Waiting
The heavy automatic doors of the ICU open and close silently, isolating the battlefield of life and death from the outside world. Inside are sophisticated instruments, cold lights, a constant ticking sound, and the steady yet hurried footsteps of medical staff.
Outside the door, there was a frozen, suffocating wait.
Tan Huaiyu sat in the family waiting area outside the ICU all night. His body was stiff and cold, his eyes were dry and bloodshot, but he dared not close them.
Every time that door opened and medical staff came in and out, his heart would suddenly clench, and he would only dare to breathe a sigh of relief when he was sure that they were not coming for him, only to be gripped by an even deeper fear.
My mind kept replaying the doctor's words, "You're not out of danger yet," and the bloody scene described by my coworker.
As dawn broke, a nurse came out to announce that Qi Shuo's condition was temporarily stable, but he needed surgery as soon as possible, scheduled for 10 a.m.
Tan Huaiyu nodded blankly, looking at the surgical consent form handed to him by the nurse. The words "anesthesia risks," "intraoperative accidents," and "postoperative infection" pierced his eyes like needles.
He gripped the pen, his hand trembling so badly he could barely write his name. Finally, Xiao Jue, who had rushed to the scene, grasped his trembling hand and steadied the pen, allowing him to finally sign his name.
"Huaiyu, calm down, Qi Shuo will be alright." Xiao Jue's voice was calm and steady, carrying a reassuring power.
He and Lin Ye arrived after receiving the news in the middle of the night. Sister Jin, Qin Zhou, and Song Yungui also arrived one after another. The small waiting area was crowded with people who were worried about Qi Shuo.
Tan Huaiyu couldn't speak, but his eyes were red as he nodded forcefully. He needed to believe, he had to believe.
At 10 o'clock, Qi Shuo was wheeled to the operating room. As they passed the waiting area, Tan Huaiyu finally saw him through the mobile hospital bed.
Qi Shuo's face was deathly pale, his lips were chapped, and his eyes were closed. His thick eyelashes cast a small shadow under his eyelids, making him look as fragile as a delicate glass doll. He was covered with a white sterile sheet, and an IV needle was inserted into the back of his left hand, connected to an IV drip bottle.
He lay there unconscious, the only sign of his life being the faint rise and fall of his chest.
Tan Huaiyu only glanced at it before biting her lower lip hard, her mouth instantly filled with the taste of blood.
He forced himself to look away, afraid that if he looked any longer, his taut nerves would snap completely.
The surgery lasted a long four hours. For Tan Huaiyu, every minute and every second felt like torture.
He couldn't sit still or stand still, pacing back and forth in the corridor, his fingernails digging deep into his palms, leaving deep, bloody crescent-shaped marks.
Xiao Jue and Lin Ye stayed with him, Sister Jin kept praying in a low voice, and Qin Zhou and Song Yungui were also anxiously silent.
When the operating room door opened again, the surgeon came out, took off his mask, and looked tired, but his eyes were relaxed: "The surgery was successful. The fracture has been repositioned and fixed, and the wounds on the shoulder and back have been thoroughly cleaned and sutured. Fortunately, the blood vessels and nerves have not suffered irreversible damage. However, there was excessive blood loss and severe trauma. The focus now is on preventing infection and complications, and the observation period will be at least another week."
The breath that had been hanging in his throat was finally exhaled slowly and tremblingly. Tan Huaiyu's legs went weak, and he almost knelt down, but Lin Ye quickly caught him.
He opened his mouth, wanting to say thank you, but only managed broken, breathy sounds. Tears streamed down his face again without warning, this time a mixture of exhaustion from surviving a near-death experience and the release of immense fear.
Qi Shuo was sent back to the ICU. Through the huge glass window, Tan Huaiyu could finally see him a little more clearly. He was still unconscious, with more tubes inserted into his body, connected to various monitoring instruments.
Her face was still pale, but there seemed to be a faint trace of life in her now that she was alive. Tan Huaiyu pressed her forehead against the cold glass, gazing at her greedily, as if trying to imprint that pale and weak appearance deep into her heart, and as if trying to transmit her own life force through her eyes.
Three days later, under close monitoring and meticulous care, Qi Shuo's vital signs finally stabilized, and he was out of the most dangerous stage and transferred to a single room in a regular ward.
The private room was much more spacious and bright, with lush green treetops visible through the window. But Qi Shuo, lying on the bed, remained weak. After the anesthesia wore off, the pain from his wound and the swelling and discomfort at the fracture site began to appear.
