Swamp Murder

Swamp Murder. 30

This is the longest chapter I've written so far—over 3,000 words!

I didn't go into detail about their intimate moment, but you'll still feel all the love in it.

Wang's Pov.

"I'll need to think about it, Wang," Zhan says, his voice soft but firm. The way he looks at me assures me that if I proposed leaving today, he wouldn't hesitate. Yet, I insist on giving him time to ponder; once the decision is made, there will be no turning back. I murmur this thought more for my benefit than his.

"Have you eaten?" he asks gently, his concern evident.

No. I nod silently in response.

"I'll make you something to eat," he promises, pulling me gently onto the couch. His touch is a warm reminder of our shared past and uncertain future. The soft hum of the evening is interrupted by the sound of footsteps of Zhan's grandmother and Ji Li as he closes the door behind him.

"We will make dinner," her voice echoes softly, a comforting accompaniment to our intimate moment.

"Thank you, Grandma," Zhan says kindly, his eyes reflecting gratitude and resolve. He then lifts me back up and leads me toward the modest room he shares with Ji Li, where memories and dreams mingle.

As soon as the door closes behind us, Zhan lets out a slow breath, his fingers still loosely wrapped around mine. The room is small but warm, the faint scent of lavender lingering in the air. Ji Li's side is slightly rumpled, his books stacked perfectly on the nightstand, while Zhan's bed is neat, a reminder that he barely slept last night.

He turns to me, his gaze searching. "Are you okay?"

I nod, but the weight pressing against my chest doesn't ease. "Are you?" I ask instead.

Zhan exhales a chuckle, shaking his head. "No. But I will be."

For a moment, silence stretches between us, thick with unspoken words. I know he wants me to say the word to decide our next move, but the gravity of it sits heavy on my tongue.

"You should rest," he murmurs, guiding me to sit on the bed. "I'll wake you when dinner's ready."

I don't argue. Instead, I let him pull the blanket over my shoulders, the warmth of it barely touching the cold knot of uncertainty inside me.

I blink slowly, still caught between sleep and wakefulness, as Zhan lifts a spoonful of rice to my lips. His eyes are soft, and patient, watching me as if he's memorizing every detail.

"Eat," he says gently.

I part my lips, letting him feed me. The warmth of the food spreads through me, but it does little to quiet the storm in my chest. Zhan doesn't rush me. He just keeps going, one bite at a time, as if this moment is the only thing that matters.

Halfway through, I place my hand over his, stopping him. "You should eat too."

He shakes his head. "You first."

I don't argue. I let him care for me the way he always does—silently, without expecting anything in return. But I know the weight he carries. The choices we have to make.

When the tray is empty, he sets it aside and wipes my lips with his thumb, his touch lingering for a second too long.

"Rest a little more," he whispers.

But sleep won't come this time. Because I know, deep down, that the moment I close my eyes, everything will flood back.

It had been an hour since our bath, and we had spent the time silently watching each other with a mixture of awkwardness and unspoken apologies from my side.