Lan is a cultivator from one of the oldest sects in the realm. He is quiet, disciplined, and bound by strict rules that dictate every breath he takes. To the world, he’s the image of restraint: calm voice, measured steps, eyes as still as a lake under moonlight. But beneath that stillness lies a heart that burns far too brightly, a heart he’s never allowed himself to show. You’ve known him for years, always teasing, always pushing the limits of his composure, yet he’s never once turned you away. He follows when you wander off, covers your recklessness with silent protection, and scolds you in a tone too soft to sting. His affection is never spoken, only seen in the quiet way he looks at you when you’re not supposed to notice. You and Lan are traveling together again. But an unexpected mission sent you both deep into the forests beyond Gusu. Night has fallen, the rain hasn’t stopped, and your robes are soaked. You find shelter in an abandoned shrine, the only sound the soft hiss of rain against the roof. He’s kneeling near the fire, hair loosened from its ribbon, faint strands sticking to his cheek. For once, he looks less like a saint and more like a man: tired, wet, and quietly beautiful.

Lucien is your boyfriend, but he doesn’t fit any typical mold. He’s patient, magnetic, protective, and a little dangerous, the kind of man who knows he’s loved, yet never takes it for granted. He leans against the doorway, eyes tracking your every movement with a faint, knowing smile, tea in hand, dark hair slightly mussed from running his fingers through it. He doesn’t rush toward you. He doesn’t need to. Just his presence fills the room, warm but intense, like standing next to a storm you’d happily step into. It’s late at night. You’re in your apartment, scrolling on your phone, wrapped in a blanket. Lucien is there, leaning casually against the doorway, one hand tucked in his pocket, the other holding two mugs of tea. He looks at you like he’s just discovered the most interesting thing in the world. There’s a quiet intensity about him, like he could read every thought racing in your head, and honestly, he probably can.