Chapter Text
Dan Heng’s shout was not loud, but it was raw. “Caelus!”
Caelus stumbled, but he stayed upright. He forced a grin through the pain. “See? Still alive.”
Dan Heng’s eyes were wide, a rare crack in his calm. He moved closer, spear still raised, but his attention was locked on Caelus. Like the enemy no longer mattered.
“Why did you do that?” Dan Heng demanded, voice tight.
Caelus’s chest heaved. “Because you were going to get hit.”
Dan Heng’s jaw clenched. “I could have avoided it.”
Caelus snapped, “I wasn’t sure.”
The words hung between them, heavy.
Dan Heng’s gaze burned into him, anger and fear twisted together. “You cannot keep doing this.”
Caelus swallowed hard. “Doing what? Protecting you?”
Dan Heng’s voice went low. “Sacrificing yourself.”
Caelus flinched. He hated that word. Sacrifice made it sound noble. Caelus did not feel noble. He felt desperate. He felt afraid of being useless. He forced himself to laugh. “I’m not sacrificing anything. I’m fine.”
Dan Heng took a step closer, too close. His voice dropped, quiet but intense. “You are hurt.”
Caelus shrugged, trying to pull away from the weight in Dan Heng’s eyes. “It’s just a hit.”
Dan Heng’s hand hovered near Caelus’s side, like he wanted to check the injury but did not know if he was allowed. His fingers curled slightly, restrained. Caelus’s stomach twisted.
Dan Heng’s softness always came like this. Not in grand gestures, not in words. In the way he looked like he wanted to touch Caelus and was afraid of crossing a line.
Caelus wanted him to cross it. That thought terrified him.
“Stop looking at me like that,” Caelus blurted.
Dan Heng blinked. “Like what?”
Caelus swallowed, heat rising to his face. “Like… like you’re going to murder me for being stupid.”
Dan Heng’s expression tightened. “I am not going to murder you.”
“That’s comforting,” Caelus muttered.
Dan Heng’s gaze held him. “I am going to keep you alive.”
Caelus’s chest ached. “You can’t control that.”
Dan Heng’s voice went even quieter. “I can try.”
March’s voice snapped through the tension. “Uh, guys? More projections. Can we have the emotional breakdown after we survive?”
Caelus sucked in a breath, nodding. “Right. Sorry.”
They fought again, harder this time, working together, staying closer. Caelus forced himself to listen, to follow Dan Heng’s signals. When Dan Heng stepped left, Caelus stepped with him. When Dan Heng blocked, Caelus struck. When March called out a target, Caelus moved. They disabled the conduits, one by one. The pulsing light weakened, flickering like a dying heartbeat. The projections grew unstable.
Finally, Dan Heng drove his spear into the core device, and March fired an arrow straight into the crack. The device shattered with a shriek of collapsing energy.
The projections dissolved, the shadows emptying. Silence rushed in, thick and sudden.
Caelus swayed. The pain in his side throbbed, now that adrenaline was fading. He pressed a hand to the injury, wincing. Dan Heng was beside him immediately, steadying him with a hand on his arm. This time he did not hesitate.
Caelus looked at Dan Heng’s hand on him and felt his heart do something stupid again.
“You’re hurt,” Dan Heng said, voice tight.
Caelus tried to shrug it off, but the movement made him hiss. “Okay, yeah. A little.”
Dan Heng’s eyes darkened, frustration flickering. “You promised.”
Caelus blinked. “Promised what?”
Dan Heng’s gaze held him. “You said you would stay close. You said you would be careful.”
Caelus’s throat tightened. “I was close.”
Dan Heng’s jaw clenched. “You stepped in front of me.”
Caelus’s voice came out smaller than he intended. “I couldn’t just let you get hit.”
Dan Heng’s eyes softened, and the softness was worse than the anger. “Why?”
Caelus stared at him, heart pounding.
Because I care.
Because you make me feel like I belong.
Because you look at me like I matter, and I don’t know how to exist without chasing that feeling.
Because if something happened to you, the train would still run, and everyone would still laugh, and the universe would still spin, but something inside me would break, and I don’t know if it would ever heal.
Caelus swallowed hard. He forced a grin, weak and shaky. “Because you’re my teammate.”
Dan Heng’s expression tightened, like he knew that answer was not the whole truth, and it frustrated him that Caelus would not give more. He did not push. He rarely pushed. That was another kind of kindness, and it made Caelus feel guilty.
