The room was heavy with silence, broken only by Shao's uneven breathing and the faint scrape of his fingernails against the floor.
Muchen was still crouched in front of him, trying to calm his own racing thoughts, when something hit his senses—hard and unmistakable.
A wave of thick, musky agarwood drifted past his nose.
It was so intense it made him blink and recoil slightly.
"What the hell..." he mumbled, sniffing again, confused. "Why can I smell it so strongly?"
His eyes went back to Shao.
The taller man was breathing through his mouth now, short and shallow. His cheeks were flushed, and his body visibly tense. Every muscle in his jaw was drawn tight, like he was holding himself back from doing something reckless.
Then he whispered again, voice cracked and desperate. "Knock me out... please. Or I'll do it myself."
Before Muchen could respond, Shao's hand moved. Fast.
He slammed his head toward the floor again.
