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Preparations for the new year were well underway when Dan Heng set foot on the Luofu again. It was advised that he and his friends arrived at least two weeks early, and upon arriving, his initial confusion was soon replaced with a sense of awe and wonder. The Luofu exploded in color; a vibrant sea of reds and gold adorned every building. Lanterns were strung across poles and rooftops, dotting the skies and softly lighting the streets at night.

There was a sense of restlessness in the air, swaths of people running errands to prepare for the upcoming celebration. Children were huddled over tables with brushes tightly fisted in their hands and ink smudged on their cheeks. Merchants hawked their wares more aggressively than usual, and Dan Heng gave in after a rather persuasive old woman insisted that he needed to gift all of his loved ones little woven amulets for good luck.

He took one glance at the charms and thought that, yes, March would love these and Stelle would gladly add this to their growing pile of random trinkets and, yes, the esteemed general of the Luofu would probably smile at him if he offered one as well. Dan Heng handed over the credits, deposited the amulets, and then swiftly made his way across town until he found himself at the edge of the Exalting Sanctum.

Jing Yuan’s home was comfortably nestled between towering stalks of bamboo. It was picturesque in its meticulous symmetry and awfully convenient as well. Far enough to be isolated from the rest of the residential district but close enough so that he could easily walk to the Seat of Divine Foresight, or close enough to leave his office whenever he so pleased.

Large double doors beckoned him as he approached. Dan Heng took in a deep breath before loudly knocking on the door, which then slowly creaked open, revealing a casually dressed Jing Yuan, and it dawned on Dan Heng that he had never seen him without armor until now. It felt strangely intimate, and Dan Heng blushed when his eyes accidentally caught a glimpse of the general’s bare collarbone. He was being ridiculous, acting as though he had never laid eyes on another man before. But this wasn’t just any man, this was—

“Dan Heng.”

The general’s voice was low and velvety. Dan Heng nearly trembled upon hearing his own name fall from his lips. “Jing Yuan,” he replied, taking a hesitant step forward. “It’s good to see you.” He shoved a hand into his pocket and tangled a finger through a woven loop of red thread. “I got you something,” he blurted, and dangled the amulet in front of Jing Yuan’s face. “As thanks for your offer of hospitality.”

Jing Yuan reached for the amulet with soft laughter, barely-there huffs of air, and their fingers softly brushed. “Thank you,” he replied, now carefully cradling the gift in his palm as though it were a baby bird he had plucked from a tree. “It looks like I will have to return the favor.”

“There’s no need for that.”

“No, no. I insist.” Jing Yuan’s eyes twinkled. “Now why don’t I give you a tour and show you to your room?”

Lunch with Stelle and March was…a messy ordeal. Since he planned on spending most of his time with a certain esteemed Arbiter-General of the Luofu, Dan Heng treated them to crepes as a preemptive apology. He spent his afternoon scolding them for their careless eating habits before dabbing away the cream on their lips with a folded napkin and then kissing them goodbye. The taste of strawberries and sugar lingered on his lips the entire walk back to Jing Yuan’s home.

They had teased him relentlessly over his crush on the general—not that he actually had a crush on Jing Yuan. There was something about the word ‘crush’ that felt awfully juvenile. ‘Infatuation’ wasn’t an accurate label for his feelings either, and ‘feelings’ was far too vague. There was another option, of course, but he was scared to voice it out loud. Scared to give it weight and meaning. Scared to breathe life into it. He wanted to cup it in his hands like a small flickering fyrefly until its light was no more.

Darkness was once the only thing he was intimately acquainted with. Whether it was his own flesh or the food he ate, it shrouded the world in an inky veil, tainting everything with its shadow. During his imprisonment, Dan Heng knew about the existence of something called a ‘sun’. It was an elusive giant ball of gas that served as a source of light, warmth, and energy. He wondered how it felt, what it looked like. Warmth and light.

When Jing Yuan descended into the depths of the Shackling Prison and opened the door to his cell, Dan Heng caught a glimpse of it: the soft, golden glow of his eyes. He felt a strange tug, as though he was being pulled toward the general. An inkling of recognition seized him, faint memories bubbling up to the surface. Dan Heng grasped at those memories, struggling to hold them in place.

The sound of muffled laughter washed over him. He memorized the cadence, the inflection, the tone, and then another voice joined in, reserved and somewhat shy, a faint chuckle that reverberated within his own chest. He knew this laughter, and this revelation rattled him. When he later settled himself in a starskiff with a new set of clothes, a couple thousand credits, and a spear at his back, Dan Heng squeezed his eyes shut and let his tears spill over his cheeks as the beautiful grandiose ship vanished behind him.

‘He is a friend,’ he heard Dan Feng murmur. ‘A very dear friend.’

Jing Yuan.

Dan Heng whispered the general’s name and continued to sob.

It started as a feeling—a natural curiosity about the man who had granted him his freedom, removed the shackles from his wrists and thrust him into the daylight.

Jing Yuan had gifted him the stars. It was only natural that he wished to repay him somehow. Perhaps the best way to do that was to simply stay away from the Xianzhou, to never set foot on the Luofu ever again—to deny himself any semblance of a homeland and sever all ties to his past.

The first time he crossed paths with Blade, he learned that running from the past may have been a fruitless endeavor. Still, he persisted and hopped from ship to ship until the Luofu was nothing more than a speck in the sky, akin to a tiny piece of dust he needed to wipe off his phone screen. But in the shadow of the night, he dreamed of a different time, of a different life. He felt his oppressive past looming over him; the goosebumps on his skin were tiny scales about to emerge from his flesh and every migraine was a horn about to sprout from his skull.

He wondered who it was that the general saw when he first set eyes on him in that cold, dark cell. Did Jing Yuan see Dan Feng, former high elder of the Vidyadhara? As the years flew by, the thought lingered and threatened to consume him. Dan Heng read fervently, poring over books and scrolls in order to better understand the nature of the molting and hatching rebirths and commonly held beliefs about reincarnation among the Vidyadhara, but his newfound knowledge only fueled his pain and confusion.

When he crossed paths with Himeko on that fateful day—body still buzzing from his run-in with a group of Mourning Actors and having to fend off a swarm of dangerous monsters—he filed away those thoughts, shoved them into a tiny box somewhere the light didn’t shine. Back in the cell you go, he thought sardonically.

But something about it didn’t feel fair, a niggling thought in the recesses of his mind that made him wonder if people remembered Dan Feng the way he did, which was: not much at all. Cold and apathetic, a lingering resentment that felt justified and yet…

He knew that wasn’t right.

Perhaps there was a kindness in those hazy, fragmented memories of his. Little half-truths. The nature of Dan Heng’s birth was…strange. Controversial. But he couldn’t help but wonder if Dan Feng had shown him a unique kind of mercy in those incomplete memories.

Dan Heng laid in his futon those first few weeks on the Express in a daze. He kept a diary of sorts and would jot down his daily activities along with any persistent thoughts in hopes of making sense of his emotions. The Express chugged on, gliding across its glimmering silver rail through the sea of stars, and as it gently rocked Dan Heng to sleep, warm laughter twinkled in his mind like little stars.

