When the laughter finally faded, the room fell into a softer kind of peace.
At last, they left one by one, their laughter drifting down the corridor until only the sound of the wind remained.
Xiuyuan exhaled slowly, his posture relaxing. "They haven't changed at all," he murmured.
"No," Lianxiu said, stacking the empty cups and placing them on the tray. "They care about you."
Xiuyuan smiled faintly, watching him move about the room with quiet diligence. "And you?"
Lianxiu froze for a heartbeat, then looked down. "Of course," he said softly.
The fire in the brazier crackled. A thin plume of smoke curled toward the ceiling, blurring the light between them. Xiuyuan sat back against his pillow, tired but unwilling to sleep yet. His robe had come loose around the shoulders, slipping slightly as he shifted.
Lianxiu noticed, frowning. "You'll catch a chill," he murmured. He set the tray aside and came closer. "Let me—"
Xiuyuan started to protest but stopped. His arms still trembled when he tried to move them; the pain was sharp, unrelenting. So he let the words die unsaid and allowed Lianxiu to kneel beside him.
The younger man worked gently, untying the outer sash with careful fingers. The fabric slid down, brushing Xiuyuan's skin—light as a whisper. Lianxiu hesitated, his breath catching when his fingertips brushed the curve of his shoulder, the warmth of bare skin beneath.
He swallowed hard, telling himself to stay composed. He had done this before. Many times. But this felt different—too quiet, too close, the air between them too full of something unnamed.
He draped the fresh robe around Xiuyuan's shoulders, smoothing the fabric where it creased. His hand trembled once—just once—before he steadied it again. But in that fleeting instant, his fingers grazed skin, warm and fragile, and Xiuyuan's breath hitched.
The heartbeat that followed was no longer just Lianxiu's.
Xiuyuan could hear his own pulse in his ears—rapid, uneven, startling.
When Lianxiu leaned closer to tie the knot at his collar, the faint scent of sandalwood reached him—subtle, clean, familiar. His gaze drifted up, drawn helplessly to the boy's lowered face, the steady line of his jaw, the quiet devotion in every movement.
Without thinking, his fingers moved.
He caught Lianxiu's hand—warm, calloused, larger than his own. The touch startled the younger man; his eyes widened, a rush of color flooding his ears and cheeks.
"…Lianxiu," Xiuyuan said quietly. His voice trembled, not from weakness this time, but from something far deeper.
The name hung in the air—soft, forbidden, intimate.
Lianxiu's breath stilled. He had never heard Xiuyuan say his name like that before, bare of titles or distance. It felt like standing at the edge of something vast and unknown.
He lifted his gaze, meeting Xiuyuan's eyes. They were darker in the lamplight, wide and uncertain, but still carrying that same quiet gentleness that had always undone him.
"Shixiong…" he breathed, the word fragile as a confession.
Xiuyuan didn't speak again. He only held his hand a moment longer, his thumb brushing once across the back of Lianxiu's fingers.
The silence stretched thin — a silence so fragile that even the faint flutter of the paper screen felt loud against it.
Xiuyuan's fingers still held Lianxiu's hand, his touch light yet trembling. The younger man had gone very still, afraid that any movement might startle him.
Then he saw it — the faint shimmer at the corner of Xiuyuan's lashes.
At first, Lianxiu thought it was only the reflection of the lamp. But when the next breath came, soft and uneven, a tear slid down the older man's cheek — quick, soundless, glinting like a shard of glass in the candlelight.
Lianxiu's throat tightened. He wanted to speak, to ask, why are you crying, Shixiong?, but something in him knew — knew this wasn't a sorrow that needed questioning.So he stayed still.He only waited, his hand warm and steady beneath Xiuyuan's trembling fingers.
Xiuyuan blinked rapidly, embarrassed by his own tears. His lips curved upward, but the smile was too thin, too brittle."…You're doing too much for me," he said at last, his voice low and wavering. "So much that my heart aches now."
His words fell softly, but they struck Lianxiu like thunder.
The younger man swallowed hard. His heart was racing so fast that it hurt; his chest felt too tight, his breath too shallow. He didn't dare move, didn't dare interrupt — he only remained there, still holding Xiuyuan's hand, waiting for him to finish.
Xiuyuan's gaze dropped to their joined hands — the faint difference in size, the strength that had held him steady through the past few days. For a long moment, he said nothing. Then, as if gathering courage from the quiet itself, he looked up again.
His eyes were wet, luminous in the lamplight. "I wouldn't act ignorant," he whispered.
Lianxiu's breath caught. "Shixiong…?"
Xiuyuan's lips trembled once, and then he spoke — each word shaped carefully, as though it might break if said too fast.
"I have… long since fallen in love with you, Lianxiu."
The world seemed to stop.
The brazier's crackle dimmed to silence; the sound of the wind faded into nothing. Even the flame of the lamp stilled, trembling once and holding its breath with them.
Lianxiu froze. His eyes widened, disbelief and wonder colliding all at once. His pulse hammered so loudly he could hardly hear anything else.
He wanted to speak — to say what did you just—, to make sure he hadn't imagined it — but his throat had forgotten how to form words.
Xiuyuan, meanwhile, looked away almost at once, his face burning crimson. He bit his lower lip, a tremor still in his shoulders.
Xiuyuan looked up again, startled, and their gazes locked — one filled with fear, the other with devotion.
For the first time, Lianxiu saw not the calm, composed senior he had worshiped all these years, but a man — fragile, trembling, unbearably human.
He wanted to say something, anything — that his heart had belonged to him long before words were spoken, that he had loved him in every look, every lesson, every moment of shared silence — but the words wouldn't come.
So he only held that gaze, the room wrapped in breathless stillness, the moonlight pooling pale around their feet.