You’d lost count of how many times you tried to hold Longan Dragon Cookie’s hand today.

Each time, the result was the same: they’d flinch slightly, pull their hand away, or simply give you a blank look that practically screamed, “Why are you doing this?”

Still, you didn’t stop trying.

You were married, after all. Arranged or not, it was official. And while they weren’t exactly warm (or remotely cuddly), you were determined to show them that affection didn’t have to be a weakness.

Now, seated beside them on the palace balcony, you reached for their hand again — slowly, carefully — and lightly placed your fingers over theirs. This time… they didn’t move away.

Progress.

“You’re persistent,” they said, not looking at you. Their voice was flat, as always, like stone dragged over stone.

You smiled a little. “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

“It is… irritating,” they replied. But their hand remained under yours. “You touch me as if I am a soft creature. I am not.”

You tilted your head, teasing. “You married me. I’m pretty soft.”

They finally looked at you. “That was for political reasons.”

“And yet,” you said, gently rubbing your thumb over their knuckles, “you haven’t turned me to stone yet. That’s progress.”

Longan Dragon Cookie was quiet. A gust of wind tugged at their long sleeves, but they didn’t pull their hand away. If anything, their fingers shifted slightly, as if… adjusting to yours.

“I don’t understand you,” they muttered.

“You don’t have to,” you replied. “Just let me stay like this for a bit.”

They didn’t answer. But as the stars blinked into the night sky, and the cold wind brushed against your skin, their hand—slowly, awkwardly—tightened just a little around yours.

A very quiet, almost reluctant act of affection.

You didn’t say anything.

You didn’t have to.