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“Who has a better fashion sense—Sangwon or Anxin? One, two, three—”
Geonwoo couldn’t smother his grin as he pointed toward Anxin and watched Sangwon’s eyes bulge into an affronted gasp. He gnawed absentmindedly around the straw caught between his teeth, sipping with bemusement at the last dregs of his chai.
“Who has the worst fashion sense—Kim Geonwoo or Kim Geonwoo?” Sangwon rebutted. “Two, three—”
Spirits were high and giddy in the van. A clamour of voices danced along the padded roof as the eight of them debriefed after a day of successful filming. Geonwoo’s leg bounced against the carpeted floor as he twisted his stiff spine to look into the backseat, his eye catching on twin index fingers pointing unapologetically back at him. He blinked, unimpressed, at Anxin and Xinlong.
“Ah—sorry, hyung,” Xinlong offered, though the smile pushing his cheeks up into pinchable pink circles said anything but. “Is it my turn? Who—” He paused as Anxin leaned over to hiss a whisper into his ear. His flush turned deeper as he glanced rapidly at Geonwoo and back to Anxin, the bloodrush landing him somewhere between embarrassed and downright scandalised. “I can’t say that,” he whispered to Anxin in Chinese. “Uh—who has better hair, Junseo hyung or, um—Sanghyeon?”
“That’s boring, Long-ah,” Geonwoo chided, but pointed toward Junseo anyway if only to hear Sanghyeon’s indignant squawk ring nasally through the van.
Geonwoo had had his doubts when he’d read over the script for today’s filming. The concept of a ‘friendship game’ had struck him as a little too juvenile, even if the schoolyard games they’d played for previous content had gone over well enough. At least those had some element of skill to them—Geonwoo wasn’t quite sure how to win at ‘friendship’.
The shooting had turned out to be a lot more fun than he’d thought. The simple questions had set the scene for the kind of gentle ribbing and teasing that showcased the group dynamic more accurately than other, more scripted content they’d filmed lately. He looked forward to seeing how the fans reacted—the members had clearly loved it. Xinlong’s barking laughter still played through his head on repeat, the sound of it warming something deep in his chest like a hotpack under his coat in the winter.
That same laugh sang higher than the rest of the cacophony as the members took turns to throw more questions around. Who takes longer to get ready in the morning, and who cries more at movies, and who, if you were stuck on a desert island, would you kill and eat first? The noise was loud and boyish but their manager kept his eyes dead set on the road, even though Geonwoo could see the beginnings of an exasperated smile through the rearview mirror.
Geonwoo found his eyes trailing the movement of the road outside, the rhythm of the streetlights as they neared the dorm building. The night was bright and glowing an orange-yellow that lit up Xinlong’s handsome features in the reflection of the window. His grin was sharp to match his piercing laugh, but his eyes were soft and his hair flopped down over his forehead from when he’d finally allowed himself to run his fingers through it after a long day of filming. He caught Geonwoo’s eye in the reflection, blinked once, twice, and darted back into the safety of the van in a way that was far too cute for Geonwoo’s weak heart.
“Okay, okay,” Anxin said, half-choking on the words as he tried to swallow his giggles. “My turn.” His glance toward Xinlong would have been almost imperceptible if Geonwoo weren’t so focused on the pink tinge of Xinlong’s face and the way it suddenly deepened again in realisation. “Who’s kissed more people? Xiaozhu, or…Xinlong?”
The topic had come up before, a tipsy Anxin eager to brag about his apparent numerous conquests. Geonwoo vaguely remembered patting his back as he agreed mindlessly with Anxin’s ramblings about how he’s definitely been kissed even more than you, hyung. Xinlong had disappeared at that point, dipping quietly into the other room before either of them had noticed. There was nowhere to run this time—nowhere in this cramped van to hide from seven pairs of curious eyes.
“Hey—” Sanghyeon called from somewhere ahead of Geonwoo, but Geonwoo was stuck on the funny expression spilling over Xinlong’s face, the glimpse of white teeth nibbling on his bottom lip and the way his posture slumped inward a little at the shoulders.
“One, two, three—” Anxin sang, and six hands pointed their accusations across the leather chairs. Seven, once Geonwoo dragged himself from his thoughts just enough to point his own finger at Xinlong. “Xinlong?” Anxin prodded, cupping a hand under Xinlong’s wrist until Xinlong shook his bangs from wide eyes and pointed at…Sanghyeon?
