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His guts hurt and he’s half drunk up a mountain in bugfuck nowhere trying to find a vein without stabbing Shen Wei in the hand, and Zhao Yunlan feels stupidly cared about.
What kind of professor would make themselves pass out, just to save Zhao Yunlan’s stomach another miserable night? Shen Wei’s hand is warm, and Zhao Yunlan’s thumb traces over faint callouses that don’t quite match his own.
The needle finally goes in. Saline drips, and he reaches for Shen Wei’s jacket.
...if he’s right, that’s another layer of impossible. But the stupid, happy, cared-about feeling just gets stronger.