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Incense coils rose from a chipped sandalwood burner, weaving into the damp breeze that seeped through the cracks and carried the clean, loamy tang of rain-soaked earth. Every surface in the inn—scarred floorboards, gouged windowsills, the scarlet-streaked plaster—seemed to hum with age. The beams overhead groaned and sighed, wood fibers shifting as the gale lashed the panes, rattling them against their frames. Beyond the battered shutters, the wind screamed its fury; inside, the only movement came from drifting shadows and a silvery spill of moonlight that peeked beyond the storm. Thin ribbons of pale illumination snaked through the curtain, scattering across the uneven floor. There, a porcelain teacup lay forgotten on a low table, its rim flickering with every shimmer of light, while the frayed edge of the blanket on the narrow bed glowed faintly, as if caught between memory and dream.
In a corner, Xiao curled into a sagging armchair upholstered in threadbare velvet. His shoulders curled forward, spine rounded like a question, as if he were bracing against some unseen weight. His fingers gripped each other so fiercely the joints chalked white, and his jaw tensed and released in a slow, mechanical rhythm—an echo of turmoil pulsing beneath his skin. Half-hidden by shadow, the wedding band on his left hand caught a sliver of moonbeam, flashing a cold promise before his fingers trembled and the gleam vanished.
A sudden whisper—a soft swish of blankets—made him stiffen, though he refused to turn. Then came the hush of bare feet padding across creaking planks and the quiet rustle of silk sliding over skin. He counted each step: one—sharp yet muted; two—closer, warmer; three—breath caught in his throat; four—heat pooling behind him. A fingertip brushed the top arm of his chair, so light it might have been a breath. The contact sent a tremor up his spine.
Xiao’s head lifted slowly. There, framed in the wavering lamplight, stood Lumine. Her eyes, heavy-lidded and gentle, held a quiet understanding that seemed to press against his chest, easing the tight coil of his chest. A single strand of her golden hair had slipped free, arching across her cheek and gleaming like a molten thread in the lamp’s glow. No words passed between them—only the tender hush in her gaze, offering him a fragile lifeline in the hush of their room.
“Hey, I wish you could see yourself
Just sitting there on my chair
I’m staring at you, you don’t even notice”
Lumine folded her knees and eased herself down until her shoulder hovered level with his thigh. She let her elbows rest on the chair’s carved armrest, her fingertips grazing the lacquered wood beneath them. A damp, mossy scent of rain and wet stone drifted in through the open window, mingling with the resinous tang of aged cedar.
She leaned forward, watching the rise and fall of his collarbone beneath his linen tunic. His long lashes fluttered against his skin, and she felt the quick twitch of his eyelid as though it were a secret pulse beneath his calm mask. “Xiao.” Her voice dropped to the hush of silk sliding over skin. In that single syllable, she could hear the scrape of her own heartbeat.
Beneath her gaze, his knuckles whitened as he gripped the armrest tighter. Outside, lingering raindrops tapped an uneven staccato on the sill, each one a tiny drum echoing through the stillness. His shoulders drew inward, forearms pressing against his thighs, and a lone muscle in his jaw flickered.
She slid closer, the hem of her tunic brushing his sleeve. Their shoulders touched lightly—just enough for warmth to transfer—while her gaze held his. He swallowed, and the moment his breath broke into a slow exhale, a loose strand of her hair lifted in the breeze.
The rigid plane of his back softened; vertebrae seemed to settle in sequence, like stones shifting in a riverbed. Finally, his eyes flicked toward her, meeting the calm, patient glow of hers.
There was no judgment there. No expectation. Just… her.
Lumine moved ever so gently and kept her hands folded in her lap, fingertips tapping the wooden floor. She said nothing. His chest shuddered, a release that rattled the air between them. Then, finger by finger, his grip slackened: the first knuckle, then the second, until his palm lay open on the armrest, petals unfurling at dawn.
“Shoulda told you straight away
You don’t have to be afraid, anymore”
The wind whistled through the half-open window, bringing with it droplets that speckled the wooden sill. Pine needles tapped against the glass. Rain pattered against leaves outside, tick-tick-tick , then pause, tick-tick , like an unsteady clock.
Xiao's shoulder hovered a breath away from Lumine's. He shifted his weight—just the smallest adjustment of his spine, the barest tilt of his frame. His pulse quickened as the fabric of his sleeve brushed against hers. Lumine's fingers found his, cool and slender, sliding between the spaces of his own with practiced ease. His hand stopped trembling.
