—

When they left the hospital, the nurse checked Wen Fu's wounds one more time. By then Zhou Ji already knew about the injury and had anxiously asked what happened—he was waiting to tell Stella so they could figure out how to handle it if the press got wind of it.

The wound that man left on Wen Fu was stabbed at an odd angle. Wen Fu's leg bled a lot but didn't actually need stitches. And even if it did, Fei Bolin wouldn't want him having surgery that far from home.

When the nurse finally cleared him to go, everyone in the room exhaled.

During the two hours Zhou Ji had sat with Wen Fu's IV drip, he'd also lined up a car. Tactfully, he chose to head back with his colleagues, leaving the two of them alone.

Wen Fu had been pulled from the river hours ago. He'd changed into Fei Bolin's clothes, but there'd been no way to wash his hair or body, and he still felt grimy. So even in the car, he barely talked.

Fei Bolin clearly didn't want to leave him alone at home, but couldn't figure out how to say it.

After a long moment, he glanced at Wen Fu's pale profile and asked, 'Did you wash the bowl from last time we ate?'

It took Wen Fu a second to realize he meant the time Fei Bolin had come over to cook. But that was last week. Fei Bolin asking now felt oddly abrupt.

He didn't overthink it, just nodded.

'Washed it yourself?'

Wen Fu nodded again.

'Did you have the assistant check it?'

He could've asked this while Zhou Ji was still here, but he hadn't.

If Wen Fu had thought a little harder and answered 'no,' Fei Bolin would've had a perfect excuse to go over to his place under the pretense of checking—and then just stay.

But Wen Fu kept nodding. After a beat, he even added, unprompted, 'Washed it really clean.'

Fei Bolin: '...'

The driver glanced in the rearview mirror. Seeing Fei Bolin stay silent so long, he was almost tempted to jump in and praise Wen Fu himself.

Can't you see the kid staring at you? Compliment him! Quick!

His little scheme had failed and Fei Bolin hadn't even noticed he'd missed Wen Fu's expectation. Watching the car pull into Jin City, he shifted the topic: 'Did you eat enough at the hospital?'

Wen Fu was just about to say 'yeah, I'm full' when Fei Bolin said, offhand, 'If not, I'll come up and cook you some noodles.'

The words he'd been about to say got swallowed right back down. Wen Fu shook his head. 'Not full.'

Fei Bolin lowered his eyes, hiding the flicker of a smile. When he looked up again, he just told the driver, expression flat: 'Drop me at Yunhe Song. You can head back, don't wait for me.'

Wen Fu had eaten his way to about eighty percent full on those McDonald's packs at the hospital. A couple hours had passed since he got home, and he could've eaten a late-night snack for sure—except Stella's years of strict supervision had trained that impulse out of him.

The thing his kitchen never ran out of was eggs and dried noodles. They kept forever—even if he was on tour for ten days, half a month, they'd still be fine. And they didn't need side dishes the way rice did. A few minutes in the pot and done. For Wen Fu, this had been the cheapest, most filling thing to eat since he was a kid.

Fei Bolin ordered some greens and meat on the grocery app. While the noodles cooked, Wen Fu grabbed a towel and went to wipe himself down in the bathroom.

The wounds couldn't get wet, so he had to move carefully. The whole thing took forever. By the time he came out dressed, Fei Bolin was already bringing the noodles out of the kitchen.

Fei Bolin headed to the bathroom to deal with his dirty clothes, then called over his shoulder, 'Come eat. After you're done I'll wash your hair.'

The two knife grazes on his waist meant Wen Fu couldn't wash his own hair. On top of that, Fei Bolin had roughly towel-dried it in the car after the river. So now his black hair was even wilder than usual—you could pluck it off and use it as a feather duster, no exaggeration.

The bowl was loaded with greens and freshly pan-fried ham. Wen Fu was just pulling out his chair to dig in when Fei Bolin's voice drifted from behind him, low and eerie: 'Eat slow. Don't inhale it. Finish the greens.'

Wen Fu's open mouth shrank a fraction.

In the fifteen minutes Wen Fu spent eating, Fei Bolin moved with practiced ease—tossing the dirty clothes in the washer, tidying up the luggage Wen Fu had left on the sofa, then pulling a brand-new set of pajamas from the closet in Wen Fu's exact size. That set had been tucked in among the pile of clothes he'd asked Stella to deliver to Wen Fu last time. He knew Wen Fu well enough to know the kid wouldn't give that pile a second look unless he absolutely had to—so he wasn't worried about Wen Fu noticing anything off about these pajamas anytime soon.

Even the spot he'd put them in the closet was one he'd arranged last time, when he'd come over to fold Wen Fu's laundry.

To get Wen Fu to bed sooner, Fei Bolin had them both finish washing up within fifteen minutes of finishing the noodles. He carried the folding bed from the study into the bathroom, adjusted the water temperature, sat down in front of the bed, and said softly, 'Xiao Fu.'

Three seconds later, Wen Fu materialized silently, crouching right in front of him.

'Lie down,' Fei Bolin said.

Wen Fu obediently lay down.

Fei Bolin threaded his fingers through Wen Fu's hair first, fingertips pressed against the roots, working over his scalp bit by bit. 'Any injuries on your head?'

Wen Fu looked up at him from the reclined position. His eyes looked even bigger like that. He shook his head. 'No.'

Even after Wen Fu said no, Fei Bolin still checked every spot on his head. Only once he was sure did he turn on the water to rinse.

