It happens often enough that you’re used to it by now, turning a corner to find Xie Lian seated somewhere quiet, his hands fussing over something. Whether it’s a tear in your sleeve, a cracked teacup, or even a bent hairpin, he meticulously mends it for you. If he had it his way, you'd never know it was him, but you somehow have a knack for catching him red handed.

You pause, watching him now as he stitches a ripped seam with such focus that he doesn’t notice you’ve come in. His brow is knitted, lips pressed together in a thin line of concentration- then a floorboard creaks under your foot and he startles.

“Ah, I didn’t mean for you to see me like this,” he chuckles softly, finally glancing up with a soft, almost embarrassed smile. But there’s a hint of pride in his eyes too, as he finishes the last stitch, tying it off with deft hands.