There's still no sensation, yet he can use imagination to fill this void.
He imagines it must be like the cold snowflakes falling onto his lips, swiftly melting into droplets.
Or perhaps like the feather gliding across the skin, leaving a tingling sensation that then sweeps through every limb, intoxicating him completely.
Her fingertips caress from his cheek to his ear, as he closes his eyes upon her palm, one hand holding her waist, while the other
Breaths intertwine into chaotic raindrops, sometimes fast, sometimes slow, the heart dancing along.
Time is silent and eternal, in this moment, only the two of them exist between heaven and earth.
For the first time, far away from worldly clamor, far from deep-seated enmity.
Finally, the lips part.
Yan Tingfeng opens his eyes, his forehead still resting against hers, the distance between them less than an inch, breath mingling indistinguishably.
