Both men, exhausted yet satisfied, fell into a warm and rare deep sleep. In each other's arms, there was no stirring or nightmares, just peace. Until the morning sun came up and along with it, alarming conditions!
...
Dong Yingming lay still on the bed, shirt half-off, chest rising and falling with slower breaths, having just woken up as the sun rose. But his eyes—dark, sharp, usually so unreadable—were now fixed solely on the boy curled beside him with an expression that bordered on reverence.
Yao Ziyang lay on his side, head resting against Dong Yingming's chest, his arms tucked close to his chest. Surprisingly, he had also just woken up near dawn. His cheeks were flushed, lips kiss-swollen, and his breathing was faintly uneven—not just from exertion, but from the emotional weight of what he'd just done as well.
He looked up slowly, like he wasn't sure if it was okay to meet the man's gaze. There was no shame in his eyes. Only vulnerability. Only longing.
Dong Yingming reached down wordlessly, fingers combing gently through Yao Ziyang's hair, smoothing strands back from his damp forehead.
"You okay?"
His voice was low. Hoarse, almost.
The man nodded.
"Just… full…"
He whispered.
"Not like that. Just… my heart."
Dong Yingming's hand stilled for a moment, then resumed its quiet motion, his thumb brushing behind the boy's ear in slow circles.
"You didn't have to."
He said, almost a growl, but too soft to be threatening.
"You are still healing."
"I wanted to..."
Yao Ziyang replied, pressing his cheek more firmly against the man's pectoral, the faint sound of blood pumping brought him peace of mind.
"You've taken care of me. Protected me. I wanted to give you something back. Something real."
The words hung in the air, tender and raw.
Dong Yingming shifted slowly, carefully scooping the boy up into his arms without asking, like it was the most natural thing in the world.
He held him close—one arm strong and steady around his back, the other stroking lazy lines down the length of his spine. His touch was possessive. Claiming. But there was more now —care, worship.
Yao Ziyang let out a tiny sigh, body relaxing fully for the first time.
"You're warm."
He mumbled.
"So are you..."
Dong Yingming murmured, voice half-buried in his hair.
"Sleep some more, I'll wake you when breakfast gets here."
The smaller man didn't reply, but his fingers curled into Dong Yingming's shirt, clutching it like a child might a blanket. And Dong Yingming just held him tighter.
Neither of them said what they were thinking: that in a place as cruel and hollow as this prison, warmth was a dangerous luxury. But right now, they had it. In arms. In breath. In touch.
And they weren't letting go.
Dong Yingming wasn't used to being in bed once he'd woken up. Carefully, he unwraps himself from their embrace. Tucking sheets and the blanket around Yao Ziyang's frame, he goes about getting ready for the day. After changing, a knock came from the door. It was breakfast time, so Dong Yingming goes to the bed and nudges Yao Ziyang.
Nothing. Not even a stir.
At first, Dong Yingming thought Yao Ziyang was simply worn out. After all, his body was still recovering, and their shared moment had been intense — intimate in a way that demanded more than just physical strength. The man had curled up against the pillows, skin dewy with sweat, breathing shallow but soft.
But as the seconds passed, Dong Yingming noticed something wasn't right.
Yao Ziyang shifted restlessly, his body growing hotter against Dong Yingming's hand. He let out a weak sigh, then whimpered — the sound so faint and fragile it made Dong Yingming freeze. He leaned in closer, brushing Yao Ziyang's bangs from his forehead… and his blood ran cold.
He was burning up.
"Hey—hey!"
Dong Yingming murmured, gently nudging him, trying to wake him properly.
"Look at me. Say something."
Yao Ziyang opened his eyes, but they were glassy, unfocused. His lips moved, but the words came out slurred, like he wasn't fully there.
Panic began to thread through Dong Yingming's chest. He placed a hand over Yao Ziyang's cheek, then his neck — the heat was sharp, alarming. This wasn't post-exertion warmth. This was a fever, and dangerously high!
"No…"
Dong Yingming muttered under his breath, sitting up abruptly and pulling the blankets aside.
"No, no—damn it, I pushed him too far…"
The guilt hit him like a punch to the ribs. He'd wanted to be careful. He thought he'd been gentle. But maybe he should've waited. Maybe the bath, the closeness, the sheer emotional intensity of it all had drained the boy more than he realized.
Yao Ziyang whimpered again and curled tighter into himself, skin flushed red, sweat clinging to his collarbone. Dong Yingming stood and rushed to the door, calling out sharply for the guard just on the other side.
"Get the doctor! Now!"
There was no time for questions. The urgency in his voice was enough to send footsteps racing.
Dong Yingming returned to the bed, crouching at Yao Ziyang's side. He pulled the damp sheets off, trying to let the poor youth cool, brushing wet strands of hair from his clammy forehead. His hands — usually steady and sure — were trembling.
"You're alright…"
He whispered, more to himself than to the boy.
"You're going to be alright. I swear it."
