Bai Qi stirred long before consciousness took shape.
His lashes fluttered first — long, dark, soft enough to cast faint shadows across his cheek. His brow tightened, a faint tremor of pain threading through the left side of his skull. Breath caught somewhere in his chest as he dragged himself upward out of the fog.
Then, slowly, his eyes opened.
A pale, muted glow from the floor lamp brushed the edges of the room. The suite's vaulted ceiling shimmered above him — ornate, polished, smugly luxurious. For a heartbeat, Bai Qi simply stared at it, disoriented and strangely hollow.
Then a sharp sting pulsed through his right hand.
He hissed under his breath. Fingers twitched. His gaze drifted down—
A bandage. Clean. Neat. Wrapped with too-much care.
His heartbeat slowed. Thickened. Turned colder.
And then the memories came.
The dream.
The madness.
Qing Yue's smile.
Qing Yue's voice.
Qing Yue dissolving into…
…into Shu Yao.
Bai Qi's entire body jolted upright.
His breath tore out of him, ragged, frantic. His vision blurred as he fought against the sudden storm in his mind — the image of his own lips on… no. No.
His stomach twisted violently. His hand clenched the sheets so hard the bandage strained.
He had kissed him.
He had kissed Shu Yao.
He swallowed, but the disgust didn't move from his throat. It lodged there, metallic and burning.
He touched his own mouth — fingers trembling — as though the memory itself might stain him.
What have I done?
His breath shook.
He forced himself to inhale.
Forced himself to swallow the nausea.
But then—
He felt it.
Another presence.
His gaze dropped sharply.
And stopped.
Shu Yao was crouched at the edge of the bed, head resting against the mattress. His cheek pressed against the sheets, breath soft, warm. His slim hand lay on top of Bai Qi's injured one — light, gentle, protective in a way that made something in Bai Qi recoil violently.
For one suspended moment, Bai Qi did not move.
He hadn't expected him there.
Hadn't wanted him there.
Hadn't asked for his touch.
And yet… Shu Yao had stayed.
That realization struck Bai Qi somewhere between anger and panic.
His hand jerked away from Shu Yao's reflexively — violently. The sudden motion tore the contact apart as if burned.
Bai Qi scooted back, jaw clenching so hard it hurt.
"I saw her…" he breathed, voice shaking with something between agony and fury. "But why him?"
Behind him, Shu Yao stirred.
Bai Qi froze.
His fingers lifted unconsciously toward his lips — the same lips that had kissed someone they were never meant to touch. A kiss he didn't want to remember. A kiss he wanted to erased. Torn out. Scrubbed from existence.
Footsteps. Soft. Small.
Shu Yao rubbed his eyes with the back of his right hand, disoriented, eyelids heavy from fever and exhaustion. He blinked once, twice, then slowly rose from his place on the floor.
And despite everything — despite fear, shame, confusion — he asked quietly:
"Sir… are you feeling alright?"
Something inside Bai Qi twisted even further.
Shu Yao could sense the tension. Anyone could. The air hung thick enough to choke on it. But the boy still dared to ask — because he couldn't bear to see Bai Qi hollowed out like this.
Bai Qi turned sharply.
"You—" His voice cracked like a whip. "You almost—"
Shu Yao flinched. Blinked. And slowly lowered his gaze, unable to meet Bai Qi's eyes. The memory of last night flickered through him — not clearly, but painfully.
Bai Qi's hands tightened into fists.
Then he barked — louder this time, the sound cutting like broken glass:
"Stay away from me."
Shu Yao froze.
His breath caught painfully in his throat. His eyes rose, wide, shimmering. The fear was there — yes — but something deeper too. Something like heartbreak. Something like helplessness at the distance growing between them.
"…but why, sir…?" Shu Yao whispered.
"You're asking me why?" Bai Qi snapped.
Shu Yao took a small step back, trying to calm him.
Bai Qi's voice erupted, fierce and sharp:
"Don't even try to come closer to me!"
Shu Yao stopped instantly.
His eyes glistened — hurt, trembling — but he swallowed it down. He always did.
"S-sir," he whispered, "I am sorry… but why did you—"
He couldn't finish the sentence.
And Bai Qi froze.
The air collapsed between them, charged and sharp. Shu Yao's half-spoken question hovered like a blade.
Bai Qi moved first.
He left the bed in a sudden, jarring motion and crossed the room before Shu Yao could fully react. His grip clamped around Shu Yao's chin — rough, unforgiving, using his wounded hand despite the pain.
Shu Yao gasped softly, fingers instinctively reaching up to hold Bai Qi's wrist. His eyes widened — terrified, glossy with unshed tears.
Bai Qi leaned down, voice venomous and shaking:
"If you dare speak about anything that happened—
I swear—"
Shu Yao trembled.
His eyes shimmered all at once, the tears threatening to spill. His lips parted in a broken, breathless plea.
"Sir… I—"
"Because of you," Bai Qi snarled, cutting him off, "I lost Qing Yue."
Shu Yao's breath hitched hard.
"Because of you the only warmth I have left is gone," Bai Qi continued, voice raw and cracking at the edges, "everything about your appearance is disgusting—"
Shu Yao's heart splintered.
The words hit him like blows.
But he still didn't cry.
He swallowed his pain — again — because hurting Bai Qi hurt him more.
Bai Qi released him in a harsh shove, turning away as if Shu Yao's face was something unbearable to look at.
"I… I wish you died that night," Bai Qi forced out, voice shaking violently. "Because of you — she isn't here with me."
Shu Yao staggered back a step.
His throat closed. His fingers curled helplessly at his sides. His heart felt like it was tearing itself apart — slow, merciless, nameless agony.
But he bowed his head.
