Chapter Text
EP 6 DESCRIPTION –
Jiang Tian stands awkwardly beside his bed, visibly thrown off by Sheng Wang’s quiet presence in his space. Sheng Wang, calm and a little smug, takes the initiative — lying down on Jiang Tian’s bed without hesitation, clearly claiming it for the night.
Jiang Tian watches, stunned, unsure what to do with the swirl of new, intimate energy between them. Sheng Wang stretches out like he belongs there, stealing Jiang Tian’s pillow with a boyish smirk.
There’s tension — but it’s soft, blooming, unspoken.
Jiang Tian stays frozen a moment longer, then awkwardly kneels to grab a blanket from the floor, silently deciding — not brave enough yet to cross that invisible line.
Cut to black.
JIANG TIAN’S BEDROOM – NIGHT
The only light in the room leaks in through the half-open window. It's a soft, silver wash — moonlight filtered through tree leaves that sway lazily in the summer breeze. Crickets hum distantly, like background music they didn’t ask for but somehow suits the moment.
Sheng Wang is already curled under the sheets. His back to the door. Breathing steady. The faintest crease between his brows even in sleep — like he’s dreaming of something he doesn’t quite understand yet.
Jiang Tian stands still, back to the wall. Watching.
His room is quiet, but his heartbeat isn’t. It’s in his ears. In his throat. In his fingertips.
He walks over. Slowly. Each step a decision. A silent question.
Jiang Tian kneels by the side of the bed. His gaze traces Sheng Wang’s silhouette, softened by the blanket and moonlight. He doesn’t look peaceful — he looks real. Fragile. Present.
Jiang Tian lifts one hand and hesitates. Hovers.
Jiang Tian crouches beside the bed, the floor beneath his knees cool, grounding. But everything above — the air, his heartbeat, the impossible stillness — is weightless.
His eyes trail the soft lines of Sheng Wang’s profile: the flutter of an eyelash, the slope of his nose, the small part in his lips like he might speak even in dreams.
And Jiang Tian feels it — a quiet ache blooming in his chest, delicate and full. The kind of ache that only comes with newness. With wanting and not quite knowing how to hold it.
Then, with infinite care, he reaches out. His fingers brush a stray strand of hair from Sheng Wang’s forehead.
Sheng Wang flinches slightly in his sleep, but doesn’t wake. Jiang Tian’s fingers linger — not in greed, but awe. Like touching something borrowed from a dream. Something he’s afraid will vanish if he blinks too hard.
His touch is barely a whisper, more a question than a claim. His thumb traces the edge of his cheekbone, memorizing it like something finite, something rare.
Outside, the leaves rustle again — a hush-hush lullaby.
A pause. His gaze drifts to Sheng Wang’s collarbone, visible where the neckline of his shirt has slipped slightly askew. There’s something sacred about it — the way it rises and falls, steady, unbothered. Like this boy belongs to a different rhythm of the world. One untouched by Jiang Tian’s constant thinking.
How are you real?
How are you in my bed like this isn’t the biggest thing that’s ever happened to me?
He doesn’t dare speak those words, but his fingers answer for him — reaching out with trembling reverence. He brushes his thumb gently over the peak of Sheng Wang’s shoulder, barely touching. Just enough to feel the warmth beneath the skin. Like proof.
He lets out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding.
Jiang Tian says, softly, barely a whisper, You really fell asleep here… like you belong here.
He just wants… to feel it. The reality of this closeness.
It’s terrifying how much he cares for him. How much his presence calms everything and unravels everything at the same time.
He slips under the blanket with painstaking care, cautiously. Moves inch by inch, not wanting to disturb the fragile equilibrium of this moment.
The warmth hits first — Sheng Wang’s body radiating heat beside him — then the sound. That slow, even breath. Like a lullaby he never knew he needed.
Jiang Tian stays still for a while, afraid to move. Then Sheng Wang shifts slightly, their backs brushing. Electricity.
Their backs don’t touch — not yet. But the mattress shifts. The warmth creeps in.
Sheng Wang stirs. Not fully awake, but half-aware.
SHENG WANG murmuring with his eyes closed, “…You’re still awake?”
Jiang Tian freezes.
Jiang Tian barely manages to reply, his throat feels too dry, “…Yeah.”
A pause.
Sheng Wang says, oblivious to the sweet first love in the air, “You always think so loud.”
Jiang Tian lets out a soft laugh — half-nervous, half-touched.
Silence again.
And then — contact.
Sheng Wang shifts slightly back. Just enough for their shoulders to brush. Jiang Tian doesn't move away.
He turns his face slightly, watching the curve of Sheng Wang’s neck. The rise and fall of his breath.
