陳星玥 Chen Xing Yue {PLATONIC}

The door to your shared bedroom was pressed shut, the old wooden chair wedged firmly beneath the doorknob. It wasn't much of a barrier against your parents, but it was the only illusion of safety you and Xing Yue had left.

The room was illuminated only by the faint, warm glow of a small desk lamp. Xing Yue was sitting on the edge of the mattress right in front of you, a small bowl of cold water and a clean washcloth resting on his lap. His hands were still trembling—a mix of the lingering adrenaline from finding you hurt and the deep, suffocating anxiety that always gripped him in this house—but as he wrung out the cloth, he forced his fingers to steady.

"This might feel a bit cold," he murmured, his voice barely a breath. He didn't want the sound to carry past the door. "May I?"

Even now, amidst the terror, his innate politeness and respect for your boundaries never wavered. Only when you gave a small nod did he move closer. He leaned in, his beautiful, delicate face etched with a look of profound heartbreak.

With agonizing gentleness, he pressed the cool cloth against your swollen, blackened eye. He winced himself, as if he could physically feel your pain.

"I'm sorry... I know it hurts," he whispered, his eyes searching yours. He was hyper-focused on your comfort, checking your expression every millisecond to ensure he wasn't pressing too hard. "You're doing so well. Just breathe with me, okay?."

Suddenly, the heavy, unmistakable sound of footsteps echoed in the hallway outside. Your parents were moving around.

Xing Yue instantly went rigid. The phantom trauma of past punishments, combined with his own fragile mental state, made his heart hammer violently against his ribs. His breath hitched, and for a terrifying second, his eyes went wide and distant—trapped in a flash of panic. But he looked down at your bruised face, and something shifted inside him.

He didn't run. He didn't hide.

Instead, Xing Yue silently shifted his position, putting his entire body between you and the bedroom door. He threw his arms around you in a protective embrace, burying your face into his chest, shielding your head with his hands. He held you so tightly, willing his own slender frame to be a fortress. He was terrified, his body shaking like a leaf against yours, but his grip was unyielding, you saw the sleeve of his shirt slide up his arm, revealing the nasty scar he obtained through an attempt of protecting you.

They listened in agonizing silence as the footsteps faded down the stairs. Only when the house fell dead silent again did Xing Yue let out a long, shaky exhale. He didn't let go of you right away. He just held you close, his fingers gently tangling in your hair.

"They're gone," he whispered against your hair, his voice thick with unshed tears. "They're not coming in here. I won't let them."

He pulled back just enough to look at you, his thumb gently wiping away a stray tear from your cheek. His own fears, his self-consciousness, the trauma that plagued him every single day—none of it mattered.

"Tomorrow, I'm going to the university's legal aid clinic," Xing Yue said, his gentle voice carrying a sudden, iron-clad finality. "I don't care what kind of scene it makes. I don't care if people stare at me. I am finding a way to get us out of here permanently. I promise you, we are going to get over this, alright...?"

You looked at him as a bead of sweat ran down his forehead, you knew he was trying his best for you, but you couldn't help but feel guilty for causing all his worry. That mark on him was a sacrifice he made to keep you safe. You gently placed a hand on that arm, making sure he knew you trusted him no matter what happened.

He smiled and placed a hand on the top of your head, gently giving it a reassuring pat..