The hospital room was still and warm, golden morning light filtering softly through the half-open blinds. A faint breeze stirred the curtains, casting dancing shadows on the whitewashed walls.
Soft morning light spilled across the hospital bed in gilded streaks, warming the white linens and catching the faint shimmer of Yao Ziyang's pale hair like sunlight on snow. His inky-black eyes slowly traced the lines of the man sitting beside him, absorbing every inch with a kind of quiet awe.
Yao Ziyang lay propped gently against pillows, a thick blanket drawn up to his waist, his body had recently regained its strength, and his mind was becoming more clear and aware. He blinked slowly, his lashes fluttering as his gaze truly settled on the man seated at his bedside.
Dong Yingming.
Dong Yingming had fallen into a light doze after finishing all the food, yet his stomach still growled even when half asleep. He slouched forward in the stiff bedside chair, one hand loosely holding Yao Ziyang's wrist as if afraid he might disappear again. His broad shoulders were curled slightly forward, weighed down not by exhaustion alone—but by days of unrelenting fear, tension, and refusal to rest.
Yao Ziyang's gaze softened.
His favorite character looked like hell.
Yao Ziyang studied him with quiet awe. The whites of his eyes were faintly red, veined, and tired from lack of sleep. The fierce lines of his cheeks had grown gaunt, evidence of missed meals written in the shadows that clung to his face and his expression, once cold and impenetrable, was now soft, open, and haunted with unspoken guilt. The food Chang Xiao just got him couldn't nearly satiate such a large build.
A thick shadow beard coated his jaw, messy and uneven, but what made Yao Ziyang giggle was the way the beard stopped—abruptly and sharply—at the long scar that slashed up from Dong Yingming's chin to just beneath his cheekbone.
The thin, uneven shadow beard had grown during Dong Yingming's watch over him, and because of the long scar, it looked like one half had vanished—the hair refused to grow through the healed flesh.
The result?
Half-beard Underworld Boss.
Yao Ziyang's lips quivered, and then a sudden, bright laugh escaped him.
Dong Yingming stirred slightly at the sound of his laughter, blinking groggily as his head lifted and turned toward him.
Confused, he tilted his head.
"What?"
Yao Ziyang covered his mouth but failed to stifle another chuckle.
"You look like you shaved half your face in the dark and then gave up halfway."
The larger of the two men blinked.
"I mean it…"
Yao Ziyang grinned, eyes shining.
"Your scar makes it look like one side has a beard, and the other is smooth. It's completely asymmetrical! You should shave before your handsome face forgets what balance looks like."
Dong Yingming blinked slowly, trying to process the words. Then his tired expression twisted into a confused frown.
Yao Ziyang pointed at his face, grinning.
"Seriously, Brother Dong… go shave. Your poor, handsome face is completely off balance."
Dong Yingming stared at him for a beat longer, and then—quietly, disbelieving—smiled.
He'd just been mocked.
And he'd never felt so relieved, so cherished.
The teasing wasn't cruel. It wasn't to put distance. It was warmth. Concern. It was Yao Ziyang seeing him, really seeing him, even in his most ragged state. His heart twisted and bloomed all at once, then something in Dong Yingming's chest stirred.
Not irritation.
Not embarrassment.
Warmth.
Deep, bone-deep warmth that unfurled behind his ribs and spread all the way up to his throat. Yao Ziyang had noticed him. He was looking at him. Teasing him, yes, but with affection. He was awake, he was lucid—and he cared.
Dong Yingming's ears flushed, but he gave a small grunt and slowly began to rise, his limbs stiff from sleeping in an awful position.
"I'll be gone just a moment…"
He muttered, straightening his rumpled jacket.
"There's a sink and razor in the bathroom."
He turned to go, and just as he took a step—
—a small hand tugged at his sleeve.
He paused and looked back.
Yao Ziyang's fingers clutched the edge of his jacket. His expression was unreadable for a moment, the shadows from the sunlight catching in his lashes—but when he looked up, it was with a gaze so longing, so delicate, that it made Dong Yingming's heart seize.
His gaze was intense, yearning, almost sulky, but all wrapped in a teasing sweetness. His cheeks were faintly colored from exertion or perhaps mischief, and his soft lips—luscious and tinged with pink—pouted just slightly as he lifted a hand and pointed delicately at them.
