Chapter Text
"Hold still", he muttered under his breath as his fingers nimbly worked on the dressings on my forearm - the same ones he had bandaged, reopened, cleaned and kissed every time. This time, the 17th to be precise, would be no different.
I've stayed in his little inn for just a little short of three weeks. He found me wounded on the streets of the Xianzhou Luofu's main market. That was probably peculiar in wherever he came from, because every other native had just walked past me as if I were a lamppost.
And now here I am. On a little bed in his little homestay, my little frame treated by his large one.
There's so many things I don't know about him, but that goes both ways. What I do know is, I absolutely love the way he tends to me so attentively. The way he looks at me like I'm the most precious thing he's ever set eyes on.
I wince as he applies the antiseptic, snapping me out of my daydream. He too flinches as a subtle hiss escapes my lips.
"I'm sorry", he mutters. I shake my head dismissively.
He carefully works on my injuries. And I use the time to think.
What I know about him: he's a foreign merchant, or so he claims. He finds inns or hotels to stay in for a few weeks at every stop he makes.
The foreign part is for sure though. No one dresses like him on the Xianzhou. His long white robe, accentuated by subtle gold accessories and hints of teal here and there, perfectly complimenting his long blond locks. The gold pendant bunching up his long hair by his waist. His black gloves - which I don't think I've ever seen him take off - and black knee-high boots.
His matcha green eyes. Those perfect, green orbs...
"Something on your mind?", he interjects with a playful smile. It seems I'm worse at this than I thought. And now I'm blushing. Goddamn.
I shake my head, lowering my gaze. Lips pursed.
"No. Nothing at all."
I feel the soft leather beneath my chin, the gentlest force pushing it up just enough for me to look into those perfect eyes again. And I blush harder.
"There's no shame in admitting you were admiring me", he says, almost teasingly. "I do that sometimes too."
This man will be the death of me.
I hum under my breath. "Then maybe I was."
There's that smile again. It was more of an anecdote to my pain than the medication he administered to me was.
"Maybe? Good enough."
He continues cleaning my open wound, as he had done for the past three weeks. The opening slowly woven itself back together, currently a bit short of half of its original length.
It would have probably sealed up completely if he had stitched it up, but I don't have complaints about him insisting on letting it heal itself. In fact, I probably prefer it this way.
"I apologise, this might hurt", he said as he inspected my wound prior to bringing me into the comfort of his temporary home.
To be honest, 'hurt' was an understatement. It was excruciating. I had an open wound so massive you'd think I was slain by an axe (which wasn't entirely false), and although he'd only cleaned it with clean water, my insides felt like they were boiling.
The water streamed in, and my nails sank into his shoulder as I clenched my eyes shut. He only let out a slight laugh.
"I can't stitch you up, I didn't bring any sutures with me this time around. I think I'll have to take care of you until that closes itself", he tuts. "Where do you live?"
I shake my head. He raised an eyebrow. So I told him I don't have a home. He nodded.
"What's your name?", he asked.
Rose, I answered. That's not my name.
I asked him the same. Luocha, he answered. I let his name roll off my tongue. It felt odd. But in a good way, if I remember correctly.
He finished cleaning up my wound after what seemed like an eternity, smiling contentedly as he leaned back to get a better look at it. "Done", he hums.
The sight of the clean bandage on my arm was oddly comforting. It felt good to be cared for once in a while.
The velvety caress of his leather coated fingers were replaced by the soft touch of his lips against the back of my hand.
And today was no different.
I grin as he lifts my hand to his lips, pressing a soft kiss to my knuckles as he does every time. A silent giggle escapes my lips, shaking my head.
"You love doing that so much", I jeer.
"You never get tired of it."
I grin playfully. "Keep doing it."
He can't help the chuckle that escapes his lips. And I love knowing that I'm the one who made him feel that way.
He stands and tucks me into bed. He presses his gloved palm against my forehead as I lay back, pushing my black hair away from my eyes.
"Gladly."
I flash him a smile as he stands again, slowly putting more distance between us.
"Good night", I whisper.
"Good night."
He nods and turns, closing the lights as he leaves the little room.
The lights close, and my thoughts stir once again.
What I know about him: he's gentle. Whoever he is, he obviously has no intent to hurt me. If anything, the complete opposite. He's been nursing me to health for about a month now. If he had ill intent, he would have done something to me ages ago.
But enough about him.
What he doesn't know about me: This is all a part of my plan. And he's acting just as I had orchestrated in my head.