Every Single Thing I Touch || HeartLiming "Moonlight Chicken"

29. The Final Worry

"I walked across an empty land, I knew the pathway like the back of my hand. I felt the earth beneath my feet, aat by the river and it made me complete. Oh, simple thing, where have you gone? I'm getting old, and I need something to rely on. So, tell me when you're gonna let me in, I'm getting tired, and I need somewhere to begin"

—Keane, "Somewhere only we know"

Distance.

That's what Liming feels the moment he steps into the lavishly decorated hall. The glittering lights, the elegant guests dressed in their finest attire—everything about the room felt polished to perfection. Yet behind the impeccable façade, there was an unmistakable sense of artificiality. The smiles, the casual conversations, the glances darting towards him, only to be quickly averted—it all felt rehearsed.

He stood at the threshold, feeling out of place, like he didn't belong in this moment. His breath caught in his throat as he debated whether to walk in and subject himself to the scrutiny or turn back and escape the cold indifference that was slowly spreading throughout the room. The whispers started almost immediately, rippling through the crowd like a low hum—"Night's brother."

Those two words always weighed him down, pulling him into the past, making him feel small and disconnected from everything around him. He could feel the weight of the memories, heavy and cold, dragging him toward the floor. His first instinct was to retreat. His foot lifted to take a step back, but before he could move, a warm hand slid down his arm, pinkie gently hooking with his. The simple touch grounded him, reminding him he wasn't alone.

Liming turned, his heart steadying as he met Heart's eyes. The unreadable expression on Heart's face softened as he leaned in close and whispered, "I'm right here."

The words wrapped around Liming like a protective embrace, and he exhaled the breath he didn't realize he'd been holding. He squeezed Heart's pinkie tightly, the small gesture hidden from the room but comforting beyond measure. The chatter of the hall resumed, the laughter rising once more as if Liming was invisible, as if the world had decided to go on without acknowledging him. But with Heart beside him, offering that quiet reassurance, Liming smiled for the first time since entering.

"Heart!" A voice called from the far end of the room.

Heart leaned back, acknowledging the call with a nod. Liming felt the warm connection between them break as Heart moved away, his pinkie slipping from Liming's grasp. Heart glanced back at him, clearly reluctant to leave his side, but the pull of his old friends was too strong. He doesn't raise his gaze to look, but he can feel Heart's protests and glances at him—Liming just didn't know what to do. Instead, he stood there, feeling the weight of the room pressing down on him, the indifference of the people surrounding him as suffocating as it was familiar.

It was as if he had stepped back in time—back to being eighteen, freshly grieving Night's death. The suffocating isolation was the same, the feeling of being lost in a crowd that didn't care. He could feel the cracks in his composure starting to show when suddenly, a warm, familiar presence appeared beside him.

North stood there, beaming, as though he hadn't noticed the tension gripping Liming.

"You look taller," North said, eyes gleaming with mischief as he looked Liming over. "How do you look taller than you did a few months ago?"

Liming managed a grin despite himself. "Maybe I got some inches in me?"

North snorted mid-drink, sputtering his soft drink in a spray across his shirt. "Oi!" he groaned in mock complaint, wiping at the spill. Liming giggled, reaching for tissues from a nearby table to hand them over.