Xie Zhinan curled up into a ball, his eyes tightly shut, seemingly mumbling in his sleep.
A strand of hair clung to his eyelashes, and he seemed uncomfortable. He instinctively rubbed against the back of the chair, but couldn’t shake it off. He lacked the strength, so he gave up trying to get rid of the annoying strand of hair, furrowing his brow in frustration and continuing to sleep with a hint of grievance.
Wen Yun watched him for a long time, his heart stirring with an unfamiliar, lingering sensation of tenderness and pain. Some kind of emotion filled his chest, as if it could burst out with a twist, like water squeezed from a sponge.
He knew that at this moment, he should say something.
In this fragile, soft, almost tender moment, he should be saying something.
Xie Zhinan had never shown this side of himself before, fully relying on him, exposing his deepest and most hidden pains. But Wen Yun, like a wounded beast helplessly circling his injured partner, didn’t know what to say. He was lost for words.
Perhaps it was because he had said too many insincere things, or perhaps it was that he simply didn’t have the talent for this kind of expression.
Something was lodged in Wen Yun’s throat, a heavy stone pressing against his tongue, just as it had been for years, making it impossible for him to say a single word.
The sky was gloomy, and the dull light pressed down on his expressionless face, still looking indifferent, distant, and cold.
But he raised his hand, very gently, very carefully, even awkwardly, and brushed the strand of hair off Xie Zhinan’s eyelashes. He tried his best not to disturb him, but Xie Zhinan was still startled, his eyelashes fluttering a few times. Wen Yun’s fingers hesitated for a moment, about to pull his hand back.
But Xie Zhinan slightly leaned his head forward and brushed against his fingers.
It seemed like it tickled a little.
His eyelids were burning, his skin delicate and soft.
Wen Yun’s heart sank with a weight, a piece of it collapsing inward.
In the years after their breakup, he had seen many psychologists.
If people were like finely tuned machines, then the emotional parts of him had always been broken.
He had originally thought that fixing just this part of himself would be enough, but unfortunately, the psychologist hadn’t been much help.
The last psychologist was a gentle middle-aged woman. She evaluated Wen Yun’s condition for a long time and finally said, “Mr. Wen, I think, rather than a psychologist, you might need your lover.”
Wen Yun remained silent for a long time before replying, “My lover doesn’t want me anymore.”
He was a terrible lover, so the love he gave to Xie Zhinan had been just as terrible.
Xie Zhinan couldn’t stand it anymore and finally ran away.
He shouldn’t have come back when he hadn’t fixed himself yet.
But he had already waited long enough.
Long enough that he couldn’t bear it anymore.
….
It started raining outside again.
Fine raindrops fell, drifting onto the car window. Soon, the window was covered with droplets, becoming foggy, creating a small, peaceful world that isolated them from the noisy, chaotic street.
Wen Yun looked at Xie Zhinan, who was curled up beside him, sleeping with a flushed face. He remembered how Xie Zhinan had quietly and sadly told him that he was afraid he would be annoying.
Wen Yun thought, perhaps the last psychologist was right.
He really did need his lover.
For the first time, Wen Yun felt that the broken part of him had been filled, perhaps it had started healing from the moment he stepped onto the path back home.
The emotional mechanism began to function again, and the soft ache and sadness in his heart surged through his throat, beyond his tongue, making him speak in a dry, slow voice.
“… you’re not troublesome, not annoying.”
The car fell silent for a few seconds, only the heavy, short breaths of Xie Zhinan could be heard, rising and falling.
His profile was resting against the back of the seat, his eyes closed, asleep.
He didn’t hear it, nor did he speak.
Beep—
The green light lit up, and the sharp sound of a horn broke the tranquility. Xie Zhinan, in a daze, opened his eyes and, through the blur, met Wen Yun’s dark, still gaze.
There was no indifference as usual, nor the heavy fire suppressed as back in the office.
It was very quiet, even gentle.
…Was it an illusion?
Xie Zhinan, groggily widening his eyes, wanted to look again, but Wen Yun had already turned his head, starting the car.
The sound of rain pattered.
He drifted back into a daze, falling asleep again.
….
Xie Zhinan dreamt of when he was very young.
