Anything that Xiao Zhan puts on him, around his neck, is great, and most often that is simply his hands. Like now, as they land first on Yibo’s shoulders, and then stroke up the sides of his neck, one curling to the front, wrapping around and gripping lightly. Yibo lets out a shuddering breath and leans into the touch. “You really want this, huh,” Xiao Zhan says, and Yibo nods.