He lifts his hand again, slower this time — and runs his fingers ever so gently along Sheng Wang’s knuckles resting between them. Barely touching. Like a whisper. Sheng Wang’s hand twitches, then stills.
He watches the ceiling now, his hand between them, accidentally brushing Sheng Wang’s. He leaves it there. Breath catching. Breath matching.
The silence stretches long and velvet.
The cicadas outside grow quieter. Or maybe the room just grew louder — with breath, with heartbeat, with something unnamed swelling between them.
They lie still. But Jiang Tian watches. His gaze roams slowly, softly, like tracing a prayer. He watches until his eyes sting. Until his heart feels too full. Until the sound of Sheng Wang’s breathing becomes the only thing keeping him tethered to earth.
And when he finally lets go and closes his eyes, it’s not sleep.
It’s surrender.
And for the first time in a long time, he sleeps next to something — someone — that feels like home.
JIANG TIAN’S BEDROOM – EARLY MORNING
A beam of gold breaks through the curtains. The sky has shifted — pink bleeding into blue, clouds soft as cotton drifting through.
Jiang Tian blinks awake slowly.
Because there’s an arm across his waist. A hand resting warm and open over his stomach. A chin pressed loosely against the back of his neck, just below his ear. The weight of a body behind him, curved perfectly along his spine.
Sheng Wang is holding him.
Not lightly. Not accidentally.
Like he belongs there. Like he sought Jiang Tian out in sleep and decided, without hesitation, mine.
Jiang Tian goes very still.
The air is suddenly electric, thick with heartbeat static. He can feel every single breath Sheng Wang takes — the slow rise, the warm exhale brushing his neck. It’s too much. It’s heaven. It’s a disaster.
His eyes dart toward the window. A soft breeze drifts in, stirring the curtain. He tries to focus on it. On anything other than the way Sheng Wang’s thumb just curled slightly, shifting gently against his shirt like his subconscious is savoring this.
Jiang Tian is not breathing. Not properly. Every inhale is shallow, like if he takes in too much air, the illusion will shatter.
But this isn’t an illusion.
This is real.
Sheng Wang — asleep, maybe dreaming — hums faintly against his back. His grip tightens for just a second, like Jiang Tian’s trying to leave in a dream and he won’t let go.
Jiang Tian panics— quietly. His face flushes red-hot.
And yet… he doesn’t move.
He closes his eyes instead. Just for a second. Just to feel it fully.
The way Sheng Wang fits.
The way his warmth seeps into Jiang Tian’s bones.
The way his breath writes stories into the back of his neck.
Then — slowly, carefully — Jiang Tian slips out from under the embrace, like easing out of a painting.
Sheng Wang is still asleep, his head now tilted slightly. His lips are parted just slightly. Peaceful. Beautiful in a way that feels unfair.
And then Jiang Tian remembers.
The closeness.
The touches.
The feelings that hit too sharp and too real in the quiet of the night.
His lashes flicker.
Sheng Wang is still there. The morning light now painting soft strokes across his face — turning his skin into light-dappled poetry.
And suddenly, it’s too much.
Too intimate.
Too beautiful.
His breath hitches. A flush rises up his neck like a fire alarm.
His whole body tightens with something he can’t name. Admiration, yes — but also panic. Tenderness, but tangled with disbelief.
He watches for too long — his eyes following the faint sunbeam that plays across Sheng Wang’s jaw. Each second feels like a stolen eternity.
He aches with how much he wants this boy to stay like this. Stay close.
But it’s too much.
JIANG TIAN AND SHENG WANG'S COMMON WASHROOM
The door clicks shut behind him and Jiang Tian leans against it, eyes wide, hands gripping the edge of the sink.
His reflection stares back — disheveled hair, pink ears, panic blooming across his face like he’s been caught in a dream he wasn’t supposed to have, skin flushed, eyes glassy like someone who just stepped out of a storm and doesn’t know whether to smile or scream.
He splashes water on his face. Twice. Maybe three times.
Jiang Tian muttered to his reflection in the mirror, “…What the hell was that?”
But it doesn’t help. The heat isn’t on his skin — it’s under it.
“You’re going to explode at this rate…”, he says to himself.
The faucet drips. His breath stays uneven.
Outside, the morning world begins to move. Leaves rustle. A bird calls once, sharp and bright. A breeze curls in through the cracked window like a memory.
And Jiang Tian, breathless and undone, lets his head drop against the mirror — smiling, barely.
Because something in the night changed him.
And Sheng Wang is still in his bed.
The water drips down his jaw. The mirror blurs.
Outside, the world has already begun to bloom — and so has something in him.