Chapter 7 Fever
The car pulled away in total silence.
The touch lingered on my mouth.
I sniffled. “Are you drink-driving?”
“How do you know I drank?” Chen Yinian answered quickly. “You were watching me the whole time?”
His voice seemed lower, strangely softer.
I pressed my lips together, unsure how to respond.
I’d thought he came to settle the past. He didn’t mention it at all.
When I stayed quiet, he added, “Just one sip. Didn’t drink.”
I stared out the window and nodded. “Mm.”
Back at the building, I kept my head down as we walked to the elevator.
I was rehearsing how to say goodbye when his tall figure swayed, like he couldn’t stay upright, and leaned against the wall.
I stole a quick glance.
And couldn’t look away.
His face, ears, neck—everything flushed red. Brows tightly knit. He looked sick.
My heart seized.
“You’re ill,” I said, panicked. “Chen Yinian, you need a hospital.”
He tilted his head, hair falling over his eyes.
“No,” he said, almost sulky. “No money.”
The elevator dinged open.
He stumbled out, weak enough to collapse any second.
He stood at his door, head down, punching in the code.
Wrong. Again. Again.
My chest boiled with worry. What if he passed out inside alone?
After two agonizing minutes, I stepped forward and tugged his sleeve.
“If you don’t mind… come to my place first. I have medicine and a thermometer.”
“Okay.”
He agreed instantly.
The apartment had two rooms, but no spare bedding. I helped him to my own bed.
I thought he’d complain.
Instead he lay down naturally and pulled the covers over himself.
I scratched my head, went to find the medicine box.
38.6.
Not too bad.
He took the pills with warm water and lay back.
I tucked him in carefully, then went to wash off my makeup and shower.
Hot water poured down. Steam clouded everything.
It all felt like a dream.
I touched my lips again.
When I came out, he was asleep.
I wiped his face gently with a towel, then brought my laptop into the bedroom to work while keeping watch.
His presence was overwhelming. I couldn’t focus.
Asleep, he looked softer—no sharp edges.
His long lashes fluttered faintly, like a feather brushing my heart.
Everything went tender and aching, like part of my soul had caved in.
His fever finally broke around four in the morning.
I stayed until five, just to be sure.
Only then did I move to the living room sofa, close my eyes, and let myself rest.