By the time Qiu Wuji came out in the hotel bathrobe, the wooden tub had already been cleared away, and Chu Ge was leaning back against the bed in his own bathrobe, playing with his phone.
Truth was, she'd waited until she heard him call someone in to take the tub away—confirming he was finished—before she came out, slow and unhurried.
Chu Ge had guessed as much, but he kept his mouth shut.
Qiu Wuji kept quiet too. She walked silently over to the other bed, propped herself against the headboard, and turned on the TV.
Nothing had happened at all, and yet both their hearts were suddenly beating faster.
Both of them understood: this soaking-wet business, the bath—as long as a door was kept between them, none of it was a problem. Quite the opposite. Only now that everything had settled were they truly facing the prospect of sleeping in the same room.
The fresh, clean scent of a body just out of the bath.
The embrace from moments ago, when they had fought shoulder to shoulder.
His warmth, her softness.
The two beds were near enough to touch, less than a meter apart; from the corners of their eyes each could see the other's feet, twisting nervously.
Even the hotel bathrobes, so unremarkable at any other time, suddenly looked unbearably suggestive.