Summary: As dreams take shape and futures are built one moment at a time, Chen Yao finds herself not chasing belonging, but living it. And in the quiet promise of an ordinary morning, she realizes the greatest vow was already made: never letting go.
Chapter Twelve
Two weeks later, the base had settled into a new kind of rhythm.
One that included Yao. Not as a guest. Not as a visitor. But as something permanent. Something essential. She had claimed her spot without ever meaning to, her books stacked neatly in one corner of the living room, her laptop perpetually open on the coffee table, highlighters scattered like colorful landmines between the controllers and half-eaten snack bowls. At the moment, she was cross-legged on the rug, her glasses perched low on her nose, a legal textbook the size of a small building open in front of her, her laptop humming quietly as she typed furiously.
The others were sprawled across the couches and beanbags, trying very hard to look like they weren't sneaking glances at her every five seconds.
Yue, watching from the corner of the couch with a grimace, finally muttered under his breath: "This is giving me flashbacks."
Pang, gnawing on a piece of beef jerky, glanced over lazily. "To what?"
Yue pointed a dramatic finger at the controlled chaos of highlighters, books, and ruthless focus sprawled across the coffee table. "To when my demonic brother was cramming for finals at University of Science and Law," he said, shaking his head like the memory physically pained him. "Before he graduated top of his class and passed the bar at twenty-two."
The entire room went quiet for half a beat.
Slowly, all eyes shifted toward Sicheng, who was slouched against the far end of the couch, arms crossed, a faint smirk playing at the corner of his mouth.
Yao paused her typing, glancing up over the rim of her glasses with a teasing glint in her eyes. "You passed the bar at twenty-two?" she asked, raising an eyebrow.
Sicheng shrugged, utterly unbothered. "Mom's idea."
Yue snorted. "Mom's idea. His idea. You know damn well no one forced you to study like a psycho and finish two years early."
Sicheng gave a lazy half-shrug, his smirk deepening. "Had time to kill between tournaments."
Pang let out a low whistle, leaning back dramatically into the cushions. "No wonder you're such a pain in the ass."
Lao Mao nodded once, deadpan. "Explains the vocabulary."
Even Lao K, normally silent unless it mattered, muttered, "Explains the lawsuits."
Yao giggled quietly, hiding her smile behind her hand as she turned back to her laptop, shaking her head.
"You're all just jealous," Sicheng said lazily, reaching out to pluck a highlighter off the table and twirling it idly between his fingers.
"Of what?" Yue called from the kitchen. "Of you being a nerd with a law degree?"
"Of him being a nerd who can out-argue every one of you in two languages," Yao said sweetly without looking up from her screen.
The room erupted into laughter and groans.
Even Ming, coming down the stairs with a cup of coffee, smirked slightly as he passed, muttering under his breath, "Finally, someone keeping you all in check."
Yao smiled to herself, tapping away at her laptop, the warmth in her chest blooming quietly but powerfully. She had fought so long to find her place. To find home. And now, with textbooks scattered between esports controllers, laughter ringing through the base, and Sicheng watching her from across the couch like she was the only thing worth seeing. She had it. She had everything.
It was inevitable, really. The base could only tolerate so much peace and productivity before the chaos started brewing.
Pang, lounging upside-down across the arm of the couch, tossed a balled-up piece of paper into the air once, twice, glancing slyly over at Yao hunched over her laptop, deep in concentration. Yue caught the look. Grinned. And within seconds, a second wad of paper was crumpled up and palmed, hidden expertly behind his back. Pang launched his first shot, aiming for the coffee table but missing wildly, his paper ball bounced off the side and rolled harmlessly to the floor.
Yao didn't even blink. She just pushed her glasses higher up her nose and kept typing, her focus unbreakable.
Yue snickered under his breath and arced his own shot a little higher, aiming for the open page of her textbook. It landed squarely in the middle of her notes.
She paused, slowly turning her head toward them with the calm, deadly look of someone who could dismantle a man's will to live with nothing but a few well-chosen words. Pang coughed loudly, pretending to study the ceiling. Yue ducked behind the couch, peeking over it with a grin that said he knew exactly how close to death he was and didn't care. Yao sighed long and slow, the kind of sigh that usually preceded someone losing a limb. Before she could say a word, before she could even reach for one of her heavy textbooks as a weapon…
Something whizzed through the air.
There was a solid thump as a throw pillow slammed directly into the side of Pang's head, knocking him sideways off the couch with a startled yelp. A second later, another pillow struck Lu Yue squarely in the chest, sending him sprawling back with a loud, squawking noise.
Dead silence followed.
All eyes swung to Sicheng, who was lounging lazily in his corner of the couch, one arm draped over the back, the faintest hint of a smirk pulling at his mouth. He hadn't even stood up. Hadn't even tensed. Just casually picked up the nearest throw pillows and launched them like guided missiles without so much as blinking. He tilted his head slightly, fixing Pang and Yue with a look so calm it was somehow infinitely more terrifying. "If any of you idiots," he said smoothly, "disturb her before finals." He paused, letting the words sink in, his voice dropping into something low and dangerous. "You're all on cleaning duty for a month." Another pause. "And I mean everything," he added, his smile widening just a fraction. "Bathrooms included."
