"Explain why you want me to take off my pants?" Damien asked, his voice a low, cautious rumble that seemed to vibrate in the quiet of the room.
His eyes, dark and intense, narrowed, searching Ethan's face for any hint of mockery or hidden agenda. The request was so blunt, so unexpected, that it had sliced through his usual apathy.
Ethan, realizing how his words must have sounded, felt a flush of heat creep up his neck. "Not like that!" he sputtered, waving his hands in a frantic, dismissive gesture.
"It's for the therapy! The... the traditional technique I mentioned. I need direct access to the energy points along your legs and hips. I can't apply the proper pressure through the fabric." He knelt by the wheelchair, looking up to meet Damien's gaze, his own expression open and earnest. "It's called acupressure. I'll just use my hands, I promise. Nothing else."
The silence that followed was heavy, filled only with the faint hum of the central air conditioning. Damien studied him—the genuine concern in his eyes, the awkward but determined set of his jaw. This peculiar man was a constant paradox.
Yet, a part of Damien, a part he thought long buried under bitterness and betrayal, was curious. With a slow, deliberate movement that spoke of ingrained pride and reluctant concession, he gave a single, sharp nod.
"Turn around," Damien commanded, his voice tight.
"Right! Of course," Ethan said, quickly pivoting to face the wall, giving Damien a semblance of privacy. He listened to the rustle of fabric, the soft clink of a belt buckle.
Okay, this feels weird.
"You can turn back."
Ethan did. He tried to keep his demeanor clinical, professional. He focused on the task, not the person. Damien's legs were pale, the muscles showing signs of both atrophy and, paradoxically, a residual strength that spoke of a past athleticism. He carefully draped a light blanket over Damien's lap for modesty, then set to work.
He rubbed his hands together vigorously, generating heat. Okay, Ethan, it's time to put master's teachings to work.
He worked his way up, his hands moving along Damien's calves, finding tight knots of tension. He used his knuckles to knead deeply into the muscle. I'm just guessing half of this, he thought, a bead of sweat trickling down his temple. I really, really need to order those proper acupuncture needles online tomorrow.
As he worked, his focus was so complete that he became unaware of anything else. He didn't notice the initial tension in Damien's body gradually easing. He didn't see the way Damien's hands, which had been clenched on the arms of the wheelchair, slowly relaxed.
Damien watched him. He watched the top of Ethan's bent head, the strands of hair that fell over his forehead. He observed the sheer concentration etched on his face, the way he occasionally bit his lip in focus. This was… new. Everyone who approached him had an angle—pity, fear, a desire for power or revenge. But this?
This simple, diligent effort, this attempt to heal with nothing but warmth and pressure? It was so fundamentally… pointless. And yet, it was the first purely kind, pointless thing anyone had done for him in years. A strange, unfamiliar sensation, a flicker of warmth that had nothing to do with the massage, bloomed in the cold hollow of his chest.
Without his conscious permission, the stern line of his lips softened. His lips slowly curled up.
Ding!
The sound was so loud in Ethan's mind that he physically jolted, his thumbs slipping off a pressure point.
[Daily Task: Make Damien smile at least once a day - Successfully Completed!]
[Reward: +20 Exp, +10 System Coins (SC)]
[Current Level: 1 (20/1500)]
Ethan's head snapped up, his eyes wide with shock. He scanned Damien's face, searching for any trace of the completed task. But the man's expression was its usual marble mask—cold, impassive, and utterly smile-free.
What in the world? Ethan thought, utterly bewildered. A glitch? Did he smile and I missed it? Was it a twitch? Maybe the system is just being generous because I'm trying so hard? He stared internally at the system panel. Xixi, you there? Was that real? But only silence answered him. Shaking his head, he filed the mystery away for later. The priority was finishing the treatment.
"Alright, that's the main part," Ethan said, his voice slightly hoarse. He gently covered Damien's legs with the blanket. "But there's one more thing. It's… a bit unusual."
Damien's eyebrow arched, a silent command to continue.
"In the old texts, after stimulating the meridians, a… a catalyst is sometimes used to enhance the effect," Ethan explained, choosing his words carefully. "It's believed that a willing guardian's essence can help repair the damage." He stood up. "I'll be right back."
He took a clean glass, filled it with cool water, then tore open the lancet packet he found in one of the drawers. Taking a deep breath, he pricked the tip of his index finger. A single, perfect bead of crimson welled up. He squeezed, letting several drops fall into the water. They swirled like tiny red ribbons before dissolving, turning the water a faint, cloudy pink.
He carried the glass back to Damien, who had been watching his every move with an unreadable expression.
"Drink this," Ethan said, holding out the glass. "It will help seal the treatment."
Damien's gaze dropped to the glass, then flicked back to Ethan's face, his eyes sharp with scrutiny. He saw the tiny red mark on Ethan's finger. Understanding dawned, and his expression tightened with something akin to disbelief. "What is in it?"
"It's water," Ethan said, then added quietly, "And a part of my commitment to helping you get better. Please. Just trust me."
Damien's first instinct was to refuse, to knock the glass from Ethan's hand. This was madness. But he looked at Ethan's earnest, slightly anxious face, remembered the feel of those determined hands on his legs, and that strange, fleeting warmth returned.
After a pause that felt like an eternity, he reached out and took the glass. His fingers brushed against Ethan's, and for a second, Damien felt a jolt, like a static shock.
Under Ethan's unwavering gaze, Damien brought the glass to his lips. He expected a metallic tang, the visceral disgust of consuming another's blood. He braced for it. But as the faintly pink liquid touched his tongue, the sensation was entirely unexpected. There was a hint of metal, yes, but it was overshadowed by a subtle, almost honeyed sweetness.
A wave of warmth spread from his stomach, radiating outward, soothing a deep, chronic ache he had grown so accustomed to that he no longer even noticed it. It wasn't just pleasant; it felt… nourishing.
He drained the glass and set it down on a nearby table with a soft click. His expression was still guarded, but his eyes held a new, profound confusion as he looked at Ethan.
Ethan let out a breath he didn't realize he'd been holding. "Good. You should get some rest now. The effects might make you sleepy." He busied himself with tidying up, giving Damien space.
As Ethan turned away to prepare the sofa for himself, he missed the way Damien's eyes followed him, no longer just wary, but filled with a deep, contemplative intensity.