It settles something inside of him, the confirmation. What does it matter which shape they take, as long as Wen Kexing can be his. There was a reason those shining days of childhood bliss stayed long after he drank the Meng Pao soup, though he'd been too young to understand it then - that bright fascination he'd had, that want, a boy a little older offering him the hand of friendship. He's yearned to belong somewhere else all these years, and here Zhou Zishu is, offering it. Wen Kexing laughs once, a hiccup of sound, leaning back in to press their foreheads together again. He closes his eyes, takes a breath, lets some of the weight drop from his shoulders.

"Ah-Xu, you've gone soft."

So has he, if he's honest.

A moment passes, two, and he opens his eyes, pulls reluctantly back into a more respectable sitting position. "It'll be midnight soon. Do you want to rest before?"