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therealnuclearplatypus · 1 year

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Brave Soldier (I'll See You Again).

1940

"Nǎinai, what if America joins the war, too?"

Frank's grandmother looked at him sharply. "Then we would have fled in vain. Your mother would have stayed to fight back in Canada in vain."

Frank gulped at her bluntness. "Our side will win though, right?"

The old woman looked away, wincing. "I can't tell for sure. Though the US seems intent on staying away from it all for the time being. We should be safe for now."

"We've been here a year. We haven't heard from Ma in three months. I worry."

"Don't. There is no use. What will happen will happen regardless of your fretting. It's a war. People die and get maimed. Be thankful you don't have to see any of it."

"Yet."

"Yes. Yet."

***

Leo stilled, fearing he'd be found. He was in a new foster home (again) and his current parents didn't like him too much. He tried to keep out of their way.

Fifteen years old and still running. Soon he'd be sixteen, and he wouldn't have to depend on anyone anymore.

He was under his bed, counting imaginary sheep in the dark. Frank told him it helped him calm down. Leo hoped it'd help him, too.

Since Frank had moved to the city last year with his grandmother to escape the war, Leo had harboured the most embarrassing crush on the boy. But it was dangerous. Two men together? It could never be.

Plus, he doubted Frank would reciprocate his sinful feelings. They'd have to remain hidden.

___

1941

They were on a low stone wall, swinging their legs and trading jokes and anecdotes. Frank was talking about his mother again. He seemed unable to help it. Ever since she'd died a few months ago, Leo had promised him he'd be there for him. He didn't want Frank to go through it alone, as he had.

"She used to tell me this story ..." Frank was saying, recounting an old Chinese folk tale his mother used to tell him. Leo listened intently. He loved Frank's voice. He loved everything about Frank.

Frank looked at Leo as he narrated, saw the concentration in the furrow of his eyebrows. He couldn't help smiling a little. He'd found such a good friend. Everyone felt this strongly and lovingly towards their best friends, right? They did. Everyone did.

***

Frank was kicking a ball around the empty alleyway. Leo watched, having long since given up trying to keep up with him. He'd rather watch him, anyways.

Frank paused, panting a little. He turned to Leo and called, "Oi, it's your birthday soon, isn't it?"

"It is," Leo agreed.

"What do you want?"

Leo shook his head. "You don't have to buy me anything."

"But I wanna give you something. What do you want?"

Leo smirked. "I wish that the love of my life would come to me and hold me in their loving arms and kiss me and treat me like the king I am."

Frank raised an eyebrow. "'Their'? Don't you mean 'her'?"

Leo shrugged. "Yeah."

"Why did you say 'their'?" Once Frank had caught hold of something, he rarely let go until he got a response or was given clear signs it wasn't up for discussion. Leo considered giving him such signs. Or maybe it would be best for Frank to know why. They were friends. It was wrong. But Frank would be kind about it. Or would he? He—

"Leo?" Frank had walked up to him, face close to his. Leo's heart was beating a mile a minute.

He threw caution to the wind and said, "Because it doesn't really need to be a woman."

Frank stared at him. "Oh—you—"

"Yes," Leo said, fear creeping up all over him, "yes."

Frank was silent for a moment, then said, "I think I'm like that, too."

Leo was caught completely off-guard. What?

"I've had, um. Feelings for a boy. I think? I thought I felt very strongly platonically towards him. But, I, uh. That delusion did not last long."

Leo kept staring. Frank worried he'd said the wrong thing. He looked away uneasily when Leo whispered, "God, I thought you'd hate me."

Frank looked back at him, incredulous. "What, hate you for—for feeling attraction towards men? Why would I?"

"It's not natural," Leo said quietly.

"I'll decide for myself what's natural and not, thank you," Frank said severely. "And I don't think any form of love is unnatural." He hesitated. "Though I may be saying that because I am the same."

"Possibly." Leo shot him a grin. "But I am glad you are not condemning me for it."

"Condemn you? As if. I love you too much for that."

Leo froze. Frank froze. What the fuck had he just said? He loved him? Frank wanted to die on the spot. He couldn't believe—

"When you say love—" Leo started.

Frank flushed. "I just—"

"You mean like, the way I love you?"

Frank looked at him. "What do you mean? How do you love me?"

"Like this," said Leo, and he kissed him full on the mouth.

***

No one had found out yet. They'd meet as they always did, and kiss and laugh in hidden corners. Sinful love be damned, this was too right to be a crime.

Canada had joined the war on the tenth of September, 1939. Frank thought they'd be safe. It was 1941 and America was still in the clear. His grandmother had passed of old age and grief over her daughter's loss. Frank felt the blow, but Leo was there to soften it. As always. How he loved him.

But then. December seventh, 1941. A bombing on Pearl Harbour by the Japanese. Suddenly, the US didn't seem too inclined to stay out of it.

Leo evaded enlistment on account of his bad leg. Also because even the recruitment guy thought Leo wouldn't be able to hold his own in a fight.

(Joke's on him, though. Leo would be able to fly a plane. But he was glad to have avoided all that.)

Everytime Leo brought that story up, Frank would fall silent. Leo saw it coming. He tried to blind himself to it, but he couldn't. Not for long.

"I'm enlisting."

He winced as he heard the words. He wanted to ignore it. He really did. But Frank was right around front of him, stiff with suspense, rigid with determination. Leo felt like crying.

"Why?" he asked, unable to say anything else.

"My—my mother died fighting. This country needs all the help it can get. I—I'm a good fighter. Hand-to-hand combat, guns, whatever. I'm competent. I can do it."

"You want to enlist just because you can do it?" Leo said, nearing tears. He didn't want to cry. He wasn't going to. He wasn't.

Frank was almost trembling. "No. I—I—I don't know, Leo. I feel like I have to."

"To live up to your mother's legacy?"

"Maybe. Yes. No. I don't know."

Leo sighed, eyes just barely tearing up. "You can die."

"I'll come back to you."

"There's no guarantee of that."

"I will. You're not getting rid of me so easily."

"It's not like I want to."

"I—"

The tears fell. "Enlist. Go. Fine. Whatever. I don't care."

Frank's eyes were brimming with tears, too. "You're mad at me."

"Of course I'm fucking mad at you. Do you have a death wish?"

"They'll come after me to enlist anyway, and I don't have an excuse to stay. I'm not sure I want to make one up, either. They'll call me out on my bullshit anyways. But—I really don't know. I'm itching to fight."

Leo sighed again, less angrily this time. "Oh, baby. I get it. I do. It's still wanting to avenge your mother's death, in a way—I don't blame you. I'm sorry for snapping. I just—"

"I know. I know. I'm sorry. I'm so fucking sorry."

"Don't be. Please, don't be." Leo moved to hug him, but Frank pulled him into an all-consuming kiss, and when they parted, Leo remained as close to him as he could possibly be. These moments were precious. Even more so now.

"Go do what your heart feels it must do to be free, my soldier. My brave, brave soldier."

___

1942

Letters after letters. Frank made sure Leo felt his presence even in his absence. Leo was just glad he was still alive. Maybe, somehow, miraculously, he'd make it out alive. He'd come back to him.

Frank came back for a short spell, and they made the most of it. It wasn't nearly enough, but they had to make do with what they had. They were both grateful for any extra moment they got to spend with each other.

The end of 1942 did not see the war's end. They were still hoping.

___

1943

The distance did nothing to dim the fire in their hearts. Frank still sent him letters, though they became sparser are the Japanese became harsher with their attacks. Leo could almost imagine that Frank would be back any day now. That was the hope keeping him alive at this point.

