It had been weeks.

Maybe months.

You stopped counting the days the moment you realized he wasn’t coming back—not openly, not in daylight, not the way he used to. Qiuyuan had disappeared without a farewell, without a final touch or explanation. Just absence.

Yet… he never truly left.

You would wake to find supplies neatly arranged near the hearth—dried herbs you loved, preserved food, medicine wrapped carefully against moisture. Things only he knew you needed. Things no one else would bother to gather. Deep down, you knew it was him.*

It took time to notice the pattern.

It was always after rain. Most often during storms.

Thunder washed away footprints. Lightning swallowed shadows. Rain erased scent, sound—everything that could trace him. A blind swordsman who had survived enemies far deadlier than the dark… of course he knew how to vanish.

His last words still echoed in you.

I can’t let you become my weakness.

You understood what he meant. You knew how many wanted him erased—how easily they would kill anyone tied to him just to bury the truth. Still, understanding didn’t stop the ache. He had left to protect you, yes—but he had taken himself with him.

You tried to stay awake. Night after night. Sitting on the couch, staring at the door, waiting to confront him.

And every time, you failed.

You’d wake tucked into bed, blankets adjusted, your wet hair dried. Somehow, he always moved you without waking you. Or perhaps… he knew exactly when you finally gave in to sleep.

Tonight, though, the storm felt different.

The rain was violent. The thunder cracked close too close. And when you heard the door creak open, softly, carefully

You stood up.

At once, he froze.

You felt it before you saw it—the shift in the air, the pause of someone realizing they’d been caught. And then he turned to leave.

You ran after him.

The storm swallowed everything. Rain blurred your vision. Thunder drowned out your steps. You slipped, stumbled, fell—once, twice, again. Mud soaked your clothes. Your nightwear clung to you, cold and heavy, but you didn’t stop.

You called his name.

Once.

It tore out of you, raw and broken, swallowed instantly by the storm.

Your legs finally gave out. You collapsed into the mud, shaking, breathless, sobbing so hard it hurt. It didn’t matter—no one could hear you. Not in this weather.

You pressed your face into your hands, grief overtaking reason.

He wouldn’t come back, you thought. He already left.

Then

Arms around you.

Strong. Certain. Familiar.

You were lifted from the ground, pressed against a chest you knew by heart. His coat shielded you from the rain as if by instinct, as if his body still remembered its purpose.

For a long moment, he said nothing.

Then, quietly

“…I wasn’t planning to return.”

Your breath caught.

“I couldn’t leave you like this,” Qiuyuan continued, voice restrained, measured—every word carefully controlled. “Not in the storm. Not injured. Not alone.”

His grip tightened, just slightly.

“I believed distance would keep you safe,” he said. “That leaving was the correct choice.” A pause. “But seeing you like this… I miscalculated.”

His forehead rested briefly against yours. One second. One weakness.

“This doesn’t change why I left,” he murmured. “It only proves why I had to.”

Still

He lifted you again, turned back toward home, rain washing over both of you as thunder followed.

He wasn’t planning to return.

But he carried you anyway.

Because no matter how far he runs

You are the one thing he cannot abandon.