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The elevator in Chu Wanning’s building had been broken for three days, and the landlord had taped another apologetic handwritten notice over the buttons as though layering enough paper over the issue would somehow make it less irritating. Chu Wanning looked down at the note with a mild air of disdain as he juggled his phone and grocery bag, which were digging into his fingers. Outside, rain had begun falling again before he got home and the moisture still lingered in the hems of his coat.
"Wanning, are you listening?"
"I am listening," Chu Wanning responded flatly as he climbed another flight of stairs.
Xue Zhengyong sighed dramatically on the other side of the call. "I'm just telling you that kid has been sick for nearly four days now. When I call him he always says he is fine — but we both know how Mo Ran is. That kid will be crawling around on the floor half dead and still smile at me when I ask him how things are going."
Chu Wanning's frown deepened.
He knew.
Far too well.
"Then why don't you go see him?"
"If I could." Xue Zhengyong sounded truly remorseful now. "Wifey and I have been tied up with this supplier mess since the weekend. By the time I get free, it’s already midnight. I thought maybe I could guilt him into coming here this weekend instead— but frankly..." A pause. "I don't think he is caring for himself right now."
By the time Chu Wanning reached his own floor and began slowing near his apartment door, he pulled his keys out of his pocket. Across the hall, the light beneath Mo Ran’s door was off. Quiet.
"He said he is eating." Xue Zhengyong voiced his doubt. "But that kid only says that because he knows his aunt worries."
Chu Wanning didn't respond immediately. He unlocked his door and let himself inside, then stood silently with the phone against his ear for a few moments.
There was no logical reason for him to feel so invested in this. Objectively speaking, neighbors checked on neighbors all the time. It was completely normal. An act of human decency. Nothing more. And yet, the image that arose in his mind of Mo Ran curled up alone in the dark apartment across the hall, feverish and stubborn and far too tired to even leave bed was infuriatingly vivid.
Chu Wanning took slow breaths through his nose.
"I...could..." He caught himself before finishing his sentence. "I could make him some food."
Xue Zhengyong fell silent.
Chu Wanning wished he hadn't opened his mouth.
"You?" Xue Zhengyong spoke softly.
"Yes, me."
"No, I mean—" He coughed uncomfortably. "That’s very nice of you, Wanning, but you really don't need to go to that sort of trouble—"
"I live directly across from him," Chu Wanning said bluntly.
"That isn't what I meant," Xue Zhengyong explained.
Frustration flared beneath Chu Wanning's skin at the skeptical tone he heard leaking through the phone lines. “I am capable of making soup.”
Another pause.
“... What kind of soup?”
Chu Wanning glared at nothing in particular.
"I can also make wontons."
Xue Zhengyong suddenly burst out laughing. "Ha ha," then quickly stifled the laughter. “You still only know how to make wontons? Madam Wang taught you that recipe, what, ten years ago?”
Chu Wanning's body stiffened. "There is nothing wrong with specializing." Realistically he knew how to cook, but it seemed that whatever he tried to cook eventually went through the elaborate process of turning into a lump of coal. He knew this. Xue Zhengyong knew this. But he did not like accepting it out loud.
"No, no, your wontons are great," Xue Zhengyong rapidly assured him. However, he still seemed to be highly entertained. "I'd really appreciate it if you could just check on him. This kid doesn't listen to anyone, but for whatever reason he listens to you."
Chu Wanning's grip on the phone tightened. "That is untrue."
Mo Ran certainly acted attached to him in ways that were often excessive and difficult to understand, but Chu Wanning had never once believed himself to hold any real importance in the younger man’s life. Mo Ran would flirt with people with reckless abandon, speak without restraint, and smiled all too easily. He would treat affection the same way he did breathing— effortlessly, and indiscriminately.
In addition, Chu Wanning had long ago come to realize that if Mo Ran chose to focus his attention on him rather than others, it was likely because Mo Ran enjoyed making fun of him.
"Don't blow things out of proportion," he mumbled.
Still, after ending the call, he stood motionless in his kitchen for several seconds before finally setting the groceries down and rolling up his sleeves.
Making wontons had always been soothing to Chu Wanning in many respects. It required precision— measured finger pressure, precise folding, and accurate timing. As he folded and cooked the wontons, the comforting repetition of the motions helped calm his thoughts, even though the agitation beneath those very thoughts remained simmering.
