The corridor of the Haicheng Hospital was permeated with a bitter, clean scent—a mixture of povidone-iodine and cold air-conditioning.
Silas Shen sat on a bench, clutching a stack of payment receipts; the edges of the paper had been unconsciously crumpled by his white-knuckled grip. The door to the suture room was slightly ajar, and the occasional clink of metal instruments echoed out—each sound plucking precisely at Silas's frayed nerves.
He kept his head down, eyes fixed on his own fingertips. There seemed to be a phantom sensation of the warmth of Hunter's blood still lingering there. As someone who spent his years dealing with cold data and precision instruments, he never thought he would one day be tortured by an emotion called "lingering fear" until his knuckles turned white.
Finally, the door opened.
Hunter Huo walked out. The once high-and-mighty, wind-striding top-tier Alpha looked somewhat comical at this moment—his entire left arm was wrapped so thickly he looked like he was wearing a club. Because the doctor was worried a boy his age would be too rowdy and pop the stitches, they had specially used a rigid splint for fixation. Layers upon layers of white gauze encased him from wrist to shoulder.
The arm was held stiffly across his chest, looking like a giant white mummy (sticky rice dumpling), or perhaps a plaster cast hung around his neck.
Silas stood up. His cool gaze lingered on the "mummy-arm" for two seconds. The concern that had been on the tip of his tongue took a sharp turn and froze back into a chilly mask the moment he saw Hunter's expression.
The moment Hunter spotted Silas, the "tough guy" act he'd put on for the doctor vanished instantly. He slumped his shoulders, his blonde hair sticking messily to his forehead. His eyes were wide and damp, the spitting image of a puppy that had just been scolded for wrecking the house but was now pretending to be the victim of a great injustice.
"Professor..." Hunter sidled up to Silas, using his right hand to point at his immobile left arm. His voice was low, carrying a perfectly calibrated hint of raspiness. "The doctor said it took eight stitches. And I have to be on a drip for three days."
Silas wordlessly reached out to take the bag of medicine from him, his tone remaining frosty. "Eight stitches isn't much. If you'd come any later, this hand could have reported directly to the specimen museum."
"It hurts, it really hurts." Hunter was relentless, even going so far as to lean intentionally closer to Silas. His rich, orange-scented pheromones turned exceptionally soft due to his weakness, carrying an enticing, syrupy sweetness. "Look, I can't move my left side. My balance is off. I'm even swaying when I walk."
Silas let out a cold snort. "This is the price you pay for playing the 'Big Hero' last night."
Despite his sharp words, Silas's movement to support him was faster than anyone's. He reached out and firmly grasped Hunter's right arm; through the thin fabric of the shirt, he could feel the youth's scorching body heat.
Hunter took the opportunity to lean half his weight onto Silas. A small, successful smirk played at the corner of his mouth, though his face remained a picture of grievance as he looked at Silas. "Professor, I'm a disabled person now. My left hand is useless, I can't take care of myself... I can't even do up my own buttons..."
"And so?" Silas glanced at him sideways, his heart skipping a beat in spite of himself due to the proximity.
"So, you have to take responsibility," Hunter chirped righteously, blinking his eyes. "After all, I was injured protecting our university's 'National Treasure.' As the academic lead, it's only logical for you to show a little care to an assistant who suffered a workplace injury, right?"
Looking at his "spoiled and arrogant" demeanor, Silas was so angry he laughed. He remembered how this puppy had ferociously shielded him last night, and how that warm orange scent had marked the rest of his life. The jagged iceberg in his heart finally collapsed into a pool of spring water.
"Back to the hotel first." Silas turned his face away to avoid that burning gaze, a hint of undetectable indulgence leaking into his voice. "For the next two days... cancel the flights. I'll reimburse the tickets."
"Just the tickets?" Hunter pushed his luck, leaning in to whisper against Silas's reddening ear. "I also want that... 'hand-holding' privilege. Is that a deal?"
Silas paused in his tracks. He didn't shake him off, only offering a low reprimand: "Hunter Huo, don't push your luck."
The two slowly walked out of the hospital. Under the sunlight, Silas's cool white shirt and Hunter's massive white "mummy" arm looked strangely harmonious together.
Back in the hotel room, the ocean view outside remained magnificent, but Silas had completely lost interest in the scenery.
He watched as Hunter struggled to unscrew a water bottle with his right hand. After several failed attempts that nearly spilled water onto the thick bandages, Silas finally couldn't take it anymore. He strode over, snatched the bottle, twisted it open, and held it to Hunter's lips.
"Drink."
Hunter gave a cheeky grin and took a large gulp while being fed by Silas. When he finished, he flicked his tongue to lick a stray drop from his lip, his eyes fixed intently on Silas. "So sweet."
Silas's hand jerked. He almost lost the urge to dump the rest of the water over that blonde head.
"I'm going to make a call to report our progress." Silas fled to the balcony as if escaping. Behind him, he could hear Hunter clamoring like a hungry little animal: "Professor, I'm hungry! I want seafood congee! The kind where the shrimp are already peeled..."
Silas stood on the balcony, letting the sea breeze muss his hair. He looked down at his phone; the screen reflected his slightly flushed cheeks.
The madness of last night was an indelible experimental record, and the casualty currently acting like a brat in the room was the most unstable variable in the entire experiment.
He took a deep breath and dialed the faculty office.
As an extremely restrained—borderline workaholic—professor, Silas had never skipped work or taken leave for personal reasons. But now, looking at the boy in the room who had turned into a "disabled puppy" because of him, he felt for the first time that those so-called research deadlines and project reports weren't all that urgent.
He thought that perhaps the winds of Haicheng truly possessed a magical ability to catalyze emotions.