‘We laughed together every day.’ The thought came unbidden. ‘The sun always felt so warm on my face.’ A vision of Jing Yuan beaming flashed in his mind like the soft glow of a lamp illuminating the dark. Dan Heng fell asleep with a smile on his face.

Jing Yuan was quite the public figure. He was popular—infuriatingly so. Popular enough that people online clamored after his photos and printed them onto collectible cards.

Dan Heng became aware of the general’s current whereabouts through the news; he was still general of the Luofu and did a great job managing the ship’s affairs. It was nothing more than innocent curiosity, and knowing that the man who granted him his freedom was doing well was enough to comfort him.

Dan Heng refused to be shackled by the guilt and shame that was forced on him since birth, but he couldn’t shake the deep sense of gratitude he felt toward Jing Yuan. And when he caught wind of bizarre rumors from many years ago (yes, he was scrolling through the Jing Yuan tag), he could do nothing but laugh.

‘The Arbiter-General of the Luofu secretly had a child out of wedlock?!’

Dan Heng zoomed in on the photo of the general carrying a child in his arms and smiled warmly at the young boy’s small tuft of blond hair and then shook his head in disbelief.

Gentle affection tugged at his heart in these moments. Knowing that the general was a good man gave him a strange sense of relief. The passage of time made it easier to release his grip on the Xianzhou—until he found himself back on the ship where it all began and where it all ended. And then Jing Yuan was there, in the flesh, welcoming him with what he wanted to believe were open arms, but there was a tension undercutting their interactions that threatened to choke out all the air from his lungs.

‘Dan Heng.’

‘General.’

Formalities were important. Distance was important. He owed Jing Yuan this much at least—his distance, his cooperation—but with the lives of his friends hanging in the balance, it was difficult to retain his composure. And when the general looked at him with those sad eyes of his, Dan Heng felt as though he barely fit in his own skin, like there was someone else waiting to crawl out.

—

‘I owe him a debt.’

I owe him as well.

‘So many things left unsaid.’

I feel the same.

‘But it is too late for me.’

But it’s not too late for me.

—

And then Jing Yuan was falling. Dan Heng didn’t hesitate when he reached out to catch him, Phantylia’s pained cries loud and shrill in his ears. Later, he carried him to bed and dutifully watched over him while Bailu dressed his wounds.

As he cradled the unconscious general in his arms and ran his fingers through his unruly hair, a feeling rose from the depths, a feeling that violently thundered against his rib cage.

It was—

Like two dancers, they circled each other expectantly. Dan Heng flourished his spear and lunged, but Jing Yuan effortlessly parried every attack. The sound of steel ringing echoed throughout the forest, and they left their marks in the earth, soles digging into the mulch and blades nicking stalks bamboo. An unfamiliar thrill coursed through Dan Heng’s body each time they closed the distance.

Dan Heng felt Jing Yuan’s strength, the firmness of his body and the grip on his weapon. Their spar would have ended in a draw if he were not distracted by the ease in which Jing Yuan swung his beloved glaive and the way his eyes shimmered like molten gold in the heat of battle. It only lasted a second. That momentary lapse of judgement. Dan Heng stumbled backwards, over a stray rock or branch, something, and then he was on his back, and the general was on top of him, straddling him with his thighs.

Jing Yuan’s hair tickled his face as he loomed over him, one hand still firmly grasped around his weapon and the other planted beside his head. The general’s cheeks were flushed from exertion, sweat dripping down his temple and then down his chin.

“It appears I have won this round,” Jing Yuan managed between shallow breaths. Dan Heng could feel the rise and fall of his chest, the way his body moved with every deep inhale. His gaze flickered to Jing Yuan’s lips. “Here,” Jing Yuan said as he rocked his weight back. He rose to his feet and offered a hand.

“It was a good spar,” Dan Heng said, voice level and unwavering as Jing Yuan pulled him up with ease. “Though it appears I’ll need to keep a better eye on my surroundings next time.”

And that was the last thing Dan Heng remembered saying before Jing Yuan reached for his hand and gingerly curled his fingers around his. “Dan Heng.” The sound of his name on the general’s lips made his heart skip a beat. “Do you by chance have any other plans for the rest of the day?”

“Why do you ask?” The truth was that Dan Heng already knew the answer; he just wanted to hear it from Jing Yuan himself.

“If you do not have plans with the other members of the Astral Express, then I would like to treat you to dinner.”

Dan Heng chuckled. “By ‘other members of the Astral Express,’ do you mean Stelle and March?”

“I do,” Jing Yuan answered, “but if you wish to spend time with them, that is all right.”

Dan Heng’s cheeks grew hot. “Is this your way of confirming my relationship status?”

“The bond you share with them is…quite palpable. I see the way you look at them.”

“And how exactly do I look at them?”

Jing Yuan squeezed his hand and whispered, “The exact same way you look at me.”

The warmth of the general’s hand was reassuring. Dan Heng swallowed the lump in his throat and gazed up at Jing Yuan. An expectant glint shimmered in his eyes, and Dan Heng took a step forward, closing the distance between them.

Beneath the canopy of a secluded forest, Dan Heng kissed him.

Their lips were slightly chapped, hands still dirty and rough from battle. Jing Yuan’s breath was intoxicating, and every gentle sigh only encouraged him further. Dan Heng grew lightheaded when Jing Yuan’s tongue parted his lips, slick and hot against his own, drawing a whine from his throat.

Frustration seized him as he palmed at Jing Yuan’s armor. It was easy now, he realized, to bask in Jing Yuan’s presence. He found himself yearning for the space between them to shrink, more and more, until they were one—a thought that had not fully taken shape until only a few moments ago during their friendly spar.

Dinner was long forgotten by the time they arrived at Jing Yuan’s home and locked the door behind them. Dan Heng nearly stumbled up the steps, to which Jing Yuan laughed and placed a steadying hand on his waist. “There’s no need to rush. I’m not going anywhere,” he said as he ushered him toward the bedroom.

“You are not going anywhere, but all of this,” Dan Heng tapped on Jing Yuan’s shoulder piece and playfully tugged at his belt, “needs to go at your earliest convenience.”

“Are you always this forward?”

“It’s important to be direct if you want to avoid any misunderstandings, and right now I need you to know that I want this.”

The time they spent together was lovely, but they were both cautious men, although the shy touches and longing gazes were quite enjoyable in their own right. There was something sweet about the way they carefully tip-toed around imagined boundaries, a deep sense of care and respect that only fed into flames of Dan Heng’s affection for the general.

“I want this as well. However, if you don’t mind, I would like to revisit our conversation from earlier.” Jing Yuan pecked him on the lips. “Your relationship status,” he continued. “I’m not sure if it is Stelle or March, but if you are taken…”

Ah.

“Actually…it’s both.” Dan Heng blushed. “But they know about…my feelings for you, and they’re okay with this. With us. They have been nothing but encouraging.”

“That is…good.” Jing Yuan leaned down and stole another kiss, far too chaste for Dan Heng’s liking. “Now that that is settled, tell me, Dan Heng…” Jing Yuan continued peppering him with kisses. “Tell me what you want me to do.”

