Chapter 61 #2
For a breath, they simply stood there, pressed close enough that she could feel the rise and fall of his chest against hers.
His eyes lowered to her mouth, and Poppy’s heart nearly gave out.
Because she remembered the soft ghost of his lips the night before.
Remembered the warmth of him. And gods, she wanted more.
All day, she caught herself stealing glances at him—his mouth, the sharp line of his jaw, the curve of his throat when he swallowed. She wondered if the small taste she’d had of him would ever be enough. She doubted it.
Mingxi pretended not to notice, but she could tell that he absolutely noticed. He kept glancing back at her, as if checking she was still there, still safe, still breathing. Each glance unraveled her a little more.
Near midday, they paused at a trickling spring. Mingxi knelt to refill their flasks, and when he stood, she saw the wince he didn’t quite hide.
“Shoulder?” she asked softly.
He exhaled. “It’s manageable.”
“But you’re hurting.”
“And you,” he said, stepping closer, “are hovering.”
“I am not hovering.”
He tilted his head, just slightly. “No?”
She glared at him. He smiled—small, crooked, impossible—and Poppy felt her knees go a little weak because she had never seen him smile like that at anyone.
The path widened again, opening into a view of the valley below, sunlit and shimmering.
Maybe it was the beauty. Maybe it was the air.
Maybe it was the way he watched her like she was something precious he’d been entrusted with.
But she moved before she thought. She reached up, curled her fingers into his tunic, and kissed him.
Softly. Boldly. Because she could. Because she wanted to.
Because she couldn’t possibly do anything else.
Mingxi froze for a heartbeat—a single, trembling moment where she felt his breath catch against her lips.
Then he kissed her back. not urgently, not desperately, but with a warmth that melted through her chest, steady and certain and unbearably tender.
A kiss that tasted like sunlight, like relief, like the quiet joy of knowing the person you want… wants you too.
When they parted, both a little breathless, Mingxi rested his forehead against hers.
“Poppy…” he murmured, voice roughened with something she hadn’t heard before.
She smiled, brushing her thumb along his jaw. “We’re still standing,” she whispered. “So today you don’t have to hold back.”
His breath caught—a sharp, barely audible break in his composure. She felt it against her mouth, felt the tremor that shivered through him, felt the moment something in him finally gave way.
“Poppy…” he breathed, reverent and wrecked.
And then he kissed her again, not softly this time, not carefully, but like the sun had warmed something in him that had been frozen for years.
His hands slid to her waist, drawing her against him with a surety that made her knees go weak.
His mouth deepened against hers, tasting her, learning her, savoring her like he wanted to remember this exact moment forever.
The wind lifted around them, cool against their heated skin. Sunlight spilled over their shoulders, gilding the edges of their closeness. The world fell away—just the two of them on the mountain path, kissing like they’d been waiting lifetimes for it.
Her fingers curled in the fabric of his tunic as she kissed him back, matching him, answering him. He tasted like warmth and breath and something sharp beneath, like foxfire buried under control. She felt him inhale against her, a soft sound escaping him, almost a groan, almost a prayer.
He pulled her closer still, deepening the kiss until she felt it in her ribs, in the ache below her sternum, in the place where this journey had carved itself into her.
When they finally parted, the wind rushed cool across her lips, and Mingxi didn’t step back.
He stayed pressed close, his forehead lowering to hers again—this time not out of restraint, but because he didn’t want to let her go. His thumb brushed her cheek.
“Tell me when to stop.” His voice was low, deep.
She smiled, breathless. “I’ll tell you if I ever want you to.”
The look he gave her then—stunned, hopeful, burning—was almost enough to undo her all over again. Their kiss lingered in the air between them long after their lips parted.
Poppy could still feel the warmth of it—sunlight on her skin, wind stirring her cloak, Mingxi’s breath brushing her mouth as if he hadn’t quite pulled himself all the way back.
For a moment, neither of them moved. Then he reached for her pack—out of reflex, out of care—and she laid her hand over his. Not to stop him, just to touch him. His fingers stilled beneath hers. A soft breath escaped him, the faintest unraveling.
They didn’t speak. Words would have shattered whatever fragile, golden thing had formed between them. They simply started walking. At first, their hands brushed. Then brushed again.
When Poppy dared to let her fingers linger, Mingxi’s curled gently around hers. Not a claim. Not a promise. Just… connection. Quiet, warm, and new.
The forest seemed to soften around them, branches swaying in a slow rhythm overhead. Sunlight filtered through the leaves in shifting patterns, dappling their hands where they hung between them.
Every few steps, Poppy peeked at him from the corner of her eye. Every single time, he caught her, and every single time, Mingxi’s lips tugged upward—not quite a smile, but something close, something rare. Something meant for her.
Once, he cleared his throat as if to speak. She squeezed his hand before he could.
They walked like that for hours—side by side, fingers intertwined, letting the silence stretch comfortable and easy between them. A silence that felt like warmth. A silence that felt like trust.
By late afternoon, fatigue seemed to pull at Mingxi’s shoulder again, and Poppy guided them toward a sheltered overhang. He didn’t protest when she suggested resting. He didn’t try to hide the slight wince as he sank onto the mossy ground.
She knelt beside him, checked the bandaging, and brushed her thumb gently along his wrist. His eyes softened at the touch with quiet gratitude, quiet wanting, and something more. They shared dried fruit and the calm of the settling woods. No threats. No running.
No fear. Just the two of them.
Breathing the same cool air.
Holding the same warmth between them.
When dusk finally deepened, they built a small fire together. Their hands brushed over the flint, over the kindling. Poppy laughed when their fingers collided for the fifth time; Mingxi looked away, ears flushing faintly red in the firelight.
They slept close, not touching, but close enough that she felt his presence as surely as her own heartbeat.
The night passed quietly.
The world let them rest.