"Much better," says Shen Qingqiu, and lays his hands, a little wondering, on Sagramore's chest in turn. He traces over the scars, ghosts his fingertips over the healing bruise, absently sending enough qi to finish the process, and remembers doing the same to a smaller, angrier Sagramore. The thought fills him with unspeakable, full-body tenderness, and he leans up to kiss him again, soft and thorough.