The world returned slowly—like breath caught between waking and memory.
Shu Yao opened his eyes.
The ceiling above was sterile white, tinged with morning light. Machines hummed softly beside him. The fabric beneath him was crisp. Clean. Strange.
His lashes fluttered, and he turned his head slightly.
Where…?
Then he noticed the IV drip trailing into his arm. The oxygen mask over his face. The faint scent of antiseptic in the air.
Hospital.
He blinked again, confusion knitting across his delicate brows. How did I get here?
His fingertips moved to the mask, and with a cautious tug, he slid it down. His breathing was lighter now. Not perfect, but manageable. He sat up slowly—body tender, but steadier than he remembered.
No one was in the room.
He looked at the IV once more, a cold thread running beneath his skin. He didn't like it. He didn't like the stillness, the helplessness of it all. He reached for the tube with a wince—and pulled it free.
A soft sting. A gasp through clenched teeth.
But he stood.
His legs, though not yet strong, held him as he stumbled toward the door.
He found it. Gripped the handle.
Opened it.
Cool morning air met his skin like a whisper. The sun was just beginning to rise beyond the hospital walls—light spilling like gold over rooftops and trees.
A nurse's voice called out behind him.
"Young man, wait! You can't leave yet!"
But Shu Yao didn't stop.
He pushed open the main door with both hands, stepping into the waking world. Each step was slow, but certain. Gentle shoes against concrete. Soft wind brushing against the back of his neck.
The journey home began.
He didn't know why—only that he had to go.
The street stretched before him like a quiet promise, and he walked… until a sudden sound made him pause.
A soft meow, high-pitched and trembling.
He turned.
There—by a narrow alley—stood a small orange kitten, eyes like green glass, fur ruffled and trembling. In front of it, a large dog stood wagging its tail—no growl, no bark, just curiosity. But the kitten was petrified.
Shu Yao stepped forward.
He crouched, picking up a small stick lying nearby. With a soft whistle, he caught the dog's attention. Its head tilted, tongue hanging, harmless and eager.
He tossed the stick far down the road.
The dog chased after it instantly, tail wagging into the distance.
Shu Yao stepped forward, crouched gently, and scooped the kitten into his arms. It was trembling—so small it barely fit in both hands.
The kitten licked his fingers.
He blinked. Then blushed.
"…You're kind of cute," he murmured, pressing the little creature against his chest.
With slow, careful steps, he kept walking—one arm wrapped protectively around the orange fluff, the other brushing hair from his eyes as the sun rose higher behind him.
By the time he reached the familiar corner of his street, he stopped.
I didn't even think twice, he realized. Mom's going to kill me.
He stood frozen before the front door of their house, hand hovering over the knob—when the door burst open from the other side.
Qing Yue.
She nearly ran into him.
"Gege—!!"
She stopped short, blinking wildly. And then her lips broke into a wide, brilliant smile.
"You're back! I was just heading to the hospital—what… wait…"
Her eyes dropped to the kitten cradled in his arms.
She blinked.
Shu Yao looked caught. Guilty. Like a boy smuggling secrets home.
But then Qing Yue laughed, warm and free, and plucked the kitten from his arms.
"Gege, what is this?" she grinned. "A rescue mission on the way home?"
He tried to speak, but only muttered, "There's… still homework I didn't finish."
She stared at him. "Gege, please! Forget about homework! You literally ran away from the hospital."
He didn't answer.
Just smiled faintly.
Qing Yue stepped aside, still holding the kitten. Her short brown hair swayed gently as she turned and gave him a look with her wide, soft eyes.
"Why are you still standing there? Come in. You're not fine yet."
He was about to object, but she was already pulling him inside—kitten nestled in her arms like royalty.
Then—
"Qing Yue."
Their mother.
She stood in the hall, her back to them, arms folded.
"Didn't you say you were going to the hospital? Why are you still here?"
Qing Yue froze. Then turned, stepping aside just enough to reveal Shu Yao standing there quietly, fingers curled near his side.
Their mother's eyes widened.
"You—why did you come on your own?"
She stepped forward immediately, pressing the back of her hand to his forehead.
Normal.
The fever was gone.
"Well, if you're already here…" she muttered. "Go take a shower. I'll make breakfast."
Shu Yao bowed his head in quiet obedience and turned toward the stairs.
But Qing Yue stayed behind.
"Mom," she said softly, "Can we keep this little creature with us?"
Their mother glanced down at the kitten.
Then up at her daughter.
