The morning after was a blur of hazy sunlight and a very specific kind of physical exhaustion. Lucien sat on the edge of the guest bed, staring at the rumpled sheets with the expression of a man facing a crime scene.

He'd had dreams.

Vivid, heavy dreams of being held from behind, of Leon's low laugh vibrating against his spine, and a mouth that wouldn't stop wandering.

Then he looked down.

Oh, god. No.

He was twenty years old. He was a legal adult. He should not be dealing with the biological equivalent of a "spilled milk" incident in a billionaire's guest room.

Panic—sharp and cold—kicked in. He couldn't let the cleaning staff find this. He couldn't let Leon find this. Lucien scrambled out of bed, stripped the sheets with the frantic energy of a guilty man, and hauled them into the ensuite bathroom. He stuffed them into the sink, turned on the tap, and started scrubbing like his life depended on it.

He was mid-scrub, hair a bird's nest and heart hammering, when the door creaked open.

Lucien froze. He poked his head out through the gap, eyes wide and defensive. "What do you want?".

Leon was standing there, looking offensively refreshed. He leaned against the doorframe, his steel-gray eyes narrowing as they tracked Lucien's damp hands. "You've been in here a long time. You didn't answer my texts. Are you doing something illegal?".

"No!" Lucien squeaked, trying to block Leon's view. "I'm just... washing something."

Leon didn't buy it for a second. He stepped into the room, his massive frame making the bathroom feel like a closet. He nudged Lucien aside with a gentle but firm hand and looked into the basin.

The silence was deafening.

"I spilled juice," Lucien blurted out, his face turning a shade of red that shouldn't be humanly possible. "It's fine. I'm just cleaning it up. Go away".

Leon turned back to him, a slow, predatory smirk curling his lips. "Juice? Or milk?".

Lucien's brain short-circuited. He looked at the ceiling, the floor, the towel rack—anywhere but Leon's face. "Don't talk to me."

"Move," Leon commanded, though his voice was soft. He tucked his sleeves up, revealing his muscular forearms, and reached into the water. "I'll do it. You'll be scrubbing until the semester ends with those hands".

Lucien watched in stunned silence as WK's most feared boxer—a man whose hands were insured for more than Lucien's entire life was worth—began washing his "evidence" with professional precision.

"I can do it myself," Lucien muttered, though he didn't move.

"Go eat," Leon said, not looking up. "I made breakfast. If you're still here in ten seconds, I'm going to start asking exactly what you were dreaming about to get the sheets in this state".

Lucien fled.

Breakfast was an elaborate affair of handmade dumplings and congee, which Leon served with the attentiveness of a man who was definitely enjoying his "pursuit".

"I have to go back to campus," Lucien announced, hiding his face behind a baozi. "I have rehearsals today".

Leon's expression darkened instantly. "The play? With the guy from the beach?".

"It's just acting, Leon. I'm playing a servant. I have, like, five lines".

Leon sat down across from him, his gaze heavy. "Stay here. I'll help you rehearse. I did a year of drama in prep school".

Lucien snorted. "You? Drama? Did you play the wall?"

"I played the lead," Leon countered, his eyes glinting. "Now, give me the script."

Lucien reluctantly pulled the tablet out. "Fine. But you have to be the hero, Liang Shanbo. I'm the servant to the villain, Ma Wencai. My job is to bully you".

They cleared a space in the living room. Lucien tried to channel his inner thug. He stood on his tiptoes to look more menacing, pointing a finger at Leon's chest. "I'm warning you! Stay away from Zhu Yingtai! Or my master will make you regret it!".

He swung a half-hearted punch at Leon's chest.

Leon didn't flinch. He didn't even move. He just looked down at Lucien's fist with an amused, almost bored expression.

"You're supposed to react!" Lucien huffed. "The script says you fall back in fear!".

"I'm trying, baby," Leon lied smoothly. "Try again. Kicking is more effective for your... size".

Lucien grumbled and delivered a light kick to Leon's shin. "Stay away, you scholar!".

Suddenly, the floor disappeared.

Leon's hand shot out, catching Lucien's ankle mid-air. With a low laugh, he yanked, sending Lucien tumbling directly onto his chest. Before Lucien could scramble away, Leon's arms were around him like iron bands, pinning him to the plush carpet.

"Hey! Unfair! That's not in the script!" Lucien yelled, his face nuclear red.

"New script," Leon murmured, his face inches from Lucien's. "The villain's servant is actually a spy who's deeply in love with the hero. And right now, the hero is going to collect his payment".

"Leon! Minus ten points! Major boundary violation!" Lucien cried, though he wasn't struggling that hard.

"How many points do I have left?" Leon asked, his thumb tracing Lucien's lower lip.

"Seventy," Lucien whispered, his breath hitching.

"If I let you go right now... do I get twenty points back?".

Lucien looked at the gray-blue eyes that were currently full of a hunger that had nothing to do with dumplings. He realized, with a sinking (and soaring) heart, that he was absolutely, 100% losing this game.

"Fine," Lucien muttered, hiding his face in Leon's neck. "Seventy points. But you're still a brute".

"I can live with that".