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Summary
"Back so soon, Lord Sung?" Without even looking up, just the sound of his voice makes Hanbin's heart skip a beat.
"Haohao," Hanbin breathes, reverent as he traces Zhang Hao's lower lip with his thumb. A strand of saliva connects them, and Hanbin already knows that he will be thinking of this exact moment when he paints in the deep quietness of the night, except that the translucent line will turn red like a string of fate to bind them together.
There is no façade Zhang Hao could wear that Hanbin would not love.
