Misbah sat at the low table like a corpse propped upright for viewing. Before him, two porcein cups rested side by side on the cquered surface, each filled with wine. His own reflection in the clear liquid stared back at him. The person looked so hollow-eyed and gaunt that he could barely recognize him.

  He had been staring for a long time.

  The chamber was quiet. Deafeningly so. No night breeze rattled the paper screens. No cicadas sang their evening chorus. Nothing.

  Then, the door creaked open.

  He gnced up.

  There, silhouetted in the doorway like a vision conjured from fever dream, stood General Hiroki Shimizu.

  She looked different. Her eyes, once so bright with mirth and mischief, now held a weariness from months of suffering he could only imagine. Her frame seemed lighter, the lines of her face sharper, the shadows beneath her cheekbones deeper. There was a new scar that carved a pale line on her right cheek.

  He inhaled shakily, his vision blurring. His whole body began to tremble as if he were standing bare in a winter storm. He stared at her, suspended in disbelief.

  Her eyes found his across the chamber. And then, slowly, a smile bloomed across her handsome, weary features.

  Misbah’s heart stopped. That smile. That small, crooked, impossibly familiar curve of her lips. It could only belong to her. Only ever her.

  Only when she stretched her arms out toward him did he break from the spell.

  “Misbah.”

  His breath hitched. His name in her voice—after so long, after so much—shattered something inside him.

  He surged to his feet. The table rocked, wine sloshing from the cups, but he did not notice. He ran to her, crossed the distance in just a mere heartbeat, and crashed into her embrace so hard she stumbled back a step. His arms locked around her, fists gripping the fabric of her robe as though she might dissolve into mist if he loosened his hold even slightly.

  Her arms came up around him, surrounding him, holding him. Loud, heaving, ugly sobs tore from the depths of his chest, only now beginning to thaw after being frozen for months. He beat weak fists against her chest, over and over, filled with questions, accusations, resentment, and affirmation.

  Through it all, she held him, letting him exhaust himself against her. Her hand cradled the back of his head, fingers threading through his tangled hair, soothing him as his choked breaths wracked his frame.

  When the sobs finally quieted to shuddering breaths, he pulled back just enough to look at her. His face was flushed, streaked with tears, his long shes clumped and wet. Still, his eyes, formerly dimmed to nothing, now burned with incandescent fury.

  "Where—" His voice cracked. He swallowed and tried again. "Where have you been this entire time?!" He sniffed, breaths drawing in rapidly and curtly. “I thought… I thought you… they all said…”

  She wiped away his tears with her sleeve. “It matters not now,” she murmured. “I am here.”

  He gripped the front of her robe tighter, wrinkling the fine fabric. “You bastard. You only show up now after so much has happened. Where were you? Where were you when I needed you?!”

  She pushed his damp hair behind his ear, her calloused fingers gentle against his skin. “Forgive me,” she said. “I wanted to return home more than anyone. Thank the stars I am alive.”

  He sniffled, swallowing past the lump in his throat. Then he tugged her down, pulling her closer until their foreheads nearly touched.

  “Please…” he whispered, “take me. Take me now. Don’t let me think about anything else.”

  No more words were needed.

  She let him pull her the rest of the way, their mouths crashing together with a desperation that bordered on violence. He kissed her like a drowning man gasping for air, like she was the only thing keeping him tethered to the world. His tongue pushed into her mouth, tangling with hers, ciming her with an intensity that surprised even her. Even when she tried to pull back for breath, he yanked her closer and consumed her again, refusing to let go.

  Robes slipped to the floor, and they were both bare in the bed together. It was as if they never separated, their bodies instinctively knowing what to do. She pnted deep, hot kisses along his neck, and he arched into her, pulling her closer, demanding more, more.

  Her hand found his chest, fingers teasing one sensitive nipple until he gasped and squirmed beneath her. Then her mouth trailed lower, lips closing around the other one, and he cried out brokenly. His breaths came out quicker as she swirled her tongue around the hardened peak.

  “This one,” he panted, guiding her to the first bud that had only her fingers. “This one, too.”

  She obliged, suckling gently while her fingers worked the one slick with her saliva. Her free hand traveled downward, tracing his waist, his hip, his shivering thigh, until finally, she found his hardened length. Just the first touch was enough to draw a sharp gasp from him.

  As she captured his lips into yet another fervent kiss, her hand began to stroke him, slow at first to tease him, then faster. Her grip found exactly the right pressure and rhythm he loved, knowing all the precise spots to squeeze, to trace with her fingers. He moaned into her mouth, hips bucking into her fist, pleasure building so quickly it almost frightened him.

  When the tension in his belly coiled tight enough to snap, he quickly tore his mouth away and grabbed her wrist, stilling her hand. Chest heaving, he looked up at her through gssy eyes. His face was flushed, his lips swollen, his hair a wild tangle against the pillow.

  “Please,” he begged without shame, filled with desperate need. “Inside… take me inside you. Please.”

  Taken aback by his eagerness, surprise flickered across Hiroki’s face. Then, she smiled softly. How could she not give him what he wanted?

  She positioned herself above him, rubbing his tip along her slickness, bringing out whiny whimpers from him. Then, she descended, so slow it was torturous, and took all of him in.

  Misbah cried out, head thrown back against the pillow, back arching off the bed. She was so warm—so impossibly, perfectly warm. Her body gripped him tighter than usual after their long separation. Each inch she took sent sparks cascading through his veins. His toes curled. His hips stuttered. Hot, overwhelming pleasure took over his mind entirely.

  It felt so right. He wanted—needed—to be consumed by her. He was meant to be here, beneath her, entangled in her heat. He took in the view of her through tear-blurred eyes, drinking in her concentrated face, the muscles moving beneath her skin as she took him. All of this—how she looked, how she felt, how she sounded—this was still her. Still his Hiroki.

  He filled the room with his moans and pleas, begging her to move faster, to kiss him, to devour every part of him until nothing was left. And she listened to every demand, kissing away his tears and teasing his chest as she smmed down on him with increasing urgency, chasing the same desperate climax for them both.

  His hands roamed her body uncontrolbly, gripping her thighs, her hips, her breasts, everywhere he could reach. He needed to feel all of her, to prove to himself that she was real, that this was not just a hallucination.

  He spilled first with a breathless cry, looping his arms tightly around her neck, pouring himself into her as she shuddered above him.

  And yet, it wasn’t enough. His length stirred to fullness again, refusing to let this end. He demanded more. And more. And even more.

  Until the world outside the chamber dissolved into nothingness. Only this. Only the heat of their bodies and the wordless decration that they belonged to each other.

  Afterward, when he had been thoroughly drained and could move no longer, they y tangled together in the sweat-soaked sheets. Her arms remained wrapped around him. His face was pressed to her chest, listening to the steady thump of her heart. Sleep pulled them under, gentle as a stream.

  pangmida