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    Summary

    “You poor, frail thing. They have you starving in here, don’t they?”

    Jhin eyed the way the painter’s throat bobbed under a stripe of fabric – a nervous tick he had picked up early into their time together. Though Hwei was skilled with keeping his expression steeled, his emotions were remarkably intense, and they had a habit of showing up in other places. A glint in his eyes, new tension in his muscle, a quiver of his lips.

    Looking into Hwei’s eyes, though, they didn’t quite meet him back. The younger man was searching for something, looking at different parts of Jhin subtly, but frantically. His ungloved hand was left exposed against the canvas, and he seemed fascinated by the prone wrist, as well as the veins trapped underneath.

    Greedy boy.

    Language:
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