Frank sent him gifts for his birthday amd for Christmas. Every letter included narrations of their days and how much they missed each other. Frank kept listing the names of all the dead or MIA soldiers, "so that they may be kept alive in some way," he said.

Leo just hoped that Frank wouldn't just become another memory immortalised in ink, too.

___

1944

Leo carefully opened the envelope, smiling as he saw the familiar handwriting.

Leo,

Why is Japan so beautiful? And I met one of their soldiers. We had orders to fire but he came in peace. Really. It wasn't a ruse. They're actually so nice. Why are we even fighting at all?

Leo kissed the name at the bottom of the letter. Frank. He'd come back. Soon. He would.

***

My love,

Nǎinai always told me that we humans fight so terribly because we insist on refusing our animal side and, rather than taming it, we call it civilised and let it become worse. I'm starting to think she was right.

***

Darling,

Good news! I should be back within the month. Victory is in our hands now. I didn't even lose any limbs!

***

My sweet,

I'll be able to hold you in my arms again in a fortnight. We'll never have to be separated again. I love you. Till the ends of the world and eternity, I'll love you.

***

Dear Mr. Valdez,

We regret to inform you that soldier FRANK ZHANG has been confirmed dead in battle—

___

1945

On the fourteenth of Augustz 1945, Japan agreed to surrender.

On the second of September, 1945, Japan formally surrendered, thus handing victory to the Allies.

Frank had been buried amongst countless other bodies of dead soldiers.

Somewhere in the city, a gravestone read, Leo Valdez. The death year was marked as 1944, not too far off from the day he'd received the last letter.

Frank had been right. They got to see each other again.

#valzhang #frank zhang #leo valdez #pjo #hoo #toa #rick riordan #i hope there are no typos #enjoy!! <33 #im back with valzhang lol oop

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lilacsandpetals · 2 months

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Frozen Blossoms

Frozen Blossoms Pt. 7

Last part here

Bi-Han x F! Reader

Tags and notes: Arranged marriage AU, SFW (but some suggestive themes), exploring emotions, Pre-MK1/MK1 AU

Warnings: NSFW, violent thoughts kinda?

As you returned, you had fallen asleep in Bi-Han’s arms, so you don’t exactly remember when you got home. Everything seemed like a blur as you tried to make sense of what happened, all the while medics had been tending to your sustained wounds. Most of the lacerations were minor. A few cuts, some scrapes, and unsightly bruises were present, but you didn’t consider it that alarming. Then there was the sprain your ankle sustained, which would be unpleasant to manage. But that would heal within a few weeks, as long as you rest, that is. You could manage the physical wounds. That wasn’t the main thing that was bothering you. It was more so trying to grasp what had just happened, the stress, and the plethora of other emotions that came wrapped up with it.

Sometime after all the commotion you found yourself lying on your bed, cleaned up, and with a change of clothes. You appeared much better, truly you were anything but. Your head was aching, you felt almost nauseous as you replayed the sequence of events over in your head again and again. It was as if you were working yourself into feeling ill. It was odd, you didn’t want to think about it, you wanted to pretend that it didn’t happen. That it was some type of horrid dream. Yet your brain drifted back to it almost constantly; going over what had occurred and what you could’ve done to avoid it.

A part of you felt ashamed. You felt as if you caused such a hassle. And maybe you felt embarrassed too, you started your training here shortly after you married, and yet when you needed it, you couldn’t put any of your knowledge or training to use. How were you supposed to live up to your status? Did the rest of the clan think less of you?

You didn’t think any of this could be a possibility when you had gotten married. It just never occurred to you. You should’ve thought it over more seriously before marrying him. But back then you were actively trying to avoid thinking about the marriage altogether, you were running away from your impending future. How foolish of you. Maybe you would have been more mentally prepared if you had been realistic and rational. It was an unspoken expectation to expect risks in your position, and now you are suffering more than you would have, had you taken the time to process that fact.

But you’re tired now, and you don’t want to think about it. You want it to stop. So you try to sleep. You close your eyes and hope this is all a bad dream.

——————————

This wasn’t a dream.

It was more like a nightmare, that’s what it felt like for Bi-Han. It all happened too quickly. Nothing he considered suspicious had occurred when he accompanied you. And he had thought that slipping away for a moment would be fine. He was so focused on trying to find the perfect gift for you, something that would suit you, that he didn’t realize what had happened until a fire erupted. Screams and the commotion of fleeing civilians took over his senses as he scanned the area for you. He had helped some people avoid injury, leading and practically pushing them away from harm. Maybe he could have been more considerate but he wasn’t particularly focused on them. Perhaps it was selfish, but he was solely concentrated on finding you.

But you disappeared quickly, and from that point on, he knew the fire was a calculated distraction. He rapidly returned home to recruit his brothers’ assistance in locating who could have stolen you away from him. And he was quick to deduct that a rival clan had kept you as a hostage. At least that’s what he hoped. Because he knew rivalries were rarely kind affairs. And that the quicker you were killed, the faster new bridal prospects would be offered up to secure new alliances.

He doesn’t want that, he doesn’t want to think about it. That’s why he wastes no time tracking you down. He leaves Kuai Liang and Tomas to collect notable evidence as they rampage through the worn-down building. He’ll need it to quell any problems that may arise from the bloodshed he is about to partake in. He is devoid of mercy as his bloodlust takes over his every action, allowing it to steer him like the strings of a puppet. His heart beats widely, Kuai Liang and Tomas have gone ahead of him, searching for you. And he’ll have to thank them after this is over. He needs you to be alive. You have to be, but a part of him is fearful as he breaks through the door where his brothers’ voices filter through.

And there you were. Alive, scared, and disheveled.

He hasn’t felt such an odd mix of relief and sadness before.

So when he gathers you up in his arms to return home, he tries to remain calm, like he is composed, even though he is anything but. He is glad you felt comfortable enough to doze off as he carried you back home, but as he thinks back on it, you were more than likely just exhausted. When he handed you off to the medics you had woken up abruptly, gripping his arm with such desperation that it made his stoic face finally falter. He couldn’t hide the frown that made its way to his face as he tried his best to comfort you, assure you that he was in the room, that he was not going anywhere, and that the medical staff had to make sure you were okay. And when he reluctantly let you go, he couldn’t help but feel that he disappointed you.

He keeps a watchful eye as your wounds are tended to, and when you’re being bathed and dressed by a few select maids he slips away to fill in the Grandmaster on what has happened. On his way there, he pulls the hairpin from his pocket, eyeing it for a moment before hastily shoving it away. He doesn’t want to look at it right now.

——————————

The days pass by, some more quickly than others. Your wounds slowly healed, although a few of the cuts manifested into unsightly scars. Thankfully your ankle was healing in a timely manner.

And Bi-Han was at your side through it all. Ever the dutiful husband. He was attentive, keeping an eye on you, tending to any need before you even had the chance to ask. He was patient with you. His hands were gentle whenever he helped change any bandages or the binding on your ankle.

But he was quiet. More so than usual.

You would try to make conversation, but he seemed adamant about keeping your verbal interactions brief. You asked if he’d want to drink tea with you in the mornings and evenings. He used to say yes and you two would converse, even if he was busy. Now you were met with quick and polite refusals. You’d ask him about his day, he’d be to the point, barely elaborating on anything the way he once did. You felt as if the only times your conversations were extensive were when they revolved around your injuries and healing process. The sense of intimacy you both shared seemed to be rapidly deteriorating as well. The other night you lazily turned to him in your bed. He was looking at you, not a word left his lips. You whispered a simple goodnight and leaned it slightly, just to place a chaste kiss on his skin. But he tilted his face down, slightly away from you. You figured he was tired, yet you feared it was something else.

