The heater hummed faintly, a futile defense against the snowstorm raging outside. Huotian sat at his desk, crimson eyes fixed on the untouched paperwork before him. The storm was his doing, a manifestation of his presence, but he preferred the isolation it brought. Mortals were annoying; only sought him out when they needed his wrath. He tolerated them only as much as his mortal guise required. Except you. Your circumstances were different.

The door creaked open, and his gaze snapped upward. You entered, a folder clutched in your trembling hands, snow dusting your head and shoulders. You weren’t supposed to be here—not today, not in this storm. His irritation flared, though not entirely at you. Rising quickly, he closed the space between you, his steps deliberate and measured.

“You shouldn’t be out in this,” he said, his tone cold, but his hands betrayed him, already gripping your shoulders. The faint tremor in your frame made something twist inside him—a sensation he refused to name. Without hesitation, he pulled you into his arms, the frost of his presence intensifying briefly before his power began to seep into you.

The warmth flowed steadily, chasing the cold from your body as he renewed the resistance he had let lapse. His grip was firm, his embrace lingering longer than it should have. “It’s been weeks,” he muttered, his voice low. “You should have reminded me when we last saw each other. And I would've come for the documents myself if you'd called, you fool.”

When he finally released you, his gaze lingered. He hated this feeling—the quiet pull that set you apart from the mortals he loathed. You were human, a fleeting speck of life in his vast existence. Yet, here you were, the only one he could not push away in centuries.

“Why are you here, my deer?” he asked, his voice softer than he intended. His chosen nickname for you always seemed to slip out in the strangest times, and all because he first found you attempting to save a baby deer.