The fluorescent lights buzzed overhead, merciless and indifferent. The sterile smell of antiseptic cut through the coppery tang of blood.
Wangji's hands hovered above Wei's prone form, steady and precise, yet beneath his calm exterior his heart thundered a frantic rhythm. Every beat of Wei's chest pressed against his palms like a warning: fragile, fleeting, not guaranteed.
"Scalpel," Wangji commanded softly, his voice a blade of calm slicing through the chaos.
The nurse slid the instrument into his hand, metallic weight grounding him. Each motion, each cut, each suture demanded total focus. One lapse—just one—could tilt the balance irreversibly.
Wei groaned, a weak, rasping sound that rattled through Wangji's bones. Pale, drenched in sweat, trembling with every shallow breath, he seemed too delicate for the weight of the wound he bore. Wangji's fingers brushed a shard embedded in his scalp. A faint flinch.
Hold on. Just hold on. Don't leave…
The surgical team moved in silent choreography. Nurses passed instruments wordlessly, technicians monitored vitals with tight brows, all synchronized by Wangji's unspoken authority. His gaze flicked between monitors and Wei, noting every irregular beat, every tremor, every flutter of his eyelids.
"Clamp here," he said, low and controlled. His hands moved like liquid steel, precise and unforgiving. Blood-slicked gloves offered no pause. He pressed a cloth gently to a deeper wound. "Stay steady. Stay with me."
Wei's eyelids fluttered. A faint, terrified whimper escaped him, soft as a bird's broken wing. Wangji leaned closer, murmuring under his breath, "Do not leave. I will not let you slip away."
Time stretched, bending under the weight of their shared desperation. The shards, jagged fragments, internal bruising—they were invisible enemies, each demanding respect and careful handling. Wangji's eyes burned from the glare overhead, yet he did not blink. Not now. Not when life and death danced on a knife's edge.
He paused only briefly, hands trembling slightly—not from fear, but from the exhaustion of controlling every heartbeat, every precise motion. You cannot fail him. Not you. Not ever.
Wei twitched violently, a reflexive response to pain. His fragile body shivered beneath Wangji's steady hands. A bead of blood ran along his temple, caught in the harsh light. Wangji pressed gently, murmuring, "I am here. You are not alone."
The young man's shallow breaths rattled against Wangji's ear as he leaned closer, tension radiating from the motion of every sinew in his body. Sweat beaded on Wangji's brow. A misstep could be fatal. He adjusted the scalpel midair, fingertips steadying with practiced precision.
One shard, embedded perilously close to a major vessel, demanded careful extraction. Wangji's hand hovered. Time slowed. Heartbeats thundered in his ears. Every second dragged, each motion measured against the infinite consequences of failure.
Breathe. Focus. Don't let him slip.
The shard was removed. Wangji's hands didn't falter, though a bead of sweat ran down his temple. He pressed the wound closed, murmuring low incantations of concentration, guiding each motion with whispered vows.
Wei's eyes fluttered open briefly, gaze unfocused but alive. A shudder ran through him. Wangji's heart clenched. That faint pulse, weak but present, was enough to keep fighting.
A deeper tear required delicate suturing. Wangji's fingers worked in silent symphony with the instruments, weaving life back together with thread and precision. His jaw tightened under the weight of responsibility. Stay. Stay with me.
Wei twitched again, lips parting in a faint whimper. Pain, fear, and the rawness of near-death shimmered across his features. Wangji pressed firmly yet gently, guiding every stitch, each whisper a tether to life.
Minutes—or hours—blurred into a continuous stretch of effort. Wangji felt every pulse, every micro-movement, every tremor of Wei's frail body. Sweat dampened his temple, robes, and gloves. His lungs burned, chest tight, but he could not pause. The thin line between survival and surrender demanded total commitment.
At last, after meticulous care and seemingly endless minutes, Wangji leaned back slightly, scanning the monitors. The rise and fall of Wei's chest had evened out. Bleeding slowed. The pulse—faint, fragile, but steady—persisted.
"He's stable," Wangji murmured, voice taut with relief he could barely acknowledge. "Stay with me. Keep steady."
Wei exhaled softly, trembling but conscious enough to press a weak hand to his chest. Wangji met his gaze, silent vows exchanged in the unspoken language of survival. Do not leave. Not now. Not ever.
Outside the glass doors, distant voices carried faintly. Anxiety, panic, fear—none reached the controlled chaos inside the ER. Wangji's focus remained absolute, every thought tethered to the fragile bird beneath his hands.
He adjusted another suture, pressing lightly to stop a fresh trickle of blood. Wei's body relaxed fractionally, small movements of life persisting against the pull of unconsciousness. Wangji exhaled slowly, each breath a battle against the rising tide of exhaustion.
A faint pulse under his fingers—a tiny, defiant victory.