And whispered, voice tiny and breaking:
"I… I am sorry… sir."
The room fell silent.
Not peaceful.
Not calm.
Just silent — the kind that made everything hurt worse.
Shu Yao's gaze fell to the floor — lower, smaller, quieter — until his lashes nearly touched his cheeks.
"Get the hell out of my sight," Bai Qi barked.
The words struck like a thrown blade.
Shu Yao flinched, but he didn't argue. He didn't defend himself. He didn't even breathe for a second.
He simply bowed his head once… and turned away.
The bedroom door clicked softly behind him, the gentleness of the sound crueler than a slam.
Morning light had begun to rise outside the panoramic windows — a pale, indifferent glow — but inside the suite, everything felt colder than midnight.
Shu Yao walked a few steps.
Then stopped.
His hand — the one bandaged from fever and strain — clenched painfully against his chest. His throat trembled. His vision blurred into a watery haze.
"I… should've died," he whispered.
His knees buckled.
He sank beside the couch, palms hitting the carpet as a sharp breath escaped him. Tears broke past his control, falling fast, falling hard.
"Why… why did she save me…?" His voice cracked, splintering through the quiet room. "It was fine dying. I had already made up my mind that night…"
His shoulders shook.
He bowed over himself, small and trembling.
"I wish… I wish I could rewrite the past…"
A sob tore out of him — raw and helpless — the kind that belonged to a boy who had suffered too long, too early, too quietly. The kind of sound that didn't belong to this world at all.
His fingers clawed weakly at the carpet.
"Why am I still here…" he gasped, trembling. "Why am I still—"
He swallowed hard, choking down another sob.
"I don't want anything to hurt Bai Qi… I never want…"
He pressed his fists against his eyes until everything went dark behind his eyelids.
"If I was gone that night… would he have been the same? Would he… even miss me…?"
He let out a sound — not laughter, not truly. A hollow, cracked imitation of it. A sound pulled from somewhere deep and broken.
His lips quivered violently.
"I never wanted to take his happiness," he whispered. "I never intended to destroy anything…"
He wiped his tears with shaky fingers.
"I'll do something," he whispered to himself. "Something Bai Qi will like. Something… if I must. If it makes him happy again."
His breath trembled. His eyes, swollen and red, lifted slightly.
"If… if I die… Bai Qi will be happy again…"
The thought cut through him like ice.
But immediately, his heart seized.
He lowered his gaze again, shaking his head.
"No… I can't leave him," he whispered. "I can't. Even if he hates me… even if he doesn't want me… even if he tells me to disappear…"
A sob wrenched out of him.
"I'll endure it," he said, voice cracking. "It's fine. I don't matter. But Bai Qi… Bai Qi needs someone…"
His hands buried into his face as he cried again — softer, quieter, as though he didn't deserve to make even a sound.
"I will protect him… even if it destroys me…"
His voice broke entirely at the end.
SHIFT TO BAI QI : Inside the bedroom, Bai Qi leaned heavily against the mirror, breath harsh, uneven.
His reflection stared back at him — unrecognizable.
His black obsidian wolfcut fell messily across his eyes, strands clinging to his temples. His pupils were sharp, bloodshot. His jaw was clenched so tightly it trembled.
He looked like a man standing on the edge of something catastrophic.
And he didn't know how to pull back.
"What… have I become…" he whispered, voice hoarse.
He pressed his palm flat against the mirror, dragging in a long breath that scraped his throat raw.
"I kissed him," he muttered. "Why? Why did I—"
His body shuddered, shame flooding him with a violence he couldn't name.
He slammed his fist against the glass — the wounded hand — ignoring the ache.
His head dropped.
"I saw Qing Yue… and then I saw him…" he whispered. "I don't understand. I don't understand anything."
His pulse throbbed in his ears.
He pressed both hands against the sink now, bending forward, trembling.
"I don't even know why I did it… but—"
His breath hitched, and rage surged forward, drowning everything else.
"He'll pay for it," Bai Qi whispered darkly. "Every last part of it."
His reflection stared back at him — hollow, furious, unraveling.
"I'll make him regret it. I'll make him regret ever breathing near me."
His fingers curled slowly, knuckles whitening.
"I'll tear apart every comfort he has left… until he finally understands what suffering feels like."
His voice hardened, cold and merciless.
"I'll make him feel the agony I felt. I'll make every breath hurt him. Every moment."
His chest heaved with newly ignited fury.
"He will break," Bai Qi murmured. "I will make sure he breaks."
His eyes lifted.
And in the mirror, he saw himself — red-eyed, exhausted, furious, and consumed by something frighteningly unfamiliar.
He wasn't the Bai Qi from yesterday.
He wasn't even close.
He was becoming something else.
Something darker.
Something forged entirely from grief, confusion, and rage.
His lips curled slightly.
"He ruined everything's of mine," Bai Qi breathed. "Now I'll ruin him."
The morning light slid across his face then — sharp, pale, merciless.
And a new resolve settled in him.
Shu Yao would suffer.
Shu Yao would break.
Shu Yao would regret ever surviving that night.
Only then — only when Shu Yao shattered completely — would Bai Qi finally be able to breathe again.
Or so he told himself.
Bai Qi braced both hands on the porcelain sink.
The mirror stared back at him — a fractured reflection of a man unraveling, barely held together by fury and grief. His breath came hard, each exhale trembling with a violence that had nowhere to go.
Then — sharply — he opened the tap.
A rush of cold water.
Bai Qi scooped it up with both trembling palms and splashed it onto his face.
The shock hit him like a blade.
His lungs seized.
His shoulders tensed.
His obsidian-black hair clung to his cheeks, dripping.
But the cold did nothing to settle the storm inside him.