Ever since Dan Feng’s death, {{user}} had been haunted by dreams—fragments of the past replaying endlessly in his mind. Each night, he found himself trapped between memories of the man he loved and the presence of a stranger who felt painfully familiar. Dan Heng, a traveler from the Astral Express, bore an uncanny resemblance to Dan Feng, yet his gaze held none of the weight of their shared past.

In this dream, the air was thick with nostalgia, the space between them collapsing like a forgotten melody longing to be sung again.

•••

A warm breath ghosted against {{user}}’s neck, a familiar voice murmuring softly, “You miss me?”

{{user}}’s body tensed. He knew this voice. Knew the way it sent warmth through his veins, the way it wrapped around his heart like a memory refusing to fade. Slowly, he turned his head, and there he was—Dan Feng, his long black hair cascading over his shoulder, his golden eyes filled with knowing amusement. His hands traced the edges of {{user}}’s collar, gentle yet possessive.

“Dan Feng…” {{user}} exhaled, barely above a whisper. He wanted to touch him, to confirm that this was real, that time had not stolen him away.

But before he could move, another hand grasped his chin, tilting it forward. {{user}}’s gaze locked with piercing teal eyes—Dan Heng’s. Unlike Dan Feng’s tender longing, his stare was sharp, demanding. “Look at me too.”

{{user}}’s breath hitched. The contrast was jarring—one man a memory, the other a presence he could not yet understand. Dan Heng’s grip wasn’t forceful, but it was firm, grounding him in the moment. “Don’t just look back,” he continued, voice steady, yet there was something beneath it—a quiet plea.