Chapter 20
By the time Ti Xiao snapped out of his daze, he was already sitting in a chair at the clinic.
The gym trainer who tried to sell him a membership card probably wanted to curse — the money that was almost in hand had just been swept away by the allure of a handsome face.
The sudden drop in temperature had filled even this small clinic to capacity. Children, with their weaker immune systems, made the entire hall noisy and chaotic. Ti Xiao, holding a thermometer under his arm and cradling Xiao Yao’s paper bag, sat among a crowd of rambunctious, sick kids, feeling utterly helpless.
Ti Xiao slowly lifted his head, his eyes peeking through the gap in his bangs to look at Xiao Yao.
Standing among people averaging around 1.6 meters tall, Xiao Yao’s nearly 1.9-meter height made him stand out like a crane among chickens. His posture was as upright as a bamboo stalk, his face showing a hint of anxiety as he kept glancing in Ti Xiao’s direction.
Is he worried about me?
Ti Xiao’s feverish mind drifted.
On a normal day, if their eyes met, Ti Xiao would’ve quickly looked away. But now, emboldened by his fever-fogged brain, he squinted and boldly held Xiao Yao’s gaze.
Xiao Yao, seeing Ti Xiao sitting obediently on the tiny chair like a round little kid, couldn’t help but smile.
Ti Xiao’s mouth, hidden behind his mask, quietly curved up, too.
The clinic kept its doors and windows open to maintain airflow and ease of entry. Unfortunately, Ti Xiao’s seat was in a bad spot, where gusts of cold wind visited him frequently, making his already feverish body alternate between chills and burning heat. But since he was surrounded by children, he didn’t have the heart to swap seats with any of them, so he silently endured it.
Most of the people waiting were grandmothers with their grandchildren or young mothers with their kids. Xiao Yao, with his good looks, gentle personality, and impeccable manners, somehow convinced the group of aunties to hold his place in line.
Ti Xiao watched as Xiao Yao strode out the clinic doors, glancing back before leaving, as if to reassure him.
Where is he going?
With nothing else to focus on, Ti Xiao idly stared at the tips of his shoes.
They weren’t related, not even close friends — just neighbors with a tiny bit of interaction. So why was Xiao Yao taking care of him like this?
Ti Xiao understood his own heart. He knew his feelings for Xiao Yao had grown so full they were almost overflowing. In all his twenty-three years, he’d never liked someone this much — and so quickly, too.
If only he liked me back.
Being able to smell that fresh snow scent every day — wouldn’t that be wonderful?
As he thought about it, Ti Xiao sniffled, and like a wish granted, that familiar snow-like fragrance wrapped around him.
Xiao Yao, carrying the chill of a northern winter night, was already crouched in front of him.
The chairs in the clinic were very low, so even crouching, Xiao Yao was only slightly shorter than Ti Xiao.
For once, Ti Xiao was the one looking down on Xiao Yao.
The thought made him oddly happy.
Just as he was quietly savoring the moment, something warm was placed in his hands — a cup of hot milk.
“Hold it to warm your hands first. Drink it when it cools down a little,” Xiao Yao said in a low voice, then fished a brand-new knitted hat out of his pocket, the tag still dangling from it.
It was a tightly woven, bright red hat with a little white rabbit embroidered on the front.
Honestly, from Ti Xiao’s perspective, the hat was kind of ugly.
But it looked very warm.
Xiao Yao patiently removed the tag, smoothed the hat out, and gently placed it on Ti Xiao’s head, shielding him from the cold wind.
Ti Xiao’s bangs were a bit long, and because of his fever, they were damp with sweat. Xiao Yao didn’t mind at all — he reached out, brushed the hair away from Ti Xiao’s forehead, adjusted his mask, and in that fleeting moment, his fingertips grazed Ti Xiao’s skin.
Ti Xiao, frozen in place, felt his heart thud loudly in his chest.
After adjusting the hat, Xiao Yao lightly patted Ti Xiao’s head — a gesture so tender that even an outsider could sense the subtle fondness in it.
Ti Xiao’s heart melted under this seamless flow of care and affection, falling even harder for the man in front of him.
I just want to take him home, Ti Xiao thought.
“Let me see the thermometer,” Xiao Yao said, still crouching as he tilted his head up to look at Ti Xiao.
Ti Xiao, feeling a bit embarrassed, wiped the thermometer on his shirt before handing it over. But no matter how reluctant he felt, a sick person had no chance against a perfectly healthy one — especially not when that person was someone he liked.
The mercury line was dangerously close to 40°C, and Xiao Yao’s brows knitted tightly.
