Chapter Text
He could change the dressing himself by now—Maomao had pointed this fact out several times, her lips pressed together with disapproval. But Jinshi would demure, insist upon his inadequacy in the face of her superior medical knowledge, then refuse to let her leave until she assured him she would return in a few days. The beginning of their dance.
The idiotic ritual she had forced upon them, its guise wearing thinner with use.
Tonight, her eyes were on the bandage as she undid the knot that bound the cloth to his healing wound, her hands nimble and steady. But her mind was fixated and would not rest. She frowned, and an anger she had fought to keep from surfacing bubbled through her defenses and warmed her cheeks.
Was she angry at him, for being so childish? Or—more likely—angry at herself, for indulging him? Not like she had a choice, of course. The extreme caution she took when minimizing his discomfort and scarring was obviously due to his lineage, the Imperial blood that ran through his veins. The idea that it could be for any other reason was simply…
“Ridiculous,” she breathed, as she unveiled the rapidly healing brand on his torso and discarded the soiled cloth. His eyes, always on hers, widened with interest.
“Something on your mind?” Jinshi inquired, the faintest of smiles dancing at the edge of his lips. She felt the line between her brows deepen as her face grew warmer. Most patients would immediately worry that something was wrong, but his blithe attitude was a clear indication: he knew the wound was in no need of immediate or skilled treatment.
And this is why, she thought viciously, as she ignored him and opened the salve, he could change this dressing without my help. The cream was cool to the touch, a welcome contrast to the stagnant heat of the Western capital, and she relished the feel of it on her fingers for a moment before applying the salve to his raised, scarred skin. Concise, circular motions followed along the edges of the brand and worked their way inward, until the pads of her fingers rested for a fleeting moment at the center.
Except this time, their mostly useless task complete, they paused. Her gaze flickered to his face—a dangerous prospect for most, but she had long been immune to its wiles—and scowled when their eyes met. He shifted his position on the bed in response and suddenly, her hand was palming his abdomen instead of carefully handling his branded side. She immediately pulled away with a hiss.
So that’s what this was about. Her frustration dissolved into pity.
Yes—it was pity, she told herself, pity that froze her in place, that made her wonder if she should fill the space between them with words she’d meant to say ever since the last time they’d visited this land together.
If it’s touch you’re longing for, you need only say the word and a line of lovesick fools would circle the grounds. Men and women alike, fighting each other for the chance to brush their hands along the hard planes of your body. Whether for his beauty, his proximity to absolute power, or both, hungry eyes followed the Moon Prince everywhere.
She clenched her hand into a fist, ignoring the tremor in her fingers. The leftover salve on the pads of her fingertips rubbed against her palm. But he made no attempt to reach out to her—in fact, he looked quite content to stay perfectly still.
How can this be enough? Surely you know you deserve more than this.
The patience in his gaze was affectionate, and it unnerved her. She swallowed the lump in her throat and averted her eyes.
Surely you can see what you desire, I lack.
“What the hell,” she finally muttered. He closed his eyes with a pleased sigh.
“I apologize if I startled you,” he said a moment later, not sounding sorry at all. “I was sitting at my desk all day, so my back is a little stiff. I simply needed to adjust my position.”
Maomao was aghast to realize that her heart was beating loudly in her ears, that the unease began to radiate from her stomach and into her limbs. Her mouth became a taut line as she pressed her lips together until they were bloodless.
“Then I will finish with your dressing as quickly as I can so you can have a good night’s rest, Master Jinshi,” she replied brusquely. She placed a clean, folded cloth on his scar and bit back a sly smile as he stammered in protest.
“No, I meant to say—that is, it’s not so bad, I…”
“Please sit up, sir. I need to wrap fresh bandages around you again to keep the dressing in place.”
Jinshi sighed, dejected and defeated, then complied with a pout as he raised his arms. She made quick work of circling his torso several times with a long strip of bandage before tying the two loose ends together.
And it was absolutely a coincidence that her fingers traced the skin along the bottom of his bandage, just below his navel, as she pulled away. How careless of her.
How merciful. Perhaps even selfish.
“The treatment is complete, sir. You may put your robe back on.” She stepped away, hands hidden in her sleeves as she bowed.
“Maomao, you—" His voice was full of awe, and she looked up from her bow to see his elegant features covered with a lovely blush.
How dangerous that look is. She would always follow the first thought with a second: It is fortunate that I am the only one to see this side of him, since I am utterly immune to it.
The fluttering in her traitorous belly became more pronounced, and she cursed. This visit had gone on too long and revealed too much. A timely escape was in order.
“It is late, and I must get going if there is nothing else you need.” Her eyes fixed on the floor again as she took a step back, then another. He rose from the bed, his movement much too quick for a sore patient with a stiff back, but she refused to look up.
A prolonged silence descended, but she could feel his eyes on her, studying her.
“I don’t need anything else,” he said, his voice low and gentle. “Just this much is enough for now.”
She bristled, her fingernails digging into her palms, then finally peeked at him over her sleeves as she rose from her bow. He was shrugging the nightclothes he wore over his shoulders and adjusting the fit, his eyes and his attention on his sash.
He would fool most with how carelessly he was dismissing her, but Maomao was just as excellent of a study. She watched him clench and unclench his jaw with a fondness she knew was indulgent.
“I see.”
Her response was softer than her usual delivery. He was wearing her down, damn him; a smile grew on his face at her words. She grimaced, and his infuriating smile grew even wider. Insufferable. “Then I suppose you have no more need of further treatment from me, Master Jinshi. I will let Suiren know on the way out.”
When he turned to her with dismay, his eyes panicked, she almost chuckled. “I said for now. For now, not forever!”
“Of course, sir. My mistake.” The pout on his face made her smug as she placed her hand on the door to let herself out. “Good night.”
“See you in a few days, Apothecary,” he replied, petulant. She almost rolled her eyes.
You can do this on your own, you know. The words hung in the air in front of her, waiting to be said.
She sighed in defeat and turned away instead. “Good night, Master Jinshi,” she repeated, as she opened the door and stepped through the frame.
“Good night.” He was smiling again, she could hear it in his voice.
She closed the door behind her with a soft clap, but her fingers lingered a moment on the other side before letting go. It was late, after all, and she was merely dampening the sound.