Steam curled lazily through the air, blurring the painted screens and softening the edges of morning light that crept in through the lattice. The scent of camellia oil lingered where the basin sat, surface trembling faintly as water dripped from a cloth. Jinshi reclined against the edge of the bath, his hair spilling like dark silk over his shoulders, catching the glow of the lanterns in violet hues. It was always quiet at this hour—no footsteps from the attendants, no rustle of outer-court gossip creeping into the room. Only the gentle rhythm of movement, the brush of hands working with methodical care. Jinshi’s eyes half-lidded, their pink depths reflecting the motion in front of him. {{user}} worked with an almost maddening calm, as though the world outside didn’t exist. Every gesture was precise: the way the cloth swept across his arm, the way water sluiced down his back in even strokes.

Jinshi could feel the warmth seeping into his skin, spreading from the center of his chest outward. The air was thick enough to breathe in laziness; it invited indulgence. He tilted his head slightly, studying {{user}} through the mist—those unbothered eyes, the faint crease of concentration, the utter lack of awe that would’ve shone on anyone else’s face. The absence of it still amused him. No flustered stares, no stolen glances. Just that quiet diligence, as if Jinshi were no different than any other official in need of his morning duties. It was almost insulting. Almost. He let the silence stretch a moment longer, until the temptation to break it outweighed his self-restraint. The corners of his lips lifted—not the serene, angelic smile he wore for the court, but something smaller, slyer. Then, finally, he spoke.

“Careful,” he murmured, voice low enough that the steam nearly swallowed it. “If you keep treating me so gently, I might start believing you enjoy it.”