Bai qi exhaled sharply, shoved away from the window, and stepped out of the room entirely—out into the dim corridor. His steps were heavy, uneven. Exhaustion pulled at his limbs like anchors. His fingers trembled faintly.
He hadn't slept.
He couldn't.
The hallway opened into the sitting area. The faint glow of the lamp painted the space in golden strokes, soft enough that shadows clung easily.
And on the couch—quiet as moonlight—lay Shu Yao.
Bai Qi stopped dead.
Shu Yao's breathing rose and fell in calm, steady tides. His fever had ebbed, but not vanished. Sweat still glistened across his pale skin, catching light like frost. His brown hair had escaped its careful tie and spilled messily over the pillow. His lips, parted slightly, were still flushed from the lingering heat. His cheeks carried a faint, fragile red.
He looked… peaceful. Too peaceful.
As if he had not just stolen something vital from Bai Qi.
Bai Qi's teeth ground together.
"How dare you sleep like nothing happened," he muttered under his breath.
He moved closer—slow, predatory, unsteady. His shadow draped over Shu Yao's blanketed frame. The boy did not stir. His lashes, long and soft, lay gently against his heated skin.
And suddenly—without warning—Bai Qi jolted with something sharp. A vision. A memory. A ghost.
The sleeping face blurred.
Shu Yao dissolved into someone else.
Someone Bai Qi had lost.
Qing Yue.
His breath caught. His throat tightened painfully.
He blinked hard, but the dream didn't break. The image stayed. The softness, the heat, the fragile chest rising and falling. The innocence. The vulnerability.
His hand lifted on its own, hovering over the boy's cheek.
"Qing Yue…" The name escaped him like a confession dragged from his soul.
He sank down beside the couch, breath shallow, eyes fixed on the face before him.
He whispered again, voice trembling at the edges, "Qing Yue… I…"
His face lowered, drawn in by grief, by longing, by madness.
His lips hovered inches away. Close enough to feel the faint warmth of Shu Yao's fever-heavy breath.
"I'm sorry," he murmured. "I shouldn't have let you go that night…"
His forehead touched the edge of the cushion. His hands trembled.
He leaned in further.
Close. Closer.
His lips brushed Shu Yao's.
A soft, trembling contact.
Then deeper.
He kissed him.
Not gently—desperately. His hand slid into Shu Yao's messy hair with a shuddering ache, pulling him closer. His lips pressed hard, hungry, broken, drowning in memory and illusion.
Shu Yao, half-asleep and fevered, jolted at the sudden pressure. His breath caught sharply. His body tensed beneath the blanket.
His lashes fluttered.
His brown eyes opened weakly.
And froze.
He stared up at Bai Qi—wide-eyed, trembling, disbelieving.
"S–sir…?" His voice cracked weakly.
He tried to push him away, hands small and unsteady against Bai Qi's shoulders. "Sir… what are you…?"
But Bai Qi did not hear him.
Could not hear him.
He wasn't seeing Shu Yao.
He was seeing the ghost of a girl who no longer existed in this world.
Shu Yao's eyes filled with tears—confusion, hurt, terror—shimmering like broken glass.
"Sir, please—let go…" His voice shook as he struggled for breath, still weak from fever. His thoughts tangled wildly. Why?.
Bai Qi's grip only tightened.
His lips kept moving with frantic devotion, as if he could resurrect the past with the taste of someone else's mouth.
Then suddenly—abruptly—he stopped.
He pulled back, panting hard, eyes unfocused and dazed.
Shu Yao sat up too quickly, swaying, and wiped his lips with a shaking hand.
"Why…?" he whispered.
The single word shattered the moment.
Bai Qi blinked.
And the hallucination snapped like glass.
He saw Shu Yao.
Not Qing Yue.
His eyes widened in horror. He stumbled backward so sharply he nearly tripped over the table.
"No… This isn't… This isn't you," he whispered, voice barely audible.
Shu Yao lowered his gaze, shame flooding him in a heat that burned deeper than the fever.
"Isn't… who, sir?" he managed.
