The soft pulse of machines filled the quiet hospital room, a gentle mechanical heartbeat that felt far too calm compared to the storm twisting inside George's chest. He had remained by Shu Yao's side for hours—watching, waiting, breathing in rhythms that were not his own. On the bed, Shu Yao lay unnervingly still, the last traces of the sedative still weighing down his lashes.
At first, he only shifted—his head turning left, then right, then left again—small motions like someone trapped in a nightmare, still choking on the memory of an elevator's suffocating walls.
Then his lashes trembled.
George shot upright. "Finally," he whispered, almost scolding himself for sounding relieved.
Slowly, painfully, Shu Yao's eyes opened. They were dazed, distant, as though he were resurfacing from the bottom of a lake. His gaze drifted to the ceiling first, then across the room, searching instinctively for the red light he feared. Finding none, he blinked again, confused.
George stepped forward, leaning just enough to avoid startling him. "You're in the hospital, Shu Yao."
Shu Yao tried to sit up, but the moment he lifted his back from the pillows, a sharp pain struck straight through his chest. His breath hitched.
"No—no, don't," George warned, hands hovering. "Just stay still."
"I… don't like being here," Shu Yao murmured. His voice was faint, thinned by exhaustion.
"You need to be here," George insisted gently. "Your body's been through too much. Rest, Shu Yao."
Shu Yao lowered his gaze. He looked bewildered, as if something important in his mind had slipped away the moment he woke. There was a nightmare lingering behind his eyes—but he could not grasp it.
George placed a steady hand on his shoulder. "Lie down. The doctor will be here again."
Shu Yao jolted, startled by the approaching footsteps. The doctor entered with an exasperated sigh.
"Well, well. Finally awake." His tone carried the dryness of a man who had warned Shu Yao one too many times. "Listen, boy—you're only twenty-four. Not forty-five. Stop living like you're trying to retire early."
Shu Yao's eyes—still red from the tears nobody had witnessed—lifted to him without a word.
"You need to take care of yourself. You're too young for this level of stress and physical strain," the doctor continued. "And you skipped meals again. All of them."
George's heart sank. So it was true.
"If you keep pushing yourself like this," the doctor said sharply, "one day you'll collapse with nothing left in your body to save you."
Shu Yao kept his head down, absorbing the reprimand in silence.
When the doctor left, George exhaled shakily. "Shu Yao… why didn't you eat?"
Shu Yao slowly raised his eyes. "I… I didn't have an appetite."
"What are you talking about?" George's voice cracked in frustration. "You're human. Humans need food. You can't keep hiding everything like this—I don't know how to help you if you shut me out all the time."
Shu Yao lowered his gaze again. "I just… don't want to eat."
"Why are you starving yourself?"
"I'm not."
George's jaw tightened. "Is it because of Bai Qi?"
Shu Yao froze.
George sighed heavily, crouching beside the bed until he was eye-level. "Shu Yao. Look at me."
Shu Yao hesitated.
"Hey. Look at me."
Slowly, Shu Yao lifted his head.
"You don't need to hurt yourself because of Bai Qi," George said. "He's been harsh. Too harsh."
Shu Yao's lips trembled, but he said nothing.
"Shu Yao," George pushed gently, "stop thinking about Bai Qi and start thinking about yourself."
Shu Yao shook his head. "You… you don't know. You know nothing about Bai Qi. He's hurt. Once he heals, he won't be cruel."
"Shu Yao," George breathed, stunned. "You're still defending him? After everything he's done?"
Shu Yao's silence was answer enough.
"Bai Qi is breaking you," George said, his voice tight. "It's—"
"No, Mr. George." Shu Yao's voice rose in fragile desperation. "You don't understand. Bai Qi wouldn't do anything wrong. It was my fault. I shouldn't have been coward."
George's stomach dropped. He placed his hands on Shu Yao's shoulders, only for Shu Yao to flinch violently, retreating a little.
"You're not coward, Shu Yao," George said quickly, softening. "Stop blaming yourself. You didn't do anything."
