Mo Shiqian's fingers, which were holding a cigarette, stiffened as he raised his head, a bluish-white cloud of smoke spraying onto her face. He squinted his eyes, offering a smile that wasn't quite a smile, "Suddenly acting obedient, eh?"
Chi Huan paused in the act of drying his hair, then continued.
He had probably just casually wiped it a couple of times after the shower, and hadn't really dried it thoroughly before.
Mo Shiqian didn't speak, letting her hand with the towel rub back and forth over his head.
When the towel was no longer effective, Chi Huan put it down, threaded her fingers through his damp hair, and asked in a low voice, "Shall I get the hairdryer to blow it dry for you?"
He looked up at her, silent.
His silence probably meant consent, so Chi Huan turned to get the hairdryer.
Effortlessly, as if she were the mistress of the room.
Or rather, as if she had always been the mistress of the room and had never left.
