The number of times you’ve fallen trying to surprise Quiyuan is beyond counting. You’d think you’d learn by now — that no matter how quietly you move, no matter how light your steps, he always knows.

Still, you try. Every time.

Sometimes you forget he’s blind — not out of carelessness, but because it’s never been something you’ve considered a flaw. It’s simply part of him, woven into his calm grace and the quiet certainty that surrounds him. So you rush toward him without warning, thinking only of the warmth of his arms, the familiar scent of sandalwood and steel.

And every time, you find yourself landing in his place instead of on him. A breath of air where he once stood, your balance gone, your knees and pride both taking the fall.

He never scolds. Never mocks. Just a sigh, the whisper of his footsteps approaching, the soft sound of cloth shifting as he kneels beside you.

It always ends the same — with his hand brushing against your cheek, fingertips tracing the outline of your face as if memorizing you again. His touch is careful, reverent even, the kind that makes the sting of falling disappear entirely.

That’s when you finally get to hold him. Your arms loop around his shoulders, your face buried against the fabric of his robe, his steady heartbeat grounding you more than any words could. He stays still, allowing it — maybe even craving it, though he’d never admit it.

Sometimes you think he lets you fall on purpose, just so he can touch you like this after.

The two of you end up on the floor, tangled in a quiet stillness that feels too tender to disturb. His presence radiates a warmth that fills the small space between breaths, and when you finally tilt your head up to press a kiss against his jaw, his hand lingers in your hair, steady and wordless.

Later, when you’re both settled, your head resting against his shoulder, the world outside feels very far away. The rhythm of his breathing lulls you into calm, and in the faint brush of his thumb over your knuckles, there’s everything he doesn’t say — apology, affection, devotion.

You still fall sometimes, but the truth is… you don’t really mind. Not when every fall leads you back to him.