His hand reached out as if to touch Xiang Yu's nose to soothe the wound, but Xiang Yu caught his wrist mid-air. "Don't touch it, it's dirty," Xiang Yu warned, his grip firm yet gentle.
Han Xin's eyes welled with something akin to tears, his usual stoicism shattered by the sight of Xiang Yu's injury. "Baby, how can anything about you be dirty?" he murmured, his voice cracking with emotion.
He couldn't bear the thought of Han Xin being tainted by his blood, more especially because of Han Xin's condition.
Han Xin's expression crumpled, his lips parting in a silent plea. "Baby," he whispered, his voice a mere breath. He leaned closer, his body a tantalising distraction, every muscle defined in the soft light.
His chest brushed against Xiang Yu's arm, his breath warm against Xiang Yu's skin. Xiang Yu's heart hammered in his chest, his pulse racing as he struggled to maintain his composure. Han Xin's proximity was intoxicating, his scent overwhelming his senses.
