When Kanade woke up, he felt as if his entire body had been thrown into a furnace.
He was burning up, every inch of his skin on fire. His head felt heavy as if filled with lead, his eyelids too heavy to open. He tried to turn over, but his body wouldn't obey, as if nailed to the bed. His throat was dry as sandpaper, his lips cracked, the taste of blood spreading on his tongue.
He opened his mouth to call out, but no sound came. He could only lie there, listening to his own breathing echo in the darkness, rapid and heavy.
Then he heard another sound.
Footsteps, very light, coming from next door. Then the sound of water, a cup touching a tabletop. Someone sat down beside him, a hand covering his forehead. That hand was cold, so cold it made him shiver.
"The fever is severe." It was Nangong Wentian's voice, low, as if speaking to himself.
He wanted to say "I'm fine," but his lips moved without producing any words. The hand moved away from his forehead, followed by the sound of a towel being dipped in water. A warm towel was placed on his forehead, carrying a faint scent of disinfectant. He felt a little better, but his body was still burning, as if a fire raged inside his bones.
His consciousness began to blur. Things he thought he had forgotten began to surface from the depths of his memory.
White ceiling. White walls. White lights. Always white, no other colors. He lay on a white bed, his hands and feet bound, unable to move. People walked around him, dressed in white clothes, wearing white masks. He couldn't see their faces, only their eyes—cold, scrutinizing eyes, like those looking at a test subject.
"Don't…" He heard his own voice, soft, like a child pleading.
A needle pierced his arm, cold liquid flowing into his veins. Someone was recording data, the tip of a pen scratching on paper. Someone was speaking, the voice coming from far away.
"Test subject number 007, gene stability test phase three. After drug injection, heart rate increased to 140 beats per minute, body temperature 38.5 degrees Celsius, continue observation."
He wanted to scream, to shout, but something was stuffed in his mouth, and no sound came out. He could only lie there, watching those white figures walk back and forth, watching those cold eyes stare at him from behind masks.
"Mom…" he heard himself say. He didn't know what the word meant, didn't know why it came out of his mouth. He only remembered, when he was very young, a woman had held him, warm and soft. But that was a long, long time ago, so long he couldn't tell if it was a memory or an illusion.
"Why… am I a monster…"
His voice trembled, as if rising from a very deep place. Those white figures disappeared, but the memories continued.
He stood on a street, surrounded by people. They were looking at him, their eyes filled with fear, disgust, and curiosity. Someone pointed at him and said, "A Coordinator, it's a Coordinator." Someone spat at his feet, someone picked up a stone and threw it at him. The stone hit his shoulder, it hurt, but he didn't cry. He had already learned not to cry because crying was useless.
He started running, running until he reached a place with no one around. He crouched in a corner, hugging his knees, burying his face in his arms. He didn't know who he was, didn't know why he had come into this world, didn't know what the meaning of living was.
Then the scene changed again. He stood before an open door, inside a woman was crying. She held a child in her arms, the child was bleeding, blood flowing down from its forehead, staining her clothes. She looked up, saw him, her eyes filled with hatred.
"It's all because of you Coordinators!" she screamed. "If it weren't for you, my child wouldn't be hurt!"
He wanted to say sorry, wanted to say it wasn't him, wanted to say he was a victim too. But those words stuck in his throat, unable to come out. He turned and ran, ran into the darkness, never looking back.
"Mom... why... am I a monster..."
Kanade tossed in his unconscious state, his hands flailing aimlessly in the air. His face was covered in sweat, his hair soaked and plastered to his forehead. His lips moved, emitting incoherent sounds.
Nangong Wentian sat by the bed, holding his hand. That hand was burning hot, the fingers slender, the knuckles prominent, like the wing of an injured bird. He gripped it tightly, as if afraid that if he let go, this hand would fly away.
"I'm here," he whispered. "I'm here, you're not alone."
Kanade didn't know if he heard. His eyes were tightly shut, his eyelashes trembling, his face wearing an expression of pain. The things buried deep in his memory, the things he thought he had forgotten, all surged up at this moment, like a breached flood, drowning him.
Nangong Wentian used his other hand to pick up a towel and wipe the sweat from his face. The towel quickly grew warm, he changed to another one, continuing to wipe. He didn't know what else he could do, only that he could stay with him like this, holding his hand, saying over and over, "I'm here, I'm here."
Outside the window, the sky gradually brightened. The first ray of sunlight shone through the cracks in the wooden boards, drawing a slender golden line in front of the bed. Kanade's fever hadn't subsided yet, but his breathing had steadied a bit, no longer as rapid as before. His hand still held Nangong Wentian's hand, gripping it tightly, as if afraid that if he let go, he would fall into an abyss.
Nangong Wentian didn't pull his hand away. He just sat like that, one hand held by Kanade, the other holding a towel, wiping the sweat from his face. There were heavy dark circles under his eyes, but he didn't sleep. He didn't dare to sleep, afraid that Kanade would wake up in the middle of the night and find no one there, afraid that when he needed someone, there would be no one to respond.