Dan Heng’s breath hitched in his throat, and before he could respond, Jing Yuan pushed him back until they both tumbled onto the bed, unzipped his collar, and kissed his throat. “More,” Dan Heng breathed out. His toes curled, and he wound his fingers through Jing Yuan’s hair. Dan Heng wrapped his legs around Jing Yuan and bucked his hips. Jing Yuan responded in kind, grinding down until Dan Heng moaned, “More—please.”

“You should be more specific,” Jing Yuan teased. “After all, it was you who said that it’s important to be direct in order to avoid any misunderstandings.”

“I want—” Jing Yuan rolled his hips again, and Dan Heng’s mind came to a shuttering halt. “Clothes off.”

It happened in a blur, a flurry of clothes being tossed aside until they were both stripped down to their underwear. They kissed fervently, sparing no time as their hands wandered aimlessly. Dan Heng committed Jing Yuan’s body to memory: every scar, every mole, every curve and divot. And when Jing Yuan’s hand slipped between his thighs, Dan Heng saw stars.

And then Jing Yuan’s mouth was on him, around him, and the world narrowed to the sight of him between his legs, stroking and licking him until he was nearly pushed to the edge. Everything was so wet and hot he felt like he was drowning.

“Not yet,” Jing Yuan said before laying Dan Heng on his back. He pressed a finger into him, and Dan Heng gasped, his back arching off the bed. Soon after their bodies joined together, and they moved as one—another intricate dance under the moonlight.

Jing Yuan was careful to not hurt him. It took time for Dan Heng’s body to adjust, and the general was endlessly patient, peppering him with gentle kisses as he slowly rocked into him. They made love like this until the pressure shifted into something more pleasurable. “Faster,” Dan Heng pleaded, and his eyes nearly rolled into the back of his head when Jing Yuan quickened his pace.

“You’re so beautiful,” Jing Yuan whispered.

Moans fell from Dan Heng’s lips with every thrust, sounds so needy he could hardly believe this was real. Jing Yuan whispered sweet nothings into his ear while Dan Heng unraveled beneath him. Dan Heng fisted the sheets as he cried out in pleasure. “Don’t stop. Please,” he begged.

He felt so full, so consumed by the general’s want, and he basked in it; the sensation of Jing Yuan plunging into him, the sound of skin slapping against skin, Jing Yuan’s ragged groans against his throat, and the way his ungloved hands felt on his hips.

Dan Heng could barely mouth the general’s name before he came and was so blinded with pleasure that he didn’t register that Jing Yuan had finished as well until he pulled out and pressed a gentle kiss to his lips. Jing Yuan pulled Dan Heng into an embrace, and everything that followed was a blur of warmth and softly whispered promises.

With only the moon as their witness, Dan Heng leaned up and kissed his jaw before saying, “I think I love you.”

They spent the rest of the week like this, tangled under the sheets after spending the day together—or at least until Dan Heng demanded that Jing Yuan tossed the sheets aside. “You are a walking furnace,” he said through gritted teeth while the general fingered him. One finger and then two, greedily stretching him out until he begged for something larger. Much larger.

To think that they were walking through the markets earlier, exchanging subtle touches and affectionate glances when no one was watching. Now, Jing Yuan was deep inside him, and Dan Heng was pliant under his skilled hands, letting him toss him around however he pleased—but only because Dan Heng had practically begged him to.

“I don’t want you to hold back because you’re scared of hurting me,” he whispered when they sought refuge in a small alley. Then he smirked. “I can’t think of a better way to welcome in the new year.”

And he meant every word.

It wasn’t always like this. Wasn’t always so physical. How long had they danced around each other? How much time did they waste wordlessly staring at each other from afar? So much shame and fear entrenched them in the few moments they were able to spend alone. Following Phantylia’s defeat, they sought each other’s company with practiced excuses, and shortly before the new year rolled around, when Dan Heng woke to an invitation addressed to the entire crew, his heart leapt at the opportunity.

History had a way of repeating itself. Memories from a different time would sometimes float into consciousness. Recollections of a younger Jing Yuan, passionate and hot-headed. In these lingering memories Dan Heng caught glimpses of an unrealized affection that had slipped through the fingers of two men too burdened by duty and obligation to fully realize what had blossomed between them before it was too late.

Warmth and laughter faded away, doomed to be buried in the past like a flickering star. He wanted to seize it for himself. Wanted to grasp that dim star within his callused palms and color it with his love—a scintillating jade and gold that pulsed alongside the beat of his heart.

So Dan Heng touched him. He placed a gentle hand on his arm while they conversed and leaned against him when the night grew cold. When they ate dinner, whether it was out in Aurum Alley or in the privacy of his home, Dan Heng would casually knock his knee against his. Then he would linger in the hallway before they headed to their separate rooms, the hem of Jing Yuan’s sleeve pinched between his fingers, and letting a simple ‘goodnight’ fall from his lips because he could not yet muster the courage to ask, ‘May I come in?’

But Dan Heng was now completely enveloped by him, trapped beneath the full weight of the general’s body and relishing the feeling of his cock buried inside of him, subtly pulsing with pleasure. This was a regular occurrence now: Jing Yuan pressing Dan Heng into his bed, moaning his name against his ear as he spilled inside of him.

It was euphoric having Jing Yuan like this; Dan Heng had never felt so warm in his life. They laid together, still numb with bliss, and Jing Yuan absentmindedly rubbed his thumb against his hip. Dan Heng wondered if he could ever truly have this, if this peace could last forever. At the end of his journey when he finally disembarked the Astral Express, would Jing Yuan still be waiting for him?

What if I stayed? Dan Heng asked himself this far too many times to feign innocence. Despite his upbringing and those cruel years in prison, he could not bring himself to hate the Luofu. He was inexplicably enamored with it and all its complexities, but he couldn’t leave his current life behind. Not yet.

“I have to go,” Dan Heng declared, his voice piercing through the silence. Jing Yuan shifted and curled his arms around him. “I won’t be able to return for some time.”

The Luofu was his home, but so was the Express. Stelle, March, Himeko, Welt, and Pom-Pom, they still needed him, and he knew, deep down, that he still needed them as well. He couldn’t rest until the silver rail was fully restored, until the stars were all connected again and united for a greater cause—for the greater good. And there was still so much to see, so much to discover, so much to experience.

He deserved to live his life, too. Untethered and free.

“Must you leave so soon?” Jing Yuan’s voice was heavy. “It is selfish of me, I know, to ask this of you. Your journey is your own. Your life is your own. This, I made sure of all those years ago, but still…I cannot help but wonder if you could ever bring yourself to call this place home.”

“I’m sorry, Jing Yuan. I can’t stay. I need to discover who I am, who I want to be, who I can be… Because I deserve that.” Dan Heng closed his eyes and shakily exhaled. He propped himself up on his elbow and gazed down at the general. “I do not know when I will return, but when I do, maybe we can discuss…the future.”

“You deserve so much more than what I can give you.” Jing Yuan pulled him down for a kiss so gentle his heart ached. “So I will wait,” he whispered against his lips. “I will wait for you. As long as it takes.”

