Dican's body lay still, his limbs slack against the debris-strewn ground. His breath came in shallow bursts, the only sign he hadn't completely lost consciousness. But his body—his strength, his will—refused to obey.
Above him, Bian crouched with eerie calm.
He gently caressed the Farian's golden hair, brushing it behind his ear as if Dican were some cherished doll. His fingertips were gentle, trembling with awe.
"I didn't want to do it like this…" he whispered, voice soaked in trembling excitement and guilt. "I really didn't. I wanted you to like me. I wanted to… to be special to you."
He leaned closer, until his forehead pressed softly against the prince's.
"You're so beautiful… I couldn't help it. You shine like something from a different world. Because you are, aren't you?" he laughed faintly, fingers running along Dican's jawline. "A real prince. A real Farian prince. You're everything I'm not…"
A crooked smile formed on Bian's lips.
