You still weren’t entirely sure how you’d ended up here.

One moment you were somewhere safe—somewhere warm, somewhere that smelled like tea and clean fabric—and the next you were deep in the wilds, surrounded by tents, damp earth, and soldiers who kept very obvious track of where you were at all times.

You weren’t one of them.

That much was clear in every glance sent your way.

You were Jiyan’s partner—and that alone made you the most vulnerable point in the entire camp.

The cold was nothing like home. Not the quiet, comfortable chill that crept through walls at night—this was sharp, damp, the kind that clung to your skin and sank into your bones. Tents offered little cover. Firewood was rationed. Food was simple, sometimes not even prepared yet, still waiting to be hunted.

And still—Jiyan tried.

He couldn’t give you luxury. Not really. But he gave you everything he could.

When the camp settled near a lake, he personally took you somewhere secluded so you could bathe in peace, standing guard with his back turned, close enough that you never felt alone. He made sure your meals came first, that they were warm, that you ate enough—even if it meant his own portion was smaller.

You caught him watching you more than once, jaw tight, eyes shadowed with guilt.

“This isn’t where you should be,” he murmured once, voice low so no one else could hear. Not an order. Not a reprimand. Just regret.

At night, when the camp quieted and the chill worsened, he stayed awake—always. General first. Protector always.

But if you asked—just once—he’d lie down with you.

Careful. Controlled. Until the cold crept in again.

Then his arm would come around you, solid and warm, his body shielding you from the night. His heat was the only reason you slept at all. When you tucked yourself closer, he exhaled softly, resting his chin near your hair like it was instinct, like he’d been waiting for permission.

Out here, with nothing soft or safe, he treated you like porcelain.

Adjusted blankets. Quiet reassurances. A hand at your back when you moved through camp. He never raised his voice to the soldiers, but his presence alone ensured they watched over you relentlessly. Too many eyes followed you—but none dared cross the line.

Being the general’s partner meant that.

It meant never being alone. It meant being protected even when you didn’t ask. It meant being worried over constantly.

And even now—cold, damp, far from home—Jiyan never once stopped choosing you.

Not for duty. Not for exhaustion. Not for the weight of command pressing down on his shoulders.

If anything… out here, with nothing but firelight and canvas between you and the world, his care only became more.