He spent most of his time in a coma, and even when he was awake, he was in a daze due to pain and weakness, rarely spoke, and only frowned and occasionally let out a suppressed groan.
Tan Huaiyu took a long leave from the law firm and stayed by the hospital room without leaving for a moment. Xiao Jue and the others advised him to go back and rest, but he stubbornly shook his head. Only when he really couldn't hold on any longer would he curl up on the hospital chair and doze off for a while, and he would be startled awake at the slightest noise.
He became unusually silent, spending most of his time sitting quietly by the hospital bed, holding Qi Shuo's hand that wasn't receiving an IV drip.
That hand was still large, with long, slender fingers, but now it was held limply in his palm, its fingertips icy cold. Tan Huaiyu carefully enveloped it with his own warm palm, gently stroking it, trying to transfer some warmth.
He learned all the nursing procedures. Every day, he would gently moisten Qi Shuo's dry lips with cotton swabs dipped in warm water. Under the nurse's guidance, he would carefully wipe his body with a warm towel, avoiding the wounds and the splints.
Pay attention to the drip rate, record the urine output, and observe every subtle change in Qi Shuo—whether his brows are furrowed more tightly, whether his breathing is rapid, and whether there are any signs of fever.
While Qi Shuo was unconscious, he quietly watched him. He looked at his pale face, his tightly closed eyes, and his eyelashes that trembled slightly with pain. Sunlight streamed through the window, casting dappled shadows on his face.
Tan Huaiyu would reach out and, very gently, brush away the stray hairs on his forehead that were damp with sweat, the movement as tender as if touching a rare treasure.
Qi Shuo would occasionally have moments of lucidity, but even then, his consciousness was often hazy. He would unconsciously search for Tan Huaiyu's direction, his fingers slightly curled.
Whenever this happened, Tan Huaiyu would immediately lean down, get close to his ear, and say in as steady a voice as possible, "I'm here, Ashuo, I'm here."
He would hold Qi Shuo's hand and place it against his cheek, letting him feel his warmth and presence.
Sometimes, Qi Shuo would let out a muffled groan due to the excruciating pain, or struggle restlessly in his drowsy state.
Tan Huaiyu's heart would clench, and he would immediately press the call button for the nurse, while leaning down and whispering soothing words in his ear over and over again: "It's okay, Brother Shuo, it's okay, I'm here... Hold on to me if it hurts..."
He shoved his fingers into Qi Shuo's unconsciously clenched palm, letting the force, out of control due to pain, squeeze his finger bones until they ached.
It seemed that only by conveying his pain in this way could he alleviate his anxiety and helplessness.
The nights were the hardest. The darkness amplified all sensations and made the pain even clearer. Qi Shuo often woke up in the middle of the night in pain, his hospital gown soaked with cold sweat.
Tan Huaiyu barely dared to close his eyes all night, sitting by the bed, holding his hand, and when he was in great pain, he clumsily hummed unknown, broken tunes to him over and over again, or said some meaningless, incoherent words, just hoping to distract him a little, even just a little bit.
"Ah Shuo, look, it's almost dawn..."
"There's a bird in the tree outside the window, and it sings quite beautifully..."
"Once you're better, let's go back to that noodle shop and have extra spicy noodles..."
"You haven't really slept on our new sofa yet..."
His voice grew softer and hoarser until it was almost a choked murmur. Tears rolled down silently, dripping onto their clasped hands, only to be quickly dried by their body heat.
Only in moments like these, when Qi Shuo is in a daze and tormented by pain, does Tan Huaiyu dare to reveal even a hint of vulnerability and fear.
During the day, in front of the doctors, nurses, and Xiao Jue, he forced himself to appear calm and strong, handling everything in an orderly manner.
Only in the dead of night, when facing a lover who is still frowning in pain while asleep, will the armor that is being held up crack, revealing the soul inside that is already riddled with holes, filled with panic and helplessness.
"Get well soon..." He lowered his head, pressing his face against Qi Shuo's cold hand, hot tears soaking the other's skin. "Please, Brother Shuo... get well soon... I can't live without you..."
A week later, Qi Shuo's condition finally stabilized. There were no signs of infection in his wounds, and the fractures were slowly healing. Although the pain persisted, it was now under control with medication. He was conscious for longer periods of time.
The first time I truly looked at Tan Huaiyu with a clear mind and for a long time was one afternoon. The sunlight was beautiful, streaming through the window and warmly onto the hospital bed.
