The next morning, Ying Jing jumped out of bed, pulling the man sleeping beside her.
Wen Fucheng, leisurely waking up, opened his eyes to look at her, the frost in them dissipating instantly.
Ying Jing, trying to soothe the man's morning grumpiness,
lowered her head to bite Wen Fucheng's lips on the bed.
Kissing while mumbling not to get angry, no getting angry.
He closed his eyes, enjoying Jing Bao's service for a while.
Comfortably patted her back. His voice somewhat hoarse.
"Alright, go about your business."
Ying Jing had a dream, and suddenly inspiration struck, she ran downstairs, not even bothering to put on shoes.
Grabbing paper and pen and hugging the guitar, she started composing.
The balcony window hadn't been closed since last night, who knew if the moonlight had peeked upstairs at the intimacy during the night.
Bringing the warmth of love back downstairs.
