The late afternoon sky stretched pale blue over the quiet neighborhood. A soft breeze drifted past, carrying with it the faint perfume of blossoms from a nearby garden. On the porch, Thiên Dục stood, speaking with Bích Ngọc—the girl who had visited the other day. She looked rushed today, her brows drawn in faint worry.
"Thiên Dục, could you help me fix the bookshelf at my house? It's leaning, and I… I really don't know what to do," Bích Ngọc asked, her hands clutching the fabric strap of her tote, her voice tinged with urgency.
Thiên Dục smiled gently, though his eyes softened with a trace of hesitation.
"Of course. I'll come take a look."
As soon as the words left his lips, another figure came into view down the street. Huyết Minh, a food container in hand, his stride unhurried yet deliberate. His lips curved into a faint smile, but his eyes—icy blue, deep as a frozen lake—darkened at the scene before him.
He closed the distance in measured steps, stopping just behind Thiên Dục. Without a word, his hand settled lightly on Thiên Dục's shoulder. It seemed casual, almost tender—but something about the weight of it shifted the air, drawing a tension that neither of them could name.
Thiên Dục stiffened and turned, startled by the unexpected touch. Bích Ngọc, too, looked uneasy, her gaze flicking to Huyết Minh. Though his smile remained polite, there was something in the coolness of his presence—a quiet, unspoken warning.
His voice came low, steady, tinged with a shadow of cold steel beneath the velvet tone:
"What's going on here?"
Bích Ngọc forced a smile, her voice faltering just slightly.
"Oh, nothing… I just asked Thiên Dục to help me with something small. That's all."
Huyết Minh's lips curled into the barest smile, his eyes sliding to meet hers for the briefest moment.
"I see."
He turned his attention back to Thiên Dục, tilting his head slightly, his tone deceptively light yet threaded with something possessive.
"You're always busy, aren't you? Always willing to help everyone."
Thiên Dục blinked, uneasy under that gaze.
"Huyết Minh… what brings you here?"
The hand on his shoulder did not move. Huyết Minh leaned in ever so slightly, his smile unchanged though his eyes held a quiet, unreadable intensity.
"I brought the food you like. I thought we could share dinner. But… it seems you're otherwise occupied?"
The air between them thickened, palpable, as if every sound dulled except the faint rustle of wind. Bích Ngọc glanced between the two, her brows tightening. The closeness between them—the subtle way Huyết Minh stood—wasn't lost on her.
Her voice was soft, careful.
"If you're busy, Thiên Dục, I can manage on my own. Thank you, though, for offering to help."
She stepped back, but before she could leave, Huyết Minh's gaze swept toward her once more. His eyes, now bright as glass yet cold as ice, locked with hers for only a second. A shiver crept along her spine, unbidden and instinctive, and she looked away, her breath catching.
Then, as though nothing had happened, Huyết Minh returned his gaze to Thiên Dục, his voice a whisper low enough to nearly vanish into the breeze:
"Things like this… you don't need to trouble yourself anymore. Let me handle it."
His hand on Thiên Dục's shoulder tightened—not painfully, but with a firmness that spoke of intent. A claim.
Thiên Dục's brow furrowed slightly at the pressure, his voice calm but tinged with unease.
"Huyết Minh… I can manage. You don't need to worry about me so much."
Huyết Minh tilted his head again, his faint smile deepening, though his eyes betrayed a glint of unyielding resolve.
"Perhaps. But I'd rather you stop worrying about everyone else for a change. You've done enough for others. Now… it's my turn to take care of you."
For a moment, their gazes locked. In that silence, Thiên Dục could feel it—the quiet, undeniable possessiveness threading through every word, every glance. Despite the unease that stirred in his chest, there was also warmth there, a comfort he couldn't quite reject.
"Thank you," he murmured softly, almost as if surrendering.
Huyết Minh's smile softened, but the determination burning beneath his icy gaze only grew sharper.
No one else would stand this close to Thiên Dục again. Not anymore.
---
That evening, the small kitchen of Thiên Dục's home was awash with warm light and the aroma of freshly cooked dishes. Huyết Minh had laid out the table, every plate carefully arranged, each dish something he had made himself.
Thiên Dục sat down, his eyes widening slightly at the meticulous spread.
"This all looks… amazing. Thank you, Huyết Minh."
He picked up his chopsticks and tasted the first bite, his expression shifting to mild astonishment as the rich flavors unfolded. Across the table, Huyết Minh's lips quirked into a satisfied smile, his chin resting lightly on his hand as his gaze lingered on every flicker of Thiên Dục's reaction.
Thiên Dục chewed slowly, nodding once.
"It's… really good. You're better at this than I expected."
Huyết Minh's smile deepened, his voice soft, almost purring.
"As long as you enjoy it, that's all that matters."
It was then that he noticed—a small streak of sauce at the corner of Thiên Dục's mouth. His gaze lingered on it, his thoughts shifting in quiet calculation.
Without a word, Huyết Minh leaned forward. In one unhurried, fluid motion, his fingers brushed against Thiên Dục's lips, wiping the sauce away. Then, with deliberate calm, he lifted his hand, bringing the faint smear of sauce to his own lips, tasting it with a slow flick of his tongue.
Thiên Dục froze, eyes widening, heat rising unbidden to his cheeks.
"What… are you doing?" His voice wavered despite himself.
Huyết Minh's expression didn't falter; his voice was even, his eyes calm yet heavy with an emotion that defied simplicity.
"Just making sure you're not messy. Nothing more."
Thiên Dục's breath caught as he looked away, trying to shake the warmth creeping across his face.
"Thank you… but I can do that myself."
Leaning back, Huyết Minh regarded him with a faint, unreadable smile, his gaze never softening.
"I just want you to be at ease. Seeing you enjoy yourself… that's enough for me."
The silence that followed was not empty; it was heavy, filled with a quiet tension neither of them named. Only the faint clinking of porcelain and the whisper of wind outside broke it. Each time Thiên Dục's gaze met Huyết Minh's, his heartbeat quickened—not from fear, but from something murkier, stranger, harder to deny.
He drew in a deep breath, steadying himself.
"Thank you for the meal. Truly… it's delicious."
Huyết Minh tilted his head, his smile soft, though his eyes gleamed with something far more intense beneath.
"If you like, I'll cook for you… as often as you want."
Thiên Dục nodded, though his chest felt heavy with unspoken thoughts. Was it the care, the warmth… or was it those eyes—eyes that didn't just watch, but bound him, as though every look was a thread pulling him tighter?
Across the table, Huyết Minh's smile lingered, faint and unshaken. Behind it, his gaze sharpened, his thoughts a quiet vow.
Thiên Dục… would be his. Entirely.
---
End of Chapter 5