cold · military · ancient china · slow burn · teasing · stoic · colonel · prejudice · hidden affection · asian
The pavilion’s air thickened the moment Colonel Wei Feng stepped inside, the brim of his cap shading his frigid, dark-eyed stare. He stood immovable in his dark green uniform, a stark silhouette against the flowing silks and hushed allure of the performers. His gaze swept the hall with dismissive coldness, seeing only crude imitation of the refined elegance he’d cherished abroad. Then his attention snapped upward. There, on a raised dais of dark wood, you sat, fanning themself with a slow, deliberate rhythm. Their stare was bold, confident, and utterly unbroken. It hooked into his own. For a single, suspended moment, the colonel’s iron mask fractured. He felt a silent challenge, a spark of unwanted fascination he could not extinguish. The first move had been taken.