It perplexed you. He maintained the same level of kindness, but you felt as if there was a disconnect. Was he angry at you? Or maybe disappointed? It wasn’t your fault, it’s not like you had asked to be kidnapped. But maybe if you were better equipped, better prepared, then it would’ve never happened. And if it never happened maybe you two could have been closer by now. Maybe he wouldn’t feel so far away even when he’s in the same damn room as you.

His demeanor had added to the myriad of thoughts that circled through your mind like clockwork. It was exhausting. You placed a hand on your forehead as you lay in your bed. You wanted so badly for it to stop, but these thoughts always lingered in the back of your head. And tonight was no different. On occasion it seeps into your dreams, conjuring up different scenarios of what could have been. Scenarios where Bi-Han didn’t come to your aid in time or where he explicitly makes his distaste of you known. It makes you wake up in a cold sweat. To which Bi-Han would promptly awaken as well. He would reassure you that you were safe within the Lin Kuei’s walls and that he was by your side before urging you to go back to sleep.

If this one event was enough to rattle you, it made you wonder if Bi-Han ever had any nightmares. He had seen and endured far more than you ever had. Did it ever bother him? Did it ever disturb his sleep? Now that you think of it, he only ever fell asleep after you were sound asleep. Other than the past days, you rarely ever woke up in the middle of the night, so you weren’t aware of him dealing with any nightmares, if he did suffer any at all. Some semblance of guilt settled in your stomach. Maybe you should be more attentive in that way, or at least check up on him more often. This incident opened your eyes to the reality of his line of work. Of course, you knew the Lin Kuei are a fierce clan but it was different when you had experienced it firsthand. You didn’t know how gruesome their outings could be, it made you worry for him more than you did before.

At that moment, the image of Bi-Han coming to your rescue comes to mind. He was doused in the shade of red that day. You could scarcely see the blue and black shades of his clothing. Splotches of blood had been splattered across his cheek and forehead. When he carried you back you had noticed the dried blood stuck under his fingernails, was that his blood or someone else’s? You had a feeling it wasn't his. He was capable of a level of brutality that you weren’t fully aware of prior. And the image of your husband practically soaked in someone’s else blood is seared into your mind.

Although, it didn’t scare you as much as you thought it would.

Was that a bad thing? You couldn’t tell.

——————————

Bi-Han thinks that you haven't been yourself lately, but he doesn’t blame you. You always seem lost in thought, your facial expressions oscillate between concentrated or dissociated. You often had a headache or just didn’t feel well. He thinks it’s still the shock of the incident getting to you.

And today is no different.

A migraine had taken hold of you today and so staying confined to your bed seemed all too enticing. It was becoming a bad habit. Technically your body was healing and you should be getting back into the regular flow of your lessons, but you couldn’t bring yourself to get right back to it. You know you should, it’d help you be better prepared for future endeavors, and maybe it would serve as a good distraction. But lately, your motivation has been lacking. So again you’ve found yourself isolated, staying in your room more often than not.

But your head hurts and you feel slightly nauseous, so it’s more comfortable to stay in bed than venture out. The majority of the day is spent going in and out of sleep.

Bi-Han enters the room quietly. He’s been busy lately, trying to better himself. Taking up more responsibility from his father in managing the clan, and training more often.

It’s for your sake, really. That is what he tells himself.

But he’s taking a break from his busy schedule. He just wants to see if you’ve eaten yet. Much to his dismay there is a tray of untouched food at your bedside, while you lay buried under a layer of cotton blankets.

You were falling asleep again, trying not to mull over the same worries that had been eating away at you for days. Your eyes were closed but you felt a dip in the bed and a hand brush up against your forehead before it gently pet your hair. You knew it was Bi-Han. It was comforting when he was near, you felt far safer with him than you did with anyone else. You didn’t open your eyes, your eyelids felt too heavy and your body was being lulled to sleep, but a small smile briefly graced your lips. He caught sight of it.

He was satisfied that you were getting some sleep at the very least, he’d often have to soothe you back to sleep after you’d wake up in a panic from nightmares plaguing you in the dark of night. Every time you endured another nightmare, he felt his guilt increase. However, you currently looked peaceful, and seeing your smile just now gave him a sense of satisfaction, or rather what he’d come to know as just plain happiness.

But did he deserve that happiness?

It scares him that he was undoubtedly close to not being able to see you smile again. He retracts his hand, and you don’t react. He figures that you must be asleep now. His back leans against the headboard of the bed, while his eyes drag down to take in your form.

He has not spent much time with you since that day. Part of him yearned for you, and yet part of him was keen on avoiding you.

He didn’t realize he would take such a liking to you when he married you, but he grew weak to your presence. Soon enough he found himself intoxicated with you. The small delights of your smile, your touch, your softly spoken words, they had taken hold of him. You had become precious to him. And when softening his heart towards you, he failed to realize the anguish he would suffer had you ever been taken away from him.

It’s as if he could feel himself shutting down. Building up a wall against the harm you might do to him. Because the fact that the very things he adored about you were finite, that you would not be here forever, terrified him.

Pathetic.

He wanted to avoid the hurt. Shield himself from an uncertain future. It wasn’t his intention. He didn’t even notice the visceral response, at first anyway. Of course, he took care of you, but he limited himself. He didn’t speak to you as often, as if to punish and protect himself simultaneously. He was hesitant. Why attach himself any more than he already was? It only posed a greater risk to him. And now his own lack of competency reveals a rotten core that causes him to be egocentric yet again. To slowly start pushing you away again despite your needs and despite the desires that lay in the crevices of his heart.

For a lingering moment, he thinks of his father. How his father must’ve hurt when his mother died.

His father really loved his mother, didn’t he?

He misses his mother.

She was a strong woman, honorable and resilient. As a child, he always thought his mother would be there. He was exposed to the concept of death at a very young age, but he never thought it would pertain to his family. As he grew older he understood that perhaps there would be a risk of death in battle. He’d seen his clanmates perish and witnessed his father slaughter their enemies and those who threatened Earthrelm. And then he partook in those activities himself when he was just barely blooming into adolescence. He never anticipated death to come to him or one of his loved ones through illness. And yet he was served just that. No matter how strong his mother was, no matter how mindful she was, she was betrayed by her own body. And he was powerless to stop it. He felt as if she slipped through his fingers. He hated watching her wither away bit by bit. He despised how helpless and fearful he had felt back then. He hadn’t felt that type of despair until that fire erupted and you disappeared from his sight.

And after his mother passed, nothing ever felt the same anymore. His father said time would heal their wounds. But he found his father to be dishonest because not a day went by where he wouldn’t ponder the fantasy of a life where his mother lived a healthy life.

Some reality where his mother didn’t frantically scold him for weeping about her misfortune. Where his father didn’t push him exponentially harder than his brothers. Where he didn’t have to watch his father fall apart in private. Where he didn’t have to bear the burden of his father’s anguish-fueled training, and where he didn’t have to tend to Kuai Liang’s sadness at the expense of his own grieving process. He buried that grief within him, and it somehow found its way to seep out of him.

Maybe it wasn’t just grief.

Some immature, boyish part of him was angry. Upset that his mother left him to bear so much on his own.

Anger was such a familiar emotion to him, But this anger felt different. Taking root and creeping out of a part of himself that he seldom shows anyone.

He was angry that his mother left him. And he was furious at himself for still being hurt over it. It was immature and unbecoming of him. Perhaps that was the same anger he felt towards you, he abhorred the fact that you had grown to be of such importance to him. He hated that you could cause him to delve into that ever-familiar fear and worry once more. He hated that you could have left him.

