The night outside the car was calm, the city’s noise fading into the background like a distant hum. Inside, though, it was anything but calm. Their joined hands rested between them, fingers laced tightly as though both were afraid of breaking the fragile thread that had just been spun. Xiao Zhan stared at their hands for a long moment, feeling the warmth of Yibo’s palm, the firmness of his grip. He wasn’t sure how long it had been since he’d allowed himself something this simple, this grounding.

Yibo didn’t speak. He didn’t need to. The silence between them had shifted, no longer heavy with hesitation but instead alive with the promise of something unspoken yet undeniable. His thumb brushed against Xiao Zhan’s knuckle absentmindedly, a small gesture, but one that made Xiao Zhan’s breath hitch.