Chapter 5: Passing Out

Wen Mo heard the crutch go away and come back. Before long, hot water Pei Zeyang had poured was in his hands. He held the cup in both palms; the warmth seemed to travel from his skin to his heart.
He lowered his head and drank in small sips. The dry, scratchy pain in his throat eased as the hot water went down.
“When you have a cold, drink more hot water.”
Pei Zeyang’s voice came from across the room.
You could tell he didn’t often say caring things—the words were stiff and unnatural.
Wen Mo mm-hmmed and smiled at him.
The room went very quiet.
Pei Zeyang wasn’t much of a talker. Cold by nature, used to being pursued, he had always been the one others flattered. That bred a proud distance. He rarely took others seriously and never started small talk.
This was… a first.
Neither spoke. The silence turned awkward.
Wen Mo wasn’t ignoring him on purpose.
He was sick and low on energy. After the medicine he grew drowsy and yawned softly.
Sick, medicated, sleepy.
Pei Zeyang thought.
“…I’ll head out, then.” He said goodbye.
“Hm? Okay.” Wen Mo needed rest and didn’t keep him.
He saw Pei Zeyang to the door. “See you next time. Oh—and I don’t know how bad you’re hurt. You should still go to the hospital. You really helped me today. If I’d known your leg was bad…”
If he had known Pei Zeyang’s leg was injured, he wouldn’t have asked him to do something so risky.
Wen Mo felt a little guilty. “When my cold’s better in a couple days, can I treat you to a meal?”
Pei Zeyang: “…”
Still found out.
His expression turned spectacular. He really didn’t want to admit something so embarrassing. He wasn’t that fragile—hurt leg or not, he could still help.
Damn.
So annoying.
But…
“We’ll see.” Pei Zeyang hated that his injury had slipped out—but at Wen Mo’s next words he oddly shut up.
He didn’t agree right away. He had his own pace. Too eager might look wrong.
People who clung too hard usually had ulterior motives.
Like Yuan Chen.
Pei Zeyang still didn’t get why Yuan Chen had to compete on height with Wen Mo. He found Yuan Chen suspicious.
So he answered vaguely, tone light and indifferent.
“Okay, we’ll see then.” Wen Mo couldn’t read his thoughts and didn’t have the energy to try.
Sleepy. Wanted bed.
“Yeah. I’m off.” Pei Zeyang said goodbye. “If you need anything, come next door.”
“Got it. Bye.” Wen Mo gave a polite smile, saw him off, and closed the door.
—
After leaving Wen Mo’s place, Pei Zeyang returned next door.
Yuan Chen was on the sofa playing on his phone. Hearing the door, he looked up and needled him: “Well, well, young master. Our 190.6 good-neighbor hero’s back.”
“Shut up.” Pei Zeyang had no patience for banter. “Take me to the hospital.”
“?”
Huh?
Yuan Chen asked: “What happened?”
“I hit my leg again. Nearly killed me.” Only in front of his close friend did Pei Zeyang show his real face.
Facing Wen Mo he had acted fine. Now he was gritting his teeth, back cold with sweat. “Hurry. Go.”
“I think my leg’s about to snap.”
Yuan Chen: “…”
What did he say—accident was bound to happen.
He said Pei Zeyang would land in the hospital again.
Damn.
Fine.
Yuan Chen helped Pei Zeyang downstairs, threw him in the back seat, and drove to the hospital.
At a red light Yuan Chen glanced in the rearview mirror and clicked his tongue. “You’re something else. Don’t want that leg anymore? ‘A hundred days for a hurt tendon or bone’—you left yesterday and you’re back today. Pray you didn’t refracture it or you’re renewing your room for another half month.”
“Stop nagging.” Pei Zeyang hated being lectured.
Yuan Chen hummed twice.
“Bro, no offense, but you were weird today.” Bored at the light, he gossiped. “Why so eager to help? That your type?”
Pei Zeyang had never said he liked boys.
This sudden shift…
Surprising.
“Don’t talk nonsense.” Pei Zeyang denied without thinking. “I helped on impulse. What type. I’m straight.”
After a pause he added stiffly: “I’ve never met a blind person before. First time.”
