Chapter 7

Just one second, then the ringtone was gone.

Wen Fu jolted up and looked. On the third floor, only a fleeting shadow vanished in an instant. In that sealed-up room, a curtain with a thin gap swayed gently behind the glass.

The winter wind whistled past his ears. Wen Fu stared hard at that thin gap, trying to see inside through the window.

After a moment, he said softly, 'Bo ge?'

Silence all around.

'...Fei Bolin?' There was a sharper edge in Wen Fu's voice now.

No answer.

Wen Fu pulled his gaze back, turned, and sat down again.

This time he was even quieter, sat even longer. The sky slowly darkened. Wen Fu didn't notice his temperature climbing, didn't feel the exhaustion swallowing him whole. His head hung low, his breath burning hot — and somewhere between sleep and faint, his consciousness blurred out.

In a haze, a dark figure seemed to stop in front of him. Wen Fu tried to open his eyes, but his soul felt locked inside his body — no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't lift his head.

He heard a sigh. Something warm pressed against his forehead. Then a coat was draped over him, and he was lifted up — carried somewhere, he didn't know where.

Wen Fu's nose was sharp. Even with his eyes shut, the second that person got close, he caught Fei Bolin's scent.

He forced out a low groan and nuzzled his head against the other man.

Next time he woke, he was in a dim car. It was fully dark outside. Wen Fu lay in the back seat, his head in someone's lap. Probably afraid he'd get jostled off, the person kept one arm around his body and the other palm cupped under the back of his head so he wouldn't be uncomfortable.

Evening rush hour — the driver kept stopping and starting. Fei Bolin watched the road ahead, brow slightly furrowed. Colored lights from outside flashed across his face. Wen Fu looked up just in time to see that tight line of his mouth.

His throat burned like fire. Wen Fu tried to speak — nothing came out.

They say if you burn hot enough you turn stupid. As a kid, whenever he had a fever, he could never tell what was real and what was a dream.

But he really wanted to know if all of this was another hallucination.

So he quietly raised his hand, extended one finger, and let his cold fingertip find the small scar on Fei Bolin's chin — muscle memory.

The old scar had a faint unevenness to it. In the pitch-black car, Wen Fu's gaze went unfocused. His fingertip pressed against that patch of skin, tracing back and forth purely by feel.

The instant his finger touched Fei Bolin's chin, the other man went rigid.

He'd been so focused on the traffic that Fei Bolin hadn't noticed Wen Fu was awake.

Probably not wanting to pass on his own anxiety, Fei Bolin's eyes softened in that instant — calm as water, he looked down at Wen Fu. Then he tried to slide his hand out from under Wen Fu's head, caught the finger pressed against his chin, and pressed it back down against his chest.

'The hospital's just ahead.' Fei Bolin's hand rested on top of Wen Fu's head, thumb stroking his forehead over and over. His voice was soft, gentle — like only Wen Fu could hear it. 'Just a little longer. Almost there.'

Wen Fu mumbled an 'mm,' barely louder than a mosquito.

Fei Bolin's fingers were long enough to wrap Wen Fu's whole hand inside. Wen Fu was wrapped in a scent he hadn't felt in ages — the same sense of belonging from ten years ago, curled up in a bed Fei Bolin had made for him with his own hands.

He moved his dry lips, half-dreaming, trying to negotiate with Fei Bolin: 'Bo ge... can I skip the medicine?'

To Fei Bolin, it just looked like Wen Fu silently nuzzled his messy hair against his waist — not a sound.

He brushed the stray hairs off Wen Fu's forehead so the ends wouldn't poke his eyes, then turned back to watch the road.

Wen Fu didn't get an answer. His lashes fluttered twice. He mouthed something he didn't even understand himself, then closed his eyes and slipped back under.

Traffic was too jammed, so Fei Bolin had the driver pick the nearest public hospital. The moment they got out, he went straight to the ER.

