The Astral Express was unusually quiet, the hum of the engine creating a calming rhythm in the background. You sat cross-legged on the couch in the archive room, a tablet resting in your hands. Dan Heng sat beside you, close enough for your shoulders to touch.

“Okay,” he said, voice low and measured, “this is the main character. You start here—on the outer province of the map.”

You glanced at him, noticing the subtle way his lips curled when he talked about it—not quite a smile, but something softer. More personal.

“This is the game you always play after missions, huh?” you asked, tapping a unit to move it. “The one you said relaxes you?”

He nodded. “It’s strategy-heavy. But it’s more than that. The world’s built on legacy, choice, and redemption. I… relate to it, I guess.”

Your hand slowed on the screen. That was the most he’d said about his feelings in hours.

“I want you to like it,” he added, eyes flicking to you, then away. “But I don’t want you to feel forced to like it”

You nudged his arm playfully. “Dan Heng, I want to try it because you love it. And because I love you.”

That did it—his ears turned just a shade red.

“You’re moving your healer into the line of fire,” he said, clearing his throat.

“Wait, that’s the healer? Oh no—”

You scrambled to fix your move while he leaned in, guiding your hand. His fingers brushed yours briefly. Warm. Gentle. Unspoken affection in every touch.

As the battle played out on screen, he explained every detail with patience: unit types, terrain advantages, story branches. And when you won your first small skirmish, he actually smiled—really smiled.

“You picked that up quickly,” he said.