Chapter Text
The soft rustle of leaves outside the window filled the quiet room, a gentle breeze carrying the faint scent of wildflowers through the open panes. It was peaceful here—an oasis far from the chaos and noise of the Xianzhou Luofu. A modest home, tucked away in the heart of Yaoqing, had become their sanctuary. Yet, even within the stillness of the morning light, tension simmered between the trio seated around the dining table.
“I don’t need a babysitter,” Jiaoqiu huffed, arms crossed, as he leaned back against his chair. His long, pale salmon hair spilled over his shoulders, and a soft cascade of silk shimmered in the light filtering through the window.
Feixiao’s gaze flickered to Moze, her teal eyes glinting with amusement. “He doesn’t need a babysitter,” she repeated, clearly teasing.
Moze raised his brow slightly, his expression as impassive as always.
“You’re blind,” he stated flatly.
Jiaoqiu’s ears twitched, and he let out a soft scoff, crossing his arms tighter. “And I’m a doctor. I know what’s good or bad for me.”
Feixiao chuckled, a low, musical sound. She shifted from where she leaned against the kitchen counter, her tall, lithe frame casting long shadows in the morning light. “Sure you do,” she quipped, walking over to the table with a knowing smirk. “Because clearly, taking care of yourself has worked out so well.”
Jiaoqiu’s lips twitched into a brief smile before fading into an annoyed pout. “I can handle it.”
“Really?” Feixiao pressed, her tone teasing. She circled to stand behind Jiaoqiu, placing her hands on his shoulders. “So, when you tripped over the garden rake last night—what was that? You ‘handling it’?”
Jiaoqiu’s ears flattened against his head in mild embarrassment. “That… was an unfortunate coincidence,” he muttered. “It won’t happen again.”
Moze, standing quietly near the window, cast a glance in Jiaoqiu’s direction. His violet eyes remained calm, though a glimmer of dry amusement flickered within them. “You also knocked over three bowls in the kitchen,” he pointed out, the faintest trace of a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips.
Jiaoqiu shot him a glare, or at least, the approximation of one, given his current condition. “You could’ve warned me about those!”
“I assumed a doctor with your reputation could hear where they were,” Moze replied, deadpan, though the teasing undertone was unmistakable.
Feixiao’s laugh filled the room, a warm sound that made Jiaoqiu’s tail flick with both annoyance and affection. “I swear, you two enjoy ganging up on me,” Jiaoqiu muttered, his fingers absentmindedly toying with the table's edge.
“We’re not ganging up on you,” Feixiao soothed, her hands now gently massaging his shoulders. “We just... worry, that’s all.”
Jiaoqiu sighed, the tension in his frame slowly unwinding under her touch. “I’m not a fragile flower,” he murmured, his voice softer now. “I can still function. I just need time to adjust.”
Feixiao’s hands paused for a moment before she leaned down, her breath warm against his ear. “We know you’re not fragile, Jiaoqiu,” she whispered, her tone gentler. “But it doesn’t mean you need to face this alone.”
Jiaoqiu’s ears twitched at the endearment, his usual bravado faltering just slightly. He didn’t respond immediately, instead letting Feixiao’s words hang in the air like a soft promise.
Moze, having watched the interaction in his usual quiet way, finally spoke. “We’re here,” he said simply. “That’s not going to change.”
There was no room for argument in Moze’s voice—only quiet certainty. Jiaoqiu knew better than to try and argue with him when he used that tone, but that didn’t stop him from trying one last time.
“Fine,” Jiaoqiu relented, leaning back into his chair with a dramatic sigh. “But I still think you’re overreacting.”
“We’re not,” Feixiao quipped, straightening up and returning to her spot by the counter. “We just know you, Jiaoqiu. Stubborn, brilliant, and a little reckless.”
“And you love me for it,” Jiaoqiu shot back, his lips curling into a playful smirk.
Moze tilted his head, giving Jiaoqiu a pointed look. “We tolerate it.”
Jiaoqiu snorted. “Sure, you do.”
...
The sound of footsteps echoed faintly as Feixiao led Jiaoqiu through the kitchen for the fourth time that week. Her touch was firm but gentle, guiding his hands over the surfaces, letting him feel the edges of the counter, the cool metal of the stove, and the smooth wood of the cabinets that lined the walls. The kitchen, once a place of comfort and creativity, now felt unfamiliar to Jiaoqiu, the once welcoming space shrouded in darkness.
Putting his hand on the handle, Feixiao whispered, "This is the knife drawer." Her voice, always strong, now carried a rare softness, as though she were afraid to disturb the fragile balance they had been trying to create. “I’ve arranged them all in order. You’ll want to remember this spot.”
