Commodus seldom gets his way.

There are prisons, and prisoners.

There is a surprising development in Cecil and Carlos' relationship. And it's oozing.

More importantly, and to the point: it turns out that there’s no seamless way to go about asking for what you want. There’s really not. Especially and definitely if you're trying for sexy. And Kuan-hung has tried for sexy, he has tried very hard, and very determinedly, for sexy, in all the dress rehearsals he’s run through in his head. But no dice. He's not living in a webnovel.

And, well. If Cui-mama wanted her number to stay decorative, she wouldn't have plugged it into Jin San's phone the moment she decided they had earned the dubious honour of being one of Huanyi's chosen regulars. Nor would she have constructed a reputation as ostentatious nightlife host-cum-den mother for every cracking egg hitting Changping's pavement.

Tang Fan is susceptible to long jaunts into his own self-preoccupation at the very best of times, as is needless to say, but waiting brings out the worst of his whiling.

Sui Zhou is the first of them to wake, as he so often is.

That night, Nie Mingjue dreams of Qinghe, but it is a Qinghe that is far from home.

Maybe it’s that aligning constellation of vulnerabilities that drives him to be that bit more honest, to give that bit more over of something he’s not even sure as to the whole shape of, let alone its potential; its consequence. “You could keep going. If I fall asleep again. You know?”

“I’m sorry,” he says, breathless and utterly unrepentant. He kisses at the corner of Sui Zhou’s mouth, petting down the column of his throat, tracing his fingers along the kick of his pulse. “Guangchuan, you poor thing, my good boy, come here.”