Why was he doing this?
Mo Ran was a grown man who could order his own food. And yet the more Chu Wanning thought about instant noodles and skipped meals and fever medicine taken on an empty stomach, the more uneasy he became.
When the broth was finished boiling and the wontons were all wrapped up in insulated containers along with medication, electrolyte packs and sliced fruit he had cut with precision; it had been almost an hour.
The hallway outside was dim and quiet as Chu Wanning stepped through it, carefully carrying the food in one hand and banging on the door with the other.
There was no response.
His brows furrowed.
He knocked again.
A few seconds later he heard stumbling coming out of the inside, and then the sound of something falling down.
Then the lock clicked open.
As soon as the door opened, Chu Wanning knew that something was not right about the fever.
Mo Ran looked at him like a starving man being offered food.
Not metaphorically. Not poetically. The intensity of it was immediate and raw enough to send warning sparks down Chu Wanning’s spine. Mo Ran stood there barefoot and flushed with fever, one hand still gripping the doorknob too tightly, his pupils blown dark and wide in the dim apartment lighting as though his exhausted brain had simply stopped processing anything beyond the fact that Chu Wanning was here.
They both froze for a second. Then Mo Ran inhaled.
It was small, sharp. Almost imperceptible. However Chu Wanning saw it— how Mo Ran's shoulder muscles tensed up quickly under the soft fabric of his shirt, how his hands gripped onto the frame of the door as if he had to physically stop himself from reaching forward. "Shizun," he said softly. His voice sounded wrecked. Chu Wanning immediately turned his face away.
“You look terrible,” he replied stiffly, because that felt safer than acknowledging whatever had just passed between them.
Mo Ran didn't reply for a little bit longer. Chu Wanning could still feel Mo Ran's gaze on top of him with an unbalanced weight, could nearly hear Mo Ran's feverish confusion slowly spinning over in his eyes as he attempted to get things straightened out.
"You came here." Mo Ran said. Not surprised. Not questioning. Admiring. Chu Wanning loathed the way that tone affected him.
"I have food."
Another silence followed. This time long enough to make Chu Wanning's uneasiness develop into frustration. When he looked back up, Mo Ran was still gazing at him. No— worse than gazing. Seeing. Intently drilling holes into him with such forcefulness that it approached danger. Usually Mo Ran's flirting was surrounded with humor, softened by laughter, and over exaggerated embarrassment which made it possible for Chu Wanning to think of it as foolishness. This felt completely different. This felt like someone barely holding himself together.
Mo Ran swallowed visibly before stepping back to let him inside, though every step looked like he was using all his willpower to keep his body from closing the space between them. The apartment air was warm and heavy with fever, full of the scents of instant noodles, medicine, and sleep. Immediately upon entering the apartment Chu Wanning furrowed his brow at the light mess scattered around the living room; however before he could say anything, he realized Mo Ran was standing rather too close to him behind. Not touching. Just there. Close enough that Chu Wanning could feel the warmth radiating off his feverish body.
For some reason, that felt infinitely worse.
Why it felt like that was beyond all comprehension.
“Shut the door and get inside,” Chu Wanning said quickly.
Mo Ran blinked once and looked as though he had momentarily forgotten how doors worked. "Right."
Mo Ran's sickness was severe enough to have obviously affected his typical level of self-control. His responses were slow; he reacted based on instinct rather than thought. Unfortunately, Chu Wanning was beginning to suspect those instincts were deeply problematic.
Every time Chu Wanning moved, Mo Ran's eyes followed. Not casually. Hungrily.
There was something more complicated in his gaze, entwined with fever and fatigue and months of unrequited feelings that had somehow broken through their previous boundaries. Chu Wanning had the disconcerting sensation that if Mo Ran hadn't been half-delirious, he would've done a better job of hiding this.
Or possibly worse: If he'd been less ill, he may have even acted on it.
The idea sent Chu Wanning's face burning. Ridiculous. Completely ridiculous. What was he thinking?
"Sit down," Chu Wanning told him bluntly, pulling open the containers onto the counter. "You look like you're going to pass out."
Mo Ran chuckled weakly behind him. “Honestly, I’m trying really hard not to do something embarrassing right now.”
Chu Wanning froze.
"...What?"
The silence expanded.