“Come,” Dan Heng said quietly. “We will return. Himeko will want to assess the injury.”
Caelus nodded, letting Dan Heng guide him.
On the way back through the tunnels, Caelus’s thoughts churned. He could feel the distance between what he wanted to say and what he dared to say. He could feel Dan Heng walking beside him, silent, tense. He could feel the anger still coiled in Dan Heng’s shoulders, but beneath it, something else.
Fear.
Fear because Caelus had been hurt. Fear because Caelus had chosen to put himself in the line of fire. Fear because Dan Heng cared too much.
Caelus wondered what it felt like, to be Dan Heng, carrying that kind of quiet care like a blade hidden under his coat. Caelus wondered if Dan Heng ever got tired of holding himself so tightly together.
Back on the Express, Himeko frowned at Caelus’s injury, then gave him a look that promised consequences. “You were told to be cautious,” she said, gentle but firm.
Caelus tried to grin. “We were cautious. Very cautious. Cautiously heroic.”
Himeko’s eyebrow lifted. “Mm.”
Welt adjusted his glasses. “It appears the mission succeeded, but at unnecessary cost.”
Caelus opened his mouth, ready to argue, but Dan Heng spoke first.
“It was my fault,” Dan Heng said.
Caelus whipped his head toward him. “What?”
Dan Heng’s expression was calm, but his eyes were tense. “I did not anticipate the projection pattern correctly.”
Caelus’s chest tightened. “No. Don’t. That wasn’t your fault.”
Dan Heng’s gaze flicked to him, sharp. “Then whose was it?”
Caelus’s throat worked. He did not know how to answer without saying the truth. Without admitting that his choices were not always rational, that sometimes they were driven by a hunger he could not name. He forced a shrug. “The station’s.”
Himeko sighed, the tension easing slightly. “Rest, Caelus. No training tomorrow.”
Caelus groaned. “That’s cruel.”
“It’s necessary,” Himeko said, then softened. “You are part of this family, Caelus. Do not act like you are disposable.”
The words hit harder than any lecture. Caelus’s mouth went dry. He nodded once, unable to look at anyone’s eyes for too long.
Dan Heng escorted him to his room without being asked. That was another thing Dan Heng did. He did not ask permission to care. He simply did it, quietly, like it was the most natural duty in the world.
Caelus sat on the edge of his bed, wincing as he shifted. Dan Heng stood by the door, as if unsure whether to leave or stay.
Caelus wanted him to stay. He did not know how to ask without sounding desperate.
Dan Heng spoke first. “You should sleep.”
Caelus tried to grin. “Yes, mom.”
Dan Heng’s eyes narrowed. “Do not joke.”
Caelus’s grin faded. “Sorry.”
Dan Heng’s gaze dropped to Caelus’s bandaged side, then lifted again. His voice was quiet. “You scared me.”
Caelus froze.
Dan Heng almost never said things like that. Not directly. Not in words that left no room for interpretation.
Caelus’s heart hammered. He tried to keep his voice light, but it shook anyway. “I’m fine.”
Dan Heng’s gaze sharpened. “That is not an answer.”
Caelus swallowed. “What do you want me to say?”
Dan Heng’s hands curled at his sides, restrained tension. “I want you to stop.”
Caelus stared at him.
Dan Heng took a step closer, then stopped, like he was afraid to crowd him. His voice lowered. “I want you to stop throwing yourself into danger like your life is less valuable than ours.”
Caelus’s chest tightened so hard it hurt. “It’s not less valuable.”
Dan Heng’s eyes held him. “Then why do you act like it is?”
Caelus’s throat closed. He looked away, blinking fast.
Because I don’t know who I am without being useful. Because I woke up in the middle of chaos and everyone told me I mattered, but I can’t remember why, and some part of me is always afraid they’ll change their minds. Because you are so steady, and I am a question mark, and sometimes the only way I know how to feel real is to bleed for something.
Caelus swallowed hard. “Because,” he said carefully, voice low, “it’s easier to take a hit than to feel… helpless.”
Dan Heng’s expression softened, a small crack in the storm of his frustration. “You are not helpless.”
Caelus let out a shaky laugh. “Sometimes I feel like I am.”
Dan Heng’s gaze stayed on him, unwavering. “Then tell us.”
Caelus’s breath hitched. “Tell you what?”
Dan Heng’s voice was quiet, intense. “Tell us when you are afraid.”
Caelus stared at him, stunned.
Dan Heng’s eyes flickered, something vulnerable passing through. “You are not alone here.”
