The snow fell soft as breath.
Even now, years later, Lin Xiyan could still recall the scent of that winter night—cold pine, old incense, and faint plum blossoms drifting from the outer courtyard. He'd been seventeen. Shen Liufeng was eighteen, already taller, already quieter than most.
That night, their shifu had gone into closed-door meditation, leaving them alone in the small training hall at the back of the mountain.
They practiced late into the evening. Lin Xiyan had stumbled during the Wind Step sequence, twisting his ankle in the snow.
"Stop moving." Shen's voice had been stern, but his hands—warm, calloused—held Lin's foot with the care of someone afraid to break something fragile.
"It's not broken," Lin muttered, cheeks flushed from more than just the cold.
"You're not a physician," Shen said, but there was a gentleness in the way he knelt before him, sleeves pushed up, snowflakes caught in his dark lashes.
Lin Xiyan looked down at him — at the man who had shielded him from a blade just last month, who always stayed three steps behind during missions, just close enough to catch him if he fell.
His heart did something strange then.
"Why do you always follow me around?" Lin asked.
Shen paused.
And then—"Because you never look back."
Lin laughed, soft and startled. "That's a terrible answer."
"But it's true."
A silence fell. Not uncomfortable, but weighted.
Shen didn't move, still kneeling in the snow, still holding his ankle like it was something precious. The brazier behind them crackled faintly, casting soft shadows against the wall.
Lin's breath hitched.
"Do you want me to look at you now?" he asked, voice barely above a whisper.
Shen looked up.
And whatever he saw in Lin's eyes—it broke the distance between them.
Their lips met in a slow, unsure kiss, tasting of snowmelt and longing. It wasn't perfect—their noses bumped, Lin trembled—but neither of them pulled away.
When Shen deepened the kiss, Lin clutched at his robe, pulling him closer, until he felt the weight of Shen's body over his, warm even through layers of fabric.
"Are you sure?" Shen asked, voice hoarse against his skin.
Lin nodded. "If I stop you now, I'll regret it forever."
Robes loosened.
Breath mingled.
They moved like the snow around them—quiet, tentative, then falling all at once.
Their first time was clumsy, shy, and full of hushed gasps between kisses. Lin's hands gripped the edge of the mat beneath them; Shen whispered his name like a prayer against his throat.
Outside, the plum blossoms continued to fall, unnoticed.
Later, when Lin lay half-asleep in Shen's arms, he whispered, "Will you stay with me?"
Shen kissed the back of his neck.
"Always."