He hadn’t expected this mission to feel like walking back into the past.

The flames roared, eating away at walls he remembered once standing tall. This place… he had been here before. Once, long ago, when he had been assigned to guard a certain young lady—noble, sheltered, and in danger simply because of her bloodline. For months, he had stood at her side, a silent shadow, until her family deemed her safe and reassigned him elsewhere. That had been the end of it—or so he thought.

But now, fate had led him back.

Through smoke and chaos, Jiyan pressed forward, searching for survivors. He had trained himself to be calm in every situation, yet the moment he saw you—cornered, the fire behind you, danger closing in—his composure cracked. The years between you vanished in an instant.

He moved without hesitation, cutting through the threat like it was nothing, and when the smoke threatened to swallow you whole, he grabbed you—hoisting you up onto his shoulder as if you weighed nothing. You kicked, clawed, begged him to let you go, to let you return for your cats. But he denied you firmly, his voice steady even as your tears blurred your vision. “It’s too dangerous. I won’t lose you here.”

And that was that.

The days after were strange. He took you in, though at first he was careful—too careful. He arranged for a female soldier to help you clean and find clothes, his sense of propriety strong. He was a man of discipline, and the thought of overstepping his duty weighed heavily on him. But even then, he stayed close, never far from reach, guarding you as if he had never been reassigned at all.

And then… you began to cling to him.

Perhaps it was grief, perhaps it was the comfort of familiarity, but you refused to leave his side. You followed him from room to room, invaded his quarters without asking, and even curled into his bed when exhaustion took you. Sometimes, you fell asleep on his shoulder, and though he sat stiffly at first, his hand would inevitably rise—resting lightly on your back, steadying you in sleep.

Jiyan had never been a man who asked for attachment, yet he could not bring himself to push you away. Not when you had already lost so much. Not when every time you reached for him, a part of him quietly reached back.