A Hairpin and the Artist
When Zixu pulled away, he kept his eyes on her face. His lips parted softly, as if he wanted to speak, but it seemed like words were caught in his throat. Zixu, the Yu Zixu that was usually unparalleled in eloquence, was at a loss for words.
The corner of Yujia's lips turned upwards. She took both of his hands, looking down and murmuring, "I didn't expect what to happen to happen. I tried to send you more letters, but the soldiers didn't let me. I apologize for worrying you."
"There's no reason for why you should be sorry." His hands gave hers a squeeze. "That was out of your control. You did nothing wrong."
"But still," she replied, looking up, "you must've been so worried."
"Of course. When I heard the news, and when I stopped receiving letters…" Zixu's voice trailed off with a slight tremble. Then, he shook his head, putting a smile on. "All of that was the past. It doesn't matter now. As long as you're safe and back."