“The stars will return me to you. I promise.”

Dan Heng smiled and gifted the general a chaste kiss on the lips, so terribly sweet and innocent.

He prayed his sincerity was enough. He prayed that his intentions were enough. He prayed that love was enough.

After an early lunch, they gathered their belongings and headed to the gate. Dan Heng fidgeted with the strap of his bag and held his breath. He waited, digging his soles into the ground as he stared up at the Jade Gate. Jing Yuan had insisted on giving them a more formal farewell. Cloud Knights lined the dock and the crowd of Luofu residents began to grow.

The attention was a little unsettling, but Stelle had become immensely popular—to no one’s surprise, of course. Dan Heng wondered if interastral stardom was at the end of their journey. They had an uncanny ability to capture the hearts of almost anyone they crossed paths with, and he was no exception. They waved to the crowd, a wide grin stretching across their face.

March shot him an exasperated look, and Dan Heng simply sighed in response, his lips curving into a fond smile. “I’m just glad they’re having a good time,” he whispered, lightly nudging March’s arm with his own. “We’ve all been through a lot. Let them have this.”

“And what about you, Dan Heng?” March asked, cocking her head to the side. “Are you all right? I’m sure it must’ve been nice having the general all to yourself, but I know you have…mixed feelings about being here.”

Dan Heng hummed thoughtfully. “I do have mixed feelings, but I…I like it here. I really do.”

“So you’re not going to stay?”

“If I leave, who will protect the Express or update the data bank?” he answered with a smile. “Who will keep you out of trouble?”

March huffed, and he didn’t miss the rising blush on her cheeks. “I’m going to assume you mean me and Stelle when you say that.”

“Of course, March.”

Stelle turned to them with a batch of gifts in their arms. “Okay, I’m ready to go!”

Dan Heng nodded and tightened his grip on his bag. The first step towards the train was the hardest. He methodically put one foot in front of the other, and his continued this until his worries faded into a dull sense of excitement. Where would they go next? The possibilities were endless!

“It’s rude to leave without saying goodbye.”

Dan Heng’s heart fluttered. He spun on his heel, and Jing Yuan was standing in the middle of the docks, gazing at him with flushed cheeks and parted lips. Jing Yuan’s chest rose and fell as he closed the space between them. He was out of breath, and his hair was tousled, stray strands curling in every direction like wispy clouds.

He looked terribly handsome even when in such a uncharacteristically frazzled state.

Dan Heng forgot where he was and who he was with. His companions, the Cloud Knights, the onlookers—all of it—faded into the background, the sound of their voices nothing more than faint static.

“I was caught up in a last minute meeting,” Jing Yuan croaked as he reached for Dan Heng’s arm. But the general suddenly changed his mind and dropped his hand, letting his arms passively hang at his side. Jing Yuan cleared his throat. “Safe travels, friends, and I pray that when our paths—”

Dan Heng did not hesitate when he grabbed Jing Yuan’s collar and crashed his mouth against his. It was a clumsy kiss full of teeth and awkwardly bumped noses. Dan Heng pulled away and let out a nervous laugh. Lights flashed in the corners of his eyes, and he felt his heart rise into his throat. “Jing Yuan, I…”

“Dan Heng, you…” Jing Yuan ran a hand through his hair and laughed in disbelief, barely loud enough to cover up the sound of cameras shuttering in the background. “In front of everyone…”

“I promised you,” Dan Heng clasped the general’s hands in his, “that I would return, and I will return, for I am yours, and you are mine.” He lifted Jing Yuan’s knuckles to his lips. “And I want everyone to know that as well.”

Jing Yuan smiled warmly and caressed his cheek. “I would like nothing more.”

“I will write to you and send gifts,” Dan Heng whispered. He kissed him goodbye. “I must go now.”

It was only after the Xianzhou was nothing more than a flickering star that Dan Heng realized he forgot to say, ‘I love you.’

Letters came infrequently. It was archaic to communicate through handwritten letters, but there was a unique flavor of romance in the act that captivated him. Dan Heng’s fingers trembled with anticipation as he unfurled the scroll. Jing Yuan’s script was neat and sharp, but the more he wrote the more his handwriting devolved into a messy scrawl. Nearly cursive. Dan Heng softly chuckled as he ran his fingers across the scroll, imagining Jing Yuan hunched over his desk and absentmindedly gnawing on the top of his pen.

Dan Heng,

I must confess that I am quite envious of you. I have not been able to stop thinking about the photos you recently sent, especially of that small furry creature. Belobog is quite cold, is it not? A planet that was once trapped in an eternal winter… I would love to visit some day. Perhaps we can go together some day.

By the time this letter reaches you, I am assuming you will no longer be in that star system, and maybe you won’t have any need for this, but the universe is unpredictable, and the cold can be quite relentless in its assault. Although we cannot physically be together, I hope that I can provide you with warmth and protection in any way possible. Whenever you wear this scarf, I hope you think of me.

Yours,
Jing Yuan

Dan Heng glanced at the parcel sitting off to the side, neatly wrapped and stamped with an official seal. He unraveled the twine holding the wrapping paper together, and the parcel unfurled to reveal a plush red scarf.

“It seems that Jing Yuan is quite the romantic.” March seated herself beside him. “Yours,” she playfully cooed, much to Dan Heng’s chagrin. “Aw, you’re blushing. You like him.”

“Love him, actually.”

March squealed and laid her head on his shoulder. If he were anyone else, she would have gagged instead. She linked their arms and sighed. “It will probably be a while before you can see each other again. I mean, you could always swing by for a visit, but we’re not exactly close enough for that right now.”

Dan Heng buried his face in her hair. She smelled like strawberries. “Unfortunately, it’s not very easy make a U-turn on a train.”

“Was that a joke just now?”

“Perhaps.”

“Wow. Stelle has really been rubbing off on you. What’s next? A pun?”

Dan Heng chuckled. “Sorry to disappoint but I’m not quite there yet.”

“Who said I was disappointed?” March leaned up for a kiss, and he happily obliged. Their lips softly brushed, slow and gentle. “It’s just nice to see you so happy,” she whispered. “You seem more at peace lately.”

“Being in love helps,” he muttered bashfully.

She playfully stuck out her tongue. “I’m sensing…favoritism here.”

“Love you too, March.”

Stelle always knew how to make him laugh. “That’s when I said, ‘What’s up with this guy?’ And then I pulled out my trusty baseball bat.”

“I find it very interesting how often you default to violence in these stories of yours.” Dan Heng chuckled as they laid together in his futon. “And tell me, what did you gain from this?”

“I’m glad you asked.” They reached into their pocket and pulled out a tiny figurine. “Ta-da!”

Dan Heng laughed again as he plucked it out of their hands. It was a humanoid body with a shark head, slightly deformed with uneven washes of paint. “This creature…It’s—”

“Perfect?”

“Yes.” His eyes softened as he rotated the eccentric figurine. “Yes, it’s perfect. Thank you, Stelle.”

Behavior that was once incomprehensible now made his heart race with affection. For the longest time Stelle was an enigma, a walking Stellaron with a penchant for digging through trash. When they were on missions, they tackled everything head on with a bravado that often baffled him, but during the quiet moments, when nothing was expected of them, they often stood off to the side and observed in silence.

