Chapter 2: CH Extra 2

Extra 2: A Day in Nursing Injuries

Yue Zhishi had consistently been worried about Song Yu’s arm, so after resting at home for two days, he brought Song Yu to the hospital for a check up. 

People were hurrying back and forth in the hospital; Yue Zhishi stood protectively at Song Yu’s right hand side, afraid someone would either bump or jar his arm. He’d already registered an appointment online three days ago and had booked a famous orthopaedic surgeon — which was also why there were so many people waiting in line. Holding Song Yu’s left hand, Yue Zhishi pulled him across the waiting area and found an empty spot in the back, on the far left side of the final row.

“Sit,” Yue Zhishi said, pointing at the seat.

Song Yu wasn’t planning on moving, only indifferently saying, “You sit. I want to stand.”

But he wasn’t allowed to act cool for all that long — Yue Zhishi promptly pressed him down onto the seat. “You’re the patient.”

Yue Zhishi stood by his side, his eyes turned towards the number displayed on the screen not too far away. He squinted and then, like a small adult, said to Song Yu, “There are two people in front of us.”

“Mn.” Song Yu caught Yue Zhishi’s fingers, lowering his head to stare at the ring on Yue Zhishi’s ring finger. He then casually tugged Yue Zhishi’s hand in his direction lightly, doing it a good few times before Yue Zhishi understood Song Yu was hoping for him to come in a bit closer.

“I’m already really close,” Yue Zhishi said softly. His body was touching Song Yu’s shoulders.

Raising his head, Song Yu didn’t speak. He let go of Yue Zhishi’s hand and patted his own knees, and he even arched his eyebrows — he was signalling Yue Zhishi to sit down.

They were surrounded by people here. Yue Zhishi shook his head lightly, his ears flushing, and whispered I can’t.

And yet Song Yu replied with a completely serious face, “You can. My legs are really comfortable.” 

Yue Zhishi covered up Song Yu’s mouth in a panic as soon as he said that, awkwardly pretending he hadn’t heard a single thing.

The number on the display screen changed at this moment. The door to the consultation room opened, and a girl dressed in the thick winter uniform of a nearby high school jumped out in small leaps, supported by a boy. She’d most likely sprained her leg: her upraised ankle was a bit swollen, and she wore a cotton slipper over it.

The boy was carrying two schoolbags on his back, and he was also holding an x-ray. 

“The school term hasn’t ended yet?” Yue Zhishi released Song Yu’s mouth. He stared at the boy and girl as he squeezed Song Yu’s fingers, and he murmured, “They should be third year high school students. I feel bad for them.” 

Song Yu didn’t say anything, only tilting his head to rest against the side of Yue Zhishi’s waist.

Yue Zhishi’s waist was very soft, and so were his hands as they came to lie on Song Yu’s face. He lowered his head again, softly calling gege. “You didn’t sleep well?”

He’d sensed that Song Yu hadn’t slept well last night, possibly because of the pain in his arm and possibly because he hadn’t been able to flip his body around. He had only been allowed to lie on his back. Yue Zhishi had hugged his uninjured arm the entire night, sleeping closely, but he hadn’t slept too deeply either in his worry — he’d woken up quite early.

But in a low voice, Song Yu said no.

Reaching a hand into his pockets, Yue Zhishi pulled out a pineapple flavoured milk candy and held it by Song Yu’s mouth once he’d unpeeled the creamy yellow wrapping paper. Using a tone of voice typically used to coax children, he encouragingly said, “This one’s really yummy.”

When Song Yu frowned with a bit of disdain, Yue Zhishi said in an injured voice, “I specifically brought this for you since you’re seeing a doctor.” 

Song Yu ended up eating the candy, and then he asked him, “Why’d you bring candy?”

“Because you used to do that for me.”

Yue Zhishi had really hated going to the hospital as a child, scared and nervous every time he was brought in. He’d needed shots almost every time he’d come, and so sometimes he’d start crying as soon as he sat in front of a doctor. 

Song Yu had also been quite young at that time, and he’d always fish out a few pieces of candy and stuff them into Yue Zhishi’s hand. He’d then deliberately say, “I don’t even know where they came from. I hate eating candy, I’ll give them to you. Don’t cry after you’ve had candy.”

