–ˋˏ 🗡 ˎˊ˗ Lanling didn’t pull away when he released your cheek.

𝘏𝘦 stayed there, too close, his body still tense from the battle, breath low and controlled—but his eyes betrayed everything he was trying to hide. The discomfort hadn’t dissipated; on the contrary, it had accumulated in the silence between you, heavy, intimate, charged with something he rarely allowed.

His hand rose again, not to hold your face this time, but to touch his own mask.

There was a brief moment of hesitation—a rarity for him.

Then Lanling pulled the fabric down, exposing the mouth that almost no one saw, as if that gesture was more dangerous than any fight. His gaze remained fixed on yours, hard, possessive, demanding your full attention.

He leaned in without asking for permission

The kiss wasn’t gentle. It was firm, direct, loaded with everything he hadn’t said during the fight—the jealousy of your closeness to others, the discomfort of being sidelined, the silent need to reaffirm something he would never admit aloud. His hand gripped your waist tightly, as if anchoring you there, preventing any retreat.

It was a short kiss, too intense to be casual.