Finally, when he turned around, Mo Ran lay sprawled on the couch, one arm slung over his eyes as if covering himself would keep his emotions in check. His breathing sounded labored. It was feverish.
"You should tune me out," he mumbled into his sleeve. "My brain isn't functioning well."
Chu Wanning stared at him warily. “What exactly does that mean?”
Mo Ran dropped his arm far enough to glance at him.
This was a bad move for both of them.
Because the look on his face was heartbreaking.
There was nothing playful in it now. No teasing arrogance. Just exhausted, aching restraint stretched frighteningly thin over naked affection.
Chu Wanning's heart began racing erratically. He broke eye contact first, because he really did not want to be thinking these thoughts. "You are delirious," he finally stated, since it explained everything without losing any semblance of sanity.
“Probably,” Mo Ran agreed immediately. “That’s the problem.”
"The problem?"
"Yeah..." He closed his eyes again with evident torment. “Because usually I’m better at pretending to be normal around you.”
Chu Wanning almost dropped the bottle of medication in his hands.
"Nonsense. What foolishness are you spouting?"
Mo Ran gave a weary chuckle but there was also a real sense of exasperation beneath it — directed solely at himself. "Shizun, you showed up at my door carrying homemade food while I’m sick out of my mind and haven’t seen you properly in days. Do you seriously think I’m functioning right now?”
The directness of it stunned Chu Wanning into temporary silence.
“I’ve spent the last ten minutes trying not to drag you onto this couch,” Mo Ran admitted hoarsely, sounding deeply ashamed of himself. “So honestly, I think I deserve some credit for restraint.”
Chu Wanning was motionless.
The room had become ridiculously hot.
Rain gently struck the window panes while silence stretched tautly between them.
Mo Ran seemed to realize several seconds after he'd said it aloud what he'd actually said.
"....Okay," he whispered weakly, rubbing his palms over his face.“See, this is exactly what I mean. Fever. Medicated. Brain damaged. Please pretend I didn’t say that.”
Chu Wanning couldn't pretend otherwise.
His heart was pounding furiously now and literally ached.
He didn’t— he didn’t know what to make of this situation. Was Mo Ran belittling him? Was it an elaborate humiliation ritual? Were there cameras around in this room?
He set aside his own ridiculous thoughts and focused instead on tending to Mo Ran.
Chu Wanning became intensely aware of the space between them — of each time Mo Ran made an active attempt to avoid touching him, although it was apparent he wanted to — of the tension in Mo Ran's shoulders every time Chu Wanning reached to hand him medicine or adjusted the blanket flung across the couch.
It gradually occurred to him, horrifyingly, that Mo Ran had likely restrained himself throughout the entire evening.
Since the very start.
And suddenly all of these lingering glances and uneven breathing and instant compliance took on a new light altogether.
Chu Wanning’s ears burned hotter. Maybe he was catching Mo Ran's fever.
“You should eat before taking more medicine,” Chu Wanning said abruptly, because if he allowed himself to keep thinking about this for even another moment, he genuinely feared his composure would fracture beyond repair.
Mo Ran obeyed immediately.
That, somehow, only made things worse.
Mo Ran sat there on the couch with the bowl balanced carefully between his hands, shoulders still visibly tense beneath the thin fabric of his shirt as though every muscle in his body remained wound too tightly. Steam rose softly around his face while rain continued tapping against the windows in a slow endless rhythm, but the apartment still felt oppressively warm to Chu Wanning. Every few bites, Mo Ran’s gaze drifted back toward him automatically, fever-heavy and helplessly intent.
It seemed as though Mo Ran wasn’t even trying to hide it anymore.
Chu Wanning busied himself with pointless tasks to avoid looking directly at him for too long. He mentally cursed Mo Ran for being meticulous in keeping his apartment clean, because with every blanket he folded, every takeout box he trashed, and every dish he rinsed spotless beneath the sink, he ran out of excuses to keep his hands occupied. Mo Ran was supposed to be sick! Chu Wanning’s apartment looked way worse, and he was in perfect health.
The underlying issue was this: He was doing everything he possibly could do to avoid looking at Mo Ran.
The problem was that awareness lingered anyway.
He could feel Mo Ran watching him.
The apartment had grown strangely quiet around them, filled only by the sound of rain against the windows and the soft clink of porcelain whenever Mo Ran lowered his spoon back into the bowl. Chu Wanning had never known what to do with this kind of attention. Whatever medicine Mo Ran had taken had apparently destroyed whatever restraint he normally possessed.
