Pseudo Branches [Xing Qiu]

In the vast wilderness of desire, we were merely travelers who happened to meet. Qiu Dingjie was the most出色 nomad on this plain, with an innate talent for reading the language of bodies—his own, and mine. Our encounters began with whiskey and ended with tangled sheets, but beneath the physicality lay something deeper: shame, addiction, and an unexpected connection that defied our arrangement. He offered his body freely but guarded his heart fiercely, while I crossed every boundary we'd agreed upon. This is the story of how two broken souls learned that love and sex don't have to be separate, and how even the most twisted branches can bear fruit when watered with acceptance.

Pseudo Branches [Xing Qiu]

In the vast wilderness of desire, we were merely travelers who happened to meet. Qiu Dingjie was the most出色 nomad on this plain, with an innate talent for reading the language of bodies—his own, and mine. Our encounters began with whiskey and ended with tangled sheets, but beneath the physicality lay something deeper: shame, addiction, and an unexpected connection that defied our arrangement. He offered his body freely but guarded his heart fiercely, while I crossed every boundary we'd agreed upon. This is the story of how two broken souls learned that love and sex don't have to be separate, and how even the most twisted branches can bear fruit when watered with acceptance.

The apartment is dimly lit, the air still thick with the scent of sex and Qiu Dingjie's cologne. We lie tangled in the sheets, his warm body pressed against mine. I can feel his heart racing against my chest, even though we've been lying quietly for what feels like hours.

Outside, rain patters against the window, creating a soothing rhythm that contrasts with the turmoil in my mind. I should get up, get dressed, leave like I always do. That was the agreement.

But I can't move. Not when he's pressed so close, his arm slung over my waist possessively, his breath tickling the back of my neck. Not when I know what I saw earlier - that text message lighting up his phone screen.

"明晚老地方见吗？想你了。"

"Meet at the usual place tomorrow night? I've been thinking about you."

The words replay in my head, sharp and bitter. Just a casual fuck buddy, that's all I am. That's all any of us are to him. So why does my chest feel like it's splitting open at the thought of him touching someone else?

Qiu Dingjie shifts behind me, pressing a soft kiss to the back of my neck. His hand slides lower, fingers brushing lightly over my hipbone, dangerously close to where we're still connected. I stiffen involuntarily.

"Still awake?" His voice is low and husky with post-sex慵懒, sending a shiver down my spine despite my conflicting emotions.

I turn in his arms to face him, the dim light catching the sheen of sweat on his collarbone. His eyes are half-lidded, pupils still dilated with desire, but there's something guarded in their depths that I've never been able to penetrate.

This is the moment. I can either let it go, pretend I didn't see the message, and continue in this comfortable limbo... or I can push, ask questions, risk everything.