“So…” someone prompted.
“Who is it?”
The engine hummed contemplatively in their silence.
Sanghyeon winced, a fierce blush taking over his face. It was cute in a different way to Xinlong’s—like a little kid dared to confess to a crush. “Ah, it’s—it’s probably not me. I’ve kissed, um—three?”
“Not counting pecks on the playground, Xiaozhu.”
Sanghyeon’s head ducked behind the seat in front with a strangled sound. “One,” he amends.
Xinlong’s silence was almost lost in the sudden barrage of questions as the others probed Sanghyeon about who, where, when he’d had the time to kiss someone. Geonwoo just barely caught a blur of movement in the corner of his eye as Xinlong tried to bury himself behind his seatbelt.
“How about you, Long?” he asked casually—or as casually as he could around the weird, airy lump in his throat from when Anxin had thrown the concept of Xinlong kissing anyone into his brain and left it there, for better or worse. “How many?”
“...None.” Xinlong managed after a moment. His spine curled as he leaned over his takeout cup, something too sweet and vanilla for Geonwoo’s taste.
“None?” Sanghyeon echoed, meerkatting big eyes over the back of his chair with a sudden surge of confidence. “What if we did count middle school, hyung?”
But Xinlong just shook his head. Tawny tufts of hair fell back into his eyes as he avoided the attention of whoever wasn’t stuck staring at his pink, bitten, apparently unkissed lips like Geonwoo was. “None,” he repeated. “I’ve never kissed anyone before.”
Okay, so it wasn’t like the concept had never come up in Geonwoo’s mind. Xinlong was an attractive guy, and Geonwoo wasn’t exactly spoiled for choice in the line of work he’d ended up in. So, sue him if his late-night fantasies occasionally wandered up the stairs of the dorm building and into Xinlong’s warm, tender, lowkey kind of ripped embrace…
Xinlong is pretty. Geonwoo is weak. He doesn’t have much more to say on the subject.
…But that doesn’t mean he doesn’t think about it.
He watched from the corner of his eye as Xinlong’s short fingers fumbled with his seatbelt buckle. Had nobody held those hands, threaded their fingers through Xinlong’s, and wanted to kiss him?
He watched Xinlong tug his bag over his shoulder and duck out into the night. Had nobody smoothed their palms over his broad frame and felt him relax into their touch?
He stared probably a little too hard at Xinlong’s tiny waist as they stalked through the empty corridors of the dorm building. The gentle curves that tapered down from strong shoulders, perfect for holding him still or feeling him move except that Xinlong had never been kissed before.
He half-stumbled into his own bedroom in a daze. The ground felt uneven as if something had been knocked off-kilter on a cosmic scale: some bitter, unfathomable truth somehow…true. Whatever—he wasn’t a poet, nor was he Sangwon. Kim Geonwoo dealt in absolutes. Trues or falses; yeses or nos. If the planets were misaligned, or whatever, then he’d just need to knock them back into place.
A chorus of high, reedy laughter followed him as he marched back through the dorms. Leo’s door was ajar, and Geonwoo just managed to catch a glimpse of the harem of clingy dongsaengs practically hanging off his shoulders as he passed by. Xinlong, though, was notably absent, so he ducked quickly toward the front door before Sanghyeon could call out more than a single “Geonwoo-hyung?” from, presumably, the bottom of the dogpile.
His own eyes stared accusingly back at him from the finger-smudged elevator mirror as he went up. Something restless and raw started to roil in his chest, a tidal lurch sweeping his feet down the hallway and through the door of the other dorm.
The air was thick and hot with lingering shower steam. A waft of Xinlong’s spiced soap seeped through Geonwoo’s skin like something tangible and sticky, his want pulling him closer and closer to the warm light spilling from Xinlong’s cracked door.
“Oh—hi, hyung,” Xinlong said, glancing up at Geonwoo through the mirror from where he was crouched on the floor. A damp lock of hair fell from the towel he’d been scrubbing over his head with one hand. His skin was already dry, but Geonwoo found himself trailing an imaginary drop of water down Xinlong’s neck anyway, if only to imaginary-lick it up. “Uh…hyung?”
