My Costar addles my mind
It's with great trepidation that Yao Shen climbs up onto Xin Hulei's motorcycle. He wraps his arms around his waist loosely, but Xin Hulei's hand descends on top of his and presses them tighter into his solid abdomen.
"Tighter," he says, his voice sounds muffled through the helmet.
Yao Shen does as he's told, and hides his face on Xin Hulei's broad back.
He wishes Xin Hulei wouldn't look at him with such an intense gaze. It makes him flustered for no reason.
Yao Shen's finger tighten of their own accord when Xin Hulei kicks the bike into gear, dreading the biting sting of the wind already.
To his surprise, this time Xin Hulei doesn't speed out of the parking lot.
He rides out of the lot and into the road with easy smoothness, so gently that it's as if the bike's wheels are gliding off the asphalt.
Yao Shen tenses again when they enter a main street, but Xin Hulei cuts confidently through the traffic like a knife gliding over silken tofu.