Bai Qi pressed both hands to his head, fingers digging into his hair as if trying to claw out the memory.
"No," he muttered. "I didn't do anything to him. I wouldn't. I saw— I saw her. I saw Qing Yue…"
Shu Yao's heart cracked cleanly. His breath hitched. His eyes dimmed with painful understanding.
He bowed his head further.
"I… I'm sorry, sir."
The apology trembled like a wounded bird.
Bai Qi didn't seem to hear it.
His breath came fast, erratic. His face contorted—guilt, grief, disgust warring beneath the surface.
"I wouldn't… I couldn't… do something so—so disgusting—"
Shu Yao's head jerked up. Fear flashed in his eyes.
He rose from the couch, unsteady but determined, reaching out a timid hand.
"Sir, please calm down. You didn't did anything—"
But the moment Shu Yao's fingertips brushed Bai Qi's trembling hand—
Bai Qi snapped.
His eyes ignited with raw panic.
He shoved Shu Yao violently backward.
"Stay—stay away from me!" he barked, voice breaking.
Shu Yao froze where he landed, breath quivering, eyes wide and shining.
He lowered his gaze slowly, swallowing down the hurt like bitter medicine.
"I am sorry ," he whispered.
But Bai Qi didn't hear him.
Couldn't hear anything.
He stood in the middle of the dim room—breathing hard, trembling, feral—caught between memory and madness, between the girl he lost and the boy he refused to see.
Shu Yao watched him with a hollow ache, hands trembling in his lap.
And Bai Qi, lost in the ruins of his own mind, looked as if he were devouring himself from the inside.
Shu Yao swallowed hard.
His legs trembled beneath him, but he forced himself upright. The room tilted for a moment — fever and fear twisting the edges of his vision — yet he stepped forward anyway.
"Sir… please—"
Bai Qi moved before Shu Yao could finish.
With a violent sweep of his arm, he struck the long glass table.
The crash erupted like thunder.
Expensive ornaments, crystal bottles, porcelain souvenirs — everything hurled onto the marble floor. Glass burst into glittering fragments, scattering across Shu Yao's bare feet.
Shu Yao froze.
A broken gasp tore from him as he pressed one hand against the wall for balance. The shards shimmered beneath him like a field of knives.
"Sir… stop—please stop—" Shu Yao begged, voice trembling.
But Bai Qi didn't hear him.
He was spiraling, drowning in whatever storm gripped his mind. His chest heaved as though he couldn't breathe. His eyes burned with fevered rage and grief, twin storms tearing him apart.
He staggered back, turned sharply—
"Don't approach me!"
The words cracked like a whip.
Shu Yao flinched but lifted his hand again, trembling, reaching, foolishly hopeful.
"Sir… please calm down… it's okay… just breathe—"
"Don't come near me!"
Bai Qi pivoted, rage breaking through his last thread of control, and slammed his fist against the wall.
The impact shook the entire suite.
Shu Yao's heart lurched.
He rushed forward on instinct.
"Sir—!"
Bai Qi's body jerked — then went slack, strength draining from him like water leaking from a shattered cup. He leaned heavily toward the floor, eyes losing focus, breath staggering.
"Sir… look at me…" Shu Yao pleaded softly.
But Bai Qi's eyes didn't answer.
They were unfocused, empty, as if the world behind them had dimmed completely. His lashes trembled once, a fragile flutter — and then his body lurched forward.
Shu Yao gasped.
"Sir—!"
Bai Qi collapsed.
Shu Yao's arms shot out instinctively, catching him before he hit the floor. The sudden weight nearly pulled Shu Yao down with him. Pain shot through Shu Yao's fever-weakened muscles, but he held on with everything he had.
"Bai—"
The name almost tore out of his throat.
His voice cracked.
His breath shuddered.
His eyes flooded instantly, glittering with tears that he couldn't stop.
He clung to Bai Qi's collapsing body, desperate, terrified, his own chest tightening painfully.
"Sir… please…" Shu Yao choked, the words barely forming as fear strangled them. One tear slipped free, falling onto Bai Qi's cheek.
