Chapter 225: Think Of Something Else

Qinghe shifted in his chair so he could face Hanchuan without drawing Zhiyi’s hand across the blanket.

The movement brought his knee against the bedside table, and he steadied the water glass before it could tip.

Hanchuan reached over and moved the table a few inches away.

It was such a familiar gesture that Qinghe nearly thanked him out of habit.

They had spent years passing things to each other, making room at crowded tables, knowing when someone wanted another drink without asking. He hadn’t considered how much he would miss that ease until he found himself wondering whether they still had it.

"I wasn’t planning to keep this from you," Qinghe said. He rested his free hand on his thigh, where he could stop himself from fidgeting. "But I wanted to tell her first."

"You should have told her first." Hanchuan looked at their joined hands, then returned his attention to Qinghe. "I would have had a problem with you asking me before you asked her."

Some of the tightness eased from Qinghe’s shoulders. He had known Hanchuan long enough to trust a direct answer, although this was a conversation he had never expected them to have.

Zhiyi watched her husband while smoothing a fold in the blanket with her free hand.

"Does it bother you that I want him to come back?" she asked.

Hanchuan leaned closer to the bed. "No. You were looking forward to seeing him this morning."

"I am asking about more than the visit," Zhiyi said. Her fingers stopped moving against the blanket. "I would like you to answer that part too."

Qinghe felt her hand warm between his palms. She hadn’t loosened her hold since Hanchuan entered, and he tried not to make too much of it while she waited for her husband to speak.

Hanchuan rubbed a hand over his jaw before letting it fall.

"I don’t know how I’ll feel about everything yet," he admitted. "I walked in here expecting to bring you a hairbrush. Give me a little time to catch up."

Zhiyi glanced at the brush beside her box, and her mouth softened.

"You may have more time," she told him. "I haven’t worked everything out either."

Hanchuan smiled faintly and reached for her free hand.

She met him halfway, settling her fingers into his with an ease Qinghe had watched for weeks. Usually, he looked away from moments like that. This morning, he stayed where he was while Hanchuan brushed his thumb over her wedding ring.

"Are you worried that I want to leave you?" Zhiyi asked.

Hanchuan’s gaze lifted to her face. "Do you?"

"No," Zhiyi replied. She turned his hand over and pressed her palm against his. "I want you in our bed tonight. I also want Qinghe to bring his book tomorrow. Wanting the second thing hasn’t changed the first."

Qinghe lowered his eyes briefly.

He had imagined telling her how he felt so many times that he knew every version of his own confession. He hadn’t imagined sitting beside her while she explained, quite calmly, that she wanted him to return.

Across the bed, Hanchuan bent to kiss her fingers.

"Then I’ll try to remember that instead of guessing," Hanchuan said. He stayed close for a moment before looking toward Qinghe. "And you should stop looking as though I’m about to throw you out."

Qinghe gave a small, embarrassed laugh.

"I know you’d have done it already," he replied. "I’m more worried about hurting you."

Hanchuan sat back, keeping Zhiyi’s hand in his.

"You’re my friend," he said. "That matters to me too. I’d rather hear what you want than spend the next few months watching you find excuses to stand in the doorway."

Zhiyi turned toward Qinghe with immediate interest.

"You have been doing that," she said. "Yesterday, you asked whether I needed anything after you had already brought everything."

"I was hoping you’d think of something else," Qinghe admitted.

Zhiyi looked down at his hand, considering that. "You could have asked whether I wanted company," she said. "I might have said yes."

The answer made him smile, although he wished he had understood everything sooner.

He remembered standing outside this room with a clean towel he could easily have left in the bathroom. She had thanked him, and he had gone away pleased that he had seen her for another minute.

"I’ll ask next time," Qinghe promised. "It would save me carrying half the cupboard down the corridor."

Hanchuan’s quiet laugh eased the last of the stiffness in Qinghe’s back. He leaned against his chair properly, and Zhiyi adjusted their hands so his wrist no longer rested against the edge of the mattress.

She noticed his glance. "You looked uncomfortable," Zhiyi explained. "You may move without letting go."

Qinghe let his fingers settle between hers. "Don’t worry. I’m comfortable now."

Hanchuan watched the small adjustment without interrupting. After a moment, he reached for the hairbrush.

"Did you still want this done before lunch?" Hanchuan asked her.

Zhiyi nodded and released his hand so he could move behind her. Qinghe started to draw his chair back, but she kept hold of his fingers.

"You aren’t in the way," she told him.

Hanchuan sat on the edge of the bed and gathered her hair over one shoulder. He worked carefully through the ends, holding each section above the brush so it wouldn’t pull.

Zhiyi relaxed against the pillows as the familiar movement continued, her attention returning to Qinghe.

"What is the book called?" she asked.

Qinghe told her, then began explaining enough of the story for her to decide whether she wanted to hear it. He was halfway through describing the missing man when she narrowed her eyes.

"Does the detective already know the family?" Zhiyi asked.

"He went to school with the brother," Qinghe replied. "Why?"

"Then begin with the first Chapter tomorrow." Zhiyi shifted her fingers against his before he could continue. "You’re about to tell me something I would rather discover myself."

Qinghe stopped, smiling at the certainty in her voice. Behind her, Hanchuan set the brush down and smoothed a loose strand away from her cheek.

"I’ll leave you to choose a stopping point," Hanchuan said. He leaned down to kiss her, and Zhiyi lifted her face to meet him.

Qinghe looked toward their hands while the kiss lasted. When Hanchuan rose, he rested a hand briefly on Qinghe’s shoulder before leaving.

Zhiyi waited until his footsteps had faded, then gave Qinghe’s fingers a gentle pull.

"You stopped telling me about the book," she said. "That doesn’t mean you have to stop talking to me."

Qinghe moved his chair a little closer, this time remembering the table. "What would you like to hear about?" he asked.

Zhiyi studied him with a small smile.

"What you did while you were supposed to be choosing it."