And from then on, the tiny Yue Zhishi had started to slowly accept going to see the doctors. It also later turned into a habit — he would pitifully plead for Song Yu to give him a piece of candy before entering the hospital. 

It had been strange, even then. Yue Zhishi wouldn’t eat the candy Lin Rong brought; he’d only take candy from Song Yu. Song Yu forgot to bring candy one time, and as his parents took Yue Zhishi to the waiting area, he’d silently gone to the small supermarket outside the hospital to buy some. That place hadn’t sold yummy milk candies, so Song Yu had had no choice but to buy a packet of fruit-flavoured hard candy, Yue Zhishi still eating them very happily.

“That was because you really liked to cry when you were sick as a child.” Song Yu pretended to look annoyed. “I had no other choice.” 

Yue Zhishi wasn’t upset from Song Yu pretending to be annoyed — delight would fill his heart whenever he thought about their childhood. He reached out a hand and touched Song Yu’s hair, his movements the same as stroking a cat when happy.

In the row ahead of them, two people waiting to see the doctor got up and left. That high school couple sat down in their seats, diagonally to the right in front of Yue Zhishi and Song Yu. The girl’s voice was very sweet, and she curved her head onto her boyfriend’s shoulder; she seemed to be cutely whining.

Yue Zhishi’s eyes would occasionally flick over to them, but he didn’t think doing that was good and so returned to look back at Song Yu’s face. He then quietly said, “Would they be considered as early dating?”

“What do you think?” Song Yu faintly leaned his head back, meeting his eyes.

“I think so…” Yue Zhishi’s hand was on Song Yu’s neck, and it fiddled with the white sling as Yue Zhishi’s eyes once again looked in the couple’s direction.

Suddenly, he heard Song Yu speak; he pulled his gaze back.

“You lost me my chance to experience early dating,” Song Yu unabashedly said. His face was calm and composed, and when he saw Yue Zhishi widen his eyes, he continued to say, “Or else I could’ve experienced it as early as I wanted.”

Yue Zhishi felt his face warming up from Song Yu’s words, and he weakly retorted, “…It wouldn’t have been that early.” 

“Are you sure?” Song Yu didn’t agree with him, raising an eyebrow. “You’re the one who wanted to be your own sister in law while still in kindergarten.” 

The moment his dark past came out, Yue Zhishi once again subconsciously went to cover Song Yu’s mouth. Song Yu, now no longer allowed to speak, lightly kissed Yue Zhishi’s palm twice — and when Yue Zhishi pulled his hand back in a fluster, Song Yu nabbed his hand and touched his lips to Yue Zhishi’s wrist. He then refused to let Yue Zhishi leave.

It was only two simple kisses, yet Yue Zhishi’s heart was already beating unsteadily. He tried to distract himself by observing other people, and he looked towards that high school couple, seeing the girl raising her head. She used a very cute voice to say to her boyfriend, “Laogong, I want to eat ice cream later.”

Yue Zhishi’s eyes rounded in surprise. As though having guessed he would be extremely astonished, Song Yu intentionally looked up at him. With a faint smile on his face, he teased, “What’s that look on your face?”

There were no mirrors here, so Yue Zhishi didn’t actually know what his face looked like. He touched his face with a hand, and then he crouched down next to Song Yu’s knees, whispering, “She just called him laogong…”

He thought Song Yu hadn’t heard.

Song Yu had utterly no reaction to it. “Mn.”

“She’s still so young,” Yue Zhishi said, his pair of eyes large and wide and pure.

You haven’t reached twenty yet either.

“You don’t have to be married to call someone laogong.” Song Yu said to him, “It’s just an endearment.” He originally wanted to say ‘just like how you call me gege’, but on second thought, Yue Zhishi actually thought of him as his older brother when he called him gege.

Yue Zhishi said I see in a very soft voice, his chin on top of Song Yu’s knees, and looked back at the boy. As expected, the boy looked extremely shy; his neck and ears were all flushed, but he also looked really happy.

The number on the screen changed again, and the nurse in front of the consultation room called out, “Is number 29 here?”

Yue Zhishi immediately stood up. “Here.”

