"You," he accuses, fractionally more high-pitched, "are doing this on purpose now."

He kisses the back of Lan Zhan's neck.

"But yes. I will have many days of our future to practice. Months. Years." His fingers deftly guide one section of his hair in place, then another. "Soon I will be able to do it in my sleep. You will wake at mao hour and I will be dreaming next to you, fiddling with your hair."