But then Shu Yao's breath stuttered. Panic twisted his features.
George got startled, the moment shu Yao start panicking.
"I'm sorry—Shu Yao, I'm sorry," George said immediately. "Breathe. Breathe. I didn't mean to scare you."
Shu Yao's eyes shimmered. "If… if I didn't go out that night… maybe she wouldn't have become the victim. She… she took my place."
His hands trembled as he wiped at his tears.
George rubbed his shoulder. "Okay, okay. Stop crying. You've endured enough."
But suddenly Shu Yao jolted upright with a strangled sound of pain.
"Shu Yao?!" George panicked. "I'm calling the doctor—"
Shu Yao grabbed his wrist. "Don't. I don't want them to know what's wrong with me."
"Shu Yao, you can't—"
"It's better this way," Shu Yao whispered. "Maybe I can die without knowing. Without waiting for it."
George froze, horror sinking into his bones.
Then, without thinking, he pulled Shu Yao into a tight embrace.
"Stop saying things like that," George choked. "Stop it."
Shu Yao didn't return the hug, but he didn't push him away either. He sat there, small and trembling.
"You didn't deserve any of this," George whispered. "You didn't deserve Bai Qi's cruelty. You didn't deserve these accusations. You didn't deserve the pain."
Shu Yao's eyes stung again. "Then… what should I do, Mr. George?"
George swallowed hard, pulling back just enough to see his face. "Shu Yao… I'm sorry."
Shu Yao blinked. "Why?"
George clenched his jaw. "I… read your journal. When you were with Bai Qi in Suzhou."
Shu Yao's breath shattered. His entire expression drained into panic—fear, betrayal, humiliation, all tangled at once.
"I'm sorry," George said quickly. "I didn't want to invade your privacy, "I regret it. But the way you lived… the way you suffered—I couldn't bear it."
He didn't say the rest: I couldn't bear watching you break every day.
Shu Yao looked away, tears trembling at the corners of his lashes.
"Shu Yao," George said softly, "tell Bai Qi everything."
Shu Yao's head snapped up. "I—I can't."
"You know the boy from your past," George continued gently, "it was Bai Qi."
Shu Yao shook his head violently. "No. I can't. He'll… he'll hate me."
"Show him your journal. He'll understand."
Shu Yao's voice cracked. "No, he won't. He'll be disgusted. He'll think it's wrong—that I… that I fell in love with him. He only likes Qing Yue. Not the same gender. Not me."
George blinked slowly. "Shu Yao… when I realized you were in love with Bai Qi, it wasn't wrong. It wasn't shameful. It was natural. to fall in love with someone of the same gender."
Shu Yao shook his head helplessly. "I can't. I'm sorry."
George's heart twisted. Shu Yao would rather bleed quietly than confess the truth. Rather shatter alone than risk losing Bai Qi forever.
"Just try," George whispered. "He might understand."
But Shu Yao's eyes lowered again, hiding the storm of fear inside him.
He wasn't ready. He might never be ready.
And George realized, with a pain he couldn't name, that Shu Yao's heart was braver than his body—yet more fragile than either of them had ever admitted.
George's voice softened, nearly breaking. "Shu Yao… if you're afraid, then let me do it. Let me tell Bai Qi for you."
Shu Yao's reaction was immediate—violent in its quietness. He shook his head, trembling. "No… don't. Don't do that." His voice cracked. "I only trust you. If you tell him… then I won't have anyone left."
The words hit George like a blade sliding under the ribs. Shame and fear tangled inside him. Shame—because Shu Yao trusted him more than anyone else. Fear—because if he broke that trust, Shu Yao might never look at him again.
George lifted both hands helplessly. "Okay. Okay, Shu Yao. I'm sorry. I won't say a word. The secret stays between us." He leaned closer, voice gentling further. "Please stop crying."
Shu Yao wiped his tears with the back of his hand like a child ashamed of being seen. "Bai Qi is hurt… he won't be disgusted. He'll just hate me. I don't… mind being punished."
