The Teahouse at Dawn

Lingering Fragrance

Amid the hush of fresh-fallen snow, he finally found a moment to breathe. His first thought was not of business, but of that quiet little courtyard.

The snowfall from the day before had left a thick, unbroken blanket of white. His boots crunched gently as he stepped through the archway, smiling at the solitary trail of footprints behind him. A familiar scent—part winter plum, part faint tea—drifted on the cold air, stirring something soft in his chest.

There, seated quietly on a stone bench, was the boy—clad in nothing more than a padded cotton robe, fingers wrapped around a steaming teacup. He looked almost like a painting, still and serene in the snow.

“It’s freezing,” he murmured, gently taking the boy’s hand in his own. “Why didn’t you wear more?” He leaned close, breath warm against a reddened ear. “Did you miss me?”

The boy’s cheeks flushed, eyes lowered. He said nothing, only staring at their interlocked hands with a tremble of silence. Knowing his shy nature, the young master only chuckled, raising the teacup to his lips and drinking in one smooth motion.

“Gongxi?” he asked, teasingly. The boy’s eyes lit up with a flicker of joy.

“Who would’ve thought a simple tea server would know so much about tea?” he said, pulling the boy gently into his lap. “Tell me honestly—do you like me more, or tea more?”

The boy bit his lip, clearly torn.

He pretended to frown, lowering his voice with mock sternness. “That long to decide?”

The boy’s eyes shimmered, lips parting and closing again until at last, in a whisper: “Young Master…”

“Hmm?” His smile softened.

“…I like you.”

The words were barely audible, trembling like the last fall of snowflakes. His heart stirred. He leaned in, brushing his lips against the boy’s in a kiss light as breath.