“…”
Sure. Straight.
Yuan Chen didn’t bother arguing.
He went quiet. The light changed; Yuan Chen drove. The car was silent a while.
“Hey, Yuan Chen.” Pei Zeyang called his name.
Yuan Chen grunted.
“Don’t you think he’s pitiful?” Pei Zeyang asked.
Yuan Chen looked up. In the mirror Pei Zeyang’s brow was slightly furrowed, thoughtful.
In all the years he had known Pei Zeyang, he had seen every expression on that face—thinking was a first.
“Pitiful?” Yuan Chen’s tone was odd.
Pei Zeyang: “Mm.”
In twenty years Pei Zeyang had almost never met anyone as fragile as Wen Mo.
His friends were the same type—bars, street racing, gym, climbing, muscle for brains. Girls too—one punch and the other side howled on the ground.
He had never seen anyone so fragile they needed to be cherished and cared for.
He didn’t know what was wrong with him.
Anyway—Wen Mo felt pitiful… No, not only pitiful. He felt something like tenderness, protectiveness, a want to help and look after him.
Those words popped up and Pei Zeyang’s heart jumped hard.
Him? Protect? Care for? Someone he met today?
What kind of thoughts were these—
“Fragile, I don’t know.” Yuan Chen couldn’t read Pei Zeyang’s mind. After a few seconds he spoke and broke the thread. “But he’s really pretty. My type. Shame about the eyes, though…”
Yuan Chen shrugged, still savoring the regret—when a pair of icy, emotionless eyes met his in the mirror. Pei Zeyang’s gaze was sharp, cold as a blade pulled from ice, hostility bare.
“Looking to die?”
He kicked the seat too.
…Why didn’t Pei Zeyang break both legs?
“He can’t even see—so pitiful—and you’re thinking filthy thoughts.” A nameless fire rose in Pei Zeyang. “Have some decency.”
“I fucking—” Yuan Chen nearly choked on rage, swore several times, then raised his voice. “You’re moral, you’re noble.”
“I only said he’s my type. What are you freaking out for.” Yuan Chen couldn’t take it and flipped him the bird when he had a second.
“Fine, fine, I won’t think anything, you think whatever you want, happy?”
“Can’t even think now…”
“Get lost. Not as disgusting as you.” Pei Zeyang said coldly. “I don’t have those dirty ideas about him. I helped on impulse. You think everyone’s like you? Empty the water out of your brain and drop the schemes—or I won’t let you off.”
Yuan Chen: “…”
Yuan Chen was spent. “Fine, I will… you better too. Remember the word decency.”
They parted on bad terms.
For the rest of the drive neither spoke. Yuan Chen was tired and angry. Pei Zeyang couldn’t be bothered—Yuan Chen had no morals, even preying on the blind. Not fit to be human.
Even though Yuan Chen had only said “my type” once.
…
Disgusting.
Yuan Chen was disgusting.
But Wen Mo really was pretty and cute—and kind.
Pei Zeyang replayed the time alone with Wen Mo in his head—the words, the worried face, the frantic hands feeling along the floor for him.
He settled himself. After getting out of the car he forgave Yuan Chen one-sidedly—only warned him to respect Wen Mo from now on. If he heard any more of that filth, they weren’t brothers.
And stay away from Wen Mo. Don’t go to that apartment again.
Yuan Chen: “?”
The world was upside down, friend.
That was his apartment.
…What a lunatic.
Yuan Chen gave him a thumbs-up, speechless, too tired to argue. He accepted being the long-suffering brother and got him to the clinic.
Pei Zeyang’s situation wasn’t great. The fallen suitcases had hit his leg. It needed resetting again. Fortunately no admission—after manual reduction the doctor put fresh plaster on him.
As Pei Zeyang’s orthopedic doctor for years, the old man’s hair seemed whiter seeing him back the day after discharge.
He sighed. “Young master, have pity on yourself. Take care of that leg. Don’t have any more accidents.”
“You left yesterday and you’re in again today. A few more times and that leg really will be ruined. You don’t want to be lame for life, do you?”
In the past Pei Zeyang would have ignored it. He thought he was healthy; it wouldn’t come to that. Now one sentence made him think of Wen Mo.