But he couldn't shake the weight in his chest. For all his power, his influence, and the control he exerted over everything around him, he couldn't stop the fever burning through his lover's fragile body.
And for the first time in a long time, he felt helpless.
In his lamenting, he hears the slight click of the cell door swinging open echo throughout the room. Dong Yingming didn't look up immediately—he couldn't. He sat on the edge of the bed, one hand cradling the back of Yao Ziyang's damp neck, the other smoothing trembling fingers across his soaked chest. The boy's breathing was shallow, lips parted, body curled weakly into the sheets like a wilted flower.
"Move."
Zhang Wei said curtly.
Dong Yingming shifted aside without protest, his face drawn tight and pale. Zhang Wei strode in with his emergency satchel and immediately stood beside the bed. His hands were brisk but practiced, checking pulse, eyelids, temperature, breath.
His frown deepened.
"Unbelievable…"
He muttered.
"I left him yesterday afternoon with a stabilizing fever and normal vitals. His cough had stopped. He was on the mend."
He glanced up, eyes hardened with anger and a hint of annoyance.
"And now, he's nearly comatose with a temperature over 40°C."
Dong Yingming didn't respond at first. He was staring at Yao Ziyang's face—red-cheeked, slack-jawed, eyelashes stuck together with sweat. Seeing him like this felt like a punch to the ribs with every breath.
"He was fine before…"
Dong Yingming murmured.
"We were just—"
His voice broke off.
"'Just' what?"
Dr. Zhang snapped, reaching into his bag for medication and a syringe.
"You think he's a toy you can wind up for your own amusement? His body's barely had time to heal. Just what on earth did you do to him?"
There was silence, thick and suffocating.
"We were close…"
Dong Yingming said finally, quietly.
"I didn't mean to hurt him. I thought—he wanted—"
Dr. Zhang didn't respond at first. He carefully lifted Yao Ziyang's arm, inserted the needle with precision, and started an IV drip to help bring the fever down. Then he stood back, admiring his quick work and then faced Dong Yingming directly. All semblance of fear vanished in the face of his medical expertise.
"Whatever he wanted..."
Dr. Zhang said, calmer now but no less firm.
"He trusted you to protect him. If this is how he ends up after every night in your care, I'd hate to imagine what he might look like after you're done with him."
Dong Yingming flinched like he'd been struck.
Dr. Zhang adjusted the blankets surrounding Yao Ziyang, checking his pulse one more time, then softened his tone just slightly.
"He's not beyond saving. But the next twelve hours are critical. He needs to be watched, hydrated, and his head kept cool while his body stays warm."
"I'll stay…"
Dong Yingming said immediately, almost too fast.
"Whatever he needs, I'll do it."
Zhang Wei sighed and packed his things.
"Then do it right. He's not just some beautiful thing to keep you warm at night. He's still human, however fragile. And right now, he's paying the price for something he didn't deserve."
With that, Zhang Wei turned and left the room.
Dong Yingming sat back down on the edge of the bed, silent, staring at the man he had cradled in heat and comfort just the night before—now burning from a very different kind of fire.
His hand found Yao Ziyang's again and held it tightly.
"I'm sorry…"
He whispered, voice cracking.
"I'll change. I swear I will."
…
A young person looked around the hazy grass field. They thought they'd heard something. Or maybe, someone? A silent promise? Or a type of sworn vow?
Despite their searching, they couldn't see anyone or anything. Just miles and miles of grassy plains. It was peaceful. Calming. And yet, they couldn't help feeling like something was missing.
Yes. Something was wrong. This…was wrong. Why were they here?
'Pitiful Child. You died. I fulfilled your last wish. But now Pitiful Child is in danger again. Now, your soul is fighting with the body. I'm sorry. Not strong. Enough yet. Will fix.'
Huh? A voice? From where? They looked around but really couldn't see another person! Blue sky's. Green grass. Blue…a color really familiar to them. They liked the color very much.
'Because it is the color of his eyes. Pitiful Child. You two are bound together. I believe called. Soul mates?'
A soul mate? Who? They had a soul mate? Ah, this is too much! Laying down on the soft ground, they stare up and gaze at their favorite color. If they could, they wouldn't mind staying here forever!
'Don't you want to go home? Back to him? Or back original?'
"Home? I am home. Home is where I make it!"
'He's waiting for you.'
"Who?"
'You can have him for now, it will break you though. You'll have to lose him once but don't worry. You'll have him again but you won't recognize him.'
"Oh?"
'I pity you, Pitiful Child. Don't fret. I will make him go to you instead. He will recognize you.'
"Uh, okay? Thank you, I guess?"
'!!! No one ever thank before!...I give gift! I couldn't get new memories for you. Find book. Unlock. Old.'
"Huh? Find a book to…unlock…something old? An old what?"
'Memories. Have. Go. Back. Luck. Child.'
As the ambiguous voice faded, so did their vision. Colors blurred and soon the blue and green mixed to a groggy white. Shadows shifting around made them feel even more dizzy. Everything felt both hot and cold but not intense, just uncomfortable.
He was back…but from where?