He recalled the day his true identity was revealed, when he sprout horns and took on that form he had been so intent on hiding. He wanted Stelle to say something, to crack a joke or ask a silly question; anything to ground him and make him feel as though everything was normal and that nothing had changed. Even something along the lines of, ‘Nice hair,’ would’ve been a huge relief.

Their gaze was unreadable. Stelle didn’t utter a word.

“I thought I knew you,” they whispered later when they were alone and Phantylia was no more. The sea lapped at their feet and sand clumped uncomfortably between their toes.

“You do,” Dan Heng answered, voice firm and full of conviction. The tides rose, waves now crashing against their ankles. “I’m Dan Heng. Always have been. Always will be.”

Jing Yuan had assured him of this, had validated him and his choices, and in those private conversations full of tension and unspoken wishes, Dan Heng fell for him. Jing Yuan always felt like the light on the horizon, but in those moments, he also became the ground he walked upon. Stable and unyielding.

“I’m the protector of the Astral Express,” he continued. “I manage the data bank. I like to read and take long naps. I’ll try anything at least once—for the data, of course. I keep all the strange trinkets you gift me on a shelf near my bed so I can see them whenever I wake in the morning, next to March’s polaroids. I don’t like puns. And I’ll do anything for my companions, the people I cherish. That includes you, Stelle.”

And that’s when he kissed them. He licked the salt from their lips and kissed them until they both could no longer breathe. The sea swallowed the sun, and when they returned to the hotel, the moon had taken its place in the sky.

It’s funny how many people he kissed that month.

In the midst of all of his inner turmoils being brought to light—the weight of Dan Feng’s sin, his exile, and the string of broken people that haunted his dreams—he managed to find love, and miraculously, he himself still had so much love to give. This life, he realized, was not a punishment but a gift. Dan Heng wondered if Dan Feng was able to love like this, if he was able to express these tender feelings so freely.

The sharp ache in his chest said everything he needed to know.

Adolescence as a concept was foreign to him. Dan Heng was denied his youth, forced to be a man he only knew through hazy memories. These memories threaded themselves together and formed a fraying cord. He occasionally tugged on it and tried to weave it to completion in hopes of understanding the weight of his identity, his past, and his sins, but to no avail.

In the unrelenting darkness of the Shackling Prison, he chased after a mirage and asked, blisteringly, ‘What did you do for me to deserve this?’ He never received the answers he hoped for, not even a glimpse of it in his dreams. Only his chains responded to him, jangling against the stone floor. And he would not find the answers he sought until a letter smuggled its way into the Express, hastily penned by Jingliu, the edges of the parchment still ice cold.

The burden of a past life was a heavy one. ‘You can’t run forever,’ he heard once when he was on the edge of consciousness. Dan Heng saw him in flashes of light; his eyes were like cold, tempered steel. There was a fierceness to Dan Feng’s gaze. He wore an impenetrable mask, expressionless and unfaltering. Dan Heng squinted at Dan Feng, noting his posture and billowing robes. Everything about him screamed nobility. Power.

‘You already had your chance at life,’ Dan Heng wanted to shout. He recalled gazing down at Jing Yuan’s sleeping form. He wanted to kiss the mole beneath his eye. ‘This is my life. I get to choose.’ He caressed the general’s cheek. ‘I won’t make the same mistakes you did.’

He thought he could hear Dan Feng scoff, but there was a foreign warmth to it this time. ‘Good,’ was all he said.

Dan Heng didn’t hear from him again.

Perhaps that, too, was a sort of kindness.

There was a unique sort of freedom that Dan Heng found in the act of loving. It was a gift: to love whoever he wanted, want whoever he wanted, whether it was for love or for something as juvenile as infatuation. Unfortunately, Dan Heng developed crushes quite easily, and having feelings proved to be quite the mortifying ordeal.

When that Knight of Beauty gallivanted through the Express with his silky red locks and porcelain skin, he felt his heart beat a little faster. When that Galaxy Ranger snuck onto the Express and pointed a gun at him, Dan Heng had reacted appropriately—with an adequate amount of suspicion and restraint, a threat of violence held on his tongue. ‘I have standards,’ he told himself when they set foot on Penacony together. ‘This man is ridiculous,’ and then he thought, ‘I need to shut his mouth before he makes things worse.’ And then he thought about shutting him up with his mouth, and he almost spiraled.

Dan Heng was a disaster—a disaster who apparently had a thing for men with long, flowing hair. (The fluffier the better.) He had opportunities to find love in a myriad of places, and there seemed to never be a shortage of very attractive single people no matter where they went, but there was something special about his relationship with March and Stelle that made it difficult to stray from them for long.

His affection for them was so persistent that whenever he spent too much time away, his thoughts would inevitably wander back to them. The truth of the matter was that it was hard to hold Dan Heng’s attention. But Stelle and March? They practically monopolized it.

Dan Heng often wondered if he would’ve fallen for them under different circumstances—if they weren’t members of the Astral Express, if they were just strangers passing each other by like ships in the night.

If we had time, I would. I think I would always fall for them.

And then, like cold water being dumped on his head, he thought, ‘Would Dan Feng have fallen for them?’ He thought of Stelle’s silly antics and March’s unbridled enthusiasm. He heard that warm laughter again, that softly twinkling light.

Maybe.

Under the threat of various interastral forces, it was easy for Dan Heng to lose track of time. Life as a Trailblazer was unpredictable and fast paced; each planet offered something new and worthwhile. Sometimes it was a catalyst for personal growth. Sometimes it was a chance to forge new bonds. And sometimes…it was an excuse to send letters.

He sent Jing Yuan seashells from Thalassa, various pressed flowers he found on Vonwacq, small ceramic animals from Edo, and colorful chunks of agate from Melustanin. He also made a habit of sending photos of every cat he came across, claiming that they bore an uncanny resemblance to a certain general.

Jing Yuan always wrote back, and with every letter, Dan Heng remembered where they left off—felt it viscerally—as though Jing Yuan’s breath was tickling his cheek with every word scratched into the page. Suddenly he was back in Jing Yuan’s room, his head comfortably tucked under the general’s chin.

It wasn’t that he spent most of his time yearning. The universe was too vast to waste time longing for something that never quite left, but he would be lying if he said that he never felt a little sad about the decision he made that night. Dan Heng did not have regrets, but he couldn’t help but feel a pang in his chest when he thought of Jing Yuan who was left to wait with nothing but the moon and spontaneous packages for tangible comfort.

He knew it was wrong to pity him, to feel guilt. Jing Yuan wasn’t alone. He had people he loved and cared about back home, dear companions who had weathered storms with him—battles. Still, he couldn’t help but wonder if Jing Yuan was better off with someone else.

Sometimes they called each other. ‘I want to hear your voice,’ he would admit while sitting in bed, and then Jing Yuan would say, ‘I want to see you,’ and Dan Heng would panic because he knew that if he saw him, he would falter. But he was too smitten to say no, so he would tap the video icon and wait for Jing Yuan’s face to pop up on the screen. Then, Jing Yuan would tell him about his week, and Dan Heng would do the same.