Right on cue, Ti Xiao let out two harsh, sandpaper-like coughs, his voice rough and broken.
Xiao Yao’s frown deepened. He gently tugged the hat down further, making sure it covered Ti Xiao’s ears.
He really is worried about me, huh? Ti Xiao’s heart bloomed with happiness.
A nearly 40°C fever was brutal even for an adult, let alone someone like Ti Xiao, whose constitution was notoriously weak. The doctor prescribed an IV drip — three whole bottles.
It was already 7 p.m., meaning the infusion wouldn’t finish until around 10.
Though Ti Xiao secretly wanted to spend more time with Xiao Yao, he didn’t want to impose. The fact that Xiao Yao had already stayed with him this long made him feel incredibly lucky.
“If you… if you have something to do, you should go home,” Ti Xiao mustered the strength to say. “I can handle the IV alone. Thank you so much for today. Cough, cough.”
Still, he left himself a tiny sliver of hope, wishing Xiao Yao might stay.
“It’s fine. I’ll watch your stuff — you should sleep,” Xiao Yao said, sitting on the small plastic stool beside him. His long legs folded awkwardly, making the sight almost comical.
In reality, Ti Xiao hadn’t brought much with him. It was Xiao Yao who had a paper bag in hand. But since Xiao Yao offered such an easy way out, Ti Xiao shamelessly accepted.
The infusion hall wasn’t much better than the waiting room. The injection room was right next door, and children’s cries echoed nonstop, growing louder and more pitiful by the minute. Ti Xiao’s head throbbed painfully as he reached up to rub his temples.
“Want to listen to some music?” Xiao Yao asked, catching him off guard.
Before Ti Xiao could respond, Xiao Yao had already slipped earphones into his ears.
Soft piano notes and a gentle female voice flowed in, washing away the surrounding noise and easing the ache in Ti Xiao’s head.
His ears turned pink, but when he glanced over, Xiao Yao had already lowered his head, fingers tapping quietly on his phone screen.
The white earphone wire stretched between them, one end plugged into Xiao Yao’s phone, the other delivering music straight to Ti Xiao’s ears. The connection felt almost tangible, an invisible thread binding the two of them together.
Ti Xiao’s heart, wrapped in warmth, settled. He leaned back in the chair and drifted into sleep.
Half-asleep, he vaguely felt a hand pass in front of his face, dimming the light filtering through his eyelids.
Xiao Yao had gently pulled the hat down to cover Ti Xiao’s eyes so he could sleep more comfortably.
Once done, Xiao Yao returned to his phone, continuing his conversation with Naomi.
Naomi: [Photo]
It was a picture of Xiao Yu, the little one proudly holding up a completed Lego creation to the camera.
Naomi: By the way, have you thought about what we discussed yesterday?
Xiao Yao’s fingers hovered over the keyboard, hesitating. He deleted the message he was about to send.
Naomi: [Voice message]
It was a 50-second-long recording. Xiao Yao was about to play it, but then he remembered the sleeping Ti Xiao.
Past: I can’t listen to voice messages right now. Just type it out.
As soon as he sent the text, he felt a light touch — a hand had landed on his arm, resting on the lounge chair’s armrest.
The hand’s owner remained sound asleep, completely unaware of the unconscious movement.
Xiao Yao glanced down. Ti Xiao’s hand was pale and delicate, veins faintly visible under the clinic’s fluorescent light. His nails were neatly trimmed, short and round, and the skin on his index finger and knuckle bore faint calluses — the marks of someone who drew often.
Xiao Yao quietly turned his gaze back to his phone, fingers lingering over the keyboard, but his thoughts had already drifted elsewhere.
His frame was small, and so his fingers were slender — but the pads of his fingertips were plump, curving into a soft arc in the air.
After an internal struggle, Xiao Yao couldn’t resist. He reached out and gave the finger a gentle squeeze.
Unlike the pillowy softness of a chubby cheek, the flesh of the fingertip had a slight spring to it.
Still, he thought, the face is probably softer.
Because of the IV, Ti Xiao’s hand was exposed to the air, gradually turning cold as the chilled saline flowed through his veins. His entire hand had gone icy.
Looking around, Xiao Yao noticed that other patients had brought along warm water bags to rest their hands on for comfort.
After a moment of thought, Xiao Yao quietly rolled up his sleeve. Then, with careful precision, he lifted Ti Xiao’s hand and placed it against his own arm.
The moment their skin touched, something stirred in Xiao Yao’s chest.
It was a little nerve-wracking.
But above all, it was the fluttering warmth of a heartbeat quickening.