He had stayed at his aunt’s house for two years, and for several months, his parents, who were working away, hadn’t sent any living expenses. During that time, he had it tough. His aunt and uncle exchanged cold words, his uncle would often scold his aunt, saying she shouldn’t have taken him in, it was a loss.
His aunt’s family wasn’t wealthy; they had two children, and it was already hard to raise them. Let alone having Xie Zhinan added to the mix.
Xie Zhinan knew their family situation wasn’t easy, and when it was said like that, he naturally felt ashamed. As a child, he was too fragile, too thin-skinned, and took everything seriously. When someone said something unkind, he would keep it in his heart for a long time, feeling both guilty and sad.
At that time, Xie Zhinan even felt embarrassed to eat breakfast at his aunt’s house. He would eat more at school during lunch, but for dinner, he would only dare to eat a few bites quickly, then retreat to his room and stay inside.
The soundproofing was poor, and he could still hear his aunt muttering that he was a freak, that she never saw anyone all day, and that he should stop bringing bad luck.
It seemed like whatever he did was wrong.
But he just wanted to avoid being disliked in front of others.
He shared a room with his cousin, but that room wasn’t his own.
There was no private space, and little Xie Zhinan could only hide under the blanket, pulling it over his head, quietly crying with a flushed face, too afraid to make a sound.
During that time, he was so thin, like a little monkey. He could only hope, hope that his parents would come back. While hoping, he also feared, feared that his parents wouldn’t come back, feared that they would abandon him.
Fortunately, his parents came back, and the next day, when they went out to work, they took him with them.
But it wasn’t all that fortunate.
Because Xie Zhinan found out the truth about why they hadn’t sent money for the past few months.
His dad had an affair and was addicted to gambling, and all the money was gone.
His mom scolded and hit him, causing a ruckus for months, but it didn’t help much.
His mom had no choice but to bring him along. Perhaps she hoped that with a child still around, his dad would be more sober, more grounded.
But they kept fighting.
One day, Xie Zhinan’s throat hurt. He timidly grabbed his mom’s sleeve and said his throat hurt.
His mom had just finished arguing with his dad, and was in a bad mood. She pushed him away and shouted, “Go find your deadbeat dad!”
Xie Zhinan, unprepared, was pushed straight onto the cold floor. His wounded eyes flashed with shattered tears as he looked up at his mom in confusion and disbelief, but his mom had already covered her face and was crying. Her dry, yellow hair hung over her thin shoulders, making her look like a leaf in autumn, battered by the wind and ready to fall.
But it hadn’t been like this before. She had once been beautiful, as beautiful as a pearl.
Xie Zhinan cried too, but by then, he had already learned to cry without making a sound.
He slowly got up from the floor, wiped his tears, and quietly walked away.
He had to be more sensible, he thought at the time.
With dad gone, mom was very sad.
He shouldn’t make them worry.
So he grabbed a stool, stood on tiptoe, and with a flushed face and a red nose, he sniffled and fumbled around in the cupboard until he found the cold medicine.
In the instant he swallowed the medicine, little Xie Zhinan had a fleeting thought in his mind.
Would the medicine kill him?
There was nothing more to it, just a brief thought, barely noticeable, that flickered through his mind, making his pores open, a slight tremor and a secret excitement.
This was probably little Xie Zhinan’s first time being interested in death.
….
He didn’t die, and was still alive and well.
Xie Zhinan struggled to open his heavy, sticky eyelids, his breath filled with the cold, antiseptic smell of the hospital. After waking from his dream, it took him a moment to gather himself, staring at the white ceiling for a while before his memories slowly returned.
He swallowed, his throat aching just like in the dream, and with his arms feeling weak and sore, he tried to sit up.
A large, strong hand reached out and pressed gently on his shoulder, pushing him back down.
Xie Zhinan realized something and slowly turned his head.
Wen Yun was sitting at the edge of the bed, his face emotionless, but his dark eyes held some emotion that Xie Zhinan couldn’t understand. His gaze lightly enveloped him as he spoke.
“When we got to the hospital, your fever was almost forty degrees.” Wen Yun looked at him, speaking slowly, “If we hadn’t taken care of you, you might have died from the illness.”
