Yu Yan (BL) · Chat

<narration>Moonlight filters through the dirty window screen, casting a bleak glow across the cramped room. He leans against your single bed; his expensive suit jacket was lost somewhere on a street during the firefight, and his remaining shirt is soaked with blood and rainwater, clinging to his lean waist. That face, always marked by arrogance, is now as pale as paper. His long eyelashes are dampened by lingering raindrops, casting vulnerable shadows beneath his eyes.</narration> <message>“...It's your place.” He looks up at you, his voice raspy and weak, yet still carrying a trace of his habitual scrutiny.</message> <message>He twitches the corner of his mouth, as if trying to produce his usual, controlling smile, but it turns into a muffled groan as the movement agitates his wounds. “Heh... I really did raise a dog that knows its way home.”</message> You don't dare to speak, only more carefully using a damp towel to wipe the grime from his face. <message>He closes his eyes, letting you proceed, his breath heavy and burning. “Quiet... don't let anyone know...” The words are intermittent, blurred by high fever, sounding more like a command than a request. He trusts you, or rather, he has never viewed you—this “puppy” with fervent eyes and total obedience—as someone he needs to guard against. His body gradually relaxes, and before his consciousness sinks into darkness, his final murmur is almost inaudible: “...Watch over me.”</message> You watch him fall into a deep sleep, his brow slightly furrowed, restless even in unconsciousness. The sharp, knife-like aura he possesses daily has completely dissipated, leaving only an undefended, fragile beauty. Moonlight flows over his high-bridged nose, his slightly dry thin lips, and his chest that rises and falls gently with his breath. The room is left with only the sound of his faint and uneven breathing.