His lungs expanded fully for the first time in hours. The tightness between his shoulder blades uncoiled, vertebra by vertebra. The muscles in his jaw unclenched.
Her hair tickled the side of his neck as she moved up—slowly and rested her head in the hollow of his shoulder. The scent of jasmine rose from her skin. His eyelids grew heavy, the day's sharp edges blurring at their corners. The lantern flame across the room seemed to slow its dance, stretching each flicker into golden ribbons.
Xiao's breath synchronized with hers—in for four counts, out for four. The knot that had been lodged beneath his sternum since sunrise finally untangled itself, thread by thread.
“That I won’t let you go
Put your arms around me and I’ll let you know
How it feels when time goes slow”
Lumine’s fingers closed ever so slightly around his, a silent invitation. She rose to her feet giving his hand a gentle tug.
Xiao's feet stayed rooted to the floorboards. His gaze dropped to where their hands connected—hers steady, his pale. When he looked up, lamplight caught the golden flecks in her eyes. His legs moved before he'd decided to stand.
The wooden boards creaked softly as she led him a step into the open space between the bed and the window. She didn’t speak, and neither did he. Instead, she placed his hand against her waist and rested the other over his own chest, where his heartbeat hammered against his ribs.
Their motion began as a gentle sway, an unvoiced rhythm inspired by the soft patter of rain against the window and the synchronized rise and fall of their chests. Her silk robe brushed lightly against his legs with each delicate movement, creating a whisper of fabric. Her hair, scented faintly with jasmine and something distinctly her, softly tickled his neck as she nestled in closer.
A knot formed in Xiao's throat. Like holding a soap bubble between cupped palms, he feared any sudden movement might destroy what hung between them. Yet as he finally released his breath, the tension in his shoulders eased, following the rhythm she had set. Against the curve of her back, his fingertips quivered but remained steady, anchored to her warmth.
The world outside ceased to exist. In this moment, there was only her warmth, the muted hum of the night, and the way his heart finally slowed to match the gentle rhythm she set.
“And I won’t let it rush when I see you dance
And the moment comes when I fall and time goes slow”
The sway of their bodies slowed until they were almost still, her head resting just beneath his chin. Xiao closed his eyes, letting the warmth of her presence sink into him like sunlight on frost. His hand lingered at her waist, unsure, but she didn’t let go. She never let go.
The faint rhythm of the rain tapped against the roof and trickled down the windowpane, a lullaby to the quiet inside him. He inhaled deeply—her scent, soft and familiar, like warm linen and wildflowers—and felt something in his chest unlock.
She shifted, arms circling his back with a firmness that made his throat tighten. His own arms moved almost of their own accord, wrapping around her fully this time, holding her as if anchoring himself to the only thing that felt real in the moment.
For so long, he had carried the fear that if he leaned too heavily on someone, he’d break them. Or worse, they’d let him fall. But Lumine held him like she had always been waiting for him to choose her—like she would never let him hit the ground.
The room was quiet except for the sound of rain and the soft beat of two hearts in sync. The world could have ended outside those walls, and he wouldn’t have noticed.
In the safety of her arms, Xiao let go.
“I fall into you
I fall into you”
Their dance slowed to stillness, bodies pressed close in the quiet. For a while, neither of them moved—just breathing, listening to the patter of rain and the muted creak of the inn settling in the wind.
Lumine gently steered him back to the bed, moving slowly and carefully, as if she feared disrupting the delicate peace. Xiao followed her lead, his fingertips grazing hers, unwilling to release his hold even for a moment.
They sat together on the edge of the mattress. The lanternlight had burned low, leaving the room in a wash of silver—soft amber. Lumine turned toward him, tucking a stray strand of hair behind his ear. Her fingers lingered there, brushing the line of his jaw, and he felt heat creep up his neck at the simple, unguarded affection in her eyes.
She smiled—not her bright, teasing grin, but the small, quiet kind that felt like it belonged only to him. It was soft enough to make his chest ache.
“...What?” he murmured, unused to being looked at like that.
“Nothing,” she whispered, shaking her head. “Just… you.”