Jiaoqiu let out a soft snort, though the amusement in the sound was tinged with something heavier. His fox-like ears flicked in mild frustration. “You think I’m going to start chopping vegetables by feel?”
“You used to love cooking,” Feixiao replied, her tone light and teasing, but the undercurrent of concern didn’t escape him. “I don’t see why that should change.”
A pause settled between them, and Jiaoqiu’s hand lingered on the drawer’s handle. He used to find solace in the rhythm of cooking, the precise motions, and the way each ingredient told a story when prepared with care. But now, the thought of navigating a blade without the guidance of his sharp eyesight sent a wave of doubt crashing over him. It was a reminder of what he had lost—a part of himself that felt severed, like a thread left hanging without a way to tie it back together.
His hand trembled, just for a moment, before he pulled it away from the drawer. He tried to mask the hesitation in his voice, but it slipped through. "General, I am blind," he said, his voice growing hushed now, the vulnerability showing through despite his attempts to sound indifferent. “It’s not the same.”
Feixiao’s hand remained on his, her grip steady, reassuring. “No,” she agreed softly, “it’s not the same.” Moving closer, she lowered her voice to a more personal tone that she hardly ever used when they were not alone like this. “But it doesn’t mean you have to stop doing the things you love.”
Jiaoqiu’s heart ached at her words. He wanted to believe her, wanted to hold on to the hope that things could still be good, even if they were different. But doubt gnawed at him, the weight of his blindness a constant reminder that the world he once knew had changed in ways he couldn’t reverse.
Behind them, the faint creak of the wooden floor signaled Moze’s presence. He stood by the doorway, arms crossed, his posture as unshakable as ever. Though silent, his watchful eyes followed Jiaoqiu’s every move, a protective presence that filled the space without words. Moze never spoke unless he had something important to say, and even then, his words were few, but they always carried weight.
Jiaoqiu could feel his frustration mounting—the lack of control over his own life, the constant adjustments, the way they all hovered as if he were about to break. He hated it. It wasn’t the concern itself that bothered him, but the reminder that he was no longer the man who could move effortlessly through the world, guiding others with confidence.
He moved away from the counter, his movements sharp, betraying his frustration. "I don't need you doing everything for me," Jiaoqiu snapped, turning in the general direction of where Moze stood. His voice, though measured, carried an edge, frustration bleeding through in ways he couldn't stop.
Moze’s response was immediate yet calm, his tone even and without judgment. “I know,” he said, his deep voice steady as a rock. “But I’ll be here. Just in case.”
There was no pity in Moze’s voice, only a quiet certainty that was so characteristic of him. It was never about coddling Jiaoqiu—Moze knew better than to try that. His offer was simple, pragmatic, and devoid of any implication that Jiaoqiu was weak or helpless. It was just... Moze being Moze. Always there, solid and unwavering, even when Jiaoqiu was at his most volatile.
Jiaoqiu paused, his ears twitching at the simplicity of Moze’s words. He wanted to snap back, to tell Moze he didn’t need his help and that he could still manage on his own. But the truth was, he didn’t mind Moze being there—didn’t mind the quiet presence that had become a part of his life in ways he never expected. Moze wasn’t like the others, always fussing or overly concerned. He just… was. And sometimes, that was enough.
Feixiao watched them both, her sharp eyes flicking between Jiaoqiu and Moze. She knew better than anyone how much Jiaoqiu struggled with his pride—how much he hated feeling dependent. But she also knew that Moze’s quiet support was something he wouldn’t reject, even if he wouldn’t admit it out loud.
“You don’t have to do this alone,” Feixiao added, her voice soft as she stepped closer again. "Your freedom is not what we are here to take away. We’re here to make sure you don’t have to shoulder everything by yourself.”
Jiaoqiu let out a slow breath, the tension easing from his frame, though not completely. He still felt the weight of his blindness, the loss of something he had taken for granted every day of his life. But in the midst of that, there was a small comfort in knowing that he wasn’t alone in this struggle. He didn’t have to pretend to be invincible, not with them.
“Fine,” he muttered, though the resistance in his voice was more for show now than anything else. His shoulders relaxed, just slightly, as he leaned back against the counter, allowing himself a moment of quiet surrender. “But don’t think this means I’ll let you two fuss over me all the time.”
Feixiao grinned, her teal eyes sparkling with mischief. “Oh, we wouldn’t dream of it,” she teased, though the warmth in her voice betrayed how much she cared.
As usual, Moze said nothing, but his mere presence conveyed a lot. For now, it was enough that he was there, unwavering and steady, and there was no need for him to say anything more.