A moment later, Tan Jing climbed onto the bed from the other side with a clear conscience, lying down next to He Siheng. He pillowed his arm under his head and faced him.
His gaze fell on the boy’s sleeping face.
He Siheng had very long lashes, now resting neatly against his eyelids, clear and distinct one by one.
The usually arrogant and flamboyant person looked quiet and well-behaved in sleep.
Tan Jing’s lips curved as he gazed at him, unable to get enough, his eyes tirelessly tracing the exquisite lines of his features.
After all the fussing that day, he was quite tired himself. Unknowingly, his eyelids slowly drooped.
Just as his consciousness began to blur, he faintly heard a rustling sound by his ear. Then, someone tugged at his clothes.
Tan Jing forced his heavy eyelids open against his drowsiness. It turned out He Siheng’s habit of restless sleeping had flared up again; he had to grab onto something and unconsciously scooted closer.
He reached out and patted He Siheng’s fluffy head, then shifted to lie flat on his back. He offered the arm that had been against him for He Siheng to hug and closed his eyes again.
Sleeping flat on his back was a mistake. The next moment, He Siheng’s leg draped over his.
Tan Jing sighed helplessly. With sleep overtaking him, he just let it be.
But tonight was endless.
Just as Tan Jing was about to fall asleep, he suddenly felt a chill on his abdomen. A hand cooler than his body temperature slipped under his clothes, fumbling upward until it rested on his chest. Seemingly pleased with the feel, it unconsciously pinched.
Tan Jing’s eyelids snapped open, sleep vanishing entirely. Even more alert than he was, his body reacted to the touch.
In the dark, silent room, his breathing grew heavy. His pheromones lost control for an instant, leaking out.
The woody scent intertwined with the floral one, making the sleeping person feel even more comfortable. He unconsciously murmured in his dream.
Tan Jing’s Adam’s apple bobbed heavily as he gritted his teeth and endured.
Finally, he surrendered.
Tan Jing sighed and carefully disentangled the octopus limbs wrapped around him. He left the dangerous bed, dragging his fake-plastered leg, rummaged in the closet for spare bedding, and resignedly made a bed on the floor.
Before falling asleep, something occurred to him. His slightly hoarse voice carried a gritted edge.
“You’d better not have slept like this with anyone else.”
He Siheng woke up from the cold.
Last night had been alternately hot and cold, and he vaguely remembered hearing soft sighs, as if urging him to settle down. But his eyelids had been too heavy then, and he hadn’t paid any attention.
Now, curled up on his side, he tried to warm himself as much as possible, but with nothing covering him, his hands and feet were icy, and he froze awake.
He blearily lifted his eyelids and sure enough, there was no blanket on the bed. His sleeping posture had always been poor—perhaps well-behaved in the first half of the night, but chaotic in the second, kicking and rolling until everything on the bed ended up flung off.
With sleepy, unfocused eyes, He Siheng scooted to the edge of the bed, intending to retrieve the blanket and cover himself again. When he saw the person sleeping on the floor beside it, his movements abruptly halted.
Huh?
Why was Tan Jing sleeping in his room?
No, this didn’t seem like his room at all.
He Siheng scratched at his hair roots, as if triggering a memory switch. Last night’s recollections replayed like a film in fast reverse.
He had lain on the bed chatting with Tan Jing, grabbed his collar while shedding tears, pounded on the window to wake him up, then grinned foolishly and asked if he was asleep.
…He wanted to die.
He Siheng pressed his forehead, his eye corner twitching wildly.
He couldn’t recall any further; the more he did, the more mortifying it got.
He Siheng glanced down at the floor.
Tan Jing was still asleep, lying on his side facing the bed, his jet-black hair messily scattered on the pillow.
He wore a loose black T-shirt, its collar slightly open, revealing sharp collarbones, a lean jawline pulled taut and severe.
He Siheng slipped quietly off the bed, wanting to sneak away from the scene of his embarrassment before Tan Jing woke.
His eyes fixed intently on Tan Jing to avoid waking him, forgetting the blanket on the floor. He hadn’t taken two steps before he tripped over the slippery fabric and tumbled right onto Tan Jing.
Both let out muffled grunts.
Tan Jing was crushed beneath, He Siheng jabbed by his hardness even through the blanket.
He Siheng flailed to scramble up, but suddenly his nape was gripped by a long, strong hand, its base threateningly pressed against his gland.
He Siheng shivered all over, lifted his head, and met the eyes of the boy beneath him.
His furrowed brows brimmed with the irritation of being woken, his dark, deep eyes narrowed slightly, exuding an indescribable danger.
“Trying to commit murder first thing in the morning?”
The boy’s just-woken voice was lower and more husky than usual, laced with full aggression.
Last night, the first half had been disrupted by window-pounding that kept him from sleeping on the bed, forcing him onto the hard floor. He’d barely dozed off when the second half brought constant disturbances, getting up in the dark to fetch and cover him with blankets. And now, smashed awake first thing, Tan Jing’s mood was far from pleasant.
He Siheng braced his arms on either side of his body, neck held fast in his grasp, not daring to move. But his mouth didn’t hold back: “Who’s fault is it that your blanket’s so slippery?”
No sooner had the words left than the hand on his neck tightened, manually shoving He Siheng’s face into Tan Jing’s chest, buried in the blanket to smother him.
He Siheng struggled fiercely, but hadn’t expected such a vast strength gap. His face flushed red from the suffocation, yet he couldn’t break free. Muffled from the blanket, he cursed: “Are you insane?!”
The hand didn’t loosen at all, pressing down even harder.
Smothered breathless, He Siheng slapped the floor frantically to signal surrender.
Only then did Tan Jing release him, drawling lazily: “Not slippery now, huh? Your face is stuck right on it.”
He Siheng: “…”
He Siheng glared fiercely at him, panting as he climbed off, sat on the floor with his back against the bed, chest heaving.
Having taken the loss, Young Master He’s mouth still wouldn’t yield: “Who told you to sleep on the floor instead of the bed?”
Tan Jing propped himself up on the floor too, casually raking through his sleep-tousled hair. Hearing that, he chuckled: “You should ask last night’s version of you about that.”
An ambiguous low laugh, his voice still husky from lack of sleep, especially emphasizing “last night.”
Remembering his drunken antics, He Siheng felt ultimate embarrassment and said unnaturally: “I blacked out on last night.”
“No problem, I recorded it.”
He Siheng: “…”