Her gaze softened. "Yes. If you're taking responsibility. You're a pretty obedient girl, so… alright."
Qing Yue beamed.
Upstairs, Shu Yao pushed his door open silently.
Everything inside was not just as he left it.
His bag sat by the desk, untouched. His bed was perfectly made. His window cracked just enough to let the morning breeze through.
He began unbuttoning his shirt with slow, aching fingers. Entered the bathroom. Turned on the shower.
Steam swirled around him, soft and fragrant. The blueberry shampoo lathered easily in his delicate hands. His skin was pale, thinner now, the bruise on his cheek a small echo of pain.
After drying off and dressing in a clean school uniform, he brushed his hair. It now reached just below his shoulders—soft, silken, side bangs swaying gently with each motion.
He looked in the mirror.
Something had changed.
Maybe it was the way his eyes looked back—tired, but full of something quiet and resolute.
He sat at his desk. Finished his homework. Methodical. Thoughtful.
Then his fingers drifted to the journal.
He opened it slowly. Pen poised.
"I don't know if this was a dream or not…
but I feel like he carried me on his back when I was sick.
I still love him—even if he loves my sister.
I'll love him until the end."
His chest ached quietly.
He closed the journal with care and tucked it into his bag. Held the strap close to his heart.
Then, quietly, he walked downstairs.
His mother was plating breakfast. She looked up—and scowled.
"You! Sit down—why are you dressed like this?"
Shu Yao flinched slightly. But obeyed.
She sat beside him, concern hidden behind a stern look. "You need rest. Do you want to get sick again?"
His reply came barely above a whisper.
"I… don't want to be absent."
She frowned, but didn't argue.
At that moment, Qing Yue came in holding a small bowl of milk, the kitten trotting behind her like it belonged.
She placed the bowl on the floor and turned toward her brother.
"Huh? Gege, what is this? You should be resting, not playing student!"
He smiled softly. "I'm fine. I can go to school… it's not a big deal."
She moved closer, placed her fingers gently on the bruise still visible on his cheek.
"It is a big deal," she whispered. "Because of me… they hurt you so bad?."
Her eyes softened. "Look at you. My handsome gege's face all bruised."
She took her seat beside him, still watching his face.
When their mother moved into the kitchen, Shu Yao spoke again, voice low.
"If I can't protect my little sister… then what's the point of calling me gege?"
She turned toward him.
And smiled.
A smile full of quiet pride.
A sister's love.
And the unspoken promise that, no matter what, they would always come back to each other.
The kitchen filled with the soft clatter of breakfast being served and the occasional purr of the kitten circling near Qing Yue's ankles. Morning sunlight stretched in through gauzy curtains, casting delicate gold across the tiled floor, turning spoons and teacups into small halos of light.
Qing Yue sat down gracefully, a soft hum on her lips, and began eating her toast with practiced elegance. Her phone lay beside her plate, the case a soft pastel pink adorned with a dangling heart-shaped charm that twinkled every time her fingers brushed it.
Shu Yao noticed the way her smile curled—not the casual kind, but the kind stitched in real-time by words dancing across a screen.
He watched her thumb pause, then tap again. Her cheeks were turning the faintest shade of rose.
Bai Qi.
He didn't need to ask. He knew.
She tried to hide it with another bite of toast, but her blush gave her away. Her eyes sparkled down at her phone, as if the boy behind the screen had whispered something only she could hear.
Shu Yao looked away.
Not bitter. Not wounded.
Just quiet.
Then, after a breath, he asked gently, "Can we go now?"
Qing Yue blinked, mid-text, and looked up.
"Oh—yes, yes!" She tucked her phone quickly into her bag, the little charm swinging like a secret. "It's about time to go."
She stood, adjusting her uniform with one hand, and took one last glance at the kitten now curling up beside the milk bowl.
"Be good while we're gone, okay?" she whispered with a smile.
Shu Yao already had his bag slung over one shoulder, fingers holding the strap close to his chest like it meant something more than just books and paper.
They didn't say much as they left—just two sets of footsteps padding down the hallway, the door clicking softly behind them.
Outside, the world was awake now—birds calling from power lines, neighbors watering their gardens, the soft hum of a school day rising with the breeze.
Qing Yue adjusted her collar and glanced at her brother.
He didn't speak. He didn't have to.
There was a calm in the silence between them.
A calm shaped like trust.
And beneath it all, in the small pocket of her skirt, her phone buzzed again—one last message from Bai Qi lighting up the screen.
She smiled.
And for a moment, even Shu Yao smiled too.