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The room was quiet.
The only sound was the soft rustle of robes and the faint rhythm of two hearts—once clashing, now beating slowly in sync.
They lay side by side on the bed. Neither spoke for a long time.
No more fury.
No more heat.
Just quiet.
The Prince's hand rested between them, open but not reaching. Shèng Lín was turned slightly toward him, eyes on the ceiling, afraid to look but unable to look away for long.
"…You kissed me first," the shèng lín whispered.
Prince lips twitched. "You poisoned me first."
A faint laugh—half bitter, half sad—escaped the Prince's throat.
> "You're still arrogant."
> "You're still dramatic."
They fell silent again.
The fire in the corner crackled low, its warmth not quite reaching the tension in the air.
"…Why did you really do it?" the Prince asked at last.
Shèng Lín closed his eyes. "Because I was raised to believe that a prince's life is a thread that can be cut to keep empires in place. I was told you were cruel. Selfish. Dangerous."
The Prince stayed still.
Shèng Lín continued, voice trembling:
> "But the man I met—he asked if I loved someone. He looked into my eyes. He shared his tent. His food. His thoughts. He got drunk and called me handsome."
> "He made me forget I had a blade hidden behind my breath."
> "He made me want to be known."
The Prince blinked, chest tight.
> "…You lied to me."
> "I know."
> "You made me trust you."
> "I know."
> "You kissed me."
Shèng Lín turned his head to him now, their faces just inches apart.
> "And I never stopped thinking about it."
The Prince didn't respond right away. He stared at the man beside him—his knight, his traitor, his stranger, his match.
> "I hated waking up alone."
> "I hated waking up at all."
Those words were quiet, but they cracked something.
Their fingers brushed—just barely. Neither moved away.
After another silence, the Prince said:
> "You could've run forever. Why come back?"
Shèng Lín let out a soft exhale.
> "Because I didn't want to be remembered as your failure."
> "I wanted to be forgiven. Even if I don't deserve it."
A long moment passed.
And then—
> "i'll sleep here tonight," the Prince said softly. "But tomorrow… I don't know."
> "Tomorrow's enough," Shèng Lín whispered.
They didn't touch again.
But by the time sleep took them, their hands had found each other beneath the blanket—fingers intertwined in the dark, saying all the things their hearts still didn't know how to speak.
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