"Sleep. I'll be right here when you wake up."
And with one arm, he wrapped Yao Ziyang in the blanket again, and with the other, he pulled him close against his chest—holding him not like something fragile but something precious.
This embrace didn't last long. Dong Yingming made sure Yao Ziyang was completely asleep before releasing him and heading to the bathroom. The pitter-patter of water coming from the shower head was muffled by the closed door. Dong Yingming had never thought he would have to resort to taking a cold shower.
It was both a novelty and a bitter feeling. The cold water helped to clear his mind and come to a conclusion. Yao Ziyang's fever is his fault! He pushed the youth too far for their first time, and thus, Yao Ziyang was in this state because of his desires. He must take responsibility at the very least and help his man recover.
After drying off and redressing, Dong Yingming returns to his spot next to Yao Ziyang. However, this time, Yao Ziyang didn't snuggle closer. A sudden feeling of loss overcame Dong Yingming, and he goes to wrap the shivering man back into his arms. A trembling whisper seeps out from beside him.
"Ugh. C-cold…"
It was then he realized he messed up. Dong Yingming had taken an extra long time in the freezing waters, and so his usual high temperature was now lower than average! Yao Ziyang was already cold. Adding more could make him even sicker!
Quickly, Dong Yingming took the remote to the heating system and turned up the heat. Once his own temperature returns to normal, he plans to shut it off. For now, he just wanted his baby bird to be comfortable.
…
The world was still in that fragile hush between night and morning. A faint birdsong murmured outside the window, but the city beyond hadn't quite awakened. Inside the cell room, all was calm—heavy with warmth and the remnants of sleep.
Dong Yingming stirred first.
Years of surviving in the rough streets had trained him to wake early, alert, silent. Maintaining this habit even after the point of needing it showed his strict resolve and discipline. But this morning, something made him pause. Something made him stay.
Golden sunlight slipped through the curtains in long, honeyed stripes, spilling across the bed in soft waves. And in that light—he lay there.
Yao Ziyang.
Tangled in the dark red blanket, half on his stomach, his rumpled up shirt allowed his pale back to be bare and kissed by morning light. His hair was tousled, his face turned slightly towards Dong Yingming, lips parted in a quiet, unconscious breath. His lashes cast faint shadows across his flushed cheeks.
But it was the way the sunlight touched him that made Dong Yingming go completely still.
He looked angelic. Immortal.
Like something not meant for this world—soft and golden, fragile, and ethereal. As if the sun itself had chosen to worship him, draping him in light like silk. The warmth caught on the curve of his shoulder, the dip of his spine, the gentle slope of his neck. He glowed—utterly unaware, utterly his.
And for a moment, Dong Yingming didn't see a conquest, or a risk, or a man tangled in his dangerous world.
He saw salvation.
He leaned in, moving with uncharacteristic gentleness, brushing a strand of hair from Yao Ziyang's face. His fingers trembled. He'd never touched anything with such care.
"I don't deserve you."
He whispered, voice hoarse and low, barely audible yet sounded like his loudest volume compared to the silence inside the cell. A knock echoed out, signaling the time for roll call.
But still, he stayed there—watching him, guarding him. Letting the sun mark him with light while Dong Yingming marked him with something deeper.
A silent vow.
That no matter how dark his world was, he would never let anything touch this boy.
Not now.
Not ever.
…
Dong Yingming had wanted to let Yao Ziyang wake up naturally, and so he was willing to wait. However, the time was nearing 10 am, and Yao Ziyang gave no sign of waking up.
Dong Yingming assumed that because Yao Ziyang was an elite and raised spoiled, he didn't bother about keeping a morning schedule. Yet he couldn't help doubt if this was the kind of work ethic Yao Ziyang had as a former VP.
Little did Dong Yingming know that the original Yao Ziyang did indeed arrive in the office late and leave early. This time, however, is due to the current Yao Ziyang simply being lazy. Even before traveling over, Yao Ziyang was not a morning person and struggled tremendously to get out of bed every morning. Hence, how he ended up losing his job.
