"The lung sounds are clear, but the temperature is 39.8°C." A strange male voice sounded overhead. "Try physical cooling first."
When the wet towel brushed against his collarbone, Li Zhou whimpered like a kitten. It wasn't a cooling sensation at all, but rather the sharp sting of evaporating moisture from his burning skin.
He curled up unconsciously, his knee hitting the car door handle, and the dull pain took three seconds to reach his brain - his nerve conduction system seemed to have been melted by the high heat.
"Be gentle." Zhou Hui's voice dropped. He took the towel and wiped the sweaty back of his neck himself. "The child is crying in pain."
Li Zhou then realized that liquid was rolling down his cheeks. How humiliating! He was actually crying like a child in front of Zhou Hui.
But the high fever deprived him of the control of shame, and when Zhou Hui's thumb brushed across the corner of his eye, he shamelessly rubbed it on the slightly rough fingertip.
The weightlessness of the elevator's ascent made my stomach churn. Li Zhou was half-carried through the corridor, the halo of the crystal chandelier split into countless suns in my vision.
He heard the electronic sound of the door opening, and then fell into a feathery darkness - someone put him into the fluffy bedding.
"Intravenous access established." The doctor's tape peeled harshly as he secured the needle. "Fever-reducing suppositories every eight hours."
The cold liquid flowed into his blood vessels. Through his hazy vision, Li Zhou saw transparent ripples in the IV tube, which reminded him of the ginger tea Lin Xiaoman brewed, with similar water marks on the walls of the steaming glass.
But now there was no ginger tea, only the feel of Zhou Hui inserting the thermometer under his armpit, the metal probe like a miniature dagger.
"40.1°C." Zhou Hui sighed as if from the bottom of the ocean. "Go prepare the ice blanket."
The world began to dissolve. The mattress turned into a swamp, the duvet a lead weight pressing down on his chest. Li Zhou could hear his own heavy breathing, each inhalation like burning coals rolling through his nostrils.
Someone peeled back his eyelids and shone a flashlight. When the white light exploded inside his skull, he saw countless fragments of memory dancing in the intense heat.
The smell of shampoo on the ends of Lin Xiaoman's hair as she tiptoed to tie his scarf; the gleam of Zhou Hui's cufflinks when he first handed him his business card; the fever-reducing medicine his mother stuffed into his bag at the train station; Senior Chen's arm, like a pale python, resting on the back of Lin Xiaoman's chair...
Li Zhou drifted in the chaos of a high fever, his consciousness like being immersed in a scalding tide, sometimes rising, sometimes sinking. He vaguely felt someone touching him—the movement was very gentle, as if afraid to disturb a fragile dream.
"Don't move." Zhou Hui's voice was low and deep, with an irresistible gentleness.
A cool towel was placed against his forehead, the chill seeping into his skin and temporarily relieving the burning pain. Li Zhou sighed unconsciously, his eyelashes trembling, but he couldn't open his eyes.
His throat felt dry as if it had been rubbed with sandpaper, and every swallow was painful.
"Water..." He squeezed out the word hoarsely, his voice so weak that it was almost inaudible.
"Okay." Zhou Hui responded quickly, and then a warm hand lifted the back of his neck and carefully helped him up.
The edge of the glass touched his lips, and the warm water slowly flowed into his mouth, just the right temperature, not too hot, not too cold.
Li Zhou swallowed instinctively, the burning sensation in his throat easing slightly. He opened his eyes slightly, his vision blurry, and could only see Zhou Hui's profile close at hand—the man's eyelashes drooped, his expression focused, as if he were caring for something precious and fragile.
"Drink slowly." Zhou Hui's voice was very soft, and his thumb gently wiped away the water stains from the corner of his lips.
Li Zhou vaguely remembered that when he was sick as a child, his mother took care of him in the same way.
But Zhou Hui's gentleness was mixed with something more complicated - that sense of control, that kind of consideration that could not be refused, as if he had already calculated that he would fall for such care.
"Sleep a little longer." Zhou Hui tucked the quilt in for him, his fingertips inadvertently brushing across his earlobe, causing a slight shudder.
Li Zhou wanted to speak, wanted to say thank you, but the dizziness from the high fever came again, and his consciousness was dragged into darkness again.
Li Zhou dreamed that he was standing in the rain, and Lin Xiaoman's back was getting farther and farther away. He wanted to catch up with her, but his legs felt like they were filled with lead and he couldn't move.
The rain was freezing cold, but the next second, he was pulled into a warm embrace, and someone wiped his hair with a dry towel, as gently as if they were treating some fragile treasure.
"Don't be afraid." Zhou Hui's voice sounded in his ears, low and reassuring.
Li Zhou couldn't tell whether it was a dream or reality, he just felt that the warmth of those hands was too real.
He unconsciously moved closer to the heat source, resting his forehead on the other's shoulder. His breath was filled with Zhou Hui's faint sandalwood scent, mixed with a hint of wormwood, which was calm and addictive.
"The fever hasn't subsided yet..." Zhou Hui placed his palm on his cheek and rubbed it gently.
Li Zhou rubbed the hand in a daze, like a cat seeking comfort.
Zhou Hui chuckled softly and stroked his brow bone with his fingertips, as if tracing his outline.
"So good."
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