He was grateful to hear Song Yu’s injury wasn’t as severe as he’d imagined. Just like the time Song Yu had injured his wrist in his third year of high school, Yue Zhishi had searched all over the internet for information about fractured bones. He’d gotten more scared the more he’d read, to the point he almost couldn’t sleep, and now, he stood next to Song Yu and acted like his legal guardian, continuously asking the doctor piles of questions. He didn’t give Song Yu an opportunity to interrupt. Once he heard the surgeon say Song Yu would be fine as long as he took care of himself for three months, Yue Zhishi finally relaxed — he expressed his thanks again and again.

He tugged Song Yu over to pick up his medication, and he had Song Yu stand far, far away when lining up, worried someone might knock into him in the mass of people. Yue Zhishi lined up by himself, and the two of them looked at each other with a wide gap in between; he used some fairly strange looking body movements to talk to Song Yu and looked particularly silly. 

“We’ll need to come back for another check up in two weeks.” Yue Zhishi held Song Yu’s hand as they exited the hospital. The weather after Lunar New Year was still very cold. Having ordered a taxi, he sneezed three times in a row as they waited by the side of the road, and he ended up being pulled into Song Yu’s arms and covered by his coat.

When they finally got into the taxi, Yue Zhishi intently studied Song Yu’s x-ray. “Human bones are so narrow,” he said, before gently touching the fracture shown on the film with a bit of distress. He then touched Song Yu’s hand, now in a cast. As though he was casting a spell, he whispered under his breath, “Hurry up and get better.”

Finding him adorable, Song Yu lowered his head and kissed the top of Yue Zhishi’s head.

Yue Zhishi thought his cast really suited having something drawn on it, since it was so white and pale. Abruptly, he heard Song Yu say, “Professor He said I don’t have to head out for fieldwork for half a year.”

“Half a year?” Yue Zhishi lightly said, “So long.”

“Mn, I’ll take this time to write a few more research papers. He even said next month they’ll be switching to a better shockproof surveyor control vehicle with an area specifically to hold instruments. There’ll be a lower likelihood of injuries.” 

“That’s good.” Yue Zhishi tilted his head onto Song Yu’s shoulder. He could sense the driver glancing at him through the rearview mirror, but he didn’t pay him much notice.

“When we’re officially participating in emergency mapping work, we’ll be surrounded by very high safety measures.” Song Yu explained, “This time honestly was an accident we weren’t prepared for. Professor He’s previous work was all done after the disaster, and the work was essentially just controlling drones inside the control vehicle. Danger levels were relatively low.”

Hearing Song Yu say so much to him, Yue Zhishi felt a pang of pain in his heart for no reason at all. It’d already been so many days, and yet Song Yu was still explaining things to him, trying to tell him — whether intentionally or not — that his work wasn’t actually that dangerous.

“I know. I know it came about really suddenly, and you guys had to enter the battlefield without any preparations. It’s good no one got hurt.” Yue Zhishi nestled securely against him. “Song Yu, I’m already no longer that scared.”

“Really?”

“Mn. Humans always need to grow up.” Yue Zhishi smiled and said, “And besides, I know you’ll take care of yourself for me.”

Song Yu also gave him a very faint smile, promising I would, and then said to Yue Zhishi, “When you’re in front of me, don’t grow up.”

That was a very unrealistic desire, but Song Yu truly did want it. In front of himself, he hoped Yue Zhishi could forever be frank and straightforward, immature; he hoped Yue Zhishi would look for him whenever he wanted something, wanting Yue Zhishi to hold the deepest reliance towards him. It didn’t matter that they took care of each other — he still wanted Yue Zhishi’s care for him to forever be as clumsy and adorable as a young child pretending to be an adult.

Adults had nowhere to release their feelings of helplessness and distress. Song Yu simply wanted to be the shelter for Yue Zhishi’s childlike feelings — so when in his arms, Yue Zhishi could cry when he wanted to cry and could laugh when he wanted to laugh.

After returning home, they noticed a post it note from Lin Rong stuck onto the entrance hallway’s shoe cabinet.

[We’re going to a birthday party for one of my girlies, we won’t be back.]

Song Yu couldn’t hold back from scoffing, “Still calling them girlies at her age.”

Yue Zhishi silently thought, Aunt Rong remained like a young girl for so long because Uncle Song always indulged her. And even though he too wanted Song Yu to always spoil him, he couldn’t right now: Song Yu was wounded.

“Gege, I’ll cook.”

