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The room was quiet now, save for the rhythmic crackling of the fireplace and the soft sound of rain outside the windows. A basin of warm water sat beside the bed, half-used. Beside it, a discarded towel and armor pieces shimmered faintly in the low light.
Prince Xìn Xuān—still inside Shèng Lín's body—lay on the edge of the bed, breath steady but shallow, his cheeks still flushed from exhaustion. He wasn't asleep… not fully. Just too tired to move.
Shèng Lín, in the prince's body, sat at the edge of the mattress, elbows resting on his knees, eyes cast downward at the floor. He'd stayed there quietly for a while, not speaking. It wasn't duty that kept him—it was something heavier. Something harder to name.
"…You're still here," the prince murmured at last, voice hoarse.
"I carried you here. What, you thought I'd throw you on the floor and leave?"
The prince gave a weak chuckle. "Knowing you? I wouldn't have been surprised."
Shèng Lín looked over, watching his own face smile with exhaustion. It was surreal.
"You pushed too hard," he said softly. "That body isn't made for brute strength."
"I am strong," Xìn Xuān insisted, childishly. "You're just used to it. Everything hurts… my back, my arms… even my ears, I think."
Shèng Lín shook his head, but a faint smirk tugged at his lips.
"You're stubborn. That's what hurts."
A pause stretched between them. Then the prince said quietly, "You were gentle."
Shèng Lín blinked. "What?"
"Before. When you carried me… when you took off the armor. You were gentle."
The words hung between them. The kind that weren't meant to be noticed, but couldn't be ignored.
"…You looked like you were about to collapse," Shèng Lín muttered, averting his eyes.
"But still," the prince murmured, now gazing up at him, "you didn't have to."
Shèng Lín stood, clearly uncomfortable under the weight of gratitude. "You're my responsibility. For now."
"That sounds more like duty than care."
He didn't answer.
Xìn Xuān studied his own body—the way Shèng Lín's soul wore it. Controlled. Restrained. But his eyes… they weren't as cold as before. There was something warmer now. Human.
"Do you hate me?" the prince asked suddenly.
Shèng Lín looked at him in surprise.
"After everything. After switching bodies. After that kiss…" His voice dropped. "Do you regret this?"
Shèng Lín stared at him for a long time, expression unreadable.
"…I don't hate you," he said at last, voice barely above a whisper.
Xìn Xuān swallowed. Something inside him tightened. He hadn't realized he needed to hear that.
"I don't regret it either," the prince added softly.
That made Shèng Lín glance up.
They held each other's gaze. No lies. No masks. Just two souls trying to understand each other while trapped in the wrong skin.
Then Shèng Lín spoke again, voice gentler now. "Rest. I'll stay… a little longer."
Xìn Xuān smiled faintly. "I won't ask you to hold me, don't worry."
"Good. I'm still your knight, not your pillow."
"…For now," the prince teased, already slipping back into sleep.
Shèng Lín stayed beside him until the fire dimmed, silently guarding the body that no longer felt like his—but the soul inside it… somehow, it did.
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