But truly, it’s all misguided, and deep down he knows it.

If he is being honest, he detests himself for feeling the way he does.

There’s a rustling of the bedsheets and Bi-Han is pulled out of his thoughts when he hears you gasp.

“What is it?” he asks in a rather urgent tone.

Your eyes flutter open and you move to slowly sit up, you take a few deep breaths and instinctively grip his forearm, his hand is slow as he moves to place it over yours. The sudden nature of your awakening leads him to believe you must’ve experienced a glimpse of another nightmare, and he can’t bring himself to ask you if you’ve dreamt about the incident again. If you’re dreaming about his shortcomings again. He knows he is tactless. If you bring up the nightmare, he will assure you again that it will not happen, as he has done in nights prior. It’s almost amusing that as many times as he has reassured you, his own confidence falters bit by bit.

If you do not bring up any distressing dreams, he will not push you to disclose anything.

“Are you hurt?” he mumbles. You shake your head, but wince when you try to move your foot. “The wraps on my ankle are bothering me, I just want to take them off for a little while,” you say softly and lean forward but Bi-Han lightly waves his hand. “I will do it.”

You lean back and Bi-Han raises your foot as he unwraps the binding. He moves your foot from side to side slowly, as he’s no stranger to a sprained ankle. “The binding is bothering you more because you haven’t been elevating your foot enough. The more often you keep it elevated, the less swollen it’ll be,” he says and grabs a small pillow to place under your foot.

“Thank you,” you respond and shoot him a smile. “I appreciate all the help.”

“It’s my duty, is it not?”

You bite your lip. You appreciated his help, but you thought by now he’d give you a different answer. Something that alluded to a suggestion of care or affection. You thought he would ask if you’ve had another nightmare (you did). But you awoke to his presence and it is comforting enough to know that he is by your side. Yet the air feels thick in your lungs as you acknowledge that his words are minimal. He asks no questions despite the knowing look in his eyes.

You sigh quietly, “Duty is everything, hm?”

His eyes meet yours for an uncomfortable moment. “Why wouldn’t it be?”

You properly sit up now. “You know when we married I initially performed out of duty. But now it’s out of care. I care about you Bi-Han.” You want to say more, add a more potent word to showcase your feelings for him, but you bite your tongue.

“And you think I don’t care about you? Why else would your well-being concern me?” He tosses the wraps to the floor and you can’t help but think your statement has struck a nerve.

You cross your arms, “do not twist my words.”

He looks towards you, a small frown forms on his face, but it disappears just as fast. “Haven’t I proven myself to you? I watch over you day and night, I take care of you.”

A retort lays at the tip of your tongue but you refrain from speaking. Technically, he was speaking the truth. Yet you desired something more. Maybe you were misconstruing things? But no. You knew something was off. So you hold his gaze and shake your head. “Yes, you have. And I appreciate everything you’ve done for me.” You’re hesitant for a moment. “Is everything alright?”

The question catches him off guard. Have you noticed any change? He has attempted to maintain the air of normalcy as much as possible. “Yes.”

You wanted to give him a chance to voice his concerns. “Are you sure?” You ask quietly. You know something is off, but how much were you meant to push him on the subject? Bi-Han places his hand on your shoulder “I am certain.”

You lay your hand over his and squeeze it gently, “If you say so.”

You don’t believe him.

——————————

There’s a full moon that just barely shines through the window of the kitchen. You’ve always found it lovely, a peaceful and comforting sight. It’s a stark contrast to the tea kettle screeching above a small flame on the stove.

You take longer than usual to remove it from the heat.

You’d much rather be in bed right now, but you’d woken up in the middle of the night to find your bed empty. You were waking up in the middle of the night less often as time went on. Bit by bit your fear of being snatched away began to decrease. Yet the unease of your husband’s behavior fueled your overthinking. And the fact that this was the third time this week that he had disappeared in the middle of the night did nothing to help you. You suspect that he went to train on his midnight excursions, as you’d often stir awake when he’d return. You’d catch glimpses of him heaving and glistening with sweat.

Bi-han’s behavior leads you to think he is not being entirely honest. Now you do have to hand it to him, he is extremely skilled at concealing his unrest when he really wants to. But the longer you two have been married, the more of his habits you’ve picked up on. When he is angry or upset the training grounds become his second home, he becomes reckless; more scrapes and bruises grace his hands. He refrains from drinking his preferred tea of oolong and instead opts for something more bitter. He doesn’t converse as often anymore. You know it’s not as noticeable as before, but its lack still lingers. It irks you, it feels like such an odd step back. You do try to be patient, but you thought you were past this. You thought you were at a point where true comfort could be found with one another.

You worry about him. He had slowly opened up to you, but not to the degree you long for. You felt like you were always longing for more, when would you finally get it? You wonder if Bi-Han feels the same, and you wonder if he struggles to articulate the desire just as you do. You suspect that if you bluntly ask him what is troubling him, he will brush off the question. So you will have to devise an alternative strategy.

You carefully pour two cups of tea and now you wait. It’s in the late hours of the night. You assume the others are asleep. Your ears are attentive to your surroundings and hear the echo of footsteps getting louder and louder as they resonate through the hallway. You choose this moment to ambush your husband.

Bi-Han abruptly comes to a stop, if you didn’t know any better you’d say he was startled. He looks at you the way a disappointed superior would. “What are you doing up at his hour? And what of your ankle? Go to bed.”

You shake your head. “No, I couldn’t sleep and it seems that neither can you. So I made tea for the both of us”

He sighs and rubs his knuckles lightly, they’re red. “No, I am fine without tea.”

You try not to roll your eyes. You were attempting to remain neutral but here you were already beginning to lose your patience. Or perhaps that was a side effect of feeling tired.

Your hand makes its way to grab his forearm. “I already made it, you might as well drink it.”

He looks down at your hand and figures that arguing more at this point wouldn’t do him any good. He follows you to the small table in the kitchen, pulling out a chair for you to sit on before he sits down himself. So he joins you, sipping his tea quietly so as to not disturb you. However, he is mistaken because his silence is perplexing you to no end.

You sip your tea as well, it’s too hot. “You know I’ve missed our conversations, I feel as if we barely have time to spend together, let alone have a conversation.”

His gaze meets yours. The desire to be defensive is there, but all he does is return his eyes to his tea. He misses your chats too, in the morning, midday, the evening, but he can’t bring himself to say it. He doesn’t deserve your company if he has failed at protecting you, one of the main fundamentals of being a husband. “I’ve taken on more responsibilities recently.”

“Do those responsibilities include avoiding me?” You ask plainly and raise an eyebrow at him.

So much for subtlety.

His eyebrows furrow and that ever-familiar crease emerges on his forehead. “Whatever I do, I do for your benefit.”

“The lack of your presence does not benefit me.”

He clenches his jaw. He won’t voice it, but he is exhausted, he doesn’t exactly want to address this right now. “Am I not by your side whenever my schedule allows me the time? Have I not checked up on you throughout the day? Do I not aid you whenever necessary?”

Your resolve falters briefly. That was true, he still cared for you, physically anyway. “That’s not what I mean.”

He knows what you mean, and he is simultaneously impressed yet shamefully irked that you have taken notice of it. He is unwilling to speak on it.

“Let’s go to bed.”

You cross your arms. Of course, he would avoid the topic, he was a stubborn man, you knew that by now. “Fine, you can go to bed.”

Bi-Han finishes his tea in one quick gulp before getting up and looking at you. “Finish your tea, let’s go.”

