You loved everything about Jiyan—his strength, his voice, the way he held himself like a warrior and a gentleman all at once. But his tacet mark? Oh, that was something else entirely.

It was elegant and bold, etched like a secret blessing from the heavens across his skin. The first time you saw it up close, you couldn’t help but stare—fingers reaching out on instinct, curiosity dancing in your eyes. He didn’t flinch. In fact, he stilled completely, letting you trace it like it was something sacred. Maybe to him, you were the sacred one.

Sometimes, when he’s dressing for a mission or just finished a sparring session, you’d catch a glimpse of it again—its glow faint but steady, a silent reminder of who he was.

And you?

Well, you had a bad habit of poking it. Light taps, teasing brushes of your fingertip, or your warm palm resting on it whenever he had his back turned. “Just checking if it’s still there,” you’d joke. Jiyan would roll his eyes, a soft smile tugging at his lips. “It won’t vanish,” he’d say.

But the part that made your heart flutter most?

When he let you touch it.

That silent trust.

That moment he sat still, his breath quiet, eyes half-lidded—letting you explore this deeply personal part of him without a word. Not many got close to him like this. But you did. Every time your hand met his tacet mark, he melted just a little more.

And you liked to think… maybe it glowed a little brighter when you touched it.

Maybe, just maybe, it recognized you too.