Seeing how animated Yue Zhishi was, Song Yu walked towards him after throwing his coat onto the sofa, questioning, “Are you sure?”

He had a bad premonition — after all, despite his deft hands, Yue Zhishi really didn’t have much talent when it came to cooking. He’d also never needed to cook, since he had both Lin Rong and Song Yu; he had essentially zero experience.

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“Yeah.” Yue Zhishi was determined, pulling an apron over himself. He saw a pot of pork ribs and lotus root soup in the kitchen, still hot from Lin Rong making it, so he turned to face Song Yu and asked, “How about I make you some eggs?” 

Song Yu wanted to urge him not to, but Yue Zhishi had already cracked open an egg. With his back towards him, he quietly made a noise of surprise, and then he reached in with chopsticks to pick something out from the bowl with the egg.

Eighty percent chance some shell pieces fell inside, Song Yu inwardly thought.

“It’s okay, it’s not a big problem,” Yue Zhishi muttered to himself as he used his chopsticks to briskly beat the eggs. Song Yu wanted to come in and help, but Yue Zhishi decisively rejected him, saying, “Go sit down and have some soup first.”

The kitchen was an open plan kitchen, so even if Song Yu didn’t go in, he could still pretty much see what Yue Zhishi was doing.

It felt like what had originally not been a big problem suddenly turned into a big problem.

In the end, after turning off the stove, Yue Zhishi stood in front of the counter for a while with his back towards Song Yu. Struggling with himself, he turned his head around, looked at Song Yu and said, “Maybe let’s not have eggs today…”

“Bring them over,” Song Yu said.

Yue Zhishi let out an ‘oh’, very reluctantly bringing over to the table the eggs he’d both burned and scrambled into pieces. He knew better than anyone else that Song Yu was especially picky when it came to food; he sometimes even nitpicked at Aunt Rong’s food, refusing to even touch his chopsticks if a certain dish had the ginger he disliked.

“Don’t eat it.” Yue Zhishi sheepishly scooped up a few more pork ribs from the pot of soup and gave them to him. “Eat the ribs Aunt Rong made, what you eat will help heal that part of you.”

But Song Yu mutely picked up a piece of the scrambled eggs, tasting it.

The calmer he was, the more anxious Yue Zhishi felt. “Ge…”

“It’s passable.” Song Yu took another bite. “It tastes better than it looks.”

Yue Zhishi didn’t really believe him, taking up his own pair of chopsticks to try the eggs. He then lowered his head and focused on drinking his soup; he didn’t touch those eggs anymore. He was probably unlucky — the eggs he ate just so happened to have some of the eggshell he hadn’t managed to get out completely.  

Song Yu ended up finishing the entire plate of scrambled eggs, and he even found an excuse for himself, saying he just so happened to feel like eggs today.

Yue Zhishi felt like his ‘just so happened’ came about particularly suspiciously, so he despondently cleaned up the bowls and chopsticks. He turned on the water at the sink and said, “I won’t cook anymore.” 

Leaning against him, Song Yu smoothed aside Yue Zhishi’s hair and kissed the side of his face. In a grave yet tender voice, he said, “But I finished it all.” 

The way he said it sounded like he was looking for praise, and it rather stirred Yue Zhishi’s small, prideful heart. He turned and stared at Song Yu’s face. “So you mean it really was hard to eat.”

“It was good,” Song Yu said without hesitating. And he said it without shifting his face at all, as though whatever he said was true. His gaze swept over Yue Zhishi’s very soft-looking mouth. “You really won’t cook anymore?”

“Mn.” Yue Zhishi nodded.

“Cook,” Song Yu said very softly, coaxing him. “Cook only for me.”

He hesitated for two seconds, but Yue Zhishi still wasn’t able to refuse Song Yu. He could only drop his eyes and say, appearing very docile, “All right.” 

As though thinking he’d agreed too hastily, Yue Zhishi turned around, lifted a bowl and said in a serious voice, “Once I’ve learned to cook well, I’ll cook for you often.”

Song Yu clearly only had one moveable hand, but he still took the bowl Yue Zhishi had covered in suds and rinsed it clean under the faucet.

“You don’t need to learn all that well.” He spoke completely casually, using a relaxed voice as though he was the world’s least picky eater. “You’re already really good the way you are now.”