“No I’d rather stay here, I’ll come to bed later.”

“Wife, it’s late, I’d rather not leave you here alone.” You could hear the shift in his voice, from polite to politely annoyed, and maybe a hint of underlying concern.

“You left our bedroom in the middle of the night to train anyway.”

He supposes you’re correct. “You were asleep when I left. I was getting in more practice, and our bedroom is one of the safest places in the Lin Keui’s Palace.”

“In my opinion, the kitchen is safe enough. Goodnight.” You return to drinking your tea and Bi-Han does not move. You wonder when he’ll leave the room, but the second you finish the tea you feel your chair being swiftly pulled backward and before you know it, your husband has taken you up into his arms. You briefly grasp at his shirt from the sudden movement. “What’re you doing?”

“Your ankle hasn’t fully healed yet. I’m taking you back to our room.”

“My ankle is almost fully healed. Put me down.” Even though you speak your request, part of you wants him to deny it.

“No.”

You try not to focus on him as he brings you back to your shared bedroom. You keep your eyes averted from his face, and he notices. He places you down on your side of the bed.

“So stubborn,” he mumbles under his breath.

Your head snaps back up to look at him. “What was that?”

“Nothing,” he responds gruffly and proceeds to let his hair down. You pinch the bridge of your nose “You’re far more stubborn than I am.”

“Oh, am I?”

“You know you are.” You pause and lay down in your bed facing the opposite direction before pulling the sheets up to your shoulders. “Pushing me away won’t help anything and we both know it,” you mumble.

“I’m not in the mood to quarrel with you, I’m going to bed. You should too.”

You close your eyes, trying not to focus on the sounds of your husband maneuvering around the room, and hoping that sleep falls upon you quickly.

——————————

Your hair is being particularly troublesome today as you try to style it. You need something to pin it back. Maybe it’s because the air is thick, but you can’t decipher if that’s due to the placebo of your own tense thoughts, or if the usually frigid climate has a touch of humidity. And maybe you’re mulling over minor peculiarities to convince yourself that it’s all a sign to move forward.

Today you’ve pushed yourself to try and engage with your regular schedule again, at least when it came to your lessons. So as you sit in front of your vanity you take a deep breath and try not to let your mind wander. But that was easier said than done. You had to look presentable today, how long would you be allowed to wallow in your room? Even if they let you keep to yourself for days, it wouldn’t exactly display a good impression. You had to become acclimated to moving forward despite what you dealt with. Everyone else in the clan seemed capable of doing it, so you should be too.

One particular strand of hair fails to stay in place as your hand traverses your jewelry box. You are looking for a clip or pin to match your clothing for today, but nothing seems to suit your tastes. A sigh of frustration leaves your lips and you start rummaging through the drawers nearby. Now Bi-Han kept some of his belongings in the bottom drawer and you knew that. You rarely saw him open it and in the process of hastily checking each one, you open his. Now you’re not one for snooping around, you respected your husband’s privacy. But technically, what’s yours was his and what’s his was yours, isn’t that what married couples always said? Or at least the ones that had been around you growing up had uttered the phrase here and there. Your eyes quickly scan the contents of the drawer before coming to a halt. Hidden away in the back corner of the drawer is a small blue box adorned with gold lining. You raise a brow, you don’t think you’ve seen Bi-Han with any pieces of jewelry before, not after your wedding day. You carefully pick up the box and examine it before opening it.

What you find perplexes you.

‘What is that?’

A lone pin sits at its center. It is simple, silver, with a shimmering blue gemstone at its core. You delicately pick it up. This was a pin suited for a female. Was this for you? It must be, right?

Although wouldn’t Bi-Han have given it to you by now?

You told yourself you’d try to maintain a sound mind today, and yet your husband’s distance delves your brain into overthinking again. What if the pin was for someone else? What if he didn’t see you fit for the role of his wife any longer?

No.

You cannot allow your thoughts to wander any longer like this. You were already mentally exhausted and you refuse to add this to your list of worries. Still, it concerns you that you had found this hidden away, or what you assumed to be hidden anyway. Perhaps this was against your better judgment, but the pin was simple and beautiful. To be fair even if it didn’t entirely match your outfit, it did match your necklace.

If this accessory was meant to be a surprise you don’t understand why he would take so long to give it to you. No holidays were near, nor was your birthday coming up.

A hypothesis forms within your thoughts as you pull back a portion of your hair and hold it in place with the hairpiece. If Bi-Han sees the pin and becomes aggressive, then it must be for another. If he sees the pin and leaves it, it must be for you. Now you would expect a minor scolding, maybe you’d be reprimanded for ruining a surprise, but if the gift was for you anyway, you wouldn’t consider it a big deal. You stare at your reflection in the mirror and take a deep breath. Your eyes fall to the necklace you are wearing. Bi-Han did have good taste when it came to picking out things for you. He was attentive in that way. A twinge of guilt seeps into you, he has grown warmer towards you since you had married. Maybe his distance wasn’t a fault of your own, but an outcome of what had happened to you.

Maybe it had shaken him up as well.

You decide you will speak to him this evening.

——————————

Your tutors were happy to meet with you today, and due to your lack of consistency with attending your lessons, you had a lot to catch up on. You did not mind it very much. Truthfully it helped to keep your brain from wandering. You’ve seen Bi-Han throughout the day in passing, he would stop by the room you were in and eye you up and down before asking if you were feeling okay. You’d give him a curt “yes,” or just a nod of the head to indicate that you were busy.

You don’t think he believes you.

The day goes by quickly for you and soon your tutor is advising you to join your family for dinner, but you calmly decline. Conjuring up an excuse that convinces your instructor to leave you be. You’d probably grab a snack to satiate you later on. For now, you just wanted time to think. Approaching your husband after dinner concludes seems like a decent idea. You don’t think Bi-Han noticed your new little accessory and based on last night’s sour conclusion, you didn’t want to suffer through an awkward dinner with your in-laws present. You yawn and lean back in your chair while stretching out your arms. Maybe you can go relax for now, you think you deserved it after all that work.

——————————

Bi-Han wasn’t all that hungry right now, he told Kuai Liang that he’d dine later on as he had something to take care of. Honestly, he didn’t want to face you just yet. Nor did he want to maintain the guise of a happy couple who hadn’t argued the prior night. Engaging in theatrics for his clan’s pleasure was much easier when you two had first married, but now a simple argument had him uneasy. He knew you were still upset and he knew he was partially at fault.

He slowly makes his way through the halls of his home as his mind wanders. To be fair, he thought you were partially to blame as well. You just had to keep prying no matter how many times he had refuted your remarks. His walking comes to a slow halt as he thinks of what you said the night prior. Was his absence affecting you that much? A selfish part of him is satisfied with your longing for him, yet he again feels frustration when he thinks of his attachment to you as well. And it stings to think that he is once again failing as your husband. He should’ve been attentive, he knows you need it. And yet he is mindfully absent for his own heart’s sake, or maybe for its penance. He sighs as he opens the door to find you already there. He is about to utter your name as you turn around until his eyes catch sight of the jewel that adorns your hair. His breath hitches and his heart beats a little faster.

Before you can even greet him, his voice clamors through your room.

“Take that out of your hair and put it back where you found it. Now” he hisses.

You narrow your eyes, so he did notice it although you weren’t expecting such a visceral response. “No.”

He clenches his jaw and steps forward, you take a step back. “Why do you want me to take it off?” you say in an accusatory tone. ‘So much for resting.’

