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With his head in his hands, Shen Qingqiu’s eyes drifted over some document he wasn’t quite making sense of. He was supposed to sign off on it for some reason, but he somehow managed to consistently space out every time he attempted to read it.
Shen Qingqiu squinted, gripping his brush.
Fuck. Would it be so bad if he just signed it and moved on without knowing what the hell it was about??? Surely nobody would catch him.
He dragged the brush on the page— a signature way too sloppy for a peak lord.
Pushing that page aside, he went to the next page. He recognized Liu Qingge’s handwriting. Liu Qingge… Shen Qingqiu wondered what he was up to. Probably off to find some unknown beast. His hand slid and his head drooped. He was partially aware his brush was pressed against the page, soaking black ink into the paper, but he couldn’t bring himself to give a fuck.
He sank down, resting his head on the table. He felt a dampness on his cheek but he chose to ignore it. His eyes focused and unfocused on the brush in his hand, slowly blinking. His slow blinking didn’t help how sleepy he felt. A little rest should be fine. In his past life he was a total procrastinator anyway… so… it would be fine… He let his eyes fall shut.
Distantly, he could make out Binghe calling out to him, “Shizun..?”
Shen Qingqiu only groaned softly, pressing his cheek into the paper, “Mnnh…”
Luo Binghe knelt down behind his master, and Shen Qingqiu shivered as the cool fingertips and long claw-like nails brushed the nape of his neck. “Are you sleeping, Shizun?”
He felt his lips curl up despite himself. His sweet little white lotus disciple… “Mmh….Bing…”
Binghe let out a small breath, and Shen Qingqiu felt a heavy warmth drape over his back. He shifted slightly, his foggy mind moving for a moment before he gave up on thinking, and relaxed. Ticklish curls draped over his face, and he inhaled the lingering scent of hair oil, aromatics, and food. He felt warm breaths against the nape of his neck— exposed from Binghe moving his hair. The clawed hands moved again, dragging lightly across his cheek. Luo Binghe’s other arm slowly wrapped around his waist, pulling himself closer so that his chest was pressed closely against Shen Qingqiu’s back.
His hand twitched, and the gentle scratching stopped as Binghe slid the paint brush from his hands. He heard it clatter against the table as Binghe tossed it aside like it meant nothing to him. His hand was enveloped in the demon lords, and he let Binghe lace their fingers together.
“Shizun… sleep well,” he mumbled.
And Shen Qingqiu let his consciousness fade, dozing off with Luo Binghe curled up behind him, using his back as a pillow.
The next morning Shen Qingqiu walked into the peak lords meeting with an ink stain on his cheek. But at least he was really rested!