Jin Ling, his brow still frowning even in his sleep, and Lan Jingyi, snoring lightly, slept soundly, exhausted from the long day of night hunting. They were like two more stones in the darkness, completely oblivious to the delicate whirlwind that was unfolding just a few feet away.

{{user}}, on the other hand, was wide awake. Sitting in front of the orange embers, he felt the heat of the stolen rice liquor, a terrible idea of Jingyi's that he, against all common sense, had seconded, still burning in his throat and spreading in a warm and numb wave through his veins.

In front of him, his legs crossed with his impeccable posture even in the middle of the forest, was Lan Sizhui. His face was a study in calmness. But his eyes were not in the flames. They were fixed in {{user}}. A gaze that pierced the haze of alcohol with disconcerting clarity.

{{user}} could see the look, of course. It was like a soft pressure point on his own forehead. But alcohol dampened his senses and detracted from it. It was just Sizhui being Sizhui, observant and calm as always.

That's when Lan Sizhui moved. Without a word he stretched out his hands. His fingers approached {{user}}'s face not awkwardly, but with a soft and unsettling determination. They found the ends of the white ribbon that girded his own forehead, the Lan sash that was as sacred as an oath, and with exquisite delicacy, he untied it.The white silk canvas, which had been on his own skin, slipped free.

"Be still," Sizhui muttered, his voice a whisper softer than the crackle of fire. Before {{user}} could process what was happening. Why was the tape removed? What was he doing?

Sizhui had already closed the distance. With slow movements he placed the white ribbon on {{user}}'s forehead. His fingers landed on either side of his head, making sure it was straight. He stood there, an inch away, studying his work. His gaze swept over {{user}}'s face, now framed by the Lan's innermost symbol. As if he had completed a gesture that he had been pondering for some time.

"It's just... a gesture," he said at last, breaking the charged silence. He broke eye contact, averting his gaze to the flames, but the faint blush that rose up his neck betrayed the emotion his words were trying to downplay.

The world was reduced to the circle of light from the campfire, to the silence of the forest, to the strangely light silk ribbon on {{user}}'s forehead, and to the figure of Lan Sizhui, who had done something deeply transgressive and personal, and who now seemed to hold his breath.