“Because I am your husband, and I am asking you to remove it” he responds. You raise an eyebrow, you can tell he is trying to maintain an undisturbed aura but it is not working. “And I am your wife, telling you I am not taking it off,” you respond and smile up at him. “Maybe if you told me why you want me to remove it so badly, I’d be more inclined to do so.”

He sighs as if he is tired and you speak up again, “Because if you don’t, it makes me wonder if this was a gift for someone else.”

His jaw practically drops, “Do you think so low of me?”

“What else am I supposed to think when you’ve hidden this pin away?” You hastily take off the hairpin and flash it in front of him. He steps forward and reaches to take it but you take another step back. You know he could snatch it right out of your hand before you even had a chance to realize that he’s done so. Therefore some part of you appreciates his failure to do so.

You cross your arms with the pin still in hand, “Bi-Han, why would you hide this away?” You bite your lip out of nervousness.

He pinches the bridge of his nose in frustration. “You’re fretting over things you don’t understand.”

“Then help me understand.”

You can tell how frustrated he is by the way he clenches his fists and the deep breath he takes. But you watch how his face changes, from frustration to disdained haughtiness. He steps forward once more and by now your back is against the wall.

He eyes you up and down and his eyebrows furrow. “Give me the hairpin.”

You sigh, he does look slightly unnerving to you, but you will not allow such tactics to sway you. “Intimidate me all you want, we both know it won’t work with me, I know you well enough by now.” If you were honest, this whole ordeal made you feel like you didn’t know him at all.

Bi-Han’s hands come to rest on your shoulders. “You don’t know me.”

You let out a defeated laugh. How were you supposed to spend the rest of your life with someone that refused to communicate? The very thought unnerved you. “Then help me fix that!” you respond in an exasperated tone. “And here I am again, begging you to help me understand. What am I missing here? And do not lie to me. How long would you have us both dance around this unspoken issue?”

He shakes his head in a defeated manner, it doesn’t suit him, “Don’t concern yourself with such things.”

You shoot him an angry look, “I concern myself because it involves us. I am your wife and I can’t read your mind,” You hiss and motion towards yourself. “What is it? Are you ashamed of me? I’m sorry.” You tried to maintain a calm demeanor but your voice is shrill by now. You shove the hairpin into his chest and attempt to push him away from you, but the pin falls to the floor as his hands wrap around your shoulders. The look in his eyes screams of intensity, while yours remain seeped in anger.

‘Sorry?’

Why would you be sorry? It’s his fault. He hated to even acknowledge the fact, but it was true. Had he been present, had he been there, none of this would’ve happened. Had he been a proper husband, he would’ve kept you safe.

Just another task he’s failed at.

“There is nothing to apologize for.”

“Yes, there is,” you respond stubbornly.

He stares at you, his look has now become unreadable to you. “I am the one who failed you.”

That statement of his brings you pause. You tilt your head up and lean forward rather confused. You would never take him as one to admit failure of any sort.

“Failed me at what? What do you mean?” Your throat feels dry as you await a response. What could he possibly be going on about? Your hand moves up to squeeze his hand gently, urging him to continue. His eyebrows are still furrowed, and you hear him gulp before he speaks. “If I had been more watchful, you would not have been taken or injured in the first place.”

Oh.

He had saved you, you were living and breathing before him, yet that’s what had been on his mind. Your resolve falters a bit. You didn’t realize it was that, and here you were worrying that he was ashamed of you. Perhaps you’ve thought too little of yourself. You had taken the increasing distance for a perpetual disking, not quiet insecurity.

“I- I thought it was something else. I thought it was me, or the state of our marriage-”

He cuts you off, “What do you mean.” His voice is a little quieter now.

“Bi-Han.”

“Answer me.” He sighs in a tone that echos remorse, “please.”

You gaze up at him as his eyes lock on yours. His heart is beating fast, and he hates it. His facade is crumbling before you.

He hates it.

“We were married off too quickly, I didn’t think things through, I did not realize what I was getting myself into.” You look back at him now, searching for a hint of emotion in his face, but he does his best to remain stoic. Still, you place a hand on his cheek, and the sensation of his jaw clenching is felt on your fingers.

You feel his hand cover yours, you wonder if he’s trying to remove your touch.

“Are you attempting to imply that you’re not happy with our arrangement?-“ he cuts himself off. He was about to snap at you. Say that he can bring you back home to your original clan if that’s what you desire, that he’d end things amicably. However he knows he could never do that, he’d rather keep you locked away for himself. Would that be another sentiment of his selfishness? It is. He’s been pushing you away, but the thought of you actually leaving strikes fear into his heart.

You shake your head vigorously, “No, I was uneasy initially, but I’m happy when you are actually around.” You drop your hands and clutch at the fabric of your own dress. “I want you around. I feel safer with you around. I miss you.” You say softly. You almost feel like a child, confessing feelings of fondness. Surely you’ve told him you missed him before? But this is different. His hand comes to rest against your cheek, drawing your attention back up to him.

You miss him. And truthfully, he misses you too. You will not live forever, neither will he. Your time together is finite. He desires your time. He desires your affection, your presence. Why in the world has he been depriving himself of something you’ve been so willing to give? He knows, but his burning inhibitions are beginning to quiet down as he looks back at you. The look on your face has morphed into something sincere, so genuine. You reach out to him with open arms, offering up a place of solace that he’s been desperately craving since he was a boy. He engulfs you in his arms and buries his face into the crook of your neck, almost as if he’s trying to shield himself from his own shortcomings. It’s against his very nature, but he can’t help himself, not anymore.

The words spill out like vomit. Repulsive to him. But it’s soothing to your ears, it serves as an assurance that you’ve yet to lose him.

“I endangered you. I nearly lost you.” His tone is so wrath with what you liken to regret, that it pains you.

“I should have known better, I should have kept a better eye on you. What if you had gotten gravely injured? What if you were killed? It’s my fault. How am I fit to be your husband when I’ve failed at the simplest of duties? If I can’t even keep you out of harm's way, how am I to be cognizant of the safety of my clan?.” His voice falters the slightest bit as he speaks.

“It’s not your fault. If it weren’t for you I would not be alive.” You say quietly.

Neither of you faces the other as you speak, only hiding away in the embrace that shields each other to some degree. But you can’t bear it anymore. You attempt to pull away, to look at him face to face, and guarantee that he believes you when you vocalize your assurance. But he doesn’t let you. His grip on you is firm, his fingers dig into your sides as if he’s trying to keep you from disappearing. “Don’t.” He speaks so quietly, it’s unlike him. Your fingers graze the back of his neck before you find yourself petting his hair, you’re content when he doesn’t pull away.

“I-I am inadequate. I just didn’t think about how dangerous your line of work is. It didn’t occur to me until I was caught up in the middle of it. If I had been more aware of my surroundings, or if I had trained harder then maybe I wouldn’t have been in such a vulnerable situation.”

“Don’t speak of yourself that way.”

You shrug your shoulders lightly, “I’m only stating how I feel. And we both know that’s true.” You murmur.

“What good do you get out of blaming yourself?”

“Couldn’t I ask you the same thing?”

He doesn’t respond and you gently tug at his hair, “Bi-Han?”

“It’s not the same.”

“What do you mean?”

“How can I not blame myself? I foolishly let my guard down, when I’ve been trained to never do so.”

You’re quiet for a moment. That day had been enjoyable for you both, you wouldn’t expect him nor yourself to have predicted the unfortunate events of that day.

“You’ve acknowledged that it’s happened, but as you said yourself, what good will constantly punishing yourself do? What’s done is done, and I am thankful that you kept me from greater harm.” You hold onto him tighter as you speak. “I see how you’re punishing yourself, don’t you understand that hurts me more than whatever happened that day?” You mumble quietly.