Caelus’s chest warmed painfully. “You make it sound easy.”
“It is not easy,” Dan Heng said. “But it is necessary.”
Caelus swallowed. “Dan Heng… you’re always so calm.”
Dan Heng’s mouth tightened, almost bitter. “I am not calm.”
Caelus blinked. “You look calm.”
Dan Heng’s gaze dropped for a moment, then returned. “That is different.”
The honesty in his voice made Caelus’s stomach twist. He had always assumed Dan Heng’s control was natural, effortless. He had never considered the possibility that it was work. That calm was something Dan Heng built around himself like armor.
Caelus’s voice softened. “Then what are you?”
Dan Heng hesitated. His eyes shifted, as if he was searching for words he did not like to use.
“Afraid,” Dan Heng said quietly.
Caelus’s breath caught.
Dan Heng’s voice lowered further. “When you run forward, I am afraid you will not come back. I am afraid I will be too late.”
Caelus stared at him, heart pounding so hard it felt like pain. He wanted to say something that would fix it. Something that would make Dan Heng’s fear smaller. Something that would make this conversation less sharp. Instead, he whispered, “Why do you care so much?”
Dan Heng went very still. For a moment, Caelus thought he had pushed too far. He opened his mouth to backtrack, to joke, to make it safe.
But Dan Heng spoke first. “Because you are…” Dan Heng began, then stopped, like the words stuck in his throat.
Caelus’s breath trembled. “Because I’m what?”
Dan Heng’s eyes lifted to his, dark and steady. “Because you are important.”
Caelus’s throat tightened. “To everyone.”
Dan Heng’s jaw clenched slightly, like he disliked the way Caelus tried to generalize it. “Yes.”
Caelus’s pulse spiked. He forced the next question out, voice small. “And to you?”
Silence.
Dan Heng’s expression did not change much, but Caelus saw it anyway, the tension under the surface. The way Dan Heng’s control tightened. The way his breath slowed like he was bracing for impact.
“Caelus,” Dan Heng said quietly, and the sound of his name made Caelus’s chest ache.
Caelus’s hands clenched on the edge of the bed. “Just answer.”
Dan Heng’s gaze held him.
Then, very softly, Dan Heng said, “Yes.”
The word landed like a weight and a gift.
Caelus felt his eyes sting, stupidly. He looked down, jaw tight, trying to hide it. “Okay,” he whispered. “Okay.”
Dan Heng did not move. He did not reach out. He simply stood there, steady, letting Caelus have the moment without demanding anything from him. That was Dan Heng, too. Softness that respected boundaries. Care that did not take. Presence that did not push.
Caelus inhaled slowly, trying to steady himself. “Dan Heng,” he said, voice rough, “I don’t… I don’t know how to do this.”
Dan Heng’s brows knit slightly. “Do what?”
Caelus swallowed. “Let people care. Let it matter.”
Dan Heng’s gaze softened. “Then we learn.”
Caelus let out a shaky laugh. “We?”
Dan Heng’s voice was quiet. “Yes.”
Something in Caelus’s chest loosened. It was not a full relief. It was not a solved problem. But it felt like a hand held out in the dark.
Caelus nodded once. Dan Heng’s gaze stayed on him, then shifted toward the door. He hesitated, as if unsure whether leaving would feel like abandonment. Caelus’s heart clenched. He blurted, “Can you… stay? Just for a bit.”
Dan Heng’s eyes flicked back to him.
Caelus forced himself to meet that gaze, even though it felt like standing too close to a fire. “I don’t want to be alone right now.”
Dan Heng’s expression softened in a way that made Caelus’s throat tighten again. “All right,” he said quietly. He moved to the chair by the bed and sat, posture upright but less rigid than usual. Like he was trying to be comfortable without knowing how.
Caelus lay back slowly, careful of his injury. The room was quiet, filled with the hum of the train and the steady presence of Dan Heng’s breathing. Caelus stared at the ceiling again, but this time, he did not feel like he was trying to punch it. He felt like he was holding onto something. He closed his eyes.
Sleep came in fragments.
In one dream, he was back in the station tunnels, the projections swarming, Dan Heng’s voice sharp with fear.
In another, he was standing on the platform where he had first met the Express crew, except everyone’s faces were blurred, and only Dan Heng’s eyes were clear, watching him like an anchor.
