When Lin Zhaoyue stretched her hand out. Fang Yuan noticed the slightest tremor in her fingertips.
A tiny, violent betrayal of the calm facade she wore so impeccably.
It was a tremor of excitement at having him so close yet so clearly upset.
In a split-second decision, Fang Yuan moved.
He didn't just take her hand, he grabbed it, lacing his fingers through hers in a firm, grounding hold.
The effect was instantaneous. Lin Zhaoyue's breath hitched.
A violent blush exploded across her cheeks, sweeping from her neck to the tips of her ears.
Her carefully constructed composure cracked, and for a moment, she looked utterly disarmed, her knees seeming to buckle slightly.
Seizing the moment, Fang Yuan swooped in, pulling her into an embrace.
This one was different from the performative one he'd given the crowd. It was tighter, more genuine, an anchor in the sudden chaos.