On the surface, these exchanges were sweet. Two lovers catching up and keeping in contact despite the light years between them. But the truth was that these conversations were…shallow.

“I have so much paperwork,” Jing Yuan lamented as he combed his fingers through his hair. Dan Heng could feel his exhaustion even through the screen. “We’ll be hosting visitors from the other Xianzhou ships again soon. There are a lot of necessary preparations that need to be made. It’s been a few years since we last hosted.”

Dan Heng faltered.

He imagined himself by the general’s side, helping him sift through documents and sneaking chaste kisses when no one was looking. He imagined tugging at his hand and beckoning him to join him on a trip to Scalegorge Waterscape. Then they would sneak off, and Jing Yuan would trail behind him with a content smile on his face while he collected samples of water, coral, and sediment.

These were nice thoughts, a plausible future that actually felt within reach.

“I wish I could lend you a helping hand,” Dan Heng said, uncomfortably flexing his fingers out of frame. “I actually enjoy boring busywork.”

“I’m sure you do, seeing how passionate you are about that data bank of yours.” Jing Yuan laughed. “I’m afraid some of these documents are…confidential, but there are other ways I’m sure you could help alleviate my stress.” His eyes darkened, and Dan Heng swallowed.

His cheeks grew uncomfortably hot. “I can imagine.” He wiped his palms on his pants.

“Would you like to elaborate, Dan Heng?” There was a smug grin on the general’s face now, and Dan Heng wanted nothing more now than to kiss it away. “A helping hand, was that what you said?”

The general was relentless in his teasing. This continued for some time, a rapid-fire conversation dripping with innuendos that left Dan Heng half hard and internally squirming. When Dan Heng couldn’t take it anymore, he looked Jing Yuan in the eye and asked, “Do you think of me when you touch yourself?”

Jing Yuan sharply inhaled. “I do.”

“Are you touching yourself right now?”

“I want to.”

“I want you to touch yourself tonight, and I want you to imagine that I’m there with you, that I’m the one making you feel good.”

Jing Yuan blushed and bit his lip. “Is that an order?” Dan Heng nodded, and he weakly laughed. “Your wish is my command.” His gaze fell. “Though it’s a shame my bed is too large for one person,” he murmured. “I wish you were here.”

Something shifted between them, and he could feel it acutely: Jing Yuan’s restraint. Jing Yuan’s desire. Jing Yuan’s loneliness. Dan Heng commiserated in that loneliness; he understood how it felt to be deprived of the sun.

“I love you,” he blurted out, suddenly overcome with emotion.

“I love you too.” Jing Yuan lifted his gaze, and his eyes softened.

There were many things he wanted to confess to him, feelings he had never been able to put into words before. All at once, they materialized on his tongue, but he swallowed them down and said, “You said you had a meeting to attend first thing in the morning. I don’t want to keep you up.”

After bidding each other farewell, Dan Heng rummaged through a drawer and procured a clean sheet of paper and a pen. He shuffled over to his desk and began to write.

Dear Jing Yuan,

I love you. I feel like I don’t say it enough, but I need you to know that I mean it, that my love for you still burns so brightly. I often look to the sky, to the stars and all those distant planets, and I wonder how I got so lucky. I’m no good at putting my feelings into words but sometimes words are all we have.

Whenever I update the data bank, I find myself thinking that maybe I own the universe—that I’m cataloging the universe through words, and since these words are mine, the universe is too. And then I remember that I wouldn’t have any of this if it weren’t for you and your kindness.

You are like the sun, and I am drawn to you like the moon, eternally chasing after you and seeking you in every shadow…

Dan Heng stopped writing. This was all wrong.

“Say it to him,” Dan Heng whispered. “He deserves to hear this in person.”

One day, he would breathe life into these feelings of his, but that day wasn’t today.

Not yet.

Days turned into weeks, weeks turned into months, and months turned into years. The passage of time didn’t fully register until Dan Heng checked the calendar and realized that a year had passed since he departed from the Luofu, the soft caress of Jing Yuan’s lips on his bidding him farewell. One year eventually turned into two and then it turned into three.

The sea of stars was so vast it was impossible to say how long it would take for Dan Heng to reach the end of his journey. Change was something that took time, and he often felt as though he had all the time in the world. It was unfair, he knew, to leave Jing Yuan for so long, but what he needed could not be found on the Luofu or in one particular corner of the universe.

It was difficult to put into words how he has changed since he first set foot in the Astral Express. When he glanced down at Stelle and March, both of them fast asleep, a sad smile tugged at his lips. They’ve changed as well. Himeko referred to them as ‘kids.’ It was hard for him to argue otherwise, especially compared to the likes of Himeko and Welt, but he felt older now, a little weathered around the edges. Wiser and stronger, too.

Dan Heng thought back to his first month on the Express. At a loss for what to do whenever his work in the archives was done, he took to learning about the inner workings of the train. Himeko answered all of his questions without hesitating; she knew the Express like the back of her hand. Her technical knowledge was impressive, and Dan Heng often stopped her to ask for clarification. ‘You have such a childlike curiosity about the world,’ he remembered her saying.

Back then he was like a fish with a damaged fin floundering around as the current of life swept him to and fro. After gaining his freedom, Dan Heng quickly learned that there were things that couldn’t be learned by reading books. His time in the IPC was simple enough: keep quiet, do your work, keep your head down, and pocket your wages. However, after accepting Himeko’s offer, solitude was no longer an option.

Interacting with others and forming connections—companionship—felt like an uphill battle. Dan Heng found himself wondering how much of his behavior was a result of his many years of seclusion and how much was because he was simply more introverted than most. He found peace in the confines of his room, surrounded by books and a wide breadth of information at his fingertips.

March’s arrival—awakening—was an unexpected surprise. Himeko, Welt, and Pom-Pom gave him plenty of space and often left him alone while he locked himself in the archives, but March was different. Dan Heng kept a careful distance from her, responding to her inquiries with curt responses and polite nods. They both found joy in different things, but there was something in the way her eyes lit up when she was happy that drew him in.

She snapped a photo of him once with her polaroid camera. Dan Heng heard the familiar sound of the shutter and watched as it slowly spit out a square piece of film. March carefully slid out the photo and laid it face down on the table. After enough time had passed, she flipped it over, and her face lit up. And there it was: that first tiny spark. Curious, Dan Heng leaned over the table and saw himself intently reading a book.

He had never seen a picture of himself before.

Dan Heng never gave much thought to his appearance. The only time he acknowledged that he looked any particular way was whenever he set foot in a bathroom or walked by a storefront with a large window. In the photo, he looked at peace, a slight smile tugging on his lips. March said she was happy the photo turned out so nice, and Dan Heng couldn’t help but agree. Then he asked her, ’What do you typically like to take photos of?’

After that exchange, March started visiting him in the archives more often. She would bring him photos of all the places the Express had stopped at—photos of random objects, food, animals, and the other members of the Express. Dan Heng stared at them in awe, occasionally glancing back at the data bank. As he pinned the photos to his wall, he remembered thinking to himself, ‘The universe is beautiful, and I’m grateful to be alive.’