"Look at me…"
But Bai Qi's gaze had gone soft, distant — fading.
His head dropped limply onto Shu Yao's shoulder.
Shu Yao's whole body shook.
A broken sob caught in his throat as he pulled Bai Qi closer, holding him upright with trembling arms.
"Sir—! Please—!"
The plea cracked loud enough to echo in the room.
He buried his face briefly against Bai Qi's temple, breath hitching, tears blurring everything.
Bai Qi didn't respond.
He sagged completely, falling into unconsciousness.
Shu Yao tightened his hold, shaking, fevered, frightened beyond reason — but refusing to let Bai Qi fall.
"I've got you…" he whispered.
Bit by bit, using all the strength he had left, Shu Yao dragged Bai Qi back toward the bedroom. His fever blurred everything. The hallway swayed. His legs threatened to give out with every step.
But he did not stop.
He lowered Bai Qi onto the bed with trembling care.
Only when Bai Qi's head touched the pillow did Shu Yao collapse to his knees beside the mattress, chest heaving, vision swimming.
He looked at Bai Qi's hand — bloody, bruised, trembling in unconscious pain.
Shu Yao's lips quivered.
"Why…" he whispered, voice breaking. "Why did you hurt yourself… for nothing?"
He pressed a shaking hand to his own forehead, trying to pull himself together. Then he forced himself up again, clutching the nightstand for stability.
"The… kit…" he murmured.
He stumbled to the drawer, rummaged weakly, and found the first-aid kit. He returned to the bed, sinking down beside Bai Qi once more.
His hands shook terribly — from fever, fear, everything — but he still cleaned the blood from Bai Qi's knuckles with slow, gentle strokes. He winced each time Bai Qi's skin twitched, as if the pain belonged to him.
"I'm sorry…" Shu Yao whispered, his voice shaking. "Because of me… you're suffering like this. I'm so sorry… I never wanted you to get hurt.
Tears gathered in his lashes but didn't fall. They clung there, quivering, as he wrapped the bandage carefully around Bai Qi's hand.
When he was done, he leaned down and pressed the softest kiss to the bandaged knuckles.
"You shouldn't have done that…
His voice cracked.
But Bai Qi didn't hear him.
He lay unconscious, breath shallow, brows furrowed with some lingering nightmare.
Shu Yao pulled the blankets over him, tucking them around his shoulders.
When everything was done, Shu Yao's strength finally deserted him.
He slid down, crouching beside the bed. His head rested on the mattress, his cheek near Bai Qi's hand. One of his own hands reached out — hesitating — then gently covered Bai Qi's bandaged fingers.
"His breath hitched, tears slipping down his cheek as he brushed his thumb carefully over Bai Qi's bandaged hand, "I'm sorry, Bai Qi… forgive me for everything I've done… for everything that made you hate me…"
His body slumped, drained of every last ounce of strength he'd tried so desperately to muster.
His fever clung to him like a merciless weight, dragging at his limbs, blurring his sight, turning each breath into a trembling effort.
He swayed once, twice… then steadied himself only because his hand refused to release Bai Qi's.
Even as his eyelids drooped, heavy with exhaustion, Shu Yao forced them open just long enough to look at Bai Qi's unconscious face. A fragile, wavering smile touched his lips — the kind born from devotion rather than joy.
"…I'll stay…" he breathed, voice barely more than a sigh dissolving into the quiet room.
"…I won't… go anywhere… I'll stay near you I won't abandoned you…"
His fingers curled instinctively around Bai Qi's bandaged hand, as if anchoring himself — or perhaps promising something he'd never dared to say aloud.
Finally, robbed of all strength, his lashes lowered completely.
He leaned forward, his forehead brushing the edge of the mattress, breath soft and warm against Bai Qi's arm.
And utterly exhausted, trembling, fever still clinging to him, Shu Yao slipped into sleep with his hand resting protectively — almost pleadingly — over Bai Qi's wounded one, as though he could shield him even in dreams.