by the school this week.”

Meiqiu had been wandering the room, too small to manage jumping onto the bed despite several attempts. Just then, it finally climbed up by scrabbling at Qing Hang’s pant leg and burrowed under the blanket near Cheng Wanyue’s feet. Ticklish, she nearly rolled right off the bed.

Qing Hang wrapped up the call and reached under the blanket to fish Meiqiu back out.

“What do you want for breakfast?”

Eyes still closed, she murmured, “Soy milk, fried dough sticks, and soup dumplings.”

“Should I go get it, or do you want to go out?”

“…Get it… no, actually, let’s go out.”

Qing Hang brought her clothes over to the foot of the bed, but when he went to help her dress, he realized there was no bra in the pile. He hadn’t been drunk enough last night to forget everything, but there were still a few gaps.

Cheng Wanyue told him she had adhesive covers in her bag instead.

Once he found them, he had no idea how they were supposed to go on.

Cheng Wanyue, lying at the edge of the bed playing with Meiqiu, asked idly, “Qing Hang, did you have a lot of admirers in college?”

Without looking up from what he was doing, he said, “No one was interested in me.”

“My mom says your type is really popular with older women.”

Still fumbling with the covers, he repeated, “Nobody liked me.”

In his second year, a recently divorced, wealthy woman — sixteen years older than him — had tried to take him on as a kept man of sorts. He hadn’t known her at all and had no idea how she’d even found him. Money bought influence too, and the whole mess had nearly gotten him expelled.

“What about you?” he asked. “Did you have a lot of admirers?”

“It was fine, I guess.”

“Did you date anyone?”

“Yeah,” Cheng Wanyue yawned. “But it wasn’t really interesting.”

Qing Hang’s hands paused for just a second before he kept going. “Why not?”

She thought about it. “I just… wasn’t that into it, I guess.”