Year-end, and the fever clinic was packed shoulder to shoulder. Blood drawn, tests done — the doctor said Wen Fu's immunity had crashed from overwork, plus the cold, that's why the fever spiked. They finally got a prescription, but the hospital was short on beds, so Fei Bolin could only hold Wen Fu on a chair and wait for a nurse to come start the IV.

Wen Fu stayed half-conscious the whole time. Burning up, but with Fei Bolin supporting him, he could walk, could see the road — just barely spoke.

The nurse did a skin test, stuck the needle in, hung the bottle, set the drip. Wen Fu waited it out until she left, then his head lolled to the side and he was out cold.

The hospital corridor had windows open at both ends for ventilation. Fei Bolin draped his coat over Wen Fu, but the metal chair underneath was freezing, and the IV fluid was cold too. Wen Fu leaned against Fei Bolin's shoulder, frowning and groaning every now and then.

This couldn't go on. Plus the antibiotics and anti-inflammatories would upset his stomach. Fei Bolin was about to call his assistant to bring blankets and food when he suddenly remembered that post he'd seen on Xie Yining's phone at noon.

Fei Bolin figured he needed to go back to that apartment in the Residential Complex to grab some things.

Only he and Su Haoran knew the door code, but Su Haoran was usually putting Xie You to bed at this hour. He'd have to go himself.

His finger swiped across the screen. Fei Bolin called Stella.

-

Forty minutes later, Wen Fu woke up in the hospital corridor.

The back of his head ached — cold and sore. He was leaning slightly back against the metal bench, with Zhou Ji sitting beside him.

Wen Fu rolled his stiff neck and saw a women's faux-fur coat draped over him.

'You're up?' Zhou Ji had been dozing next to him. Hearing the movement, he asked before his eyes were even fully open: 'Fever gone? How do you feel?'

He reached out to feel Wen Fu's forehead with the back of his hand as he spoke: 'Don't dodge.'

Wen Fu still leaned back, barely noticeably. Zhou Ji felt his forehead, then yawned: 'Anything else bothering you?'

He waited. Wen Fu didn't say a word.

Zhou Ji found it strange. He turned and caught Wen Fu looking at him, lost in thought.

'What?' Zhou Ji looked down at his own arms and legs. 'Why are you staring at me?'

Wen Fu spoke, his voice still hoarse: 'You've been here the whole time?'

Zhou Ji, baffled: 'Where else would I be?'

Wen Fu: 'You brought me here?'

'Not me.' Zhou Ji opened Wen Fu's usual thermos and handed it over, gesturing for him to drink. 'Dai jie called me over. Said she had a meeting, told me to come keep an eye on you. Probably she brought you in.'

'See?' Zhou Ji tilted his chin toward the coat. 'Isn't that her jacket on you?'

Wen Fu drank some hot water from Zhou Ji's hand. His throat felt a bit better. He looked down at the coat again — yeah, it was the one Stella wore privately all winter. Big, long, warm. Any time she wasn't at a formal event, she had this thing on.

'Was there nobody else?' Wen Fu asked again.

Zhou Ji thought Wen Fu was unusually talkative tonight. Normally the guy barely said a word, even when answering people.

Could a fever really give you a second personality?

'Nope. Even the sasaengs can't find you here.' Zhou Ji craned his neck to check the IV — three small bottles and two mystery bags of fluid left. Figuring they were in for a long night, he asked: 'Hungry?'

Wen Fu shook his head.

Fever tanks your enzyme activity, kills your appetite — but you still have to eat. The body needs fuel.

Zhou Ji rubbed his nose: 'I'll go grab you a fried rice. Smoke while I'm at it.'

Wen Fu stared at the coat on him, lost in thought. Didn't answer.

Zhou Ji took the silence as a yes and headed out on his own: 'I'll be downstairs. Call if you need anything.'

Stella's car was parked outside the hospital. The meeting had come up suddenly, so she'd called Zhou Ji on the spot. Worried Wen Fu wouldn't be able to get home easily after the drip, she'd just grabbed a cab herself, told Zhou Ji to take her car, and specifically reminded him to give Wen Fu the stuff in the back seat — just say she bought it.