Seeing no other choice, Dong Yingming got up and prepared for the day. He grabbed his and Yao Ziyang's breakfast and begrudgingly woke his lover up. A gentle shake of his shoulder at first did nothing, so he placed the tray down and helped Yao Ziyang to sit up. Fixing his uplifted shirt down, he rubs both cheeks with his rough, scarred hands and softly speaks.
"Yao Ziyang, it's time to get up. You have to take your medicine and eat."
The fevered man frowns. His lips purse to a cute pout as his only form of protest. He doesn't speak, merely grunts but continues to sit up by himself. His eyes conceal his irises in an attempt to trick the body into sleeping longer. Dong Yingming gives an exasperated sigh. This cute man is really troublesome.
Dong Yingming sits on the edge of the bed, beside Yao Ziyang, and goes about their newly established morning routine. Feeding the bitter pill, then the porridge, and finally, when it comes time to give the golden milk, Yao Ziyang is fully awake. Afterward is Dong Yingming's turn to eat, a simple, yet not so simple, breakfast sandwich with some oatmeal.
Once Yao Ziyang was awake, he realized he'd missed his chance to share his food! How devastating. However, he wasn't depressed for long. There was always lunch and dinner. Today, he was resolute in feeding Dong Yingming his food and maybe even returning last night's favor.
Dong Yingming didn't know what was going on in his lover's head. However, he seemed much more energetic this morning, so Dong Yingming didn't give it much thought. Just as he was finishing up his meal, their silent retreat was interrupted by a knock on the cell door.
The door gently swung open, and standing in the brilliance of fluorescent hallway lights stood a guard.
His face was striking—sharp cheekbones, a strong jaw with a hint of defiance, and lips that looked like they belonged to someone who smirked more than he smiled. A thin scar ran just above one brow, giving him an even more reckless air.
His black hair was short on the sides, tousled on top, like he'd run a hand through it instead of using a mirror.
Young, maybe 25, with the rough-cut edge of someone who grew up on the streets rather than in a training academy. His prison guard uniform hung loose at the collar, top buttons undone, exposing a silver chain around his neck—one that glinted faintly under the harsh fluorescents. Tattoos laced down his right arm, partly hidden beneath rolled-up sleeves, each mark a story only the right people would recognize.
He had the kind of hands that had seen a fight. And the kind of stare that made people shut up fast.
Dark green, hooded eyes held a quiet fury beneath them, but behind that was something sharper: discipline. He was dangerous, yes—but controlled. Every move, every word, calculated.
By all appearances, he looked like the kind of guy who shouldn't be wearing a uniform.
His name tag was real. 'Chang Xiao' was etched onto the silver plate that hung on his jacket. Silver, only one rank below gold. His position was only lesser than the warden of the prison, himself. His file was clean. But everything else about him—the way he carried himself - the way his eyes flicked from Dong Yingming to Yao Ziyang with predator precision—wasn't regulation.
To the other prison staff, he was just another rough-around-the-edges guard, a delinquent with a badge who got the job done.
But to Dong Yingming?
He was a blade hidden in plain sight.
Loyal to the bone. Planted on the inside to watch over certain prisoners, intercept threats, and relay orders from behind the walls. He had a direct line to Dong Yingming—encrypted messages, burner phones, and silent nods at late-night meetings under the buzz of flickering lights.
No one else, unless important, knew who he was. They didn't need to.
But when Dong Yingming called, he obeyed—without question, without hesitation.
Because no matter how deep undercover he went, how filthy the prison walls became, or how close he got to the enemy—He knew where his loyalty lived.
And if anyone ever threatened the man he served?
He'd drop the disguise in a heartbeat… and leave blood on the bars.
He stood at attention just inside the cell, arms crossed behind his back—watching. Not with the passive disinterest of a seasoned officer, but with the simmering, barely-contained energy of someone dangerous.
"Boss Dong, the warden wishes to meet with you."
Something in the air shifted then.