you tell yourself it’s just because the room is cold.
that’s the reason you’re sitting here, tucked into jinshi’s lap like it’s the most natural thing in the world — even though your entire body is too aware of every breath, every heartbeat, every inch of space between you that isn’t really there.
the brazier flickers softly in the corner, casting small shadows across the silk curtains. outside, the courtyard is quiet. too quiet. everyone else has retired for the night, leaving only the soft hum of winter air pressing against the paper screens.
you don’t mean to fidget, but you do. his hands are warm against your waist — steady, careful, like he’s afraid you’ll vanish if he moves too suddenly.
“you’re tense,” he says quietly, his voice smooth but low, as if the sound itself might startle you.
you hum in response, not trusting your voice yet.
“i’m not used to… this,” you finally mutter.
“to what?” he asks, tone light, teasing, though there’s something softer in the way he says it.
you glance at him over your shoulder — the faint smile tugging at the corner of his mouth, the way his golden eyes are half-lidded but impossibly attentive.
“to… sitting like this,” you say, cheeks burning.
jinshi chuckles — a quiet, warm sound that vibrates against your back.
“you make it sound scandalous,” he murmurs. “we’re only sitting.”
“your definition of only might need revision,” you say, crossing your arms.
his laughter grows, soft and genuine now. “you’re adorable when you’re flustered.”
“i’m not—” you start, but the protest dies halfway through because he’s leaned in, just a little, enough that his breath brushes the side of your neck.
you go still. completely, absurdly still.
you can feel the smugness in his voice and it makes you want to elbow him — but his hands tighten slightly on your waist, grounding you.
“jinshi,” you warn, but it comes out quieter than you mean it to.
he hums in response, tracing small, absent circles against the fabric of your sleeve. “mm?”
he doesn’t answer immediately. just rests his chin on your shoulder, his hair tickling your cheek, his breath a little too close to your skin.
the silence stretches — comfortable, then charged, then comfortable again.
you can feel his heartbeat through the layers of silk and cloth, steady and rhythmic. it shouldn’t matter. you’ve patched up countless people, studied anatomy and pulse and breath — but somehow, this feels different.
too personal. too quiet. too real.
“you should go rest,” you murmur after a while, though your voice sounds less certain than usual.
“and leave you here?” he says, as if that’s unthinkable.
“i’m not going anywhere,” you reply, but your words betray you, because you make no move to stand.
jinshi smiles again — you can hear it in his tone even without looking.
“good,” he says softly.
the brazier pops, a tiny spark breaking the silence, and his thumb brushes against your knuckles.
you don’t mean to relax into him, but you do. slowly, your shoulders lose their tension, and your head tips back just slightly until it rests against his chest.
“see?” he says, barely a whisper now. “not so bad.”
you sigh, the sound half a huff, half a surrender.
“you’re too comfortable with this.”
“and you’re not comfortable enough,” he replies gently.
you open your mouth to argue — something about propriety, about appearances, about how someone of his standing shouldn’t be so casual with someone like you — but the words never come.
because right now, there’s no court, no duties, no roles.
just the warmth of his arms, the faint scent of chrysanthemum tea, and the steady rhythm of his heartbeat against your back.
“you’re thinking too much again,” he says after a while.
you make a small sound of protest. “it’s a habit.”
“a bad one,” he says, smiling. “you don’t always have to analyze everything.”
“someone has to,” you mutter.
“and it always has to be you?”
he laughs softly, and the sound feels like sunlight.
“then, just this once, let me think for you.”
“you?” you say, tilting your head back enough to meet his gaze.
you stare at each other for a long moment. his eyes are softer than you’ve ever seen them — still bright, still unreadable, but warmer.
his smile falters into something quieter, something that looks a lot like tenderness.
“fine?”
for a few breaths, neither of you moves. the air feels heavy — not suffocating, but full, like there’s too much emotion packed into the small space between you.
then he shifts slightly, his forehead brushing the top of your head.
“thank you,” he says.
you frown, confused. “for what?”
“for letting me stay,” he murmurs. “like this.”
you should say something — something sarcastic, maybe, to break the softness settling in your chest — but the words won’t come.
instead, you let yourself sink against him just a little more.
“don’t make a habit of it,” you mumble.
he smiles against your hair. “no promises.”
and for once, you let the silence linger.
the brazier crackles softly. the moonlight filters pale and gentle through the paper screen. and somewhere in the quiet warmth of the night, you decide not to move — not just yet
![Early Sunsets Over Monroeville [ Live Halloween 2003]](https://64.media.tumblr.com/tumblr_lzvz966ZP31qbjxi3o1_1330068738_cover.jpg)
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