Pang groaned from where he lay sprawled half on the floor, half in shame.
Yue flopped backward onto the beanbags, throwing an arm over his eyes like he had been personally betrayed.
Yao pressed a hand over her mouth, biting back a laugh as she turned back to her laptop, her cheeks burning with amusement and something deeper, warmer, at the way Sicheng didn't even hesitate to defend her.
Ming, passing through with another cup of coffee, didn't even stop walking. "Make it two months." he added dryly without looking up.
Rui, flipping through a file nearby, simply muttered, "I'll draft the new chore schedule."
Yao shook her head, grinning helplessly as she bent back over her work. Protected. Loved. Home. The noise picked up again, but this time it was softer, easier, Pang and Lu Yue sulking dramatically, Lao Mao snorting, Lao K shaking his head, and Sicheng reaching over every now and then to brush his fingers lightly against her thigh under the table.
A quiet, steady reminder:
I'm here.
I'm not going anywhere.
And neither was she.
The night wound down slowly. The movie long forgotten, the snacks abandoned, the base settling into the soft hum of quiet conversation and the occasional clink of mugs being set down on the kitchen counters.
Yao had stayed curled up on the couch, her laptop balanced precariously on her knees, the massive legal textbook still open beside her. But somewhere between one sentence and the next, the inevitable had happened. Her typing had slowed. Then stopped altogether. Now she was slumped sideways into the couch cushions, glasses slipping down the bridge of her nose, her soft breathing even and steady as she finally gave in to exhaustion.
Sicheng watched from across the room, the faintest smile tugging at his mouth. Without a word, he pushed up from the couch, crossing the room with lazy, unhurried strides. He crouched down in front of her first, gently sliding the laptop off her lap and closing it with a soft click. Carefully, he removed the glasses from her face, folding them and setting them neatly on the coffee table. She barely stirred, a soft sound escaping her lips, her head tilting slightly toward him even in sleep.
Sicheng exhaled slowly, something deep and unspoken flickering in his eyes. Then he moved. Without hesitation, without a single shred of doubt, he slid one arm under her knees, the other around her back, and lifted her effortlessly into his arms.
Yao mumbled something incomprehensible, instinctively curling into his chest, her fingers clutching lightly at the fabric of his hoodie.
The others watched from the edges of the room, quiet now, their earlier chaos settling into something warmer, something that tasted like family.
Pang tilted his head to the side.. Lao Mao and Lao K exchanged a look but said nothing. Ming, standing by the stairs, just shook his head slowly, a faint smirk playing at his mouth like he wasn't at all surprised.
And Yue, sprawled lazily on the couch, arms crossed behind his head, watched his brother carry Yao toward the stairs without fanfare, without bluster, just a slow, steady protectiveness that none of them had ever seen from him before.
As Sicheng disappeared around the corner, carrying Yao toward their room.
Yue muttered under his breath, just loud enough for the others to hear: "Well," he said dryly, "looks like the ice king's human after all."
The others snorted softly, but none of them argued. None of them teased. Because they all saw it too, the way Sicheng carried her like she was something precious, something irreplaceable. And none of them would ever forget it.
Sicheng moved quietly through the dim halls, the faint glow from the wall sconces casting long, soft shadows across the base. Yao's weight was light against his chest, her breathing slow and steady, her fingers still curled lightly in the front of his hoodie like even in sleep she refused to let go. He nudged open the door to their room with his shoulder and stepped inside, the familiar scent of the space wrapping around them, linen, a hint of her shampoo, the faint, clean smell of rain drifting through the open window.
For a moment, he just stood there, looking down at her, something tightening hard and fierce in his chest. It didn't seem to matter how many times he saw her like this—soft, vulnerable, his —it still wrecked him every damn time. Carefully, he crossed to the bed and lowered her onto the mattress, letting her body sink into the soft sheets.
Yao stirred faintly, a sleepy sound escaping her lips as she shifted, searching instinctively for him even in sleep.
Sicheng smiled quietly to himself. He knelt down beside the bed first, tugging the blankets up to cover her, smoothing them over her with slow, reverent hands. His fingers brushed a loose strand of hair back from her face, tucking it carefully behind her ear. And then he leaned in. He pressed a long, lingering kiss to her forehead, his hand cradling her cheek as if she were something too precious to ever be careless with. When he pulled back just slightly, he stayed close, his mouth brushing against her temple as he whispered, low and rough, almost more breath than words, "This is just the beginning, Shorty." His fingers traced lightly along the curve of her jaw, his thumb brushing over the soft skin there. "You, me... everything we're building." Another kiss, softer this time, against her hair. "I'm not going anywhere."
