Dican gently wrapped his arms around Bian, holding him close against his chest.
He was soft. Warm. He fit right into his embrace like he belonged there, like he was carved for this exact spot. His hair brushed against Dican’s neck, and the slight tremble in his body made Dican instinctively pull him a little tighter.
But...
His heart didn’t move.
There should’ve been a rush. A warmth. A beat of affection or longing. But all Dican felt was... dull. Like something distant. Like hugging a memory that no longer belonged to him.
His brows furrowed faintly.
Why... why do I feel nothing?
The frown barely formed before he forced it away, smoothing his expression. Bian didn’t need to see that.
Dican let his arms loosen and pulled away gently, keeping his voice soft as he met the other’s eyes.
"I’m sorry to make you wait," he said. "I met some... unexpected circumstances on the way."
Bian’s expression twisted at once.
His lower lip jutted out in a pout, and then—just like that—tears spilled down his cheeks.
Dican flinched slightly at the sight, guilt immediately taking hold.
"Oh my love," Dican whispered, voice breaking as he looked down at him with loving eyes. "I’m sorry I made you wait."
Before Bian could respond, Dican was already reaching up to cup his face—his fingers gentle, thumbs brushing under his eyes as if trying to soothe something deeper than the tear tracks. His touch was warm, almost reverent.
As Bian’s hands moved, Dican caught sight of red smudges on his fingertips.
Blood.
His stomach sank.
"You’re hurt," he said, voice tight. He took Bian’s hand carefully in both of his, turning it to examine the pads of his fingers. Little wounds. Small scrapes. Dried blood.
He must have been biting them raw.
A rush of protective instinct flared through Dican.
Without a word, he lifted Bian’s hand and pressed his lips gently to his knuckles. His eyes closed for a moment as he focused inward, letting his royal power flow through him—warmth gathering at the center of his being before flowing out into Bian’s battered skin.
It was subtle, like sunlight pouring through thin fabric, but the effects were instant.
The torn skin closed. The blood disappeared. The pain faded.
Only the royal bloodline could use this healing power. And even among royals, it was considered sacred, something to be used sparingly—kept for dire moments, to protect allies, or guard the throne.
But for his mate?
For Bian?
Dican would use it every time.
He opened his eyes slowly and looked at the now-perfect skin of Bian’s hand. Then back up at Bian’s face, which was still wet with tears but now glowing faintly from the attention.
"Let’s go," Dican gently held Bian’s palm in his own, his touch careful and light as he led him out of the store.
Bian flinched the moment the sunlight hit his face. He grimaced and instinctively tried to shield his eyes, squinting hard as the brightness burned after a full day in darkness.
Dican noticed at once.
Without saying anything, he raised his arm and covered Bian’s face with his hand, shielding his eyes from the sun as best he could. His body was slightly in front of Bian’s now, gently guiding him forward.
"Almost there," Dican said softly, leading him along the crumbled path.
Bian walked in silence.
On the outside, he said nothing. But inside—he was watching every movement coldly. Every kind gesture, every soft word, every look of concern—it all felt hollow to him now. Like sugar coating on something sour. He didn’t trust it. Not anymore.
But then—he saw the ship.
A sleek, polished craft sitting amidst the broken debris of the ruined landscape. Its silver plating shimmered under the sun, the faint blue hue of its energy core pulsing with power. Even in his bitter haze, Bian felt a flicker of something.
Joy.
He had a spaceship now. A real one. He hadn’t even dared to dream of owning something like this.
He watched closely as Dican stepped forward, lifting his hand to a panel near the door. A soft hum followed, and then the metal creaked open—responding to Dican’s touch.
Palm recognition.
Bian’s mind immediately raced.
"How can I open it?" he asked sweetly, tilting his head slightly to the side, eyes wide with fake curiosity.
Dican smiled without suspicion. "Only a Farian can open it, love," he said, turning and taking Bian’s hand again to guide him inside.
Bian smiled back, but his eyes burned.
Only a Farian...
His blood felt hot with rage. His fake smile twitched at the corners as he was led up the ramp. He was furious. Absolutely furious.
Farian... I have to become one. I have to. Fuck this weak human body. Fuck it!
His teeth ground together tightly as they entered the interior of the ship. The walls were smooth and glowed faintly, with faint lines of circuitry humming beneath the surface. He barely noticed any of it. His gaze was narrowed, calculating.
Dican led him to a wide seat near the front console. Bian’s eyes caught on something unexpected.
A small paper bag.
It was resting on the seat like someone had gently placed it there intentionally. Bian hesitated, then picked it up and slowly sat down. As soon as he leaned back, the automatic seatbelts activated, sliding over his chest and locking him securely into place.
He blinked at the sudden movement but said nothing. The bag crinkled in his lap.
"What did you get me..." he muttered, pulling the bag open with a mix of suspicion and curiosity.
Inside was a bottle of milk—slightly chilled—and a small jar of jam.
Half-eaten.
Bian’s face twisted as he stared at the jar. The lid was slightly askew, and a sticky smear lined the rim. It was clearly used. Leftovers.
He frowned, holding it between his fingers like it was an insult. "It’s half eaten. We’ll get a new one later," he muttered bitterly and aimed to toss it over his shoulder to the back of the craft.
But before he could, Dican’s hand shot out.
He caught the jar mid-air and gently pulled it out of Bian’s grip.
"I’ll eat it then," he whispered, voice unusually soft as he looked down at the small glass container.
Then, without hesitation, he opened the small button like thingy and shoved the jar inside.
Bian blinked at the action, stunned for a second.
"...Okay," he mumbled, shrugging, "do what you want."
He didn’t think much of it after that. He leaned back into the seat with a tight jaw, looking around at the polished interior, but his mind wasn’t on the ship anymore.
It was on what Dican said.
Only a Farian can open it.
That would have to change. And soon.