Mo Yu didn't retreat. His lips left Mu Xuanying's lips, but only retreated less than an inch. His forehead slowly leaned over and pressed against Mu Xuanying's forehead.
Bump together lightly. Mu Xuanying's eyelashes trembled in front of his forehead, like the last twitch of a butterfly when it stops. His breath was still broken, brushing against Mo Yu's lips, with the final rhyme of "woo", short and warm.
Mo Yu closed his eyes. He felt a thin layer of sweat on Mu Xuanying's forehead. I also felt that the hand he was holding on to the material of my clothes had changed from a tight grip to a close one, with his fingertips hanging loosely, like a fallen leaf finding a place to rest.
"Maomao." His voice was hoarse, and the two words fell into the narrow air between the two of them, as light as a sigh.
Concept: The thin line between restraint and involuntary