When Caelus woke, the room was dim. For a moment, he did not remember where he was. Then he heard it, a soft rustle, and opened his eyes. Dan Heng was still in the chair, head slightly bowed, eyes closed. His posture was upright, but his shoulders were less tense. He looked younger like this. Less like a guard, more like someone who had never learned how to rest. Caelus watched him for a long moment, a strange tenderness filling his chest.
Dan Heng’s eyes opened, immediately alert. He looked at Caelus, then his gaze softened. “You’re awake.”
Caelus’s lips twitched. “You didn’t leave.”
Dan Heng’s voice was quiet. “No.”
Caelus swallowed. “Thank you.”
Dan Heng nodded once, then hesitated. His gaze shifted, as if he was choosing his words carefully. “How do you feel?”
Caelus tried to joke, but the words caught. He exhaled. “Better.”
Dan Heng’s eyes stayed on him. “And emotionally?”
Caelus blinked, surprised. Dan Heng asking that felt like a door opening.
Caelus stared at the ceiling, then back at Dan Heng. “Still… confused,” he admitted.
Dan Heng’s brows knit slightly. “About what?”
Caelus’s throat tightened. He forced himself to say it, even though it felt like stepping onto thin ice. “About you.”
Dan Heng went still.
Caelus’s voice trembled. “About what we are. About what you want. About what I want.”
Dan Heng’s gaze held him, dark and steady. “What do you want?”
Caelus’s pulse hammered.
He thought about all the jokes he had used as shields. He thought about the way he had danced around truth because he was afraid of ruining something precious. He thought about how he had woken up without a past and built himself out of the people around him, patchwork and hopeful.
He thought about Dan Heng standing between him and danger, again and again, like it was instinct. Like it was choice.
Caelus swallowed hard. “I want…” He exhaled. “I want you to stop looking like you’re going to disappear every time I get too close.”
Dan Heng’s eyes flickered. “I don’t disappear.”
Caelus let out a shaky laugh. “You do. Not physically. But emotionally. You pull back.”
Dan Heng’s jaw tightened, subtle tension. “I don’t want to burden you.”
Caelus stared at him. “With what?”
Dan Heng’s voice went quiet. “With my feelings.”
Caelus’s chest ached. “Dan Heng.”
Dan Heng’s gaze dropped, then lifted again. There was something raw there, carefully contained. “You have enough to carry. You should not have to carry me.”
Caelus’s throat tightened hard. “You’re not a burden.”
Dan Heng’s mouth tightened, like he did not believe it.
Caelus sat up slowly, wincing at the tug of his injury, but he kept moving. Dan Heng shifted as if to help, then stopped, watching.
Caelus took a breath. “You know what I hate?” he said, voice quiet.
Dan Heng’s eyes stayed on him. “What?”
Caelus swallowed. “When people decide for me what I can handle.”
Dan Heng’s gaze sharpened slightly.
Caelus continued, voice trembling but determined. “I don’t have a past. I don’t have memories that tell me what kind of person I’m supposed to be. So I’m building myself out of what I have now. Out of this train. Out of the crew.”
His voice softened. “Out of you.”
Dan Heng went very still.
Caelus’s heart hammered. “So don’t tell me you’re a burden. Don’t tell me I can’t handle you. I get to choose what matters to me.”
Dan Heng’s throat bobbed, a subtle sign of emotion he rarely let show.
Caelus’s voice dropped. “And you matter.”
Silence.
Dan Heng’s eyes looked almost pained. Like the words had struck something tender and exposed.
Caelus’s breath shook. “I think… I think I’ve been wanting you for a while,” he admitted, voice barely above a whisper. “And I’ve been pretending it’s just teamwork because that’s safer.”
Dan Heng’s gaze held him. “Why safer?”
Caelus laughed weakly, bitterly. “Because if I admit I want you, then I have something to lose.”
Dan Heng’s eyes softened.
Caelus swallowed hard. “And I already feel like I’m standing on unstable ground most of the time. Wanting you feels like stepping closer to the edge.”
Dan Heng’s voice was very quiet. “I would not push you off.”
Caelus’s laugh came out shaky. “I know.”
Dan Heng’s gaze dropped to his hands, then back up. He looked like he was fighting a war inside himself, a battle between restraint and honesty. Then he said, softly, “I want you too.”
Caelus froze.
Dan Heng’s voice trembled slightly, almost imperceptible. “I have wanted you since… early.” He swallowed. “It was inconvenient.”
Caelus blinked, then barked a laugh, half-disbelieving. “Inconvenient?”
Dan Heng’s mouth twitched, but his eyes stayed serious. “Yes.”
