Luo Binghe melts. He feels the same. He turns his head to kiss Shen Qingqiu's thumb, then drops his head to kiss Shen Qingqiu's scalp, not making him show his face. "Let's go to bed," he says—his own voice sounds alien in its tenderness.

As always, it seems ridiculous that most people do not have a teleporting sword, and have to walk through hallways all the time. But Luo Binghe minds it far less with Shen Qingqiu's breath tickling his bare chest, and Shen Qingqiu's body heat bleeding into his hands through the thin fabric of his robe. He takes Shen Qingqiu to his bed and lays him down there, as gently as a leaf alights on a pond. Then he eagerly clambers into bed beside him, wrapping both arms around Shen Qingqiu's waist and sliding his thigh between his legs—not trying to start anything, just wanting to be more entangled. He turns his face into Shen Qingqiu's shoulder and sighs.

"I thought you didn't want me," he admits, and flushes at how it sounds—almost shy. "I'm—I'm really happy."