Looking back, he wished he spent more time with those feelings. Dan Heng wished he could convey such sentiments to Jing Yuan, but words often failed him. His letters were long and sprawling, and per March’s suggestion after that first year, he began attaching photographs to his letters. She taught him how to better compose his shots and when and how to adjust the shutter speed and exposure.

His first photos were, for lack of a better word, bad. Off-center animals, environment shots that were too dark, and unfocused objects. He even tried taking a selfie once and only the upper left half of his head made it in the shot. March and Stelle had teased him relentlessly, but he attached the photo regardless.

Dear Jing Yuan,

I’ve spent a lot of time lately wondering how I can better share my travels with you. Our most recent Trailblazing expedition was actually very pleasant. We had a brief scare because of a Stellaron—as we usually do—but we were able to seal it without any issue. Once things calmed down, March agreed to lend me her camera. (Temporarily, of course.) I tried my hand at taking some polaroids, and, well, to be frank: they’re not very good.

Photography is clearly not my strong suit, but it was nice retracing my steps and documenting my travels in this way. As you know, I spend most of my free time updating the data bank. It’s very tedious work and I do enjoy it, but it’s nice having something more physical.

I tried taking photos of as many animals as I could. Some of the smaller ones are easily frightened so they ran off before I could take a photo, but I did manage to get a hold of these small rabbit-like creatures. I wish you could have held them yourself, but I hope these photos will suffice for now. Perhaps we can visit this planet together some day in the future. The birds here are beautiful as well.

Far too much time has passed since we last saw each other. I’m sorry for making you wait so long. To be honest, I have been thinking about the Xianzhou lately. I want to visit, and if I could, I would turn this train around and warp jump as many times as necessary, but we’ve received a distress signal from a neighboring galaxy, and as a Nameless, I have a duty to fulfill.

I miss you, I love you, and I hope you are taking care of yourself.

Yours,
Dan Heng

Dan Heng’s feet carried him across the worn pavement until he reached the edge of civilization. Pavement turned into grass and dirt. Buildings turned into towering trees. He stepped over a large tree root protruding from the earth. He leaped over a small babbling creek. When the grass turned into dirt and rock, he looked up and sucked in a breath.

Finally.

The dilapidated ruins beckoned him. Crumbling pillars of stone as far as the eye could see; remnants from a great war that had devastated the planet many amber eras ago. Gravel crunched beneath his shoes as he approached. He mapped the path in his head and retraced his steps.

Dan Heng ran his fingers over the ancient stone as he passed under a crumbling archway; it was rough and still damp from the rain. The path was winding, and after meandering through the ruins, he came across a large hill of rubble—stone, splintered wood, and sand. He scaled the hill and slid down the other side.

Large slabs of stone obscured the path ahead. Dan Heng crouched by a large gap in the rock and crawled through, gravel roughly digging into his knees through the fabric of his pants. He pushed himself onto his feet and took a steadying breath.

The sound of the sea swept over him as he regained his balance. Waves crashed against the isolated cliffside. It was a small clearing, private and intimate, with only a couple trees and uneven patches of grass and weeds. He shivered and tugged on the plush red scarf that hugged his neck.

Dan Heng approached the edge of the cliff and stared down at the turbulent waters. Specks of seawater splashed against his face, and he licked the salt from his lips. He reached out and pulled at the water with an elegant twist of his hand, coaxing it into a small stream.

He fell back onto his heels and stretched out his legs until they dangled over the edge. The water swirled in the air, and Dan Heng molded it into a sphere. It hovered over his cupped palms as he took a deep breath. The waters were a murky but calming sea green. He wondered how it would feel to give himself to the water, to allow it to envelop his body in a warm embrace. Would it feel like home?

In one fluid motion, the sphere dissolved back into the sea, and Dan Heng pushed himself onto his feet, careful to not fall forward. He backed away from the cliff’s edge and found refuge under the canopy of one of the flowering trees. Lilac petals littered the ground, birds squawked in the distance, the sea raged on, and Dan Heng was alone.

Dan Heng thought of the Astral Express. He thought of Welt lounging in the lobby and watching the stars pass them by, his cane laid across his lap. They would often read together like that, in peaceful silence while Pom-Pom swept the floors. He thought of Himeko’s kind smile and the mornings they shared together hovered over the coffee maker.

He thought of Stelle and March. The way they could barely fit on March’s bed. How they once tried cramming themselves into his futon to no avail. Three straws sticking out of a glass of some sugary beverage no living creature should consume. Laced fingers and shared kisses.

It was an exhilarating kind of love. One that kept him on his toes.

Stelle’s myriad of strange trinkets lined most of his shelves, little reminders of the quiet affection they held for him. March’s polaroids were neatly nestled into his journals, and a few hung on his walls, a sign that the time they spent together was real. Proof that they had forged a new past to look back on and that the future would shine just as brightly.

“Do you miss him?” Stelle had once asked.

“I do,” he whispered. “Painfully so.”

“You could always invite him onto the Express.”

“I don’t think he’d fit on the bed,” Dan Heng replied, softly chuckling.

Stelle smirked and nudged his arm. “I don’t think he would want to share you either.”

“What makes you say that?”

“I think he assumes that our love keeps you away from home. Jing Yuan is only human after all,” they answered, curling a pinky around his.“But you’ve always intended on going back. At some point, you gotta get off the train, right? Go on a new adventure?”

“Right.” Dan Heng nodded, his lips curling into a gentle smile. “But until then… I’d like for this adventure to last a little longer.”

“The general’s a very patient man.” Stelle’s eyes were filled with mirth. “But who knows what he’ll do when he finally gets his hands on you.”

Dan Heng flushed deep red. “Who knows…”

He wanted to know.

He wanted to feel Jing Yuan’s hands on his waist. To crash his mouth against his. He wanted to comb his fingers through his long unruly mane of snow white hair. Wanted to press his lips to the mole beneath his eye, the mole on his belly, on his thigh. Would Jing Yuan spin him around and press him against the door? Pin him to the mattress, spreading his legs open so he can settle between his thighs?

Dan Heng burned.

The jade abacus was cold against his palms. He weighed it, lifting it up and down and memorizing the heft and the way each curve and edge brushed against his fingers. Dan Heng shuddered as he lifted it, higher and higher, until it eclipsed the setting sun.

He tilted his chin up, leaned forward, and pressed the cold jade to his lips. “Please,” he whispered, “return my heart to me…”

The jade abacus resonated with every brush of his lips, every whispered syllable, and the world around him fell silent. Dan Heng fidgeted with his scarf while he waited. He didn’t know what to expect; the inner workings of the jade abacus were a mystery to him, but if there was one thing he was certain of, it was that Jing Yuan would come.

It happened in the blink of an eye, with the violent crash of a wave and seawater sparkling against the backdrop of a setting sun. Dan Heng glanced up upon feeling the disturbance. The moon was high in the sky—faint, but visible—and the sun began to dip into the sea. And then a battered starskiff came to a shuttering halt, its engine coughing as it nearly crashed into the cliffside.