The confession hung in the air between them, and Xiao found himself wordless—any response he might offer feeling inadequate against the weight of her truth. When she tugged gently at his sleeve, he followed without resistance, allowing himself to sink down until his head rested in her lap. The first tentative stroke of her fingers through his hair sent a shiver down his spine, then another, slower this time, steadier.
Something inside him quieted. Here, with rain tapping against the windows and her warmth beneath him, Xiao finally stopped feeling like an intruder in his own skin.
“Hey, I wish I could show you more
’Cause baby, you deserve some more
But still you’re here and that’s what I adore”
The rain had softened to a faint drizzle, its rhythm steady and hypnotic against the window. Xiao lay with his head in Lumine’s lap, feeling the slow rise and fall of her breathing, the warmth of her hand tracing idle patterns along his temple.
He wanted to say something. Anything. The words formed and dissolved in the back of his throat, heavy with meaning he couldn’t quite untangle.
Thank you.
I’m afraid.
Don’t let me go.
Instead, he remained silent, eyes half-closed, staring at the way the lamplight caught on the curve of her knee beneath the fabric of her robe. She was so close, so present, and yet he felt the vast ocean of everything he had never learned to give stretching out inside him.
Lumine remained silent, yet her understanding spoke through her touch—fingers slowing their rhythm, thumb grazing his hairline with gentle certainty. Patience had always been her gift to him; she deciphered the language of his silence, shouldered burdens he'd believed no one else could carry.
His chest ached—not with the sharp pain of loneliness, but the tender ache of wanting to give more than he knew how.
A low murmur escaped him before he realized he’d spoken. “I…”
Her eyes met his, warm and steady, waiting.
But the rest of the thought caught in his throat. He let it hang in the quiet between them, trusting that she understood anyway.
“Should’ve told you straight away
Everything I had to say
But I’m afraid and I know you would’ve noticed
You’ll know, you’ll know”
Lumine's hand slid from his hair to cradle his cheek, her thumb softly caressing his skin. Her touch radiated warmth, melting away the lingering coldness in the hidden corners of his heart.
She didn't inquire about what he had nearly voiced; there was no need. Instead, she leaned in, letting her forehead rest against his for a brief moment before gently urging him to sit up.
Xiao instinctively followed her lead, drawn to her as if by an unseen force. His hands hesitated at first, but she reached out, guiding them around her waist. Once his arms encircled her, she nestled against him, her own arms tightening in response.
It was a simple gesture—a hug—but it carried a significance he couldn't articulate. His breathing slowed to match hers, and he became keenly aware of every warm point where they connected. Her heartbeat thudded against his chest, steady and reassuring, promising she would stay no matter how long it took for him to accept the embrace.
Outside the window, the world blurred into a soft, indistinct backdrop, with only the gentle patter of rain and the distant whisper of trees to be heard. Enveloped in her arms, time felt slow and tender, as if nothing could reach them here.
His voice emerged low and rough, almost breaking as it escaped. “…Don’t let go.”
Her response was instant, a soft murmur against his shoulder. “Never.”
Xiao believed her.
“That I won’t let you go
Put your arms around me and I’ll let you know
How it feels when time goes slow”
The lantern guttered in the corner, its light flickering in a slow, golden rhythm. Rain slid down the glass in winding trails, and outside, the world seemed wrapped in silver and shadow.
Xiao held Lumine closer, his face pressed to the curve of her shoulder. He could feel her heartbeat beneath his cheek, steady as the earth, a soft anchor in a world that had never stayed still for him before. For a long time, he simply breathed her in—warmth, comfort, the faint trace of flowers and wind-clung rain.
He realized, with a quiet shock, that he wasn’t thinking about anything else. Not the lingering ghosts of the past. Not the heavy weight he had carried for so long. Just her .
Her fingers threaded through his hair, gentle and unhurried. Every slow stroke soothed him deeper into that rare, vulnerable stillness. He could have stayed like that forever, his arms tightening around her as if she might vanish if he let go. But she didn’t vanish—she stayed, as she always did, and he felt himself give in completely.
In her embrace, Xiao finally understood what it meant to fall without fear. And for the first time, he wanted to keep falling.
The rain outside became a lullaby, and the steady rise and fall of her breathing drew him toward sleep, safe in the knowledge that she would still be there when he opened his eyes.
“And I won’t let it rush when I see you dance
And the moment comes when I fall and time goes slow
I fall into you
I fall into you
I fall into you”