[At Morning]
The first sliver of dawn was just teasing the edges of the hospital room's curtains, casting weak, grey light across the sterile space.
Li Hao's eyes fluttered open, his body still heavy with sleep, but a strange, unsettling quiet immediately registered. He shifted, turning his head to look where Yu Han was sleeping.
What he saw made a cold dread coil in his stomach. Yu Han was trembling, a subtle, almost imperceptible shiver running through his slight frame even in sleep.
He was curled into himself, a tight, defensive ball, like a small, injured animal seeking refuge, his knees drawn up nearly to his chin, his body a perfect, fragile cocoon. This posture was entirely unlike the usually restless or casually sprawled Yu Han. Something was profoundly off.
Li Hao's sleep-fogged mind sharpened instantly. He reached out a hand, hesitant yet compelled, and gently placed it on Yu Han's forehead.
The skin felt warm, not burning, but definitely warmer than it should be – a slight fever. Li Hao frowned, bewildered.
Last night, Yu Han had been perfectly fine, albeit a little withdrawn after their contentious conversation.
"What in the world had happened to him in the hours of darkness?"
The soft brush of Li Hao's fingers, the sudden warmth on his brow, was enough to stir Yu Han from his tormented slumber.
His eyes, swollen and a little hazy, cracked open slowly. He blinked, the weak morning light seeming too harsh, and focused on Li Hao's face above him, already awake, already staring. A flicker of something — fear? shame? — crossed Yu Han's features.
With a sudden, sharp intake of breath, Yu Han shoved Li Hao's hand away. The movement was quick, almost violent, startling Li Hao. Yu Han didn't speak, just recoiled further into his cocoon.
"Yu Han," Li Hao began, his voice laced with concern, "what's wrong? You have a slight fever. Are you feeling unwell?"
Yu Han turned his back to Li Hao, burying his face deeper into the pillow. His voice was muffled, barely a whisper.
"Nothing. I'm fine."
But he wasn't fine. Li Hao knew it. The trembling, the fever, the sudden defensiveness – it all pointed to something deeper than just a physical ailment.
It pointed to last night. To Li Hao's own careless, cutting words that had clearly sliced far deeper than he'd intended, dredging up some old, forgotten pain.
Li Hao's stomach churned with a mixture of guilt and growing alarm. He quickly got up, his movements quick and decisive. "I'm calling the doctor."
Yu Han didn't respond, remaining a rigid, unmoving mound under the covers.
A few minutes later, the doctor, a kind-faced woman who knew their routine, arrived. She checked Yu Han's temperature, listened to his chest, and asked a few questions that Yu Han answered in monosyllables, his gaze carefully avoiding Li Hao's. Her diagnosis reinforced Li Hao's initial observation:
"Just a slight fever, likely from a bit of chill or fatigue. Nothing serious. We'll keep an eye on it." She prescribed a mild fever reducer and left, the quiet click of the door echoing in the tense room.
Li Hao returned to Yu Han's bedside. He retrieved the medicine from the nurse's station, poured a glass of water, and then, with practiced ease, arranged the small, portable table over Yu Han's bed.
On it, he placed the hospital breakfast: a bowl of watery porridge and some steamed vegetables.
Usually, Yu Han would whine about the blandness, push it away, or at least make a fuss. This morning, he just lay there, unmoving, eyes fixed on some distant point on the wall.
Li Hao picked up the chopsticks, his gaze lingering on Yu Han's still, pale face. He felt a heavy weight in his chest. He knew. He knew what had happened. It wasn't just the fever.
Yu Han was sulking, yes, but it was a sulk born of a deeper hurt, a wound he, Li Hao, had carelessly opened.
Li Hao put down the chopsticks, a sigh escaping his lips. "Yu Han," he began, his voice softer than usual, heavy with regret.
"I... I'm really sorry. I think I crossed a line last night." He paused, searching for the right words, for a way to undo the damage.
"I shouldn't have said those things to you. I really didn't mean them... I swear." He tried to lighten the mood, to bridge the chasm his words had created. "Just think about it, I'm a grown man, how could I... you know... I was just messing with you. Please, don't sulk. And please, eat something."
Yu Han listened to every word, his body still rigid, his head still bowed. He remained silent for a long moment, and Li Hao's heart sank further.
Then, in a voice so quiet it was barely audible, Yu Han spoke. "I want to go home."
Li Hao stared, taken aback. "Yu Han, your leg is still in bad condition. How can you go home? You need more care here."
Yu Han slowly, agonizingly, lifted his head. His gaze, when it met Li Hao's, was raw. His eyes were red-rimmed, full of unshed tears that glittered precariously.
"I want to go home," he repeated, his voice cracking, hoarse with emotion. "Please."
Seeing those tears, the sheer desolation in Yu Han's eyes, Li Hao's heart twisted with a pain sharper than any physical blow. His casual, thoughtless words had broken something in Yu Han, something deep and fragile.
He stood up abruptly, moving around the bed, and without thinking, pulled Yu Han into a tight embrance.
"I'm so, so sorry, Yu Han," he murmured into Yu Han's hair, his own voice thick with remorse.
He held him close, feeling the tremble in Yu Han's body. "I didn't mean to hurt you. Not like that. Please, don't cry. I promise, I'll never say those words again. Never."
But Yu Han didn't reciprocate the hug. He remained stiff for a moment, then, with surprising strength, pushed Li Hao away.
He didn't look at him, his face still streaked with tears, his voice barely a whisper, yet firm. "Please... call Yang Zi."
The name hung in the air, a stark reminder. At that moment, Li Hao heard Shi Wang's voice in his head, clear as day: "Yang Zi knows Yu Han very well. They are family."
A fresh wave of guilt washed over Li Hao. He hadn't just hurt Yu Han; he'd driven him away, to seek comfort from someone else.
Someone who understood him better, perhaps. Li Hao swallowed hard, the bitterness of his own failure sharp on his tongue. He knew, instinctively, that this was not something he could fix alone.
Without another word, Li Hao pulled out his phone. He dialed Gang Zi, his voice tight with urgency. "Gang Zi, it's Li Hao. I need you to bring Yang Zi to the hospital. As soon as possible."