Lee Chang's breath hitched, his brow's pinching sharply as he stared at Mingyu as if the man had grown a second head. The very concept of someone touching him like this - without his strict and vocal permission - was so beyond him it made him speechless.

He should stand up. Bat the hand away. Put Mingyu in his place.

But what place was that, exactly? Lee Chang was no one here, a beggar, living from charity. And in their uneasy alliance, he found himself offering Mingyu a modicum of trust. Not to be loyal to him. But to look out for himself, at all times. And maybe that was better. Maybe Mingyu wouldn't end up bleeding out in Lee Chang’s arms in the middle of a birch forest.

"What are you doing?" He asked carefully, slowly, trying to ignore the way his pulse had picked up as if on its own. He spent a good amount of the waking day trying to ignore any idle thoughts of Mingyu and his erotic work, but that restraint did not seem to follow him into the night. In the night, when he wasn't dreaming of death and decay and blood, he dreamt of reddened lips and elegant limbs, a cocky glance and a smug smile--

He shook the thought forcibly from his mind, swallowing. "I'm not a client, Mingyu."

As if the man had to be reminded. As if they weren't both very aware.