Shu Yao was asleep. But Not Truly
In that thin space where dreams pulse like old wounds, he found himself again—not in peace, but in punishment.
There they were.
Bai Qi and Qing Yue, standing under a blossom tree in full bloom. Wind stirred her short hair like silk unraveling across the sky. She turned to Bai Qi with a smile so radiant it could crack the moon—and then kissed him.
Soft.
Passionate.
Deliberate.
And Shu Yao could not move.
He was there. Trapped. Paralyzed by the weight of some invisible force, as if the dream knew it was meant to bind him.
It wasn't the kiss that hurt.
It was being there when it happened. It was the feeling that he shouldn't have seen it—and yet the dream wanted him to. Again. And again. As if sorrow was something sacred and he its most devoted disciple.
He stood still as stone, heart wading through an ocean of quiet devastation.
Then—
A voice.
Calling him.
Faint, but persistent.
"Gege… wake up."
The dream dissolved like dust in sunlight. Pain took its place.
His eyelids were heavy as tomb doors. His limbs, leaden. He could hear voices—muffled, as if behind a veil of fog.
"Doctor said we need to check the swelling—"
"Is he awake yet?"
"Shu Yao? Hey…"
Qing Yue. Her voice again, clearer now, closer. Urgent. He wanted to answer her, but his body felt underwater.
Still, with slow resistance, he peeled his eyes open.
The world returned in a haze of pale light and blurring shadows. A figure stood above him, leaning close—and her hair same as he saw in the dream, face lined with worry.
"Gege!" Qing Yue exhaled in relief.
Behind her, Bai Qi hovered near the doorway, speaking in low tones to a doctor whose expression was unreadable.
Shu Yao tried to sit up. Pain bloomed instantly in his ankle, sharp and hot, like a wire pulled too tight.
His gaze dropped to it—angry red, splotched with swelling, and already bruising into violet.
Still, he offered a faint, dismissive smile. "Qing Yue… it's fine. You didn't need to call a doctor. It'll be better by tomorrow."
But Qing Yue's eyes narrowed with the fury of someone who'd cried too long to pretend anymore.
"No, gege. You're lying," she said fiercely. "The moment Bai Qi twisted your ankle, you fainted. I had to call someone. You're not going anywhere until that ankle heals."
Her voice trembled, but her grip on him didn't.
Then her voice softened, just enough to sound like the sister who used to hold his hand when he cried in his sleep.
"Gege… why would you twist your ankle in a wrong way?"
He looked away.
Didn't speak.
Didn't need to.
Because then Bai Qi stepped forward, the guilt on his face burning brighter than the room's golden light.
"Qing Yue," he said gently. "Can I speak?"
She turned to him, eyes still sharp. "What is it, Bai Qi?"
He hesitated—then looked directly at Shu Yao, and spoke not to her, but to him.
"This morning… when I fell on Shu Yao,by mistake I thought I'd hurt his ankle. I just wanted to help him…"
Shu Yao kept his gaze on the floor, refusing to lift his head.
"…So I twisted it. Thought it would make it better. And when my driver, said that shu yao was still, limping outside the building, I got worried. I found him on a bench… his ankle was worse. So I… I twisted it again."
Qing Yue's mouth parted in horror. "You what?!"
Before he could answer, she marched up and yanked Bai Qi's ear like a child caught stealing sweets.
"How dare you!"
"Ahh—ow—ow—ow! I'm sorry! I was trying to help!" Bai Qi cried, swatting the air uselessly. "I didn't mean to hurt him! Hey, Shu Yao, I'm sorry—really, I didn't mean it!"
The apology struck harder than it should have.
Not because it was angry.
But because it was… sincere.
And that's what hurt.
Because Shu Yao had told himself a thousand times—Bai Qi didn't know him. Not really. Not beneath the silences, the nods, the tiny smiles that weren't smiles at all.
He glanced at Qing Yue. "It's okay, Qing'$,er. Really."
Then, quieter, to himself: It was my fault. I never say anything. I just… let it happen.
The doctor knelt beside the bed and began his examination.
"Tell me where it hurts," he said calmly.
Shu Yao winced as fingers prodded down the bone. When the doctor pressed one particular point, a sharp intake of breath escaped him.
"Here?" the doctor asked.
Shu Yao nodded weakly.
Bai Qi turned his head away, jaw clenched, as if trying not to scream at himself. Why didn't he say anything? Why is he always hiding? Always hurting quietly, like it's his duty to bleed alone?
Qing Yue stood with arms crossed, watching the doctor bandage the ankle inch by inch. Every time Shu Yao flinched, her brow knotted further—and Bai Qi's regret cut deeper.
"There," the doctor finally said, securing the wrap. "Just a mild sprain. It will take two or three weeks to fully recover."
Shu Yao looked up, panic flashing across his face. "But… tomorrow's my first day of work—"
The doctor ignored him and stood. Qing Yue followed, nodding her thanks. "Let me see you out."
The door closed softly behind them, leaving silence.
And the silence left them.
Bai Qi lingered by the bed, watching Shu Yao—his face pale, brows drawn, a line of sweat tracing down his temple.
"You're more worried about your job than yourself," Bai Qi finally murmured.
Shu Yao didn't answer.
So Bai Qi took a step closer. Then another.
"I'm sorry," he said again.
