The ache in Shu Yao's ankle had become a quiet fire, pulsing steadily beneath the surface. Each movement sent embers licking through muscle and bone, but he said nothing.
The car rolled through quiet streets toward his home, golden light beginning to stain the edges of the sky. In the back seat, Shu Yao leaned slightly against the window, eyes half-lidded, fingers resting near his lap. He was too tired to speak. Too full of thoughts to breathe easily.
When the car came to a gentle stop outside the gate of his home, Bai Qi's door was opened first by the driver. With a low grunt and his usual careless grace, Bai Qi stepped out, brushing the creases from his black suit. He walked around and opened Shu Yao's door himself.
"Come on," he murmured, voice softer than usual. A hesitant hand reached in.
Shu Yao's eyes fluttered open. He looked down—first at his swollen ankle, then up at Bai Qi. There was something in his gaze, unreadable, maybe resigned. He moved as if to accept the offered hand—but paused.
A voice broke the moment.
"Ah! Bai Qi!"
They both turned.
Qing Yue, bright as spring and running like the breeze, bounded down the path and, without missing a step, flung her arms around Bai Qi's neck. And just like that—her lips met his.
A kiss.
Soft. Sudden.
Shu Yao's breath hitched. He turned his face away almost instantly, but it was too late—the sight had already struck him with the precision of a dagger. He wasn't supposed to be there. Not in that moment. Not in their moment.
Usually they kissed when he wasn't looking. Usually he pretended not to notice.
But this time—he was right there. And it shattered something fragile he had barely managed to keep together.
The heat in his ankle vanished beneath the cold that poured through his chest.
When Qing Yue finally pulled away, she caught sight of the still figure in the back seat. Her eyes widened.
"Ahh! You shameless brat!" she cried, burying her reddened face into Bai Qi's chest. "Why didn't you say Gege was here too?"
She rushed to the door, disappearing inside with muffled laughter and a squeal of embarrassment.
Bai Qi stood frozen for a moment, then turned awkwardly back to Shu Yao. His usual charm faltered.
"Ah… that was…" He scratched the back of his neck, face flushed in a way that didn't suit him. "I mean, she—"
But Shu Yao was already shifting.
With teeth clenched and fire blooming through every tendon in his foot, he began to rise. Slowly. Painfully. Holding onto the car door for support.
"You should go," Shu Yao said quietly. "She might be waiting for you."
"But your ankle—"
"It's fine," he interrupted, voice a little too sharp, a little too bright. "Not hurting like before."
Bai Qi hesitated. He looked toward the house, then back at Shu Yao.
"I'll be back. Just want to make sure she's okay."
Shu Yao didn't respond. Just nodded, lips pressed into a line.
Bai Qi lingered another second, then turned and jogged up the steps, calling softly for Qing Yue.
And Shu Yao— was alone again.
He stood there, one arm against the car, the other trembling at his side. The driver, watching quietly, stepped forward.
"Sir," he said gently, "let me help you."
Shu Yao blinked. For a moment, he didn't move. Then, finally, he nodded.
The driver looped one steady arm around his waist, helping him make the slow journey to the front door.
Each step was agony. Like dipping his foot in molten iron. But he didn't stop. He couldn't. Not now.
"If you don't mind," the driver said softly, "may I ask something?"
Shu Yao gave a weak nod.
"Why did you lie?"
He didn't need to explain what he meant.
That it wasn't hurting anymore. That he could walk just fine.
Shu Yao said nothing. The silence stretched.
But the driver didn't push.
Some truths were too sad to say aloud. Some pain, too familiar to name.
And so they walked. Step by step. Through pain. Through silence. Through everything that was breaking quietly inside him.
Until the door closed gently behind them, sealing the ache in like a secret.
The house welcomed them with a quiet hush, the kind reserved for worry.
Bai Qi stepped in first, already rehearsing his words. "This morning, I might've—accidentally hurt Shu Yao's ankle," he admitted, scratching the back of his neck with an awkward laugh.
But he barely finished the sentence before Qing Yue, catching the last of his words, brushed past him in a blur of concern. Her eyes found her brother the moment Shu Yao entered, leaning heavily on the driver's support.
"Gege!" she exclaimed, rushing to him. "Where is it? Which ankle?"
Shu Yao flinched slightly, startled by her urgency. "It's fine. Just a small—"
But before he could finish, Qing Yue had already crouched before him, her soft hands cupping his swollen ankle like it was the hinge of the world.
Her brows furrowed. "It's swollen," she said with a gasp, then looked up at him with misted eyes. "It's hurting too much, isn't it?"
