The banquet ran longer than expected. By the time Gu Ze Yan returned home, it was nearly midnight. The mansion was quiet, the only sounds the patter of rain easing against the eaves and the faint hiss of the tires as the chauffeur pulled the car to a stop in front of the grand foyer.
Ze Yan stepped out, steady on his feet despite the alcohol he'd consumed, though his cheeks still carried a faint flush, and his tie hung loose around his neck. The scent of red wine and faint smoke clung stubbornly to his suit. He loosened his collar, intending to walk straight upstairs, shower, and collapse into bed.
But as he passed the living room, something caught his eye—something that stopped him in his tracks.
On the sofa, curled into the corner with a book slipping from her fingers, lay Lin Qing Yun.
Her hair spilled across the cushion like black silk, her breathing even, her face pale but calm. The lamplight traced her profile gently, the faint curve of her lashes casting shadows on her cheeks. The book she had been reading tilted precariously, as though she had tried to wait, but sleep claimed her first.
Ze Yan's heart tightened. He walked closer without realizing it, each step drawn toward her as if some invisible string had hooked itself deep in his chest.
He sat beside her, leaning down so his gaze aligned with hers. For a long moment, he simply watched—her face inches away, so familiar it ached, yet distant in its serenity. Slowly, carefully, he raised his hand and tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear, fingers brushing her cheek.
The touch stirred her. Qing Yun's lashes fluttered, her eyes opening in hazy slowness. She blinked at him, confusion soft in her gaze.
"Why are you sleeping here?" Ze Yan asked in a low voice, almost afraid of breaking the fragile quiet. "Were you waiting for me?"
Her lips moved, and she nodded faintly. "Last time… when you came home and didn't see me, you panicked. So I thought… I'll wait here. So you won't worry."
For a moment, Ze Yan forgot to breathe. Her words seeped into him like warm water, dissolving every hidden fear. She had thought of him, remembered his weakness, and waited for him—simply to keep him from panicking.
His chest tightened painfully. Unable to hold back, he leaned closer, pressing his lips gently to hers. It was not rough, not demanding, just long and trembling with the weight of all his longing.
What he didn't expect—was her response.
Qing Yun's eyes half closed again, but she moved against him, soft and yielding, returning the kiss.
The world spun away. His heart surged so violently he almost forgot himself. He wanted to deepen it, to hold her tighter, but she pulled back slightly, her lashes lowering once more, her expression drifting back toward sleep.
She was tired.
He couldn't demand more.
So instead, Ze Yan gathered her into his arms, lifting her easily from the sofa. Her head fell against his shoulder, her breath brushing warmly at his neck. He carried her upstairs, step by careful step, and into her bedroom.
Laying her gently on the bed, he tucked the quilt around her. But he didn't move away. He just stood there, staring, unable to convince himself to leave.
Her lashes lifted once again. Drowsy eyes looked at him, unguarded. "Why don't you go to bed? …Do you want to sleep here?"
The words slipped past his lips before he could stop them. "Yes."
Her lips curved faintly, almost teasing though half-asleep. "You smell of alcohol and cigarettes. Take a shower first."
For a moment, he blinked at her in surprise. He hadn't expected that. Was she teasing him? Inviting him? Or simply issuing a command?
But he didn't dare overthink.
He went.
---
When he returned, his hair was still damp, his skin flushed from hot water, the faint smell of soap clinging in place of smoke. He slipped quietly back into her room, sitting at her bedside, leaning close to kiss her cheek.
Her lashes trembled at the brush of his damp hair against her skin. She stirred, eyes opening halfway, then frowned softly. Without a word, she rose, walked to her drawer, and retrieved a hair dryer.
Ze Yan stared, stunned, as she plugged it in and guided him to sit still.
The hum filled the quiet room. She dried his hair with slow, careful movements, her fingers grazing his scalp as though it were the most natural thing in the world. Her eyes were half-closed with sleep, her posture languid, yet every motion carried an absentminded gentleness that made his heart overflow.
He couldn't stop smiling.
She was too cute, too precious like this.
When his hair was finally dry, Qing Yun turned the dryer off, placed it back in the drawer, and murmured, "Go to sleep."
This time, he obeyed. He turned off the lamp, slipped under the quilt on the other side, and reached for her. She didn't resist as he wrapped her into his arms. Her breathing evened quickly, her small frame warm against him.
Gu Ze Yan fell asleep without fear of dreams.
---
Morning light filtered through the curtains.
Ze Yan stirred, eyes opening to the clock on the wall. Eight o'clock. He frowned. He was late—he never woke this late.
But then he realized—he was still holding her. Qing Yun lay nestled in his arms, her dark hair spilling across the pillow, her cheek against his chest. She stirred faintly, blinking up at him.
"Good morning," she whispered softly.
His chest filled with warmth. He asked quietly, "You usually wake at six. Why are you still here?"
Her eyes drifted closed again. "I did wake up… But you held me tight. You were talking in your sleep, asking me not to leave. So I didn't."
His throat tightened. A shaky smile spread across his lips.
"Why didn't you break free?"
Her eyes opened halfway, calm and unguarded. "…I just didn't want to make it hard for you anymore."
Something inside him broke.
He lowered his head, kissing her again. This time, it was longer, deeper—no longer trembling with fear, but filled with certainty, gratitude, and love.
And for once, she didn't pull away.