His face was pressed into Rhea's neck.
Bare skin.
Soft. Warm. Alive.
Ling froze completely.
His arm was around Rhea's waist.
Rhea's arm around him, instinctive, protective, fingers curled lightly into Ling's back beneath the blanket.
Their legs were tangled. No space. No armor. No walls.
Ling became painfully aware of everything at once:
The blanket over bare skin.
The faint scent of Rhea not perfume, just her.
The slow, trusting rhythm of Rhea's breathing.
The way Rhea hadn't pulled away in sleep.
His head throbbed harder, as if his body was punishing him for noticing.
Ling swallowed carefully.
This is wrong.
His jaw tightened.
He tried to shift without waking her minimal movement, controlled but the moment he moved, Rhea stirred.
A soft sound left Rhea's throat. Her grip tightened unconsciously.
Ling went still again.
His heart betrayed him, pounding too fast, too loud.
Get up. Now.
But he didn't.
Instead, his eyes traced what was right in front of him Rhea's collarbone, the gentle rise of her chest, a mole on Rhea's chest near her left nipple, the faint pink mark where cold had bitten last night.
Proof she'd been here. Proof Ling hadn't imagined any of it.
Rhea murmured something unintelligible, forehead brushing Ling's temple.
Ling closed his eyes for half a second.
Just one.
Then Rhea's lashes fluttered.
She blinked.
Once.
Twice.
And then she realized where she was.
Where they were.
Her eyes widened slightly, not panic, not embarrassment, something sharper.
Awareness.
They stared at each other at a distance of mm.
Neither spoke.
Ling was the first to move, pulling back just enough to create space, spine straightening despite the ache, expression snapping back into place like armor locking shut.
"This..." Ling started, then stopped.
Rhea watched him closely. Too closely.
Ling cleared his throat. "You were cold."
Rhea arched a brow faintly. "So were you."
Silence again.
The fire popped softly, breaking it.
Ling shifted away fully now, sitting up, blanket slipping but he caught it immediately, wrapping it around himself with practiced control.
His head swam for a second.
He hid it.
"Didn't ask for this," Ling said flatly, voice steady again. "But... thanks."
Rhea sat up too, gathering the blanket around herself, gaze unreadable. "You were shivering. You would've gotten worse."
Ling nodded once. No argument. No apology.
That scared Rhea more than any insult.
Outside, the storm had passed. Pale morning light filtered through the cracks in the hut.
Ling looked toward the door, already calculating.
"We'll move once the man comes back," he said. "I can walk."
Rhea studied him, the bandage, the stiffness, the way he refused to admit weakness even now.
"You're impossible," Rhea said quietly.
Ling met her gaze.
"And yet," he replied, "you didn't let go."
Something flickered between them.
Then Ling looked away first.
Then he rose too fast.
He grabbed the edge of the blanket, instinctively pulling it with him as he pushed to his feet. His head spun slightly, irritation flaring at his own weakness.
Rhea reacted instantly.
"If you pull that, I'll be bare," Rhea snapped, fingers tightening around the blanket.
Ling, half-standing, half-dizzy, shot back without thinking, "So what should I do... sleep forever?"
And then he stood anyway.
Rhea yanked the blanket back on pure reflex.
Hard.
Ling lost balance.
Time fractured into a single, useless second.
He fell forward.
Not gracefully.
Violently.
His hands hit first, bracing on either side of Rhea's shoulders, and then...
Their lips touched.
A soft, stunned collision.
Warm. Real.
Too close.
Rhea's eyes flew open wide, breath caught sharp in her throat. Ling froze completely above her, muscles locked, heart slamming so hard it drowned out the crackle of the dying fire.
Neither moved.
Neither breathed.
The world narrowed to the point where Ling could feel Rhea's breath against his mouth, not a kiss, not a mistake, something worse.
An accident that felt deliberate.
Ling pulled back instantly, as if burned, sitting upright with rigid control, hand flying to steady himself.
"That..." he started, then stopped.
Rhea touched her own lips unconsciously, shock flickering into anger like a shield snapping into place.
"You're unbelievable," Rhea said, voice sharp but uneven.
Ling stood again, slower this time, jaw clenched hard. "You're the one who pulled."
Rhea scoffed. "You're the one who fell."
Silence slammed between them, heavy and electric.
Ling looked away first, spine straight, blanket secured now, composure forced back into place piece by piece.
"Get dressed," he said coldly. "We'll leave when the man returns."
Rhea watched him turn his back.
Her lips still tingled.
And for the first time since this whole nightmare began, Rhea realized something terrifying...
If that hadn't been an accident,
she wasn't sure she would've stopped it.
Ling finished changing last.
He turned back instinctively, not to look, he told himself, just to check the door, the fire, the space, and that was when he saw it.
A darkened smear just below Rhea's navel.
Dried blood.
Not much. But enough.
Ling's gaze locked there for a fraction too long before he caught himself. His jaw tightened, expression sharpening into something unreadable.
"You're bleeding," he said flatly.
Rhea looked down, then shrugged, casual to the point of cruelty. "Old news."
Ling took a step closer before he realized he was moving. Stopped himself just in time.
"That piercing," Ling added. "It tore last night."
Rhea's fingers brushed the spot instinctively. She winced, quick, annoyed at herself. "It's fine."
Ling didn't answer immediately.
His hands flicked to the bandage around his own head, then eyes back to Rhea's waist. Calculation. Assessment. Control trying to reassert itself.
"You pulled without checking," Ling said. Not accusing. Stating fact.
Rhea looked up sharply. "I was holding you up."
"I know," Ling replied... too fast.
Silence stretched.
The fire popped once, low.
Rhea straightened, chin lifting, armor sliding back into place. "Don't look at me like that."
"Like what?" Ling asked coolly.
"Like you're responsible."
Ling held her gaze.
"I don't look at things I'm not responsible for," he said.
Rhea scoffed, but it lacked heat. "Then stop."
Ling turned away abruptly, grabbing his jacket, shrugging it on despite the stiffness in his shoulders.
"We'll clean it properly when we get back," he said, voice clipped. "Infection here isn't a joke."
Rhea watched his back, fingers still resting lightly near her navel.
"You don't get to care," Rhea said quietly. "Not like that."
Ling paused at the door.
Just for a second.
Then... "I don't."
But the way he didn't turn around said otherwise.
The door creaked open before either of them could say anything more.
The old man stepped inside, carrying the smell of wet earth and smoke with him. The storm had thinned outside; the mountain looked calmer, as if it had decided to spare them.
He took one look at Ling on his feet, bandaged, pale, jaw set, and nodded.
"You live," he said simply. "Good."
Ling inclined his head in acknowledgment. No gratitude. Just respect.
The man motioned toward the door. "Follow me. There's a safer route down. You won't find it yourselves."