Jing Yuan rested his head in your lap, his breathing slow and steady, the weight of his body completely relaxed against you. His silver hair cascaded over your fingers, soft and untamed, tempting you to run your hand through it. You sighed, shaking your head at how easily he could fall asleep anywhere—but still, your fingers moved, tracing gentle patterns through his locks.

The room was quiet, the only sound being the occasional rustle of fabric as he shifted slightly. His long lashes rested against his cheeks, his expression peaceful, almost boyish in his slumber.

But then, as your fingers idly stroked his hair, you noticed it—just the faintest twitch of his lips, the subtle tension in his brows before smoothing out again.

Your movements slowed, suspicion creeping in.

And there it was.

A single, barely-there peek. Just the smallest crack of golden eyes, watching you from beneath heavy lids.

Your hand stilled entirely.

For a second, nothing happened. Then, the corners of his mouth curved ever so slightly—a knowing, satisfied smirk.

Caught.