Chapter 252: Thinking About Tonight

Zhiyi felt Shichen’s hand settle more firmly against her waist when she kissed him again.

He had been careful at first, touching her as though he expected her to move away, but now his fingers curved around her side and drew her closer.

She went willingly, bracing one hand against his shoulder while the sofa cushion dipped beneath her knee.

He made a quiet sound against her mouth that she wanted to hear again.

For years, she had known how Shichen looked when he was working.

She could recognize his frustration before he put down a pencil, and she knew when to stop asking questions because he had almost found an answer.

This was different.

His eyes followed her when she drew back, and his hand stayed at her waist instead of returning to whatever task he had left unfinished.

Zhiyi brushed her thumb over his lower lip.

"You’re smiling," she said, pleased by the warmth in his face. "You weren’t doing that when you gave me the book."

"I wasn’t sure you’d like what you found in it." Shichen turned his head enough to kiss her thumb, then looked at the sketches on the table. "Although I’m starting to think I should have shown you sooner."

She settled beside him with her legs folded on the cushion.

His arm slipped around her shoulders, making room for her against his side, and she rested her hand on his thigh. He looked down at it before bringing his attention back to her.

"I liked seeing how you remember us," Zhiyi told him. "But you could have kissed me without showing me the drawings first."

Shichen laughed softly and leaned his cheek against her hair.

She could feel the movement through his chest, and for a while she stayed where she was, listening to the rain and enjoying the weight of his arm.

She had spent much of the Heat in rooms with these men.

They had learned which foods she left until last and when she needed quiet, while she had learned their habits just as thoroughly.

There had been evenings when Shichen fell asleep beside her with a pencil still in his hand. She had taken it away so he wouldn’t mark his shirt, then stayed because she liked being near him.

She wanted to fall asleep beside him and know he’d be glad to find her there when he woke up in the morning.

From the kitchen, Zeyu called that lunch was ready. Shichen lifted his head, but he didn’t immediately let go of her.

"We should eat before he comes looking for us," Shichen said, brushing her hair away from where it had caught beneath his arm. "He’ll complain if we let it get cold."

Zhiyi leaned up and kissed him once more before unfolding her legs. When she stood, she held out her hand, and he took it without stopping to look toward the kitchen.

At the table, Hanchuan moved her glass out of the way while she sat beside him.

He touched her back as she passed, his palm warm through Zeyu’s borrowed shirt, then returned to cutting the food on his plate. Shichen took the chair on her other side.

Zeyu noticed their joined hands before they separated. His gaze moved to Shichen’s face, and a smile began to form.

"Your soup," Zhiyi reminded Zeyu, pointing toward the bowl he had nearly set on his fork.

Zeyu looked down and moved the fork with his free hand. "I had it," he assured her, although some broth had already reached the table.

Qinghe passed him a cloth while Jingwei continued telling Hanchuan which lower cameras had stopped working.

Nobody asked Zhiyi to explain where she had been or why Shichen kept smiling at his plate.

She ate while their conversation moved around her, occasionally touching Shichen’s knee beneath the table because she liked the way he turned toward her each time.

After lunch, Shichen took her upstairs to see the portrait.

His room still held unpacked boxes, but he had cleared a space beside the window for a desk. A jar of pencils stood next to a lamp, and his sketchbooks were stacked beneath it.

Zhiyi recognized the old mug holding his paintbrushes. One of them had repaired its handle years ago, leaving a crooked line beneath the glaze.

Shichen lifted a flat package from between two boxes and laid it on the bed.

"I checked it when we arrived," he said, working the tape loose. "I was worried about the glass, but Zeyu packed it well."

Zhiyi helped fold back the wrapping.

The picture showed her sitting sideways in a chair, barefoot, with a book held open against one knee.

Her hair was coming loose from its braid, and she was looking past the edge of the picture with the beginning of a smile.

She remembered the chair. It had stood near Shichen’s desk at Xiling, close enough for her to rest her feet against his leg.

"I wasn’t reading," Zhiyi said, touching the wooden frame. "You were telling me something."

"You’d asked why I kept so many broken pencils." Shichen set the wrapping aside and stood beside her. "Then you found the box where I kept the rest."

Zhiyi looked up at him, smiling again. "You said they were still useful."

"They were." Shichen’s hand settled against her back as he studied the portrait with her. "You spent the next hour sharpening them."

She remembered the pencil shavings spread over newspaper and his fingers brushing hers whenever he reached for another one.

He had kept talking long after they finished, while she sat with her feet against his leg and forgot about the book.

"Hang it here," Zhiyi said, looking toward the wall beside his desk. "You’ll see it while you’re drawing."

Shichen glanced at the space she had chosen. "I made it for you. You can put it wherever you want."

"I want it here." Zhiyi turned toward him, resting her hands against his chest. "I’ll be here to see it too."

His hand moved slowly up her back.

She watched him understand before she leaned closer, letting him meet her halfway. This kiss was easier than the first, and she liked how quickly he put his other arm around her.

When they separated, Zhiyi looked toward the boxes beside his dresser.

"Can you clear a drawer for me?" she asked, keeping hold of his shirt. "I’d rather have something here than go looking for clothes in the morning."

Shichen glanced at the dresser, then back at her. His fingers tightened gently against her back.

"I can clear one now," he said. "Are you thinking about tonight?"

Zhiyi drew him toward the bed, where the portrait still lay between its folded wrappings.

"I’m thinking about tonight," she told him. "But first, help me move this somewhere we won’t break it."