He stayed there for a moment longer, just watching her sleep, letting the steady, quiet reality of it anchor into his bones. She was here. She was safe. She was theirs. And nothing—not the world, not the past, not even the future they hadn't fully shaped yet—could take this from them now. He rose finally, moving slowly, stripping down to his sweatpants and sliding into the bed beside her. The second he settled, Yao stirred again, seeking him out blindly, curling instinctively into his side with a soft sigh.
Sicheng tucked her against his chest, wrapping his arms around her with a low, satisfied exhale. He closed his eyes, his hand stroking slow, absentminded circles against her back. And as sleep finally pulled him under, with Yao's heartbeat steady against his ribs, he carried only one thought with him into the dark, " This time, no matter what, I'm keeping her."
Morning crept into the room slowly, filtering through the curtains in thin golden ribbons that warmed the cool air. The world outside was still muted, quiet, untouched by the rush of the day.
Yao stirred first. She shifted slightly under the blankets, blinking sleepily, her body aching in that pleasant, slow-blooming way that came from being thoroughly loved, thoroughly claimed. It took her a second to register where she was, who she was wrapped around.
Sicheng was still asleep, his breathing deep and steady, his arms locked tightly around her like he had no intention of letting go even in sleep. His face, usually so sharp, so composed, was completely relaxed now, the hard lines softened into something she rarely got to see—something almost boyish, painfully beautiful in its rare vulnerability.
Yao shifted carefully, careful not to wake him, resting her head lightly against his chest. She listened to the steady, familiar beat of his heart under her ear. Her fingers moved without thinking, tracing the faint lines of muscle along his side, the soft worn scars, the quiet, silent pieces of him that most people never got close enough to touch. She watched him, memorizing every detail in the soft light of morning, the way his hair was messy against the pillow, the faint crease between his brows that had never quite disappeared, even in his most peaceful moments.
Her heart ached with how much she loved him. With how much she had always loved him. Even before she understood it fully. Even before she dared to believe she could have something like this. Someone like him. Someone who would catch her if she fell. Someone who would tear the world apart just to keep her safe. The realization hit her all over again, harder now in the quiet morning light than it had ever hit before. She wasn't alone. She wasn't unwanted. She wasn't an outsider looking in.
Yao shifted slightly, pressing a soft, almost reverent kiss against his bare shoulder, her fingers curling lightly into the fabric of his t-shirt where it had ridden up during the night.
Sicheng stirred faintly at her touch, a low rumble of contentment escaping from deep in his chest. His arms tightened around her instinctively, pulling her closer against him even without waking fully.
Yao smiled against his skin, feeling a laugh bubble up quietly in her chest. She closed her eyes again, letting herself savor it—the warmth, the peace, the simple, breathtaking reality of him holding her like she was the most precious thing in the world.
Yao stayed tucked against him, breathing him in, feeling the soft rise and fall of his chest under her cheek. She could have stayed like that forever. Would have, if the world let her. But she felt it—small at first—the shift of his breathing, the slight tightening of his arms around her.
The slow, sleepy press of his mouth against the top of her head.
She smiled against his skin, feeling him stir fully awake, his muscles flexing slightly as he shifted onto his side, gathering her completely against him without even opening his eyes yet. It was only when he tilted his head down, brushing the bridge of his nose lightly along her hairline, that she lifted her face to meet his.
Sicheng's eyes blinked open slowly, heavy with sleep, dark and warm and so full of her it made her chest ache. He stared at her for a long moment, saying nothing. Just looking. Like she was something precious he couldn't believe he got to keep.
Yao smiled shyly, brushing her fingers lightly along the side of his face, tracing the familiar line of his jaw, the soft morning scruff under her fingertips.
He caught her hand gently in his, his fingers wrapping around hers like he was afraid she might slip away if he didn't hold tight enough. And then, still half-asleep, still rough and raw and utterly his, he murmured against her lips, voice hoarse and low, "Stay with me." She froze for half a breath, her heart stumbling violently against her ribs. He shifted closer, his forehead resting against hers, their noses brushing, his hands cradling her face with infinite care. "Stay with me forever," he whispered again, softer this time, like a vow. There was no teasing in his voice. No smirk on his mouth. Just a raw, aching truth laid bare between them.
Yao blinked back the sudden sting of tears, her throat tightening painfully around the emotion that flooded her. She pressed her forehead harder against his, her fingers curling into the front of his t-shirt, grounding herself in the steady, unshakable weight of him. "I'm not going anywhere," she whispered back, her voice breaking on the words.
Sicheng let out a long, shaky breath against her skin, his arms tightening around her until there was no space left between them. And in that quiet, golden hush of morning, wrapped in his arms, tangled in the wreckage and rebuilding of everything they were—
Yao knew with a certainty so fierce it left her breathless: This was it. This was everything. Forever wasn't a promise they had to chase anymore. It was already here. Already theirs. And nothing—not the past, not the future, not the world outside—could ever take it away.