The phone rang on the floor, raindrops pattered against the floor-to-ceiling window, and the morning sun shone through the gaps in the blinds, casting stripes of light and shadow on Zhao Ling's bare back.
Wei Tianyang played with her black hair in his right hand, his left hand spread out on the bed, his eyes staring blankly at the ceiling.
Exhausted from the night's efforts, Zhao Ling was spent. She lay in his arms, seeming much smaller than he remembered, sleeping soundly, her hands resting on Wei Tianyang's chest, like a young girl seeking protection.
Wei Tianyang's fingers followed the deep groove down her spine to the tailbone. Her firm yet soft abdominal muscles pressed against his own, like interlocking gears biting into each other, sharing each other's heartbeat through the tremors of their flesh.
