In the cramped, dark space, Shen Wangjing braced his back against the mottled brick wall and gathered Jiang Xun into his arms.
One hand cradled the back of his head, fingers threaded into his sweat-damp hair, stroking ever so slowly. His other arm cinched around his waist with enough force to almost press him into his own body.
Jiang Xun's nose bumped against his collarbone, his ears filled with the overlapping thunder of two hearts.
Thump, thump, thump. Each beat was heavier than the last; he could not tell whose heart was racing faster.
Outside, murderous intent swept toward them.
Footsteps closed in from three directions at once. Blades scraped against brick in intermittent screeches, and flashlight beams stabbed through the dark like cold knives. The men cursed as they searched, the sound of steel pipes dragging over the ground setting teeth on edge.
Curled in Shen Wangjing's arms, Jiang Xun clutched the hem of his shirt with rigid fingers. His knees felt a little weak, and Shen Wangjing's tight hold hurt his back, yet he felt a peace he had not known in a long time.
It was as though this one man had kept all those flashing blades three paces away. As long as Shen Wangjing did not let go, even if the sky fell, it would not land on him.
He was always like this.
He always rushed out when Jiang Xun was at his most wretched, pulling him into his arms without a word and turning his own back to the fists that should have landed on Jiang Xun.
Like a shaft of daylight splitting the night, like the only length of mast that held steady in a storm, like the shore that would always reach out to catch him before he fell.
He caught him