“Hey, Long-ah.” Xinlong’s bed was still made from that morning, but linen fault lines lay across the bedspread like Xinlong had come in and flopped straight onto the bed. Geonwoo let his fingers trace the creases as he sat, feeling the indent of Xinlong’s tired body. Cute. “How come you didn’t come downstairs with the others?”
The damp towel landed on Anxin’s bed with a defeated fwop as Xinlong settled by Geonwoo’s side. “Was just a lot, today,” he said. His eyes went a little rounder as he chased his own tongue to clarify. “I mean—it was fun, and all, but I just needed…”
“Quiet?” Geonwoo offered.
“Yeah.” Xinlong sent him a beaming little smile. Geonwoo swallowed thickly around the sight of it. “You too?”
He wasn’t totally wrong. Geonwoo didn’t think he could have handled shoving himself into a cramped dorm room with the knowledge that Xinlong was there somewhere above the puckered ceiling, soft and unguarded and unkissed. He nodded and felt the tickle of his own drooping eyelashes as Xinlong smiled at him again.
“Have you really never kissed anyone?”
The question spread icily over Xinlong’s face until his smile turned frozen and stiff. “Ah,” he tried, clearing his throat to force the words out. “It’s not a big deal, I just…with training, and school, and then debuting so young…it just never happened.” A pink tinge started to climb the exposed skin of his neck and he ducked his head a little into the thawing warmth.
It made sense. Really made sense, actually—Geonwoo himself had sworn off any kind of actual relationship as soon as he’d decided to take this idol thing seriously. But there had still been kisses—stolen pecks by the lockers after gym class, make-outs in private practice rooms. Hell, he was pretty sure Sangwon and Leo had been kissing each other this whole time and were deluded into thinking they’d been subtle about it.
But this was Xinlong. Xinlong, who had chronic manner-hands when he interacted with their female dancers or staff. Xinlong, who would probably volunteer to shower last every single day if they didn’t set a rota. Xinlong, who was shy and polite and endlessly, sacrificingly selfless.
“Would you want to?”
Geonwoo’s body started to sway a little with the restless bounce of Xinlong’s knees. “I’m not against it, or anything. It just hasn’t happened yet.” His fingers knitted themselves together like they were boneless. Geonwoo watched him tangle himself in knots until he nudged Xinlong’s leg into calmness with his own. “I guess I would. With the right person.”
Geonwoo opened his mouth, but before he could blurt something stupid like how about me? Xinlong was already stumbling through his next sentence. “Someone nice. More experienced than me, probably, though that’s not exactly hard. Someone who would take good care of me.”
Me, me, me, Geonwoo’s traitorous brain chanted. He sucked in a deep breath, icy against his feverish insides, and tried to seem nonchalant. “I think—” His voice cracked. He swallowed thickly around the break. “Lots of people would want to be that for you. Plenty of nice noonas would fight each other just for the chance.”
Those long, fluttery eyelashes were blinking up at him again before he could catch his breath. “A hyung, probably. I think.”
The bed creaked as Geonwoo shuffled under the weight of those words. “Yeah? Anyone in mind?”
But Xinlong looked away again, eyes landing somewhere on the other side of the room over Geonwoo’s shoulder. “What about you, hyung?” he deflected. “Have you kissed a lot of people?”
A lot was probably overselling it, but compared to Xinlong’s zero…
“A few,” Geonwoo decided. His fingers drummed against his own leg as he considered, counting idly in an uneven rhythm until Xinlong grabbed at his index to halt the movement. He struggled to form a thought, stuck on Xinlong’s short fingers plucking his own like guitar strings. “Other trainees; a few kids at school. A guy on the soccer team, a few times.”
Xinlong stilled a little at the implication, but didn’t say anything for a while. Geonwoo breathed heavily as he watched his lips purse open, and closed, and open again, mouthing around a silent question he didn’t quite know how to ask.
“Have you ever kissed Anxin?”
Suddenly, Geonwoo wasn’t totally sure that he’d stepped out of the elevator and wasn’t plummeting toward certain death.
“Why, do—do you want to kiss Anxin?” He’s not even your hyung, he wanted to say, not like me! Look at me!