You hear his breath hitch. “That is not my intention.”

“But that’s what’s been happening.” You try to tear away from his grip, and he reluctantly lets you go so that you’re able to face him. You cup the sides of his face within the palms of your hands. “I care for you, we’ve been bound by marriage and I take that commitment seriously. I want to bear your burdens with you, haven’t I shown that I want to be by your side as we endure this life?”

His hands come up to grip your wrists as if he were to remove them from his face, but he refrains from doing so, “You don’t understand what you’re saying.”

“But I do,” you counter. You find yourself leaning closer. “I’ve experienced what risks come with your line of work now, and that is by no fault of either of us. Do you not think that I would have fled back to my clan had I truly wanted to leave? I’ve seen you drenched in the blood of your enemies and I still crave your presence. You’ve been deluding yourself.” You take a deep breath. “I vowed to remain with you through times of sickness and in health, through prosperity and devastation. Until my last breath.” Your hands move to the base of his neck and you tug him to get closer to you, he leans down slightly as you speak again “I expect you to vow the same. And to uphold those vows as I do.”

Maybe it is the haziness of words finally spoken, or the surge of warmth and tenderness coursing through his once cold veins, but before you can finish your sentiments you feel lips crashing into yours and desperate hands grasping at your waist. There’s a messy fervor to the kiss, an accumulation of unbridled longing and lingering frustration. Your teeth clash in between gasps and the colliding of lips. He pulls away briefly and you see the red tint emerging on his swollen lips. You find it enticing. Your fingertips brush up against his lips, “swear the same to me.” His hand rests on the back of your head as his lips make their way to trail from your jaw and down your neck. “I vow to remain by your side in sickness and in health, through prosperity and devastation.” Your breathing picks up, and you grip his shoulders.

“For how long?” You mumble.

“Until my final breath.”

His knee is pushing forward as he speaks, coming to rest in between your thighs and you slowly feel as if it’s becoming harder to maintain your composure. His hands encase you and before you can protest, he’s laid you on the bed. You prop yourself up on your elbows as he looms over you with both of his hands resting at your sides. In this moment you are reminded of how imposing his stature is. Excitement and nervousness blend into a sensation that makes your heart beat frantically. You look up at him, and he shifts his eyes from your gaze. You reach up and lightly tuck a strand of his hair behind his ear.

“Are you sure you wish to do this?” He says in a formal tone. His seriousness almost makes you chuckle.

Although you didn’t expect the evening to lead to this, you’re far too eager to refuse.“I am,” you respond as one of your hands trails his bicep. Meanwhile, his hand undoes the sash tied around your waist. His fingers move slowly, almost methodically now as he begins to remove your dress, you’re left in your undergarments and you feel butterflies in your stomach.

Bi-Han slows down the pace and wonders if you are at all as nervous as he is. He excels at whatever he pursues and he thinks this should be no different, but when he’s not purely acting on instinct and has a moment to think, his mind wanders. He wonders if he will live up to your expectations. He tries not to speculate on if you’ve done this before with someone else, the very thought makes his blood boil. But these thoughts dissipate when your hand begins to undo his belt. He swiftly grabs your wrist and you give him a lazy smile, “I don’t want to be the only one undressed, I’d rather we be on equal footing.”

That was an excuse, you were actually eager to marvel at his physique.

He lets go of your wrist and sits back as he takes off his shirt. Your hand runs down his chest and abdomen. Bi-Han’s body appears as if it was sculpted, harboring the finest architecture. His skin is somewhat dry, but cool to the touch. As your hands drift along his torso you attempt to commit every curve and crevice to memory. Soon enough your arms wrap around his neck and you drag him down with you as you press your lips against his again and again. His hand slips to your back, attempting to undo the pesky layer of clothing shielding your chest from him. When he does get it off, you watch him toss it aside. You’ll scold him later about being so careless with your clothing. But your thoughts return to the activity at hand when, suddenly his hands are exploring your chest. His hands are rough and calloused against your skin, a stark contrast to your own. You can’t help the gasp that escapes you. You feel him smile against your lips but you pull away again and he takes the opportunity to drag his lips along your throat.

Your eyes are still closed as you run your fingers through his hair. It’s been so long since you’ve engaged in any form of physical intimacy, and to indulge to this degree with him is still so new to you. “I’m still somewhat mad, you know.”

He’s quiet for a moment as his lips traverse down your chest and stomach, occasionally allowing his teeth to graze your skin. “I would not fault you for it, allow me to make amends.”

“And how will you do that?” you mumble. He shifts his position downwards, hooking his fingers into the sides of your underwear, and just like that, the last piece of clothing veiling your body is gone. His gaze is greedy as he eyes your exposed form and you instinctively shut your legs. Only to have your husband take hold of your thighs and spread them apart. He allows his fingers to explore uncharted territory. And he takes note of your expressions as he does so. He drags a finger down your slit, intentionally lowering his body temperature so that you tremble at his touch. You want to grab something, and so your arms reach out towards him instinctively and there’s a sense of satisfaction that settles in his soul, watching you grasp at him when you’re so vulnerable like this. One of his hands takes hold of both of yours, kissing them. He runs his thumb across the scar on your left wrist, and he realizes it must be from the rope that day. It must have burned when it continuously chafed against your skin to the point of drawing blood.

“BI-Han?”

Oh.

He hasn’t realized he’s stopped the movement of his fingers, and that he’s been focused on your wrist more than he should be at this moment. He places one more kiss against the scar. You smile hesitantly, “So that you remember, I’m not upset about that.”

You are far too kind, too forgiving towards him. He does not respond but returns to his endeavors between your legs. You feel two of his fingers enter you and gasp in response. He maintains a constant motion, catching you off guard when his thumb moves to caress a certain bundle of nerves.

Maybe this is his desire to please you, to make amends for his behavior somehow, or maybe it’s his need to excel, to prove that he’s the best you’ll ever have. He doesn’t know exactly. He doesn’t know when such inclinations formed within him. He thought he’d be more concerned with chasing his own pleasure, but for now, it’s an afterthought. And before he knows it, his lips are brushing against your inner thigh.

A high-pitched gasp leaves your lips when he begins. You cover your mouth, surprised not only at the sounds that have left your mouth but additionally at his skill. You feel his hand reach up only to roughly tug at your arm, “do not hold yourself back,” he says gruffly. You can’t even bring yourself to respond. The man works wonders with his tongue. Your brain allows you to focus on nothing but your husband’s oral expertise.

Until your notation of his skill causes you to wonder.

You grab a fistful of his hair and pull it lightly. Causing him to grunt and look up at you. His lips are slick.

“Where did you learn to do this?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know?”

You groan and pull his hair a tad harder. A small laugh leaves his lips, he will spare you for now.

You’re thinking about how you like the sound of his laughter when he responds. “You need to pay attention to your belongings.”

“What do you mean?”

“I’ve been reading your novels. They are descriptive.”

You feel even more heat rush up to your face as he returns to his venture between your thighs. You didn’t realize he’d been reading those books, part of you is embarrassed at him being aware of some of the content you prefer. However, if he puts his newly gained knowledge to use, you don’t mind him snooping on your reading material.

Tension begins to build but your husband deprives you of reaching that peak of pleasure just yet. You laugh breathlessly, “You’re being cruel. Was this meant to make amends or punish me?” His fingertips take hold of your chin, forcing you to look up at him. “Patience, wife.”

