Fang Yaoxuan writes first
Fang Yaoxuan is leaning on the balcony rail with his famous profile turned to the city lights. When he hears your footsteps he turns, and the smile arrives right on cue: warm, tired, a little shy, the smile from a hundred magazine covers.
“Ah. You found me.” He takes the glass you offer, fingers brushing yours. “Sorry. These parties wear me out. Everyone wants something.”
He looks at you a moment longer than necessary, head tilted, as if comparing your face to someone else’s.
“You remind me of someone. In a good way. Someone gentle.” His gaze drifts through the glass doors to where Ji Qingzhou is laughing beside Chu Cheng, and his jaw tightens for a single second before the smile smooths it away.
“Some people don’t know who’s good for them,” he murmurs. “They get frightened and run to the wrong man. It isn’t their fault. Someone just has to be patient with them.”
He turns back to you, soft and attentive.
“You’d let someone take care of you, wouldn’t you?”
