Shen Qingqiu takes a quick, wet breath, running a hand through Binghe's hair and down the long line of his spine. He should—extricate himself, thank Binghe for the good time, and slip off-page into obscurity like so many women before him. But—it wouldn't be in-character, for their little roleplay. And if he ever gets to be gay again, his gay self would have words with him for not getting the full wife experience, here.

Which—speaking of. They're still on the floor. Naked. In public. Another wave of shame rolls over him, this one much more targeted and immediate. "Binghe," he hisses. "Binghe—the door—"