"Then let me go, I'll make you breakfast."
Fu Jinghen spoke lazily, "Wasn't it you who crawled into my arms first?"
"I may have crawled into your arms, but I didn't ask you to hold me," Wen Qiao argued righteously.
Fu Jinghen found Wen Qiao to be quite a paradox, utterly lethargic when she couldn't wake up, with an air of "no one can make me leave my bed," but bursting with energy when she got up early, as if declaring "nobody can make me stay in bed."
Like now, she was so lively she seemed as if she'd like to join the elderly in their morning cha-cha.
"You presented yourself on my doorstep, how could I not want you?" Fu Jinghen tightened his embrace, "Stay with me a little longer, and I'll take you out for breakfast."
"Alright then."
Wen Qiao wriggled in Fu Jinghen's arms, rubbing her fuzzy head against his chin, "You're just the stumbling block on my path of diligence."
"Mhm," Fu Jinghen readily apologized, "My bad, baby, don't be mad."