The sunlight slowly moved in, shining on Kanade's face. His complexion was still very pale, but better than last night. His lips were no longer dry and cracked, his breathing steady. His hand loosened a bit, no longer gripping so tightly, but still hadn't let go.
Nangong Wentian gently withdrew his hand and went to pour a glass of water. When he returned, Kanade's eyes were open.
Those eyes were very bright, brighter than usual, glowing with an abnormal light due to the fever. But what was inside them had changed. No longer the vigilance and defensiveness of a wounded beast, but something softer, like a tightly shut door that had finally cracked open a sliver.
"You're awake." Nangong Wentian handed over the water glass. "Have some water."
Kanade did not take the glass. He stared at Nangong Wentian, watching him for a long time. There was a strange expression in those eyes, as if confirming something, as if searching for something.
"What's wrong?" Nangong Wentian asked.
"I..." Kanade spoke, his voice so hoarse it was almost inaudible, "What did I say?"
"Nothing."
"I did." Kanade's voice was very soft. "I heard it. I was talking in my sleep."
Nangong Wentian was silent for a moment. "You said some things. But they weren't important."
"How can they not be important?" Kanade lowered his head, looking at his own hands. "I said 'Mom.' I said 'I'm a monster.' I remember it all."
The room was very quiet. Sunlight flowed between the two of them, dust dancing in the light. Kanade stared at his hands, which were trembling—not from cold, but from the memories flooding back.
"I'm not a monster," he whispered, as if trying to convince himself. "I'm not..."
"You're not," Nangong Wentian said.
Kanade looked up at him. The young man's eyes were calm, without sympathy or pity, only a very certain light.
"You're not a monster," Nangong Wentian repeated. "You're a person. A wounded person who needs help. That's all."
Kanade's lips moved, wanting to say something, but his throat felt blocked. He lowered his head, and his shoulders began to tremble. At first lightly, then more and more violently, until his whole body was shaking.
He didn't cry out loud. He clenched his teeth, swallowing all the sounds. Tears streamed from his tightly shut eyes, dripping down his cheeks onto his hands—one drop, two drops, then more and more.
Nangong Wentian didn't speak. He just sat there, waiting for him to finish shedding those tears. The sunlight outside the window grew brighter, shining on both of them, dyeing everything gold.
It was impossible to tell how much time had passed when Kanade finally stopped. He wiped his face with his sleeve and looked up. His eyes were red, his nose was red—he looked like an ordinary child.
"No one has ever treated me like this," he said, his voice hoarse. "Never."
Nangong Wentian handed him the water glass. This time, he took it, drank a large gulp, then another.
"Nangong," he put down the glass and looked at the other. "Can I stay here?"
Nangong Wentian was taken aback for a moment, then smiled. "Aren't you already here?"
"I mean..." Kanade lowered his head. "I don't want to run anymore. I want to stay, with you."
The room was very quiet. Sunlight shone between the two of them, illuminating everything clearly. Kanade looked at Nangong Wentian, waiting for his answer. His hands were trembling, but he didn't look away.
"Alright," Nangong Wentian said. "Stay."
A faint smile touched Kanade's lips, so subtle it was almost imperceptible. But it was his first genuine smile—not mocking, not bitter, but a true, heartfelt one.
"Thank you," he said.
"No need," Nangong Wentian replied, standing up. "You must be hungry. I'll get some food."
As he reached the door, Kanade called out, "Nangong."
"Hmm?"
"You said before that you want to change the world," Kanade looked at him. "Can I help you?"
Nangong Wentian turned around, gazing at the dark-haired youth sitting on the bed. Sunlight enveloped him in a soft halo. Tear stains still marked his face, his eyes were still red, but the light in them had changed. No longer fear, no longer anger—it was something firmer, brighter.
"Of course you can," Nangong Wentian smiled. "But for now, you need to recover your strength first."
Kanade nodded and lay back down. He closed his eyes, the faint smile still lingering on his lips. This was the first time he had slept so peacefully since leaving the laboratory. Not because he was no longer afraid, but because he knew someone would be by his side, holding his hand when he needed it.
Outside the window, the sun rose higher. Its light streamed into the small room, warming and illuminating everything. Dust danced in the rays like countless tiny stars.
Nangong Wentian cooked porridge in the kitchen. The water bubbled softly in the pot, steam rising and turning into white mist in the morning light. He added a pinch of salt and some vegetables to the porridge, stirred it, then turned off the heat.
He ladled a bowl and brought it to the bedside. Kanade was already asleep, breathing steadily, his brow relaxed. His hand rested outside the blanket, fingers no longer clenched but naturally open, like those of an ordinary child.
Nangong Wentian placed the porridge on the table and sat by the bed. He looked at Kanade's face, its expression serene, as if he had finally found a place where he could feel at ease.
"From now on, you have one," he whispered. "You're no longer alone."
Sunlight poured in, bathing the two of them. One asleep, one awake. A bowl of porridge steamed on the table, warming the small room and the hearts of both.
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