“No, I—I mean, I don’t not want to kiss Anxin, I’m sure he’s great, I just—”
Geonwoo couldn’t help the cackle that burst out of him as he threw his head back to the ceiling. Xinlong spluttered somewhere beneath him, his hands grabbing at Geonwoo’s shoulders as he shook him in protest. “Hey—stop laughing at me! How old are you—”
His shoulders were still trembling a little with giddy aftershocks when he finally looked back at Xinlong. He was smiling sheepishly up at Geonwoo in that way he does when he knows he’s being made fun of but trusts the other person so completely with his feelings. Geonwoo matched his smile a little goofily, feeling the tension drip down and off his shoulders.
And then there were lips against his, warm and dry and so utterly Xinlong underneath all the shyness. Because although Xinlong was shy, he was also unerringly confident in a way that never failed to make Geonwoo’s stomach swoop. His experience in this industry, in this life—if not this area specifically—that drove his actions as much as it drove Geonwoo crazy.
He pulled back too fast, too soon, and a gentle, wet sound rang through the air almost inaudibly. “Um…was that—” he started to ask, but Geonwoo was already leaning in to peck him again, once, twice.
“Lick your lips,” he murmured against Xinlong’s mouth. He caught a glimpse of a sharp little tongue darting across plush lips, pink and flushed like he’d been running it nervously over his own teeth. Geonwoo wanted to taste it, wanted to feel the little indents with his own tongue, wanted to bite just hard enough to leave his own marks behind. “Tilt your head,” he muttered instead, “just a little…there.”
Geonwoo let his hand linger under Xinlong’s chin, cupping the sharp line of his jaw as their mouths moved together. The kiss was slow, experimental, leaning closer and pulling back as they settled into the rhythm of each other. He could feel Xinlong’s shallow breaths puffing against his cheeks, the tension pooling in his browbone. Trembling hands fumbled shyly on Geonwoo’s upper arms as he fought to keep his balance.
Their quiet gasps flooded the sliver of space between them as Geonwoo pulled back, unable to quash a small smile when Xinlong chased his lips with his eyelids squeezed shut. When he blinked them open, it was with clear effort, a weight trying to pull him back under. “Okay?” Geonwoo whispered.
With Xinlong’s answering nod, he slowly snaked his fingers around Xinlong’s thin wrists and guided them to his own body—one at the nape of his neck, the other on his shoulder, sliding down just barely to brush against his collarbone. Xinlong tightened his grip a little, probing, and leaned back in to capture Geonwoo’s lips with a sigh. A burst of sweet vanilla hit Geonwoo’s tongue as Xinlong’s mouth slackened against his own.
The bedframe creaked again beneath layers of softness as they shifted their weight back and forth, a push and pull as they searched for all the new angles of each other. Xinlong threaded his fingers through Geonwoo’s hair and, when Geonwoo let himself nip just barely at his bottom lip, tensed them into a firm grip that had Geonwoo humming a startled, happy noise into the kiss. He hummed again as Xinlong pulled away with heavy breaths, a question lingering unspoken on swollen lips.
But then Xinlong surged forward and clambered all at once into Geonwoo’s lap. He let out a stunned oof when Xinlong’s knee jabbed into his hipbone while he settled, hovering a little awkwardly as he hesitated to sit with his full weight on Geonwoo’s thighs.
“Sorry,” he said, flushing in the heat of Geonwoo’s stare. “Is this okay?”
The weight hit Geonwoo all at once as he kissed him again and Xinlong fell down with a breathless giggle. He felt his hands wandering over Xinlong’s hips and waist as if he were watching himself do it, and groaned quietly at the image of how they must have looked: Xinlong’s broad frame curled up in his lap, fluffy hair casting shadows over where their lips met, his knees pressed tightly either side of Geonwoo’s thighs. He pushed up a little harder into Xinlong’s touch and delighted in the way Xinlong pressed back against him without hesitation.
“Hyung,” he whispered in a stolen breath. The sound of it stuttered as Geonwoo trailed his hands up the curve of Xinlong’s back beneath his loose shirt, smoothing over the slight bumps of his spine and lingering in the dimples just above the hem of his sweats. He felt the shudder spread through Xinlong’s back like wildfire as it sent a rush of goosebumps across his skin.
“Hyung,” he called again, his hands gripping and tangling through Geonwoo’s hair before smoothing it down like he’d pet a cat. Geonwoo felt matching shivers roll up his spine, almost purrlike, and gripped at Xinlong’s tiny waist just in time to feel him shuffle forward in his lap.
