The carriage creaked gently as it rolled along the quiet forest path, far from the bustle of the capital.
No servants. No guards.
Just the two of them.
Yuan Sijun had said nothing when he approached Xiao Mo that morning with a packed satchel and a mischievous gleam in his eye.
"We're leaving the city," he said simply.
"Where?"
"Somewhere no one can follow."
And Xiao Mo had nodded—because some part of him had known they both needed it. Not escape, exactly. Just… space. To breathe. To be something other than weapons or targets or whispered scandals.
They reached the lake by late afternoon.
Hidden deep within General Yuan's old mountain estate, it was a place Sijun had come to as a boy, long before duty had carved steel into his spine.
There, the world slowed.
And for a day, they let it.
—
Xiao Mo stood barefoot in the shallow water, letting the cold nip at his toes. The breeze was soft, the scent of pine and rain in the air. Behind him, Sijun sat on the dock, sleeves rolled up, a quiet smile on his face.
"You look happy," Xiao Mo said.
"I'm watching you. Of course I'm happy."
Xiao Mo turned, eyes narrowed in mock suspicion. "You're not usually this shameless."
"I've been training. For you."
They both laughed. The kind of laughter that carried warmth to places long frozen.
When Xiao Mo came to sit beside him, their arms brushed, skin warm against skin.
"You ever wonder," Xiao Mo murmured, "if we're allowed this?"
"This?"
"This peace."
Sijun looked at him for a long moment. "I stopped wondering the day you chose to stay."
Xiao Mo flushed, gaze falling to their joined hands. "It scares me sometimes. How easy it is to want more."
Sijun leaned closer. "Then want more."
—
Later, they lit a fire by the lake and shared dried fruit and flatbread. Xiao Mo brought out a piece of parchment from his satchel.
"You're not writing scrolls again, are you?" Sijun teased.
"No. Stories," Xiao Mo said, smiling faintly. "From my other life. I forget things sometimes, and I don't want to lose the pieces that made me."
Sijun reached over and touched the edge of the page.
"Will I be in them?"
"You already are," Xiao Mo whispered.
—
That night, under a blanket of stars, they lay side by side on a mat of pine needles and thick silk. The canopy of leaves above them filtered the moonlight, casting silver over their faces.
Xiao Mo turned, cheek resting against Sijun's chest. "Did you know I've never shared a bed without fear before?"
Sijun ran his fingers through Xiao Mo's hair, slow and reverent. "You're safe now."
"Not just my body. My heart too."
A long pause.
Then, Sijun whispered, "It's the only thing I want to keep safe. Always."
Xiao Mo lifted his face, and their lips met—slow, unrushed, the kiss of two souls who had waited lifetimes to be held.
When they parted, Sijun touched his forehead to Xiao Mo's. "Say it."
"Say what?"
"That you're mine."
Xiao Mo hesitated—but only for a moment. "I'm yours."
And later, when they lay tangled in silk and warmth, hearts bare and bodies pressed close, it wasn't passion that lingered—but peace.
The kind you only find once you've survived everything else.
—
In the early dawn, just before they returned to the world that would not stop chasing them, Xiao Mo looked out at the lake and whispered, "Let me remember this."
And Sijun, pulling him close, said, "Then I'll give you a thousand more."