"Then I should leave."
Mo Shangjun darted out to run toward the edge of the bed.
"So capable, why leave?"
With a low laugh, Ya Tianxing stretched out an arm, directly wrapping it around her waist. He pulled her toward himself, and after spinning once, Mo Shangjun stabilized, only for her forehead to crash straight into Ya Tianxing's chin.
"Does it hurt?"
Feeling a sharp pain in his chin, Ya Tianxing instinctively reached out to touch Mo Shangjun's forehead.
In the pitch-black room, nothing was visible. His fingers brushed against her eyelashes—long and fine, slightly pricking his hand.
At the same time, he felt her fingers touching his chin.
Both froze mid-action.
Then, they both realized that this tiny bump and mutual concern seemed overly dramatic. Awkwardly, they withdrew their hands.
"Go to sleep," Ya Tianxing said softly, but he didn't let go of her.
"Ya Tianxing," Mo Shangjun called him by name.
"Mm?"