Shu Yao turned his face away.
And then she said something that cleaved the air between them.
"It's because it got twisted in the wrong way, didn't it?"
Bai Qi stiffened. Guilt swept over him like a cold tide.
Qing Yue glanced back over her shoulder. "Bai Qi, come here. Help me twist it back the right way."
"No," Shu Yao interjected quickly. "It'll heal on its own. Really, it's—"
But Qing Yue silenced him with that unwavering little sister stare, filled with devotion and defiance. "Don't worry, gege. You're strong. I know pain doesn't scare you."
Shu Yao smiled faintly, but in his mind, a different truth whispered: I'm tired of pain.
Bai Qi moved in slowly, hesitating as his hand hovered over Shu Yao's ankle. "Then I'll try twisting it like this…" he murmured.
His fingers found the tender joint and adjusted it—not roughly this time, but with more care than before. A subtle pop, and the ankle shifted.
And Shu Yao—
—gasped.
No. He didn't even gasp.
His whole body locked up like a string snapped. The pain struck with such brute force that his legs gave way beneath him.
The driver lunged forward to catch him, but it was too late. Shu Yao collapsed forward—straight into Bai Qi's chest.
His breath was gone. His body limp.
And then—his eyes.
Dark.
Empty.
A blackout bloomed across him like a storm cloud swallowing the sky.
Bai Qi's arms caught him instinctively, and his voice cracked. "Shu Yao?"
But Shu Yao didn't hear him.
He had already vanished into that place where pain becomes too much for the body to bear—
—and silence takes over.
Like falling into the arms of sleep, or sorrow, or something that feels too much like both.
And the world, for a moment, stood very still.
Bai Qi's breath caught in his throat.
"Shu Yao?" he called, his voice dipping low, his fingers lightly tapping the pale cheek before him. "Open your eyes. Hey… come on."
But Shu Yao didn't stir.
His body, so slender and warm just moments ago, now lay limp in Bai Qi's arms like a faded blossom too weary to keep its bloom. There was no cry of pain. No whimper. Just the unnerving stillness of someone who had borne too much, too quietly.
The driver stood frozen behind them, a concerned crease folding deep into his brow, yet wisely said nothing.
Qing Yue's voice shattered the silence.
"What happened to Gege?" Her voice was high-pitched with panic, "Why did he faint like that?!"
"I—" Bai Qi faltered. He looked down at the body in his arms again. "I don't know."
But he did. He knew. And the guilt scorched down his spine like a blade dipped in ice.
"Call the doctor. Now," Bai Qi commanded. "I'll take him to his room."
Qing Yue spun on her heel, vanishing down the hallway like a gust of wind caught in fear. The faint ringing of a dial tone echoed soon after—urgent and trembling.
Bai Qi adjusted his grip on Shu Yao's fragile form, cradling him with a tenderness that belied the self-loathing coiling inside his chest. Each step was deliberate, as if any sudden motion might unravel what little breath Shu Yao had left.
The door to Shu Yao's room gave a soft creak as Bai Qi nudged it open with his shoulder. The room smelled faintly of lavender and linen—like a quiet evening that had long since passed.
He approached the bed and slowly, carefully, lowered Shu Yao onto the mattress. His hands moved with reverence, he will brushing a stray lock of his hair away from his face and then his gaze will be again fix on shu yao.
Shu Yao's lips were slightly parted, his face drained of color, and Bai Qi could still see the thin shadow of pain etched around his eyes.
He sat beside him, fingers curled into fists on his knees, the silence pressing in like walls closing around him.
He remembered the moment too vividly: the soft resistance under his palms, the twist he thought would help—but didn't. He'd felt the snap of tension, seen the way Shu Yao's entire frame had gone rigid as if electrocuted. But even then, Shu Yao hadn't cried out. He had only… endured. Until he couldn't anymore.
Why didn't you say something? Bai Qi thought, almost desperately. Why didn't you stop me?
He glanced down at the injured ankle. It was red, flushed, swelling at the joint, pulsing under the skin like a bruise that hadn't decided where to settle. The sight of it made Bai Qi feel sick.
He hadn't just twisted it once—he had done it twice. And Shu Yao had said nothing. Just smiled faintly. Lied, like he always did. Lied that it didn't hurt.
Bai Qi swallowed the guilt rising in his throat like bile. He hadn't meant to hurt him. He truly thought he was helping. But now, here Shu Yao was—unconscious, broken down from a weight no one saw him carry.
And all Bai Qi could do… was sit beside him. And wait. And hope.
Hope that this boy, who never asked for help, would wake up.