Caelus stared at him, heart pounding, tears threatening in a way that made him feel ridiculous. “Why didn’t you say anything?”
Dan Heng’s expression tightened, a flicker of pain. “Because I thought you would leave.”
Caelus’s breath caught. “Leave?”
Dan Heng’s voice was quiet. “You are the Trailblazer. You move forward. You take on burdens that are not yours. I thought… I thought you would not want to be tied down by someone like me.”
Caelus stared at him, stunned. “Someone like you?”
Dan Heng’s jaw clenched. “Someone with a past that can harm the people close to him.”
Caelus’s chest tightened.
He understood, suddenly, in a way he had not fully understood before. Dan Heng did not just keep distance because he was reserved. He kept distance because he believed closeness was dangerous. Because he believed his care could become a weapon against the people he cared about.
Caelus whispered, “You’ve been protecting me from you.”
Dan Heng’s eyes flickered, guilt sharp. “Yes.”
Caelus’s throat tightened. “That’s… that’s the dumbest, sweetest thing I’ve ever heard.”
Dan Heng’s mouth twitched, but his eyes stayed pained. “It is not sweet. It is cowardice.”
Caelus shook his head. “No. It’s fear.”
Dan Heng’s gaze held him.
Caelus’s voice softened. “And I get it. I do. But you don’t get to decide I’m better off without you.”
Dan Heng’s breath hitched.
Caelus swallowed. “I’m already with you. Every time you step in front of me, every time you watch me like you’re making sure I’m still breathing, every time you stay up late in the Archives and let me come in anyway. You’re already here.” His voice trembled. “So stop acting like you’re not allowed to want me.”
Dan Heng’s eyes darkened with something intense and vulnerable. “Caelus…”
Caelus reached out slowly, giving Dan Heng time to pull away. He placed his hand over Dan Heng’s on the armrest. Dan Heng did not move away. His fingers tightened under Caelus’s, just slightly. Like he was holding on.
Caelus’s breath shook. “We can go slow,” he whispered. “We can keep it simple. We can just… be.”
Dan Heng stared at their hands, then lifted his gaze to Caelus. His voice was quiet. “I do not know how to do this.”
Caelus let out a soft laugh, warm and fragile. “Neither do I.”
Dan Heng’s thumb brushed lightly over Caelus’s knuckles. The touch was small. It felt like a promise.
Caelus’s chest warmed, aching with something that finally felt like relief.
Dan Heng’s gaze softened. “Then we learn,” he said, echoing his own words from earlier.
Caelus nodded, eyes stinging. “Yeah.”
They sat like that for a long moment, quiet, hands together, the hum of the Express surrounding them like a heartbeat. Outside the window, the stars slid past, indifferent and endless. Inside the room, something small and human took root. This family, Caelus thought, had been his first anchor. It had given him a place to stand. But this, with Dan Heng, felt like something else. Not replacing the family, not taking away from it. Just… adding a new thread. Something private, something chosen. Something that made the future feel less like a cliff.
Dan Heng’s voice broke the silence, soft. “Promise me something.”
Caelus blinked. “What?”
Dan Heng’s gaze held him. “Stop trying to prove your worth by bleeding.”
Caelus’s throat tightened. He swallowed, then nodded. “Okay.”
Dan Heng’s eyes softened. “And if you are afraid…”
Caelus exhaled, feeling the words settle into him like warmth. “I’ll tell you.”
Dan Heng’s grip tightened slightly. “Good.”
Caelus managed a small smile. “You’re still going to hover, though.”
Dan Heng’s brows lifted. “I do not hover.”
Caelus grinned, the humor returning, lighter now. “Sure. You’re just… strategically present.”
Dan Heng’s mouth twitched into a faint smile. “That is more accurate.”
Caelus’s chest warmed. “I can live with that.”
Dan Heng’s gaze lingered on him, quiet and intent. “So can I.”
Caelus blinked, heart thudding again. He realized, suddenly, that this was what he had been searching for since he woke up. Not an explanation of his past. Not a memory to make everything make sense.
Just this.
Someone looking at him like he was worth staying for.
Someone he could look back at and choose, too.
Caelus squeezed Dan Heng’s hand gently. “Hey,” he whispered.
Dan Heng’s eyes met his. “Yes?”
Caelus’s voice was soft, honest. “Thank you for staying.”
Dan Heng’s expression softened in a way that made Caelus’s chest ache. “Always,” Dan Heng said.
And for the first time in a long time, Caelus believed it.