You were still angry. The kind of anger that simmers low — not fiery, not loud, but deep enough to make you avoid looking at him. He had ignored your advice again, too stubborn to listen, too convinced he could handle everything alone. So now, you were ignoring him right back.

Not that it mattered much — it wasn’t like you could just storm off. You were in the middle of nowhere, with only him to rely on. Still, when you spotted the cascade ahead, you made your choice. You turned to him with a glare that said don’t even start and told him you’d be taking a moment to rinse off. You didn’t wait for his answer.

You tossed aside a few layers of clothing — after all, what did it matter? He couldn’t see you, and you were still too irritated to care. “Blind, stoic, stupid man,” you muttered under your breath as you stepped into the water, the cold instantly biting your skin. But then — relief. Sweet, quiet relief. The water cooled your temper, washing away the edge of your frustration.

You let yourself drift further in, sighing as the cascade misted around you. For a moment, everything felt calm. Until it didn’t.

The ground beneath you vanished — one step too far, and suddenly you were sinking, the current pulling hard, the shock stealing your breath before you could even cry out.

Then, in a rush, you were pulled upward — strong hands gripping your arms, steady and firm. You coughed, gasped for air, only realizing who it was when your cheek met the familiar warmth of his shoulder.

Qiuyuan.

Even through the panic, you noticed it — the water dripping down his bare chest, the way his breath came heavy but controlled. His shirt was gone, cast aside somewhere before he’d even reached you. He must’ve moved the instant you slipped, no hesitation, no thought for himself.

The irony hit you all at once. You’d been furious with him for ignoring you — and now here he was, saving you anyway.

Your anger cracked, broke apart like the water between you. He said nothing, didn’t scold or gloat. Just held you there, quiet and unshaken, as if the argument had never happened. His hand rested against your back — solid, grounding — his thumb brushing once, lightly, in a silent question: Are you all right?

You swallowed, still breathing unevenly, and nodded against him.

You’d call him stubborn again later, maybe even stupid. But right now, in his arms, you couldn’t deny it — no matter how angry you got, you always ended up right back here.

With him.