The longing look in your eyes only fuels his desire for you. His arm hooks around your waist to drag up back up toward the front of the bed. And perhaps he’s become too eager, the growing ache in his pants is becoming harder to ignore. You watch as he hastily removes his remaining clothing. Your eyes travel downwards and you’re happy to find that your original suspicions were correct, he was well endowed. Bi-Han catches your line of sight and grabs your chin to make you look up at him again. “Shameless.”

You smile, “Can you blame me? I’ve been curious since our wedding night.” He raises an eyebrow, he supposes you were equally as curious as he was back then. You reach out a hand to touch him, touch it, but he catches your wrist, using the opportunity to quickly pin you back down to the bed.

“You must learn restraint.” Bi-Han knew he was teasing you but he was just as guilty. His eyes drank in the image of your exposed form. His hands move to travel down your body, groping and grasping at the flesh displayed before him. Your skin is oh-so-soft, and his fingers return once again to the heat between your legs. The sounds leaving your mouth make him feel dizzy with desire and he finds himself impatient. “Spread your legs.”

Before you respond, his hands grip your thighs to spread them apart.

He leans down and his cold breath mingles with yours as you gently take hold of his face in your hands.

He doesn’t speak. The situation almost doesn't seem real to him. Words would not be able to articulate what his feelings are at this moment, so he entrusts his touch to convey his affection and desire for you. Between kisses pressed to your lips and the connecting of your flesh, he finds bliss between your legs. His body acts on instinct, the feeling is maddening. Is this what he has been lacking in life? For a brief moment, he recalls tales of war and battles raged for the sake of woman’s love, for her affections and touch. Perhaps for the first time in his life, he can understand that reasoning.

But he is brought out of his trance when you let out a shaky breath and grasp him hard enough for your nails to leave red indents. He pulls back to see your face contort into pain and quickly removes himself out of a mix of embarrassment and concern.

He was hurting you.

In the past, perhaps he wouldn’t have cared, but he does now. He cares that he’s hurt you, and a part of him is ashamed that he became so lost in his own pleasures. Guilt is evident in the way he scowls and turns his face. You sit up and reach out a hand before he can even think to come up with a retort or retreat.

“It’s normal, stop it.” You practically tug him back on top of you. You know in the past, you wouldn’t make the effort to assure him, you wouldn’t long for him like this, but you do now. His arms rest on either side of you again and his eyebrows furrow when you graze your lips against the corner of his mouth. “Go slow at first, please.” And so he complies. The stinging emerges again and you scare him when your eyes shut in what appears like distress to him, prompting Bi-Han to halt his pace again. “… Are you positive you wish to engage in this with me.” His tone of voice is timid almost, a stark contrast to what you’re used to hearing.

“I’m certain.”

And so he continues, and soon the pain begins to delve into pleasure. You find yourself lost in ecstasy. Briefly, you think of how carefully his hands hold onto. How hands capable of killing could hold you so close. His hips continuously collide with yours and you wrap your legs around his waist, drawing him nearer. Obscene melodies echo throughout the room prompting your husband to pick up the pace. You know there’s a possibility that your voices might leak into the hallway. You know your nails are digging into his skin as you hold onto him for leverage, and you are aware that your skin will be littered with bruises and bite marks. But you could care less right now. Those will be problems to address later. For now, the physical sensation is all you can bring yourself to focus on.

Had Bi-Han known this is what consummating your relationship truly felt like, perhaps he would have taken you on the wedding night. But no, it wouldn’t feel this passionate, this consuming. You draw him in and the pleasure makes him practically feel intoxicated The sounds that escape your lips only heighten the experience. The way your nails drag down his back only reinvigorates him. His hands tangle in your hair and you feel his breathing pick up. His teeth graze your neck and you feel a distinct pressure building up within you. You assume he does as well when the grip he has on your body tightens enough to leave imprints. You’re left panting when he finishes, his seed dripping from your core and staining your thighs.

He seems as if he’s in a daze, breathing heavily as his eyes drag ever so slowly up your form. The image of you breathing heavily while sprawled out in front of him is one that he’d like to commemorate to memory.

But now the euphoria delves into exhaustion. His body weight becomes increasingly difficult it holds up as if his soul is luring him to rest. And before he knows it, he’s not bothering to hold himself up anymore. He’s lying against you, and he can feel your arms wrap around him once more. But the feeling is short-lived.

“You’re heavy, get off.” You groan. Maybe it’s the endorphins running through his veins, but he finds your annoyance endearing. He lazily rolls off of you and watches the rise and fall of your chest as you attempt to catch your breath. Sweat glistens on your skin.

You catch his gaze and cross your arms over your chest. “How shameless,” you tease.

He reaches over to move your arms out of the way, and you allow him to.

“You seduced me, take it as a compliment.”

You chuckle lightly, “Noted.” You shift onto your side to face him. Bi-Han still looks effortlessly flawless. He hasn’t even broken a sweat in your recent activities, at least it looks that way to you. You move closer to him, enough so that you’re able to rest your head against his chest. “Aren’t you tired?” You inquire. Your husband shakes his head, “somewhat.” His movements are languid as he drapes an arm over your shoulder and presses a kiss to your forehead.

You let out a small chuckle. “What is it?” He asks.

“I could never imagine you behaving in such an endearing manner when we first met.”

“I’ve exceeded your expectations then,” he says in a factual tone of voice.

“Don’t flatter yourself,” you reply jokingly.

He raises an eyebrow, “is that a challenge?”

And suddenly he’s maneuvered himself to loom over you once more. His lips hover over yours as he awaits your answer. Your body is worn out, you can feel a dull ache blooming between your legs, and perhaps your response is against your better judgment.

“Yes.”

——————————

The sunlight casts a warm glow as it enters your bedroom, and in time it nudges you awake. As your eyes flutter open slowly, you find your husband watching over you. “Good morning,” You say and smile as you reach out a hand to caress your husband’s cheek. He lays his hand over yours. “Good morning.” He takes your hand and presses a small kiss to your knuckles. “Did you sleep well?”

You chuckle lightly, “You put me right to sleep last night, I am well rested.” You try to shift your position but grimace at the soreness residing between your legs. “I may spend all day in bed.”

A smirk flashes across your husband’s face and you shoot him a pensive look, albeit lightheartedly.

You move to rest against him but stop when you remember the hairpin. “Bi-Han-“ you start off, but it’s as if he could already anticipate your question before you had a chance to ask. He holds the accessory between his fingertips. “In the chaos of the evening, it was displaced.” He appears the slightest bit hesitant but hands the pin back to you. “It was for you, or rather it is for you.” You smile faintly “It matches my necklace perfectly.”

“That’s why I selected it that day.” His voice trails off slowly. His silence echoes his sincerity and you smile softly at him.

“I’ll cherish it. Thank you.”

Your simple acknowledgment is enough to put him at ease now, but he still appears contemplative.

“What is it?”

These words seldom leave his mouth, but when conversing with you, the words now flow with ease. “I am sorry, I pushed you away and laid the brunt of my problems on you simultaneously.”

“I won’t hold it against you.” You move to lay your head against his chest. “I’ll allow you the rest of our lives to make it up to me. You swore to stay with me til death, after all.”

“Of course.”

You smile and soon enough you find your eyelids feeling heavy again. You close your eyes, and the sensation of your husband’s hand gliding up and down your back accompanies the calming rhythm of his heartbeat. You know that this life won’t be easy, but something tells you that you will be okay.

That you both will be okay.

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This is the last chapter as far as things go right now. Maybe in the future I'll post some one shots that take place in this fic's universe though. Thanks for sticking around and bearing with me for taking so long with this upload. And of course, thanks for reading 💙

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