George stared at him, heart lurching painfully. "What are you talking about, Shu Yao?"
Shu Yao lowered his gaze, voice trembling. "I don't blame him. He's innocent. When he's calmer, he won't be cruel. He was always… kind."
George exhaled sharply, rubbing Shu Yao's shoulder in helpless circles. "Shu Yao… enough. You've cried enough for ten lifetimes."
But Shu Yao simply wiped his tear tracks again, like trying to erase his own existence. George watched him, devastated. How had Bai Qi—his own nephew—driven a boy this gentle into such a state? And worst of all, George knew he couldn't fight Bai Qi. Not the heir. Not the boy raised under a thunderstorm of expectations.
He hated the truth of his own powerlessness.
---
Meanwhile, across the city, Armin strode down the quiet corridor toward Bai Qi's office. The hour was late, and the building had thinned to silence. A sliver of unease tightened between his brows. Bai Qi never left this late without notifying someone.
Armin reached the tall doors.
It was unlocked.
He pushed it open without knocking.
The moment the door swung wide, the scent hit him—sharp, alcoholic, heavy. Armin blinked once, then again.
Bai Qi was slumped over his desk, framed by the dim lamp's glow. Several bottles of whiskey crowded the surface like an audience to his collapse. One lay empty. Another was half gone. A third was uncorked, forgotten midway to his lips.
Armin's breath hitched. "Bai Qi…?"
Bai Qi stirred, lifting his head sluggishly. His eyes were red—not from tears but from exhaustion and fumes. His hair was tousled, his tie loosened halfway down his chest. He looked nothing like the immaculate, controlled man who terrified half the city.
He looked… broken.
Armin stepped closer. "What have you done to yourself?"
Bai Qi blinked at him, vision unfocused. Then, with a lazy, warped smile that didn't belong to him, he mumbled, "She always complains… when I drink…"
Armin froze. "What? The—?"
But Bai Qi's words slurred into meaningless fog.
Armin exhaled long and shaky. "Enough. You'll catch cold if you stay here all night."
He reached forward, lifting one of Bai Qi's arms around his shoulders. The man sagged heavily—dead weight, warm with liquor and grief.
"This isn't like you," Armin muttered under his breath as he hooked his arm around Bai Qi's torso and coaxed him to stand. "Drinking yourself senseless like some lovelorn teenager… good grief."
Bai Qi slurred something again—Armin caught only fragments.
Armin tightened his hold. "I heard the elevator malfunctioned"
But Bai Qi wasn't listening. He was somewhere else entirely, sunk deep into the swamp of his own mind. Armin could practically feel the storm inside him—rage, fear, guilt, something darker.
Armin hissed softly as Bai Qi's weight shifted. "You're reeking of alcohol. God, I can't stand this smell."
He dragged him gently toward the door. Bai Qi stumbled once, nearly falling, and Armin grabbed him tighter, muttering curses that held more worry than irritation.
"Why tonight?" Armin whispered. "What happened to you?"
He already knew the answer.
All the gibberish about, there rival Bai qi fiancee, and that girl who looked exactly like Bai qi fiancee.
Armin sighed, tightening his grip on him.
"You're going to destroy yourself at this rate," he murmured.
Bai Qi's head dropped lightly onto Armin's shoulder, and in a barely-there breath, he whispered something that chilled Armin to the bone.
"…I miss her…"
Before he could question it, Bai Qi's knees buckled again. Armin steadied him quickly and resumed dragging him toward the waiting car.
He didn't see the way Bai Qi's fingers twitched—curling, clinging—not to Armin, but to the ghost of a wrist much smaller, much more fragile.
He didn't hear the name that slipped from Bai Qi's lips, almost inaudible.
"…Qing yue…"
But the night heard it.
The night remembered.
And somewhere across the city, Shu Yao trembled in a hospital bed—unaware that the man who had nearly destroyed him was drunk, and shattered.