LIAH 9. What Are You Doing Here

Blue curtains encircled the bed. After helping Pei Siyin put his pants on, Song Shengyang pulled them open and went to the door to let Jiang Haolin in.

“Quit knocking already. You’re loud as hell.” The hem of Song Shengyang’s shirt was wrinkled, and his bangs were hanging loose over his forehead. He stepped aside to let Jiang Haolin push the wheelchair in, then leaned against the wall with an ugly expression.

Pei Siyin, lying in bed, looked a little better than when he had arrived. The corners of his eyes and lips were red and slightly swollen. Jiang Haolin made his way in while sneering, his tone dripping with contempt. “Middle of the day. This is a hospital.”

The implication could not have been more obvious. He clearly wasn’t talking to the stranger lying on the bed. There were only three people in the room. If not Pei Siyin, who else but Song Shengyang?

“Can you shut up for once? Always running your mouth for no reason.” Song Shengyang looked like he had been hit where it hurt, nearly jumped out of his skin. “You’re here to treat, not do a fucking comedy show.”

Jiang Haolin turned around. “I’m signing up for the national comedy championship next.”

Pei Siyin sat up slightly on the bed and tried to ease the tension.

“Are we heading for an X-Ray? My leg’s hurting a bit, so thank you, Dr. Jiang.”

He steadied himself on the bed and gave a small hop, settling into the wheelchair.

Jiang Haolin pushed from behind, but let go as soon as they reached the door. He pointed at Song Shengyang and said, “You do it.”

Ever since Pei Siyin entered the picture, Song Shengyang had gone through everything he wasn’t supposed to understand or experience.

He pushed the wheelchair from room to room as Jiang Haolin instructed. Along the way, Pei Siyin kept his head down. From above, all Song Shengyang could see was his slender, pale neck. The skin behind his ear was tinged pink, almost like a fingerprint.

Realizing it might have been his doing, Song Shengyang asked, “Does it hurt?”

“Huh?” Pei Siyin looked up, long black lashes catching the light and casting a small shadow. His skin had a healthy, fair tone, and his eyes blinked at Song Shengyang blankly, like he was still lost in thought. “You mean my leg? Yeah, hurts a little.”

Song Shengyang came to a stop. He stared at that beautiful, vivid face and thought about what they had done ten minutes ago in that room. His ears suddenly burned bright red.

He looked away and continued pushing the wheelchair.

“We’re here.”

The examination took a little over an hour. While waiting for the results, Song Shengyang called the hotel and had them send over some food. Pei Siyin sat on the hospital bed, quietly eating bite by bite.

Mealtime seemed to be the only time he ever calmed down. He was completely focused.

The door opened. Jiang Haolin walked in carrying a stack of forms. “Sprained ankle. Rest here for a few days, then go home.”

Pei Siyin swallowed and put down his chopsticks. “Can I go home tomorrow?”

Song Shengyang glanced at his ankle. It was bandaged thickly after being treated. His brow furrowed. “What’s the rush? You’re not even healed.”

“I have an exam tomorrow.”

He had run into Song Shengyang over the weekend, when he still had the freedom to slack off. But tomorrow was a core course. He absolutely had to go. If not, he was done for.

“You gonna hop your way to school?” Song Shengyang snapped.

Pei Siyin lowered his head, poking at his food half-heartedly. “I really do have an exam. If I skip it, I’ll fail.”

Song Shengyang looked troubled. He sat in his chair and stayed quiet. Jiang Haolin stood behind him with his arms crossed. “Honestly, it’s not like you can’t go back. As long as you stay in bed when you’re not in class, it’ll heal just fine.”

“Really?” Pei Siyin perked up and looked to Song Shengyang. “Then can I go home tomorrow morning?”

Song Shengyang didn’t answer right away. He bit into a red apple. Only after he had chewed and swallowed did he mutter, “Do whatever you want.”

The matter was more or less settled. Jiang Haolin stretched and yawned nonstop as he stood nearby. Noticing that Pei Siyin seemed young, he asked with a bit of concern, “How are you getting back tomorrow? Want me to call your parents?”

Pei Siyin shook his head but kept his eyes fixed on Song Shengyang. “My parents don’t live in this city. I’ll take a cab in the morning.”

The apple was gone in no time. Song Shengyang tossed the core into the trash and grabbed two wet wipes to clean his hands. He stood up, carefully avoiding Pei Siyin’s gaze. “I’m heading out.”

The door closed behind him. Even Jiang Haolin found the situation awkward. He let out a dry chuckle and said to Pei Siyin,
“He’s having an episode. That wasn’t normal for him. He’s not usually like that.”

Pei Siyin bit his lip. A sour sting rose in his nose. He cleaned up the lunchbox on the table in silence.

Early the next morning, Pei Siyin changed into the clothes he had washed and dried the night before. He decided to ditch the wheelchair and rely on walking with one leg.

He hadn’t brought anything with him when he arrived, so there was nothing he needed to carry. He first changed his bandages, then opened his phone to book a taxi.

Walking was difficult, but the handrails nearby helped. He could manage if he took it slow.

The private hospital had a beautiful environment. Other than the chirping of birds, there was no noise at all. Pei Siyin sat on a wooden bench by the entrance. Behind him, flowers drooped toward his shoulder, glistening with dewdrops and releasing a light fragrance.

The peaceful morning light was suddenly broken by the roar of an engine. A red sports car appeared in the distance, speeding toward him. It didn’t slow until it came to a stop directly in front of him. Only then did Pei Siyin see who was inside.

Song Shengyang stepped out of the car. Unlike his usual look, he was dressed in a black suit, the collar of his dress shirt neatly buttoned to the top. His hair was dyed back to black, and he was no longer wearing any earrings.

As for whether he still had the tongue piercing, Pei Siyin figured he would only find out once Song Shengyang spoke.

He had never seen Song Shengyang in a suit before. Then again, they hadn’t seen each other many times at all. But every single time, something always happened between them.

It was six thirty in the morning. The sun had not yet fully risen, and the light hung low in the fog, dim and indistinct. Song Shengyang walked toward him. His limbs were long, his features striking. Pei Siyin looked up and saw his tall figure casting a shadow over him, deep and angular. He tried to stand, but his ankle was so weak and sore that he collapsed right into Song Shengyang’s arms.

The morning air was cool, and Pei Siyin’s body had taken in some of that chill. Song Shengyang caught him and held him steady.
“What are you doing out here so early?”

“Heading home.” Pei Siyin’s arms naturally wrapped around his waist. He looked up at him with eyes full of sincerity and warmth.
“What are you doing here?”

Song Shengyang gripped the back of his collar. He looked down, then for some reason let go. His voice was flat. “Came to pick someone up.”