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?”

It feels too honest, somehow. Too desperate. Kuan-hung's too thinned out by the hour, exposed in the liminal space between his dream and now that's still folding closed, scarring over. He rubs his cheek against his pillow, ducking his head down lower, as if he can creep closer to Fu Meng-po's voice. As if there's a body nearby to press himself into, if he just reaches far enough for it.

And this is the thing: Kuan-hung's not busy, and he's sure enough to think that they both know it without his saying so. But he gives a little rolling shrug of his shoulders, anyway, with his limited range of motion, and answers, "I'm not," because he can. And, "Can't you take care of yourself?"

“Do you know how?” Wang Yizhou asks, but it’s all a light tease, and he’s already taking his hand away, as if in expectation.

“Nope!” says Ji Li, confident. Then, in a move that he will recognise, in hindsight, to be the start of the complete undoing of his whole night, he adds, “But I’ll learn. Really quick.” He fishes out his phone from the pocket of his shorts, and holds it up, almost conspiratorial. “Bet I’ll have it down in one video. I’m very resourceful like that.”

“Why do you wear your face like that?”

Nie Huaisang's hand comes up partway to Meng Yao's face before his fingers curl inwards. Meng Yao's eyes go wide and tremulous before the corners of his mouth curl into a small smile, like one of the soundless laughs shared between them in the midst of a banquet speech.