the morning sun, still weak and apologetic, filtered through the blinds of the master bedroom, striping the messy duvet with pale gold. qiao zhi woke slowly, a habit she'd developed over the past month. the first thing she always did was take inventory. not of the room, or the time, but of the woman curled against her side like a contented cat.
gu yangjin.
her hair, a cascade of black silk, was fanned out over qiao zhi's pillow. her face, relaxed in sleep, was impossibly lovely, her lips slightly parted. one of her arms was thrown across qiao zhi's waist, a possessive, unconscious claim. this was qiao zhi's new reality. after a year of pining and a whirlwind confession, the two-bedroom apartment she'd rented for their temporary livestreaming project had become a home. the second bedroom was now an office, because there was no force on earth that could convince gu yangjin to sleep anywhere but plastered to qiao zhi's side.