“You truly ask very little from me.” Yue Zhishi smiled as he soaped up the final plate. The sunlight from outside the kitchen window shone through the layer of clouds and lit up his eyelashes, turning them pale and translucent.

“I’m not.” Song Yu helped him rinse off the plate, placing it on the counter. “Because you’re already very good.”

Yue Zhishi gave his cheek a kiss, shaded with a bit of gratitude. Whenever he was with Song Yu, he never felt he wasn’t good enough — the moment a dark little tongue of flame was kindled, Song Yu would conclusively extinguish it.

“I’ll wipe things down. Sit down on the sofa, the doctor said you need to rest.” 

But no matter what Yue Zhishi said, Song Yu didn’t leave. He stood where he was, simply asking him if he wanted a dishcloth or a paper towel before randomly grabbing one. Underneath the sunlight, the ring on his hand reflected a lustrous metallic shimmer.

For one single instant, Yue Zhishi felt like they were a newly wedded couple — but in the next second, he dismissed that strange idea.

They had nothing to do during their university break, so they sat on the sofa and watched a movie, Yue Zhishi covering Song Yu with a thick blanket. The afternoon sun of winter made them warm and drowsy, and as he lay against Song Yu’s shoulder, Yue Zhishi felt both dazed and exhausted. He didn’t know why he felt like that, but he sensed it very keenly when Song Yu’s breathing started to change. Raising his head, he saw Song Yu frowning, his lips faintly pressed together and the corners of his mouth utterly straight.

He sat up and very lightly touched Song Yu’s arm. “Is it hurting?”

Song Yu shook his head, telling him to recline back onto him. But Yue Zhishi wasn’t quite willing, and he lifted a hand to touch Song Yu’s face. “What should we do? Do you want some pain meds?”

He was a completely proactive person, his body immediately moving as soon as his brain had that thought. Song Yu reached out and grabbed him. “No need, come back.” His hand was holding onto Yue Zhishi’s waist, and Yue Zhishi’s clothes rustled with his movements, letting in some cold air. Yue Zhishi faintly shivered.

“It’s not like it’s good to eat pain meds too often,” Yue Zhishi said, starting to persuade himself. He shifted slightly closer to Song Yu and smelled the pleasant scent on his body; soon after, he felt the heat of Song Yu’s body as it transmitted to him through the air — as well as the warmth of Song Yu’s palm as it pressed into, and started stroking, Yue Zhishi’s skin.

Song Yu looked at him without realising, his eyebrows still lightly knit together. His eyes dropped from Yue Zhishi’s eyes to his lips, and he said, “I should be able to feel better if we do something to divert my attention.”

Yue Zhishi pressed his lips against Song Yu’s mouth the moment after Song Yu said those words. His restraint over himself was forever unable to resist the forthrightness and innocence etched into his bones, but because he knew Song Yu was injured, he moved very gently, his hand curving around Song Yu’s face as though it was holding a precious piece of porcelain. It didn’t matter that Song Yu had only one hand — he was still able to scatter Yue Zhishi’s breathing.

He was as soft and supple as a pool of water in the summer. Under the winter sun, in Song Yu’s arms, he sparkled with glittering shards.

One kiss overlapped with another, and the sounds of their breathing tangled together and drew them into a deeper, sweeter dream.

Dampness, softness, the coiling together like two fishes, the hot pants of air mixing together.

It was rare for Yue Zhishi to be in charge, and like a young child, he found it novel. Sensation flared along sensitive nerve endings, and they floated against skin, pain slowly dissipating against the joy and excitement of touch.

Lovers were the best intoxicants.

Even though he knew Lin Rong and Song Jin wouldn’t be back at this time, Yue Zhishi still felt a bit anxious. His remaining reason presented his brain with a scene of them being caught, and it made him all the more sensitive — he was trembling even though he was sitting on top of Song Yu.

Worried he was cold, Song Yu dragged a corner of the blanket over Yue Zhishi’s shoulders.

“I’m not cold.” Yue Zhishi was sweating, and it made him even more pliant. He pressed both of his palms onto the sofa, and when they sunk down into the softness, he touched his lips to the centre of Song Yu’s eyebrows and kissed his eyes. Little by little, the speed of their breaths turned into one; Song Yu’s hand gripped onto his waist quite fiercely, and he couldn’t move away even if he tried.