“You’re staring again,” he said finally, unable to tolerate the tension anymore.
Mo Ran blinked sluggishly, as though returning from far away. “Sorry.”
However he did not cease staring at Chu Wanning.
Chu Wanning clenched his fists on the dish towel in his hand. “If you know you’re doing it, then stop.”
"I am restraining myself," Mo Ran answered quietly.
The immediate honesty of it made Chu Wanning’s breath catch.
After making that statement, Mo Ran dropped his gaze to the bowl in his hands and his ears went bright red. He sounded genuinely mortified.
“Shizun,” he muttered after a moment, voice rough with exhaustion, “I really don’t think you understand how bad of an idea it was to come here looking like this.”
Chu Wanning frowned instantly. “Looking like what?”
Mo Ran made a weak sound somewhere between a laugh and a groan before dragging one hand down his face. “See? That. Exactly that.”
Mo Ran stared stubbornly into his soup like it had personally betrayed him.
Chu Wanning felt an absurd urge to laugh. It caught him off guard — and he squashed it quickly.
For a while, silence settled again. Not uncomfortable exactly. Heavy, certainly, but quieter now. Eventually Mo Ran ate what was left of his meal. However, by the end of his meal, Mo Ran's movements were slow, the medicine having taken its toll on him and pulling him heavily back toward sleep. Exhaustion was evident in the pull of his posture when he tried to sit upright.
"You should be resting," Chu Wanning said a little more quietly than he had previously.
Mo Ran nodded once, then laid his head back against the couch cushion, his eyes only partially opened. "You're still here."
Mo Ran's tone sounded strangely questioning.
Chu Wanning looked away first. “Obviously.”
"I figured you'd go home after I acted like such an idiot."
"You are sick."
“Mm.” A faint smile tugged weakly at the corner of Mo Ran’s mouth. “So I get forgiven for saying insane things.”
“That depends entirely on the things.”
Mo Ran chuckled softly under his breath and immediately winced as if laughing needed too much energy. Neither of them spoke for a few minutes. Chu Wanning couldn't help looking at how Mo Ran's chest rose and fell with each breath as hard as he tried not to.
He truly did look terrible.
Mo Ran was pale beneath the fever flush, exhausted enough that his eyes struggled to stay open properly, dark hair fallen messily across his forehead— and yet every time his gaze drifted back toward Chu Wanning, there was still that unbearable warmth in it, as though he could not quite believe any of this was real.
Chu Wanning would see himself out soon, he reasoned. He just wanted to stay until Mo Ran fell asleep. No other reason.
"Shizun," Mo Ran mumbled a little later in his sleep.
"What?"
A longer pause. Then, with the exact same brutal honesty he demonstrated throughout the evening, Mo Ran quietly stated: "I really want to kiss you right now.”
Chu Wanning froze, and all thoughts prompty flew out of his head.
His heart beat so loudly, it threatened to drown out the sound of the rain.
Was he hearing things? He felt hot under his shirt collar, maybe he really was getting sick...
Mo Ran looked at him for a few seconds longer and once again, Chu Wanning saw it: that restraint. That obvious, aching restraint running through every fiber of him. The desire showed openly in the tightness of his shoulders, in the way his fingers curled helplessly against the couch cushion, in the effort it takes for him to stand still rather than cross the space between them.
And yet he stays back.
Stays in control.
"Anyway," Mo Ran mumbled drowsily, "If I kissed you now, you might catch my illness too."
The sudden stab of disappointment startled him badly enough that he nearly recoiled from it.
For one terrifying moment, a treacherous piece of him wanted to say he didn't care about that either.
He wanted to walk across the room anyway.
That realization hit him so strongly that it caused him to recoil from it.
Luckily for Chu Wanning, Mo Ran was far too exhausted to notice the brief crack in his self-control. By that point, Mo Ran's eyes had already started to close again, as sleep finally conquered what willpower remained to keep him awake this long.
Chu Wanning stood frozen next to the couch with his pulse still irregular under his ribcage.
Finally, after many seconds of standing there silently, Chu Wanning said stiffly, "Sleep before your fever worsens."
Mo Ran smiled faintly without opening his eyes.
"Yes, Wanning.”