The whisper of silks makes Guangyao tense in surprise and he stares at Xichen for a beat longer than could be proper.

"Yes, of course." He's not wrong, but Guangyao can't help but wonder how much of this is purposeful for entirely different reasons. He's feeling warm himself suddenly, which in Gusu in general seems odd. He hasn't been uncomfortable so far, but there's always a chill in the air when the sun first starts rising and after it's set. But right now he feels like he could do with a fan.

He forces himself to concentrate, to focus on the lines as he can do them on paper, as opposed to the lines on Xichen's body. And for a time it works! Guangyao, driven to perfection in all he does, can't allow his attention to sway and mess this up. He can't dream of not doing Xichen justice on the paper.

He doesn't evne know how much time passes and he almost feverishly works, except--

Except.

He drops the sketching tool to his side and heaves a Much Put Upon Sigh, looking at Xichen through his lashes, the hint of a pout on his lips. "...Zewu-jun. You might need to hide your hands."

The bane of artists everywhere: hands.