The movie arrived at its end without them realising. Yue Zhishi’s hair was damp from sweat, and he pushed it behind his ears. He felt a bit weak, but he also didn’t want to press against Song Yu’s arm. He propped himself up on the edge of the sofa, wanting to get up, only for Song Yu to stop him from moving.

“Hug for a while.” In a slightly raspy voice, Song Yu called him baobao.

“Mn.” Yue Zhishi docilely cuddled into his arms, except he didn’t dare to press in too firmly and left a bit of space between himself and the arm slung up against Song Yu’s chest. After resting for a while, he lifted his head again and pecked the corner of Song Yu’s mouth. He caught a glimpse of Song Yu’s faintly reddened neck — maybe it was from earlier, when he had to use his strength.

Suddenly, for no reason at all, Yue Zhishi thought of that overjoyed high school boy in the hospital.

He didn’t want Song Yu to be in pain; he wanted Song Yu to be happy.

Yue Zhishi wrapped his arms around Song Yu’s neck, and he also pressed his forehead against Song Yu’s, his eyes damp and still a touch red. He seemed to be imitating, but it also didn’t seem like he was cutely whining — whatever came out of his mouth was genuine and lovely.

“Laogong,” he gently, delicately said, his voice still carrying the soft, needy tinge from his earlier pants of air.

Song Yu obviously wasn’t expecting that.

Within his slightly widened eyes, Yue Zhishi saw the surprise Song Yu scarcely ever felt.

It was as though that encouraged him, and Yue Zhishi affectionately kissed his lips before shifting to Song Yu’s ears. He whispered again, “Laogong.”

The blanket on his shoulders slipped down, revealing the beautiful lines of his back.

Song Yu cleared his throat and then pulled the blanket back over him. He turned his face away, voice stiff. “Copycat.”

“Okay.” Yue Zhishi prepared to get up, cocooned in the blanket. Pouting, he said, “Then forget it, since I can’t do it well anyway.” 

He said it was cold and stood up from Song Yu’s legs, picking up the plush sweater he’d thrown onto the floor and pulled it over his head. He looked at Song Yu again once he emerged — and realised his neck and ears were both flushed.

He looked no different from that seventeen, eighteen year old boy in the hospital.

So Song Yu could also feel embarrassed. He looked so innocent, and it was a tremendous contrast compared to certain other times.

“The movie’s finished.” Yue Zhishi’s sweater managed to cover the top of his thighs, and he pointed the remote in the direction of the television, casually moving the cursor around. “Do you want to watch another one? What about a comedy? I heard this sci-fi movie’s pretty good.”

The television kept jumping from one movie poster to the next, Yue Zhishi’s eyes focused on searching for a good movie to watch. He suddenly heard Song Yu release a very light sigh — he wouldn’t have heard it if he hadn’t been paying attention.

Yue Zhishi rapidly turned his head around, and saw Song Yu once again frowning, his left hand on top of his injured right arm. He looked like he was in a lot of pain.

“Is it still hurting?” Clutching the remote, Yue Zhishi climbed onto the sofa next to him. Song Yu let out a grudging ‘mn’, and so Yue Zhishi also laid a hand on his arm. He then said to Song Yu, face serious and respectable, “I might not be able to do things to distract you with anymore, my waist’s sore.” 

“I don’t want you to do that…” Song Yu gave Yue Zhishi a look reserved for strange creatures in movies, displaying his obvious dissatisfaction at Yue Zhishi’s misinterpretation. 

With his head lowered, Yue Zhishi played with Song Yu’s left hand. “Then what should we do? Take some meds then, gege.” He spoke with a bit of petulance, and he even pulled off the ring on Song Yu’s hand, pushing it over his own index finger. Lifting it into the air, he looked at it under the sunlight.

The look on Song Yu’s face, as well as his voice, once again turned unnatural. 

“Say it again…”

“Hm?”

Song Yu glanced away. “…Say it again, just like earlier.” 

He begged others so haughtily. Worthy of being a cat.

Yue Zhishi ridiculed him silently, and then kissed him with an air of being willing to answer his every request. Briskly, both syllables coming out crisp and clear, he said, “Laogong.” 

And other than that, he even bestowed him with liberal amounts of I love you for free.

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