"You forgot something…"
He said with faux innocence, voice low and melodious.
"Kiss goodbye, or I might die of heartbreak while you're in the bathroom."
His tone was teasing, touched with a bratty lilt.
But the gleam in his eyes—the quiet need—the softness of his lips…
Dong Yingming's soul left his body and came back twice.
In the next breath, he leaned in with an urgency that bordered on reverence, bracing one hand against the bed beside Yao Ziyang's hip and the other cupping his cheek with the grace of a man who had spent years in a desert and just found water.
The kiss he gave him was gentle, slow. Less like a kiss, more like a vow. It lingered—tender and warm, lips brushing against each other with the ache of everything unspoken. It was the kind of kiss a husband gave his wife before leaving for war, the kind that whispered I'll come back to you, even if the words were never said.
Yao Ziyang closed his eyes, smiling against the kiss, and slid his hand lightly against Dong Yingming's chest as if to keep him there longer.
"I don't want to leave you."
Dong Yingming muttered, not moving from his position.
"What if you get dizzy again?"
"I won't."
Yao Ziyang murmurs to him, this time not teasing—just full of quiet, shining affection.
Dong Yingming pulled back—just an inch—his forehead briefly resting against Yao Ziyang's.
"I'll be right back."
He whispered, voice hoarse, his lips grazed Yao Ziyang's as he whispered.
"I'll be gone for three minutes. Don't vanish on me again."
Yao Ziyang's voice was a breath of laughter.
"Don't take longer than two."
With one last lingering look, Dong Yingming finally stood and reluctantly turned toward the adjacent bathroom, every step unwilling but filled with a quiet lightness he hadn't felt in days.
The door clicked softly behind him.
Yao Ziyang stared after him with a faint, dreamy smile and gently pressed his fingers to his lips.
'Married couple vibes…'
He mused to himself, giggling in his heart.
'All that's missing is the apron and the goodbye lunchbox.'
The soft hum of running water in the bathroom faded, and just two minutes later, Dong Yingming emerged from the adjoining door freshly shaved, a damp towel hanging from his forearm and faint traces of water clinging to his collarbone. His jawline was now razor sharp, clean, and smooth—but a thin nick just under his cheekbone stood out, reddening slightly against his caramel skin.
Yao Ziyang's eyes immediately locked onto it.
His heart clenched.
"Come here."
Dong Yingming paused mid-step, brows furrowed.
"What's wrong?"
"Just come."
Yao Ziyang said, his voice softer now, his gaze warm but serious.
Dong Yingming crossed the short distance in two long strides, tossing the towel aside, tension tightening in his shoulders.
"Did something happen? Are you dizzy? Is it your fever?"
Yao Ziyang shook his head gently and raised a hand, curling his fingers in a beckoning motion.
"Get me a band-aid and disinfectant spray."
Dong Yingming immediately turned toward the cabinet, retrieving both in seconds, hands already reaching out as if to treat Yao Ziyang himself—only to freeze as the man gently took the items from him.
"Come here. Sit."
He blinked, confused, settling beside the bed like a well-trained wolf.
"XiaoYao?"
"It's for you…"
Yao Ziyang said, a slight pout tugging at his lips as he reached up to cup Dong Yingming's jaw. His fingers were cool and careful.
"You cut yourself."
Dong Yingming tilted his head slightly, still not quite understanding.
"It's nothing. I've had worse—"
"It might be nothing now…"
Yao Ziyang interrupted, dabbing the antiseptic with delicate care.
"But even small wounds can fester if ignored."
Dong Yingming remained perfectly still as Yao Ziyang leaned in closer, gently blowing on the sprayed area before pressing a peach-patterned band-aid over the cut with excess tenderness.
"You don't need to do this."
Dong Yingming murmured, his voice a rasp of emotion.
Yao Ziyang smiled faintly.
"I want to."
And then, he kissed it.
A gentle, fleeting press of lips to the covered wound—nothing more than a second, but it shattered Dong Yingming's composure. His eyes widened slightly, his chest tightening. His throat locked up, and his fingers twitched at his sides.