Their groins brushed together in one solid roll of Xinlong’s hips, and with it dragged out a little noise that Geonwoo had never heard Xinlong make before; a low, desperate whimper that hit him right between the gates of his ribcage. His hips rolled again, a cute, eager buck that betrayed his inexperience. They gasped into the embrace for a few seconds before Geonwoo pulled them apart again, searching for something in Xinlong’s eyes that he was too self-sacrificial to say out loud.
Xinlong’s face didn’t have that same loose, relaxed expression as moments before. In his eyes hung something a little too nervous and a little too tense and Geonwoo wanted him so badly but Xinlong was pulling his own lip between his teeth to chew anxiously on swollen skin.
“Long-ah,” he said quietly, bringing his hands to rest at Xinlong’s hips like how Anxin or Leo would touch him. Friendly. Undemanding. “Xinlong-ah.”
A tuft of messy hair tickled his nose and he had to blink hard a few times to clear his vision of Xinlong’s pretty, flushed face.
“Hyung wants to,” he said, tipping Xinlong’s chin up to meet his eye. “I do, but I need you to think about it when you have a clear head. Is that okay?” His thumb traced the corner of Xinlong’s lips, plush and pink and still shiny from their shared saliva. “Can you do that for hyung?”
Xinlong visibly shuddered at his words. He shuffled his weight backward obediently and oh, if that didn’t do something to Geonwoo.
“Okay, hyung.” Xinlong pecked his lips again, slowly, lingering just slightly with a quiet sigh. “Next time. But…” Geonwoo’s hands were being drawn back across the firm muscle of Xinlong’s waist, Xinlong’s fingers laced over his own as he guided Geonwoo’s touch on his own body. He landed them on the smooth skin of his stomach, sensitive if the shiver he shakes through is any indication. “Keep touching me like this? Feels good…”
And then he leaned back into another kiss before Geonwoo could even begin to conjure a response. Fuck, he thought. I might die right here, right now, and it will be all He Xinlong’s stupid, gorgeous fault. He found he didn’t quite mind all that much.
The firm ripples of Xinlong’s abs pushed up into his touch as they moved. He traced the bumps under his fingers, the tensing and untensing of muscles Xinlong had worked so, so hard for. He always works so hard. Always has such control over his body, over the way he moves, the way he looks. He felt the soft, plush sheets of Xinlong’s bed beneath his hips, thought about lowering him down onto his back and devouring him until he let himself go completely, loose and relaxed and trusting. Next time, Xinlong had said, and it wasn’t a promise, but Geonwoo felt himself clutching a little tighter at the boy on top of him in anticipation.
Reality flooded back over him in a violent wave when Xinlong’s hips started to jerk up again, grinding toward Geonwoo in aborted little movements like he just couldn’t help it. The fabric of his sweats was starting to bunch up around his thighs, the muscle hidden underneath them protesting the tight barrier. Geonwoo’s own jeans were hugging him uncomfortably close around the groin, but something cosmic would need to strike him down before he asked Xinlong to get out of his lap.
Their bodies rocked to the quiet song of old wooden slats as Xinlong held himself back. His hips still squirmed restlessly atop Geonwoo’s own, but he redirected the inertia to push up into Geonwoo’s touch, all the bodily control of a dancer offered up for Geonwoo to kiss and touch and worship and Geonwoo is a weak, weak man.
They parted for a few seconds, desperate for air, before Xinlong seized the opportunity and Geonwoo’s hands to encourage them further up under his shirt. “What have I started?” Geonwoo muttered somewhere between horror and awe, but Xinlong just blushed in faux innocence as he let Geonwoo cup his chest with questioning hands.
“Feels good,” he shrugged. His newfound confidence waned with that same low whimper when Geonwoo started to thumb at his nipple. Geonwoo dragged out another gasp with the thin edge of his nail and pressed with the pad of his thumb hard enough to knead the soft give of his skin.
“Like this?” Geonwoo asked, but Xinlong just dove forward to suck at Geonwoo’s lip, pulling it hard between his own teeth as he gasped. His chest pushed up into the touch with every crest of his heavy panting, thighs squeezing either side of Geonwoo’s tight, unforgiving jeans.