Zhou Ji hadn't paid attention when he arrived — just grabbed the keys. Now, heading downstairs for a smoke, he glanced through the window and thought he saw someone sitting inside. Nearly jumped out of his skin.

On closer look, it was just the back seat piled so high with shopping bags it looked like a dark blob.

All that stuff — was Wen Fu supposed to take it all home?

Zhou Ji found it weird, so he walked up and rolled down the window to look. The back seat was stuffed with luxury and ultra-luxury shopping bags — Hermes, Loewe, the household names, plus a bunch of brands he didn't even recognize. Judging by the sizes, ready-to-wear and shoes. Over a dozen of them.

When Stella briefed him earlier, she'd mentioned the forum post in passing. But the so-called 'scandal' was pretty minor, and the post got locked not long after it went up — Stella's attitude wasn't that serious about it.

Even if she, as Wen Fu's manager, felt embarrassed by the replies under that post, it wouldn't make her go out and buy a fortune in luxury goods for him out of spite, right?

That back seat had to be worth close to two million.

Even on the company dime, that's overkill.

The company being the company — forget two million, even twenty thousand for Wen Fu's styling, they'd penny-pinch through a few meetings and then hand it out like charity.

And Wen Fu couldn't tell the difference anyway — clothes are clothes, hats are hats. Stella might as well have just let him eat a fried rice.

Zhou Ji couldn't be bothered thinking about it anymore. He finished his cigarette by the car window and went off to buy Wen Fu his fried rice.

After the fever, Wen Fu's face had gone green. Even the fried rice couldn't tempt him. Zhou Ji sweet-talked him into a few bites, then pulled a carton of Jule Milk from his jacket: 'I know you like this stuff. Drink up.'

Wen Fu drank most of the milk, then couldn't hold out anymore — he tipped his head back against the bench and closed his eyes.

Zhou Ji came back from throwing out the trash to find Wen Fu had put his mask on by himself. Pale neck, a few blue veins standing out, Adam's apple bobbing now and then. The line of his nose disappeared behind the mask covering the lower half of his face. His lashes lay over his eyes like crow feathers.

Red carpet or not, some people just have faces that were born for this — born for the spotlight.

He kept Wen Fu company through the whole IV drip, then went to pick up the meds. On the drive home, steering with one hand, he called over his shoulder to the back seat, "Skip the Commercial Performance these next couple of days — Stella already turned it down for you. But you've got Weibo Night this weekend. It's your first big red carpet, and everybody's watching. Stella's still chasing down the styling team to borrow you a gown right now."

Wen Fu gave a muffled reply.

Zhou Ji kept going: 'The stuff in the back seat is from Stella. From now on, when you go through the airport, try to have a few different outfits to rotate — so people don't have ammunition to mock you. Bad for you, bad for the team.'

Only then did Wen Fu notice the little mountain of shopping bags beside him.

He turned to look at them for a while, then asked: 'How much?'

Zhou Ji: 'Don't even think about transferring her the money. Company expense.'

'The company?'

'I'm wondering the same thing. When did our company get so generous?' Late at night, traffic was thin. Zhou Ji reached the Residential Complex in no time and pulled into the underground garage. 'Probably worried about the optics — your upcoming red carpets, the concert.'

Artists at big events and concerts need luxury or even special haute couture association brands to sponsor their outfits. And no brand wants to lend a gown to a star people mock for their street style.

He saw Wen Fu all the way to his door. Zhou Ji still had to return Stella's coat and car. Before leaving, he reminded him: 'Take your meds and get some rest. I'll bring you food tomorrow — I know you hate taking pills, but tonight you have to. Don't skip it.'

Wen Fu nodded, face blank, and watched Zhou Ji leave.

After Zhou Ji got in the elevator, Wen Fu walked to the living room. Just as he was about to toss the pills in the trash, the doorbell rang.

He went back to the entryway and opened the door. The guy had come back.

Zhou Ji leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed: 'I'm not leaving till I watch you take those pills.'

Wen Fu: '...'