Chapter 8 Morning Care
I woke the next day with Lin Qi still asleep. I'd dozed off half-slumped over the bed, stiff.
I stretched carefully, then slipped out to the hospital cafeteria for porridge and some toiletries.
When I came back, he was struggling to sit up.
I rushed over and steadied him. "Don't move like that."
He stiffened, mouth open like he wanted to say something.
I looked at him. "Water?"
He shook his head.
"Breakfast?"
He shook his head again.
I sighed. "Then what do you want?"
His face flushed red in a flash.
I guessed. "Bathroom?"
He nodded.
I laughed. "It's just the toilet. Nothing to be embarrassed about. Come on, I'll help you."
I got him there and waited outside.
Nothing but silence for a long time.
I knocked. "You okay in there?"
After a while, his voice came out shaky. "I can't undo the drawstring."
"I'm coming in."
I pushed the door open. Lin Qi's face was scarlet, the knot in his sweatpants a hopeless mess.
I crouched, worked it loose fast. "There. Go ahead. Call me when you're done."
He glanced at me, nodded.
Once he finished, the tension left his shoulders.
They say everyone has emergencies. When it hits, it really hits.
I didn't send him straight back to bed. "Wait here. I'll grab the toiletries. We'll clean up, then eat."
He nodded. "Okay. Thanks."
That thank you felt good.
Of course, I wasn't doing any of this for thanks. I just happen to be handsome and kind.
After he washed up, I helped him back into bed, scooped some cooled porridge, and held the spoon to his mouth. "Open."
His ears went red. He hesitated two seconds, then obeyed.
A little porridge trickled down the corner of his mouth. I wiped it with my thumb, brushing his lip.
"I'll do it myself," he said suddenly, voice rougher.
I scooped another spoonful and blew on it. "Your right hand is sprained. Left has the IV. How exactly are you feeding yourself?"
He looked down, gave up, and let me continue.
When the IV finished, I brought a basin of warm water. "Time to wipe down."
He squirmed. "It's fine."
"You're covered in blood and dirt. Doesn't it itch?" I wrung out the towel. "Relax. Just arms and legs."
I grinned. "Even if you wanted other places, I wouldn't."
He finally nodded.
I unbuttoned his shirt. His face went crimson again.
He looked thin clothed, but underneath—solid muscle, chest and abs defined.
When the towel passed his collarbone, his breath caught.
At his waist, he suddenly grabbed my wrist. "Why are you so good to me?"
His dark eyes were wet as he stared up at me.
I paused, smiled. "Just think of it as me trying to wipe away your grudge. From now on, see me as a good guy. Drop the prejudice. I'm really not bad."
Before he could answer, I moved to his wrist and, without thinking, asked, "Does it hurt?"
He froze completely.
His throat bobbed several times. He turned his face away. "No."
It was swollen purple. Of course it hurt.