“Dan Heng?” Jing Yuan stumbled out, grass crunching beneath his boots. He was flushed, cheeks red with exertion, and chest rapidly rising and falling with each clamoring breath.

Just the way Dan Heng remembered leaving him. As though no time had passed.

Flustered and infuriatingly handsome and beautiful and—

“Jing Yuan…” Dan Heng staggered toward him with one hand still clutched around his scarf.

“I got your message,” Jing Yuan continued, now sprinting toward him. He planted his hands on Dan Heng’s shoulders, and Dan Heng could feel the heat searing through the fabric of his clothes and seeping into his skin. The general’s gaze briefly flickered down to his scarf, a spark of surprise and recognition flashing across his eyes. “I’m afraid I don’t understand. Return your heart? Are you hurt? Did something happen—“

Dan Heng reached for his collar and yanked him down into a searing kiss. Jing Yuan’s eyes fluttered shut, and he lifted a hand to Dan Heng’s cheek, gently caressing it with his thumb. Dan Heng tilted his head and ran his hands through the general’s hair. The world melted away, and all Dan Heng could feel was Jing Yuan—his lips, his hands, the heat of his body. His heart climbed into his throat, and every kiss and swipe of tongue made him feel as though he were on fire.

He could feel Jing Yuan’s desire enveloping him, and he wanted nothing more than to be anchored here in his embrace until the end of time, to be consumed by him and his love until the stars fell from the sky. They exchanged unspoken words with every brush of their lips and every gentle sigh. Affection surged within him. ‘I love you,’ he wanted to say. ‘I love you. I miss you. I’m sorry. I love you.’

Instead, Dan Heng whispered, “Take me home, Jing Yuan. I want to go home.” His voice was fragile, and he lifted himself onto the balls of his feet to press another bruising kiss to the general’s lips.

“Home? To the Astral Express?” Jing Yuan kissed his forehead, his cheek, his nose, his jaw, and then he reclaimed his lips. “Are they not with you?”

Five years was a long time to be away from home.

Five years was a long time to be in love.

“You, Jing Yuan.” Dan Heng pulled away and caught his breath. “Take me with you.”

A beat of silence passed, only the sound of Dan Heng’s pounding heart tethering him to reality. Jing Yuan softly laughed; it was a warm laughter, one that danced through the air and lifted his spirits.

“Are you sure?” Jing Yuan asked, eyes twinkling with mirth.

Dan Heng smiled up at him, and a breathless chuckle passed through his lips. “I believe I gave you an order, general.”

“Oh?” A grin stretched across Jing Yuan’s face. “I don’t recall the general of the Luofu taking orders.”

“So you would keep your lover waiting?”

Jing Yuan tilted his head, and there was a mischievous glint in his eyes. “But is that not what you have been doing, Dan Heng? Keeping your lover waiting?”

His stomach lurched. “I…I’m sorry. I know it wasn’t fair to you, but I—“

“Don’t apologize,” Jing Yuan interjected. “Don’t ever apologize.”

“But I…”

“There is nothing you have to apologize for.” Jing Yuan swept a thumb across Dan Heng’s cheek. It overwhelmed him, knowing how endlessly patient Jing Yuan was, how he managed to carry so much strength and kindness in spite of everything he has experienced. “Now tell me, Dan Heng… Did you find it? Did you find what you were looking for?”

“Yes…I found it.” Dan Heng’s eyes softened, and his lips stretched into a smile. “I found myself.”

On a secluded cliffside, Dan Heng whispers sweet nothings against Jing Yuan’s ear as they sit beneath a flowering tree. He tells the general about the stars, about every stop along the silver rail. He recites tales of harrowing adventures, tales of blossoming friendships, and tales of love.

He’s already bid Stelle and March a bittersweet farewell, a soft ‘see you later’ lingering on their lips. Dan Heng misses them already, but he knows this isn’t forever, that one day he will see them again, and they will laugh and kiss like no time has passed. Maybe it will be back on the Luofu. Maybe it will be in a coffee shop in Belobog. Or on one of the many shores in Thalassa. Or maybe it will be in one of Penacony’s many dreamscapes. Whenever their paths cross again, he knows it will be with Jing Yuan’s hand in his.

Dan Heng speaks of adolescence, of chasing after the idea of youth; how it’s like a flash in the pan, like catching lightning in a bottle. Memories swirl in his mind, and Dan Heng radiates a joy so pure he feels as though he is a star on the brink of creation.

“It’s funny how I often feel as though I know nothing at all,” he says, carefully cradling Jing Yuan’s ungloved hands in his. He runs his fingers over the rough calluses and traces faint scars. “It’s ridiculous when you consider how much time I spend updating the data bank. I spend so much time literally recording and organizing information, but every passing day only serves to show just how much I don’t know. But that’s what’s so beautiful about living—that I get to have these experiences, these revelations. That there’s still so much for me to discover.”

Jing Yuan leans against him, his long hair tickling Dan Heng’s cheek. “I kept all your photos,” he says, lacing their fingers together and lifting the back of Dan Heng’s hand to his lips. “I cherished them—more than you could ever know. They let me see the universe through your eyes.”

“And what did you think?” Dan Heng asks.

“It’s a charming place full of beautiful sights and adorable creatures…” His voice trails off, and his gaze flickers down to their joined hands. “And you’re in it. And that might be the best part.”

“A-Yuan…” Dan Heng fidgets in place, fully aware of the way Jing Yuan sharply inhales. Then he recites the words he’s kept deeply buried for so long. “Whenever I update the data bank, I find myself thinking that maybe I own the universe—that I’m cataloging the universe through words, and since these words are mine, the universe is too. And then I remember that I wouldn’t have any of this if it weren’t for you and your kindness…”

Dan Heng tells Jing Yuan that he loves him in far too many words. It’s a lengthy speech that drags on like ink running off the page, but Jing Yuan is drinking up every last word. He’s rambling now, speaking about the past, the present, and now the future—and he’s not done yet because there’s still one unspoken question lingering in the shrinking space between them.

It’s so easy to want now, Dan Heng laments after kissing Jing Yuan’s knuckles one at a time. He’s grown into a terribly selfish man, and because he’s so selfish he takes a quick, shallow breath and asks the question he’s scratched through on hundreds of unsent letters. “I want to go home—with you—but when the time is right, will you come with me?”

Jing Yuan gapes at him wordlessly, his lower lip quivering as he struggles to speak. “What?” he manages to croak out.

A beat of silence passes and Dan Heng laughs. “You should come with me,” he clarifies. “See the universe for yourself, with your own eyes. Would you…be open to that?”

The general of the Luofu does not stutter, so when Jing Yuan answers, it’s firm and full of conviction. “Yes,” he says, voice thick with emotion. “Yes, I would love to.”

When Dan Heng kisses Jing Yuan again it feels different somehow, like the last puzzle piece has clicked into place. He feels lighter now—younger—like the final lingering years of darkness and solitude are melting off of his body, rays of light beaming down at him, gently caressing the scarred, hidden parts of his heart. He feels like a flower slowly unfurling, its petals gently swaying in the wind and soaking in the sun.

Dan Heng smiles into the kiss and realizes that against all odds, he’s lived a good life.