It was a side of Xinlong that Geonwoo had never seen before. He let his hands drift back down Xinlong’s body, leaving behind a ticklish trail that had Xinlong giggling breathlessly against his lips. He found himself smiling back as he wrapped his arms around Xinlong’s back to hold him firmly in a steadying hug. The kiss fizzled into quiet, panting laughs as they both struggled against matching smiles.
Their foreheads rested together, sweaty and content, as they tried to catch their breath. “Okay?” Geonwoo asked to break the silence.
Xinlong pulled back just enough to meet his eye, his spine stretching with a pop that Geonwoo felt under his soothing palm on the small of Xinlong’s back. He was heavy-lidded and sleepy and his cheeks were flushed and patchy like when he got all giddy after a good practice session and he was just so unfairly pretty. “Yeah,” he nodded, that shy smile back on his face like a trademark. “Thanks, hyung.”
Geonwoo leaned back in before he could think better of it. He pressed a few sure pecks to Xinlong’s lips, the tingle sparkling in his own like well-used muscles after a workout or the first hit of something spicy and delicious. “Mm,” he said noncommittally, though he was sure his last kiss, firm and lingering and promising, betrayed him.
After a moment, Xinlong flopped heavily by his side, and they both leaned back to stare at the smooth, white expanse of Xinlong and Anxin’s ceiling. The room was silent except for their breathing, and, somewhere above their heads, the gentle ticking of a clock.
“I’ve never kissed Anxin before,” Geonwoo said.
Xinlong’s next laugh was loud and barking and made Geonwoo’s heart beat dangerously fast. “Good,” he said eventually. “Me neither.” And that was that.
The seconds ticked by like they were mocking him. He tuned in to the rhythm of Xinlong’s breathing instead, tasted the sweet remnants of him on his tongue. When he reached over to tangle his fingers through Xinlong’s, they were warm and lax and sated. “Was that good?” he asked the ceiling. “For your first kiss?”
The steady breaths by his side stuttered just a little. He turned over to prop himself up on one elbow, peering down to meet Xinlong’s avoidant eyes.
“I don’t know if it was good; I’ve never kissed anyone before,” he argued softly. He blinked up at Geonwoo, then, flickering a glance at his lips that was almost too quick to catch. Almost. “But…I liked it. A lot.”
And Geonwoo had known that, somewhere deep inside of his brain where he was still capable of objective thought. It still made him embarrassingly warm and fuzzy regardless. He didn’t even try to keep it from showing, and watched as Xinlong saw and smiled through a bitten lip like he was surprised.
“But what about you, hyung?” Xinlong asked. “You’ve kissed a lot of people before…”
And yes, a lot was still overselling it. But the nuance wasn’t important; Geonwoo could have kissed every trainee this side of the Han river, or could have had his very first kiss right here on Xinlong’s bed, and he was pretty sure his answer would have stayed the same.
“Not like that, Long-ah.” He squeezed their hands together, and then poked Xinlong solidly in the ribs to dispel some of the humiliation of feeling so much all at once. “That was…different. Good different,” he amended.
“Good different,” Xinlong repeated, almost reverent.
“It was good, it was different, I’m so glad we cleared that all up,” Anxin declared as he pushed his way into the room. Xinlong jumped up with a startled yelp, but fell half-backwards when Geonwoo refused to move from his cocoon on top of Xinlong’s crumpled sheets. He was comfy, sue him; they’d had a long day. “Now you—” Anxin continued as he rummaged loudly through his things, stopping only momentarily with a grimace and a muttered curse in Chinese as he flicked the damp towel from his bed, “can get out, Kim Geonwoo, or you both can get a room. That isn’t also mine. I wouldn’t have brought it up if I’d known you’d take so long.”
Geonwoo dragged himself upright with only a little prodding from Xinlong. He squinted up at Anxin like the light was only just hitting his eyes after so rudely being pulled from a dream. But Xinlong’s fingers were still clinging to his own, and his cheeks were still ruddy, and his lips were still kiss-swollen and damp. So he stood, patted half-heartedly at Xinlong’s sheets as if it made them any neater, and stalked over to the door with a cheeky smile aimed back into the room. Anxin scoffed, and Xinlong snickered, and Geonwoo was pretty sure that next time Xinlong had mentioned would come sooner rather than later.
“And—” Anxin called just as Geonwoo stepped into the hallway. He stood with his full height at the threshold of the bedroom, hands standing sentry on his hips. “What’s all this about kissing Anxin?”