Mu Chen was rock solid in the institute room. He was still solid in the hallway afterward. Even when Dr. Qiu said Ye Fan's name like he was unraveling a tight knot, Mu Chen didn't flinch. He only started to shake later, when he was finally safe enough and his body decided to catch up.
Back on their floor, Lin Lan went to log her escort duty. Zhou Xiao got roped into a quick chat with Luo Wei. The ready room buzzed with hushed movements and quiet voices, like everyone was trying way too hard to act normal.
Mu Chen slipped behind his divider and sat on the edge of his bed. He slowly pulled off his black gloves. His fingers looked perfectly fine. Then, as he rested his hands on his knees, he noticed it. A tiny tremor. So small nobody else would see it. But big enough that he absolutely did. Mu Chen stared at his hands, like they belonged to a stranger.
He didn't feel weak. He felt furious. Anger was a foreign feeling in this place. Fear, he understood. Calm, he understood. Anger was different. Anger made you want to move. He flexed his fingers once, a futile attempt to make it stop. It didn't.
A knock echoed against his divider. Mu Chen's whole body tensed, then he forced himself to relax. "Yes?" he managed.
Ye Fan walked in without waiting for an invitation. Mu Chen's heart leaped. Ye Fan rarely came behind his divider; it felt too personal, too much like getting too close. But Ye Fan was here now, filling the small space with his presence and his warmth.
Mu Chen stood up immediately. "Major—"
Ye Fan's gaze flickered down to his hands. "Sit," Ye Fan said. Mu Chen hesitated, then sat. Ye Fan stepped closer, looking down at Mu Chen's fingers. "You're shaking," Ye Fan stated.
Mu Chen tried to ball his hands into fists. "No."
Ye Fan caught his wrist. It wasn't rough, just firm. Mu Chen froze. For a split second, the tremor actually stopped under Ye Fan's grip, as if his body instinctively responded to pressure and stability. Ye Fan's thumb pressed gently against the inside of Mu Chen's wrist. Mu Chen's breath hitched. Not because it hurt. But because it was the first genuine touch Ye Fan had given him in what felt like ages.
Ye Fan's voice was low, a rough edge to it like he had to fight to get the words out. "You're lying again." Mu Chen swallowed. "It's nothing." Ye Fan stared at him. "They pushed you." Mu Chen didn't answer. Ye Fan's grip tightened slightly. "What did he say?" Mu Chen looked away. "It doesn't matter."
Ye Fan's eyes darkened. "It matters to me." Mu Chen went utterly still. That sentence hit him like a punch. Because it sounded like something no one had ever said to him as a kid. *It matters to me.* Mu Chen's throat felt tight. He forced his voice to be steady. "He threatened pairing review."
Ye Fan's jaw clenched. "With who." Mu Chen paused. Ye Fan probably already knew, but he needed to hear it. "With you," Mu Chen said. Ye Fan's eyes flashed with something sharp and dangerous. Then he reined it in. He slowly released Mu Chen's wrist, as if he feared crushing it if he held on any longer. For a moment, the tremor returned.
Then Ye Fan did something that made Mu Chen's entire body go rigid. Ye Fan sat down on the edge of the bed. Inside the divider. Way too close. Way too private. Mu Chen's pulse stayed steady, but his skin felt hot. Ye Fan stared straight ahead, not at Mu Chen. His voice came out rough. "They think they can use me to keep you in line." Mu Chen whispered, "Yes." Ye Fan's fingers flexed once on his knee. "They think I'll fall in line if they call it safety."
Mu Chen didn't say anything. Because that was the ultimate insult. Not to Ye Fan's pride, but to his freedom. Ye Fan finally turned his head and looked at Mu Chen. His eyes dropped to Mu Chen's hands again. The tremor was still there, small and stubborn. Ye Fan's voice softened. "Give me your hand."
Mu Chen froze. "What?" Ye Fan's expression hardened. "Give it." Mu Chen slowly raised his hand. Ye Fan took it. This time, full contact. Palm to palm. Ye Fan's hand was warm. Rough. Strong. Mu Chen's breath hitched again. Ye Fan didn't squeeze hard. He just held. Steady. Like he was anchoring something without calling it a connection. The tremor began to slow.
Mu Chen stared at their joined hands. This wasn't allowed. Not on paper. Not in any official records. Not in any rulebook. But it felt so simple. Just warmth. Just pressure. Just someone holding you like you actually mattered. Ye Fan's voice was low, almost sounding annoyed with himself. "I'm not linking you." Mu Chen's voice was quiet. "I know." Ye Fan swallowed. "I'm just... holding."
Mu Chen didn't know what to say. So he said the truth. "It helps." Ye Fan's thumb moved slightly over Mu Chen's knuckles. A small movement. Careful. Almost tender. Then Ye Fan's eyes sharpened, as if he suddenly remembered the cameras. He released Mu Chen's hand abruptly and stood up. The warmth vanished far too quickly. Mu Chen's fingers curled into empty air.
Ye Fan's voice was cold again, like he'd put his armor back on. "Don't let Dr. Qiu corner you again." Mu Chen looked up at him. "I won't." Ye Fan stared at him for a long second. Then he said, quieter, "If they force pairing review, I'll refuse again." Mu Chen's throat tightened. "That won't stop them." Ye Fan's eyes went dark. "Then I'll leave." Mu Chen went still. Leave meant defecting. The private guilds. War.
Ye Fan turned away sharply, as if he regretted saying it out loud. Mu Chen spoke softly. "Not yet." Ye Fan didn't answer. He walked out of the divider without looking back. Mu Chen sat on the bed, his hand still feeling warm for a moment. Then the warmth faded. The tremor returned, faint. Mu Chen put on the black gloves again, slow and deliberate. His hands were steady now. Not because he wasn't afraid. But because, for one minute, Ye Fan had held him like he was worth keeping.