Qi Shuo slowly opened his eyes, adjusting to the light. The first thing he saw was Tan Huaiyu's haggard face, so close to his. He had lost a lot of weight, the dark circles under his eyes were frighteningly thick, there was stubble on his chin, and his hair was somewhat disheveled.
Only those amber eyes suddenly flashed with an astonishing light when they saw him wake up, but that light was quickly blurred by the rising steam.
"A-Shuo?" Tan Huaiyu's voice was terribly hoarse, filled with disbelief and trepidation, and a forced smile that looked more like a grimace. "You're awake? How are you feeling? Does it hurt? Do you want some water?"
He bombarded Qi Shuo with a series of questions, his hand gripping Qi Shuo's tightly, hesitant to use force yet unwilling to let go.
Qi Shuo looked at him, his gaze slowly moving from his eyes, which were filled with worry, bloodshot and tearful, to his thin chin, and then to his slightly trembling hands that were tightly clenched.
The anesthesia and pain slowed his thinking, but he clearly remembered the loud bang, the shattered metal, the excruciating pain, and the anxious faces of his coworkers before he was put into the ambulance...
He also remembered that in those chaotic gaps torn apart by pain and darkness, there was always a voice, stubbornly and repeatedly, calling him "A-Shuo," telling him "I'm here," humming off-key tunes to him, wiping his body with a warm towel, and holding his hand with trembling hands...
It wasn't a dream after all.
A sharp pain shot through his left shoulder and left leg, a stark reminder of the harsh reality. But even clearer than the pain was the boundless guilt and heartache that threatened to drown him.
He looked at Tan Huaiyu's haggard face, which was almost unrecognizable. Those eyes, which were always clear and smiling, were now bloodshot and tired, yet they still stared at him greedily, as if afraid that he would disappear if he blinked.
Qi Shuo's throat was dry and sore. He tried to move his lips, wanting to say something, but only managed to utter a faint breath.
Tan Huaiyu immediately understood. He hurriedly let go of one hand and reached for the water glass and cotton swabs on the nearby cabinet. His movements were so hasty that he almost knocked the water glass over.
He carefully dipped a cotton swab in warm water and brought it to Qi Shuo's lips, gently moistening his chapped lips.
"Slow down...don't rush..." he whispered, his voice still hoarse, yet filled with endless tenderness.
The cool water moistened his parched lips and throat, and Qi Shuo's gaze remained fixed on Tan Huaiyu's face. He saw the deep worry in Tan Huaiyu's eyes, his cautious movements, and the subtle tremor that he couldn't completely hide beneath his forced composure.
He opened his mouth, and with all his might, managed to utter a hoarse, almost inaudible sound:
"...Did I scare you?"
These four simple words struck Tan Huaiyu like a boulder, crashing down on the mental defenses he had been building up for so many days.
Tan Huaiyu's hand trembled violently, and the cotton swab almost fell. He bit his lower lip hard, so hard that he tasted blood, before he could barely suppress the sob in his throat.
He put down his water glass, grasped Qi Shuo's hand again, lowered his head, buried his face in Qi Shuo's cool palm, and his shoulders began to tremble uncontrollably.
There were no sobs, only suppressed, broken gasps, and scalding tears that gushed out, instantly soaking Qi Shuo's palms.
That wasn't just being frightened; it was the overwhelming fear and helplessness of falling into hell and being repeatedly burned in purgatory.
Qi Shuo's heart felt as if it were being gripped tightly by an invisible hand, the pain so intense it was almost unbearable, worse than the wounds on his body. He turned his hand back and, with the last ounce of strength he could muster, grasped Tan Huaiyu's trembling fingers.
He didn't say "I'm sorry," nor did he say "Don't cry." He knew that at that moment, any words would be pale and powerless.
He simply looked at him, his eyes, dimmed by injury yet still deep, fixed on him silently and unblinkingly, conveying a silent apology, reassurance, and a heavy, unchanging sentiment.
The sunlight gently fell on their clasped hands; the tears were still wet, and the pain remained.
But at least, he was alive. He woke up. He grasped his hand.
After a long wait, the first glimmer of dawn finally broke. And no matter how difficult the road to recovery ahead may be, they will walk hand in hand together.
Because they are each other's closest lovers, the most inseparable half of each other's lives.
Pain may leave scars, but love can heal wounds and grow stronger armor.
Continue read on readnovelmtl.com