Poppy’s breath caught. “I—” She swallowed. “I don’t know.”
But she did.
She smoothed the last stroke of salve over his skin, and the wound began to glow faintly as the herbs took effect. She let her hands linger a moment too long, just a breath, just a second, and when she pulled back, Mingxi turned fully toward her.
She froze. They were close. Too close. Close enough she could see the gold flecks in his eyes. Close enough that her breath mingled with his. Close enough that if one of them leaned forward even half an inch—
His hand lifted, fingers brushing her jaw. Feather light. Barely a touch.
Poppy’s eyes fluttered shut. “Mingxi…” she whispered.
He leaned in, breath warm against her cheek… and stopped. A long, trembling pause. He rested his forehead against hers instead. Not a kiss, but so close it burned.
“You needed rest,” he whispered. “And healing. Not confusion.”
She opened her eyes slowly, meeting his. “Mingxi?”
She knew her voice was a fragile thing. He pulled back—not far, but enough.
“I can’t—” he said softly. “Not while you’re vulnerable. Not while I’m meant to protect you.”
Poppy’s throat tightened. “You’re protecting me right now.”
A rough exhale left him. “That’s the problem.”
He reached for his shirt—not putting it on yet, just holding it as if anchoring himself. Poppy wasn’t angry. She wasn’t even disappointed. She was… delighted. She felt alive. Because he wanted to kiss her. He had nearly kissed her, and he held back not from doubt but from care.
She rose slowly.
“When this is over,” she whispered, “and we’re both still standing… you won’t have to hold back.”
Mingxi’s heartbeat stilled, and then a soft, reverent smile touched his lips. “I’ll remember you said that.”
The world felt different that day. Maybe it was the clear sky. Maybe it was the hush of wind threading through the pines. Maybe it was the way the light seemed softer somehow, catching in Mingxi’s hair and turning the loose strands silver.
Or maybe it was just that Poppy was finally breathing again.
They walked side by side along a narrow cliff path, the scent of river spray drifting up from far below. Mingxi moved with disciplined precision, but she could see the faint stiffness in his shoulder and how the injury still pulled at him. Yet he didn’t complain, didn’t slow, didn’t let her worry show on his face.
And the strangest part? He looked… lighter. Not carefree. Not unworried. But lighter, as if the night before had stripped something heavy from him.
They didn’t talk much. They didn’t need to. Their silence was warm, companionable, threaded with all the words they weren’t saying.
At one point, the path narrowed to a jutting stone ledge. Poppy hesitated, eyeing the drop. Mingxi extended a hand—not commanding, not guiding, just offering. She placed her hand in his. He lifted her down from the ledge, hands firm at her waist. The moment her feet touched the ground, she expected him to let go.
He didn’t.
For a breath, they simply stood there, pressed close enough that she could feel the rise and fall of his chest against hers. His eyes lowered to her mouth, and Poppy’s heart nearly gave out. Because she remembered the soft ghost of his lips the night before. Remembered the warmth of him. And gods, she wanted more.
All day, she caught herself stealing glances at him—his mouth, the sharp line of his jaw, the curve of his throat when he swallowed. She wondered if the small taste she’d had of him would ever be enough. She doubted it.
Mingxi pretended not to notice, but she could tell that he absolutely noticed. He kept glancing back at her, as if checking she was still there, still safe, still breathing. Each glance unraveled her a little more.
Near midday, they paused at a trickling spring. Mingxi knelt to refill their flasks, and when he stood, she saw the wince he didn’t quite hide.
“Shoulder?” she asked softly.
He exhaled. “It’s manageable.”