Shu Yao turned his head, eyes shadowed. He said nothing.
Bai Qi crouched slightly, voice dipping low. "You're not going to forgive me, are you?"
Silence.
"You didn't say it was hurting. You just… stayed quiet. But Why?"
More silence.
Bai Qi exhaled. "You always do this. You hold everything in until it breaks you."
Shu Yao's voice came at last, hoarse but steady.
"You didn't need to apologize. It was my fault. I should've spoken."
Bai Qi frowned. "You always say that—like you're trying to disappear inside your own apology."
He sat beside the bed now, glancing up only once. "You should learn to ask for help. Or at least… stop lying to yourself."
He hesitated.
Then added, more quietly, "I'll speak to my father. You don't need to worry about it and you won't lose your job. Take this as a break. You need it."
Shu Yao slowly looked up.
And for a second—just a flicker—something passed between them.
Recognition.
Bai Qi looked at him a little too long.
Why… does he look like her?
His gaze drifted—those long lashes, the soft line of Shu Yao's cheek, the slender throat, the fall of his hair. It was longer than Qing Yue's now. Their skin the same moonlight shade.
Not because he was comparing. Not because he was a fool.
But because—that morning, when he caught him… when his hand touched that narrow waist…
He shook the thought away. Not out of shame—but confusion.
And just then, Qing Yue returned, pushing the door open with a quiet huff.
"What did I miss?" she asked, tone light.
But her gaze swept over the room like a queen inspecting a battlefield.
And Bai Qi… didn't dare meet her eyes.
Not yet.
Because something had shifted.
And he didn't know what it was.
Only that Shu Yao—pale, breathless, silent—was still lying there.
And Bai Qi couldn't look at him anymore without wondering:
What else have I failed to see?
The room fell into silence once more.
Qing Yue had gone.
Only the sound of the wind brushing against the glass remained, soft as a lullaby meant for no one.
Shu Yao leaned back against the carved frame of his bed, his breath shallow, his lashes trembling faintly against his pale cheeks. His ankle throbbed like a drumbeat hidden in the bones, but that wasn't the ache that made his chest feel tight.
He didn't look at Bai Qi. Couldn't.
Instead, with eyes closed and voice low, he murmured, "You should go to Qing Yue."
The sentence dropped like a stone into a still lake.
Bai Qi looked up. There was something unreadable in Shu Yao's tone—not quite distant, not quite cold. Just quiet. Just tired.
"You should better go," Shu Yao said again, this time more firmly. "I'm fine."
Bai Qi hesitated for a second longer—his shadow lingering across the rug like a question he didn't dare ask.
But then, without another word, he turned and left.
The soft click of the door echoed louder than it should have.
Downstairs, the house exhaled again—warm with lamplight, soft with the scent of tea and a day that was slowly letting go of its weight.
Qing Yue stood near the low kitchen table in the hallway, crouched beside a porcelain bowl filled with gently warmed milk. Beside it, Juju—their tabby cat, a little bigger now, tail flicking like a metronome of feline judgment—licked the bowl's edge with dainty precision.
Qing Yue hummed a gentle tune to herself, eyes focused on the way Juju's whiskers twitched. "I almost forgot to feed you, you greedy little prince…"
She didn't hear Bai Qi's footsteps.
Not until his arms slipped around her waist from behind.
She gasped.
"Bai Qi!" she squeaked, half turning, but his chin was already resting on her shoulder, and his breath tickled her ear like a secret.
"Just a little bit," he whispered, voice hoarse with exhaustion and something else—something softer. "Let me stay like this. Just for a while."
Her cheeks bloomed red. She didn't move.
Didn't push him away.
Instead, her fingers—small and warm—found his hair, threading through the dark strands with gentle familiarity. She rested her palm against the crown of his head like someone blessing a soldier returning from a long, invisible war.
"You don't need to apologize like this," she said quietly, brushing her thumb once across his temple. "It's okay."
Bai Qi closed his eyes.
And for a moment, he breathed—not as the careless son of a powerful man, not as the troublemaker with too many secrets—but just as himself. Tired. Guilt-ridden. In need of comfort only she could give.
"I knew you'd forgive me," he murmured.
But just as the words left his lips, she yanked his ear again with her infamous, merciless grip.
"Ow—ow—again with the ear?!"
"You deserved it!" she scolded, eyes glinting. "You better start knowing my gege before I beat some sense into that thick head of yours."
Bai Qi laughed—half-choked, half-relieved.
Still holding his ear, Qing Yue sighed and leaned forward, pressing her forehead against his.
"I mean it," she whispered. "He won't say it… but he's hurting more than just in the ankle."
"I know," Bai Qi replied, quieter now. "I know."
Then, with slow reverence, he leaned down and pressed a kiss to her forehead—a promise more than affection. A vow etched in warmth and guilt.
"I promise," he said. "Next time… I'll listen."
She didn't answer right away.
She didn't have to.
Because the way her fingers curled around the sleeve of his shirt said everything.
The night had finally settled its wings over the house.
And upstairs, in the room lined with shadows and quiet regrets, Shu Yao lay with eyes wide open—listening to the laughter that drifted faintly through the floorboards.
He didn't cry.
He never did.
But he pulled the blanket up a little higher over his chest.
And told himself that the ache in his throat was just from sleep.