The water was warm—just the right temperature for skin. The soft sound of running water filled the bathroom. Wen Fu just lay there with his eyes wide open, watching Fei Bolin's reflection, silent.

Fei Bolin didn't say anything either. Same flat expression as always. He looked completely focused on washing Wen Fu's hair, but inside he was over the moon.

Home. Lamplight. The sound of water. Even if neither of them said a word, Fei Bolin thought it was perfect.

When he finished washing Wen Fu's hair, he realized Wen Fu had fallen asleep on the folding bed.

Luckily there was an outlet by the shelf nearby. Fei Bolin grabbed the hair dryer, switched it to silent mode, and stayed where he was until Wen Fu's hair was dry.

Half-awake, Wen Fu felt himself being lifted. Then he caught Fei Bolin's scent. Too lazy to open his eyes, he sank back into sleep.

When he felt Fei Bolin start to move away, Wen Fu reached out and grabbed his sleeve.

Fei Bolin turned and found Wen Fu awake. How awake, he didn't know—but his eyes were open, staring straight at him. Hard to tell if he was still dreaming or watching him.

Fei Bolin said quietly, 'Your clothes are dry. Haven't picked them up yet.'

Still had to fold them and put them in the closet.

Wen Fu hesitated for a beat, then let go.

Fei Bolin sat down on the living room sofa, looking around—just like last time, after he'd gotten Wen Fu to sleep. His gaze swept over every inch of the place.

The place was simple, really. Wen Fu didn't have many hobbies. For him, life was just about having enough to eat and wear. His interests were music and anime. Music—there was a dedicated study and a piano room; Fei Bolin had cleaned both top to bottom last time. As for anime, a TV or even a phone was enough for Wen Fu.

Everything in the place was minimal. You could take it all in at a glance.

But Fei Bolin couldn't look enough. No matter how long he looked, it wasn't enough.

This was where Wen Fu had lived alone, away from him. Wen Fu's small piece of belonging, besides him.

The washer in the laundry room beeped—the cycle was done. Fei Bolin took out the clothes, folded them on the sofa. He didn't put them in the bedroom, in case he woke Wen Fu.

One by one, the living room lights went off. Fei Bolin went to the master bedroom, looked at Wen Fu sleeping in the dark, quietly slipped out, closed the door, and decided to make do with the study for the night.

Wen Fu was twenty-six now. Four rooms, three beds in this house. No reason to squeeze into one bed together like they did as kids, keeping each other warm.

The moment the door clicked shut, Wen Fu's ears twitched on the bed.

Fei Bolin lay on the narrow study bed—barely big enough for one—and imagined Wen Fu curling up here alone, tired from reading. He smiled, looking down.

Last night he'd lost control of his emotions for a moment, called Wen Fu without knowing what to say. It wasn't until Wen Fu asked if he wanted to be picked up that Fei Bolin agreed without a second thought.

The promise had come easy. Carrying it out wasn't so simple.

He'd been based abroad for years. He hadn't even settled himself back in Jin City. Where was he supposed to conjure a home for Wen Fu?

What he'd promised Wen Fu wasn't a house. It was a home.

Houses you could buy anywhere. Homes were different.

In Fei Bolin's plan, their home could look however Wen Fu wanted. But that was for after everything had settled—after they had the space to build one at their own pace. Not some rushed shelter thrown together out of desperation.

Even if the end goal was just being together, he couldn't keep staying here every night after promising to take Wen Fu away.

The Fei Family Estate was in Jin City. Since the old man passed and Fei Bolin had kicked out everyone irrelevant, no one had lived there. He himself hadn't been back in twenty years.

He had no feelings for the place. Moving in would just take a word and people would have it ready. He just didn't know if Wen Fu would be willing to stay there with him, even temporarily.

Mid-thought, Fei Bolin suddenly heard a very faint sound of a door opening next door.

The doors in this house had magnetic locks—that sound only happened the moment a door opened. Fei Bolin blinked in the dark, softened his breathing. He'd figured Wen Fu was getting up to use the bathroom or get water, but no footsteps came.

A second later, the study door silently cracked open a sliver.

Fei Bolin: '...'

A shadow appeared in the doorway, slippers in hand. With a remarkably nimble move, it slipped inside, then slowly closed the door.

Wen Fu felt his way toward the bed.

In a room so dark you couldn't see your hand, he dodged every instrument, every desk and chair, even the rotating bookshelf he had to pass—slipping past it without making a sound.

A wildcat weaving through the jungle had nothing on this.

Fei Bolin slowed his breathing, played dead, didn't move a muscle.

But once Wen Fu reached the bed, he apparently stopped caring about being caught. He flipped the covers back and rolled onto Fei Bolin without a care in the world.

The commotion was loud enough that Fei Bolin couldn't keep up the act even if he'd wanted to.

Amid the rustling, he sighed helplessly, putting on a look like he'd just been woken. In reality, his hand had already reached around to tuck the covers behind Wen Fu's back.

As he pulled his arm back, it passed over the top of Wen Fu's head. Wen Fu took the chance to nudge up, rubbing his hair against Fei Bolin's palm for a few seconds.

'What are you doing?' Fei Bolin asked, playing dumb. 'Why'd you come over?'

'Dreaming,' Wen Fu said, burying his face in Fei Bolin's chest. A mess of black hair stuck out from under the covers. His voice came out muffled: 'Sleepwalking.'