'I'm going to marry him.
I'm going to protect him forever.
He can have anything he wants—he just has to say it.'
He sat still, obedient as a lion lulled by a single tamer's touch, while Yao Ziyang gently smoothed out the band-aid to his cheek, ensuring it stuck. He worked with such care, his expression touched with concern, that Dong Yingming could hardly bear it. He wanted to take this boy, this otherworldly, soft-hearted soul, and hide him from the world—tuck him somewhere only he could reach, only he could see.
Without a word, Dong Yingming discreetly tapped out a message to Chang Xiao just out of sight by the bed.
Dong Yingming: [Bring his breakfast. Don't come in. I want to feed him myself.]
Chang Xiao replied with a simple thumbs-up emoji.
Minutes later, a knock at the door signaled the arrival of a nurse. A young woman stepped in with a tray of fresh, fragrant, and beautifully plated dishes ideal for a recovering patient: steamed fish, soft rice, a warm herbal soup with ginseng and jujube, and tender sautéed greens.
The moment her eyes fell on Yao Ziyang, she froze.
He was seated prettily on the bed, bathed in light with his silver-blonde hair cascading across his shoulders and dark, inky eyes that shimmered like polished obsidian. His skin glowed with health, his lips were pink and full. He looked like a celestial being descended into a hospital gown.
Her awe turned into sheer panic the moment her gaze shifted to Dong Yingming, now seated in the chair beside the bed. Still dressed in yesterday's rumpled black clothes, sleeves rolled up, his scar prominent, and his eyes—dark and sharp—watching her every movement like a predator.
She bowed instinctively, set the tray down with trembling grace, and backed away, fleeing with her head ducked. The door clicked behind her—but didn't quite close all the way.
Yao Ziyang watched her go, blinking.
"Well… that was strange."
Dong Yingming didn't answer. He was already reaching for the food tray when—
"Ah-ah!"
Yao Ziyang interjected, a cheeky smile forming as he lifted the chopsticks with slightly trembling hands, not used to using the utensils.
Dong Yingming paused, surprised.
"What are you—?"
"I'll feed you today."
Dong Yingming stared.
"What?"
"You hardly slept. You hardly ate your fill. You're grumpier than usual, which must mean you're hungry."
He gently lifted a piece of the fish toward Dong Yingming's mouth.
"Open up, Brother Dong."
For a long moment, Dong Yingming didn't move. Caught between protest and surrender, he let out a quiet sigh. His lips parted slowly—but not for the food, for words that didn't come. He leaned forward, as if dazed, and let the bite enter his mouth.
As the bite entered his mouth, his hand reached up—almost unconsciously—to wrap gently around Yao Ziyang's wrist, steadying it. His touch was warm, his eyes holding something indescribable.
Yao Ziyang beamed.
"You're lucky I have good taste."
Yao Ziyang chuckled as he spoke, his heart fluttered. There was something quietly thrilling about this moment—the reversal, the tender domesticity of it.
Dong Yingming chewed slowly, eyes half-lidded as he watched the small boy before him play caregiver. Something in his chest fluttered wildly.
He'd meant to feed Yao Ziyang—to pamper him, to thank him for that moment of kindness with the band-aid—but once again, Yao Ziyang had turned the tables and given him something infinitely more valuable.
Love, without demand.
Devotion, in the form of a single bite of fish.
Dong Yingming decided, right then, that when they returned to First Prison, once Yao Ziyang could handle heavier foods, he'd commission a private chef just for him. No more hospital food. No more prison made meals. He'd be fed with gold-leaf dumplings and steamed crab if he wanted it.
But for now, he just leaned forward, close enough to feel Yao Ziyang's breath as he murmured.
"If you keep taking care of me like this… I might fall hopelessly in love with you."
'More in love than I already am.'
Yao Ziyang grinned and offered him another bite.
"And I might let you."
In his mind, he labeled Dong Yingming as his Alpha immediately. And as for himself… he still didn't know what it meant to be the only Omega in this strange book world. But whatever he was now, this powerful, dangerous man was letting himself be fed like a spoiled lover wrapped around his finger—and Yao Ziyang loved it.
Inwardly, he smirked.
'Mother would be proud.'