Wen Mo couldn’t see. He had just promised to help however he could—to come to him for anything. If his leg wasn’t right… he had to get better fast.
Especially with a disgusting gay lurking next door.
Pei Zeyang glanced at Yuan Chen. Yuan Chen didn’t get it—only felt the look was contemptuous.
What.
He was looking at his leg—why glare at him???
Yuan Chen’s head was full of question marks. “What?”
“Fine. I know.” Pei Zeyang said flatly.
Yuan Chen: “???”
What. So random.
He understood Pei Zeyang less and less.
After new plaster came payment. Yuan Chen thought Pei Zeyang was broke and reached to scan—then saw Pei Zeyang pay himself.
Silence.
“You have money.” Complex tone.
“Didn’t your parents freeze your cards?”
“They did.” Pei Zeyang said. “Doesn’t mean I’m at zero.”
“How much do you have, then.” Yuan Chen asked.
Pei Zeyang frowned—Yuan Chen talked too much. Yuan Chen pressed; he tossed off: “Under a million.”
Yuan Chen: “…”
Six six six six six six.
Yuan Chen broke.
He didn’t even have a million on him.
“I’m not lending you the apartment.” He gritted out.
“?”
“What does that mean.” Pei Zeyang’s face darkened.
He looked up. Hair shadowed his eyes. He looked sinister. “Still not giving up? Want to get close to him? Your morals are rock bottom.”
Yuan Chen: “…”
Nearly couldn’t breathe.
After a while he still cursed Pei Zeyang out, then said: “Buy me dinner! Now! Right now! Most expensive place!”
“Mm.” Pei Zeyang agreed. He didn’t hold the cursing against him—only said, “Give me the keys.”
“What keys?” Yuan Chen blinked. “That place? Didn’t I give them to you already.”
Pei Zeyang: “The set you kept.”
Yuan Chen: “?”
Pei Zeyang: “All of them. Don’t wander over there when you’ve got nothing to do.”
Yuan Chen: “.”
—
Pei Zeyang traded a meal for every key Yuan Chen had kept. After eating, Yuan Chen dropped him at the complex gate and wasn’t allowed upstairs.
The elevator rose to the fifth floor. Pei Zeyang glanced instinctively at Wen Mo’s door.
Someone with a cold needed quiet. Two in the afternoon—Wen Mo was probably resting.
Pei Zeyang didn’t disturb him. He turned into his new place.
Injured legs needed rest too—but Pei Zeyang couldn’t sit still.
He was bored. He kept thinking about the little patient next door, restless. He pulled out his phone to game—but his eyes kept drifting to the balcony. Distracted, he lost several rounds.
He quit the game eventually, busied himself with something, went to the balcony several times, felt time crawled—why wasn’t it tomorrow yet.
Until six in the evening.
Pei Zeyang suddenly thought—as a new neighbor, checking on someone sick was normal, right? And Wen Mo had said he would treat him to a meal. Why not now.
He found ten thousand excuses for his unreasonable behavior, then went out at once and rang Wen Mo’s bell without waiting a second.
He pressed several times. No response.
Didn’t hear? Asleep? Or something happened?
Pei Zeyang went from puzzled to uneasy—especially at the last possibility. His face sank. He pressed the bell more urgently. If Wen Mo didn’t open soon he might break the door—
Wen Mo finally opened.
The little neighbor sniffled, wrapped in a thick blanket, clearly just woken—face flushed whether from sleep or heat, damp all over, black hair sweat-stuck in strands on his cheeks. He looked even more fragile than this morning, so weak he seemed unable to stand, voice muffled: “Hello…”
“It’s me—Pei Zeyang, your new neighbor. We met this morning.” Seeing him okay, Pei Zeyang’s expression eased. He exhaled. “You didn’t open for so long—I thought something happened. Were you asleep? Have you… eaten?”
“Mm…” Wen Mo was groggy, eyelids heavy, nose thick with congestion.
He tried to rally, nodded twice—it seemed to cost all his strength.
Before Pei Zeyang could ask more, Wen Mo pitched forward and collapsed into his arms.