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Xia Fei wakes up feeling all wrong.
There’s a suffocating heat in his lungs, one that fills his chest every time he takes a breath and sears his throat with a painful scrape. But despite the heat, he still feels way too cold, and in his attempt to reach for the blankets tangled low around his legs, he catches a glimpse at the time. Four in the morning. Too early to get up, not that he could if he wanted to.
Every movement makes his head throb, and laying back down after tugging the blankets over his chest has made him all sweaty. He feels like he’d just run a marathon on a full stomach; the nausea in his chest is another warning sign, one he desperately tries to quell by laying as still as possible.
It takes about another three seconds for his addled mind to put two and two together. He’s sick. Horribly so.
Panic lances through him then, sudden and desperate. He can’t be sick. He has a shoot in – he checks the time again by habit; it’s still four in the morning – four hours and he’d promised he’d show up, even with his full day of classes afterward. Pinky promised, swore on his soul.
Well, he didn’t say those exact words to Vein over the phone, but he did say he’d make a good impression for the photographers coming to Bridon from overseas. A valuable opportunity and a good business deal and his body decided to throw it all away by being a little sick. Way to go, Xia Fei.
He stares miserably at the ceiling, wondering if it was even worth it for him to try to sleep. The tightness in his chest is making it impossible to fall back asleep and he can feel his own anguish seeping out of every pore in his body. The water stain above him – the latest roommate he’s gotten in the past week – stares back at him mockingly. He’s too tired to be annoyed about it.
When was the last time he’d even gotten sick? He can barely remember. He’s taken surprisingly good care of himself despite his struggle for money, and the last time he’d gotten bedridden with fever was when he was a kid. The details are too vague to make out, and he doesn’t even know what he’d done to get over it. There was medicine, probably. The gross kind. And fluids. What else?
His head is too foggy to remember. It’s just the kind of awful predicament a university student would have to suffer at least one day in their life. He just didn’t think it could happen on a day where he’d actually made commitments. Typical, really.
He fumbles for his phone, tabbing to a search engine. It’s more out of habit than anything, but he needs to figure out how to make himself not sick, and preferably as fast as possible. If he somehow made up for the cancelled shoots – well. He thumbs back to his contacts with reluctant dread.
The first step is actually cancelling the shoots. He’ll have to tell Vein he can’t make it today.
And it’s not that Vein is that scary, per se, but Xia Fei feels really bad about cancelling, even if he technically had no say in the matter. It’s also so late (or early) that his boss is most likely asleep. Unlike a near-broke university student who is at death’s door with a fever, Vein probably has a regular sleep schedule.
So Xia Fei, squinting at the screen with a headache and a rapidly blockading nose (a new symptom, hooray), finds Vein’s contact number and painstakingly types out a message to him.
Felix: So sorry, Laoban, can’t make it today. I’ve come down with a really bad fever.
After a moment’s consideration, he adds a pleading sticker. Hopefully, it’ll spare him a lecture.
He’s about to turn his phone off and try to sleep again when a notification pops up almost immediately.
Huh?
He’s clicking on it before he can process it, and the chat reappears on his screen, this time with a new, lighter text bubble.
Vein: Call me.
Xia Fei gapes at the message, both for the promptness in reply and the request itself. But before he can even get his fingers on the keyboard to type a dissenting reply, Vein’s caller ID pops up on his screen.
Straight to the point as ever. Great. Now he has to answer.
“Hello?” God, he sounds awful. His throat and nose are thoroughly stuffed, so much so that he sounds like he’d gargled a handful of nails and sawdust. It’s so embarrassing, he tries to clear his throat as discreetly as possible.
“Felix.” Vein, as opposed to him, doesn’t sound the least bit groggy. “You sound well.”
He’s joking, from the tone of it, but Xia Fei can’t laugh. His chest hurts too much for it.
“Yeah, I feel horrible though. Sorry, I would’ve called you but it’s late– wait, did I wake you?”
A pause and faint static… is that a laugh?
“No.” No elaboration at all. Xia Fei doesn’t know what to think. “Did someone pass their germs onto you?”
“I don’t know,” he admits. “I just woke up and felt like this. I definitely won’t be able to make it to the shoot, which I’m really sorry about, Laoban, I know that y–”
“I’m coming over,” Vein interrupts, sounding amused. “Don’t worry yourself over apologies yet, Felix, you’ll have time later.”
He hangs up and Xia Fei is left to gape for the second time in the past five minutes. What. What? Why is Vein coming here? To Xia Fei’s place? When Xia Fei is all gross and probably highly contagious? At four in the goddamn morning??
He can’t let his boss see him like this. It’s unsightly and unacceptable and a definite breach in etiquette. And he needs to figure out what to do, and figure it out fast, because Vein wouldn’t lie about coming here, and Xia Fei isn’t at all ready to see his boss while half dead on his mattress.
He pushes the blankets back with incredible difficulty, swaying as he stands. One foot in front of the other, Xia Fei. Get to the door.
Somehow, he miraculously makes it to the front door right as a series of sharp raps echo from it.
Vein.
By instinct, he unlocks the door and pulls it open, miserably staring down the face of his employer.
Vein, at least, looks no worse for wear. He’s wearing a black surgical mask but his eyes are clear and sharp as ever behind his glasses, flicking over Xia Fei’s disheveled form before crinkling at the corners. Even with the mask on, he looks predatory. Xia Fei almost feels relieved.
“Aren’t you going to let me in?”
“Ah.” He forgot he was just standing in the doorway like an idiot.
Awkwardly, he steps back and pulls the door open more, letting Vein inside.
If not for him fighting the urge to throw up all over Vein’s shoes, he’d be hard pressed about letting his boss into his apartment. It’s not like it’s a mess, but it definitely isn’t ready for guests, least of all a professional one. Vein doesn’t seem to mind.
A rustle of a plastic bag catches his attention but he’s unable to look as Vein presses a hand to his shoulder, steering him firmly back to the bed.
“Go lay down, Felix.” His tone brooks no opening for an argument, and Xia Fei has no choice, the feeling of his boss’ hand burning an imprint through his shirt.
If he didn’t already feel uncomfortable before, he’s even worse now. The idea that Vein of all people is here in the wee hours of the morning with presumably the aim of taking care of his feverish employee is something the tabloids would fawn over. Xia Fei’s tried his best this week too — no bar fights, no excessive drinking. But this threatens to upend literally everything he’s been trying to do to clear his name in the past few days.
“Laoban—“ he tries, but Vein silences him with a look. Xia Fei falls quiet, chastened, and allows Vein to all but push him back into bed.
“I’ve cancelled your shoot for the day,” Vein says in lieu of explanation. He puts the bag he was holding on Xia Fei’s desk and something clunks dully inside. “Lucky for you, the photographer will be around for several weeks, which is plenty of time for you to get over your fever. I’ll send a message at a more reasonable hour to pencil you in at a later date.”
Xia Fei can barely keep up with his words. Several weeks? A later date?
They’re only postponing his shoot, he realizes. But—
“Isn’t the photographer leaving this week? Laoban? You said last time—”
“They will be here for several weeks,” Vein repeats, not looking at Xia Fei. “So I advise you to recover well before then, hm?”
Xia Fei gapes, not for the first nor last time. And his jaw drops even further once he sees the magnitude of the items inside that innocuous-looking plastic bag: bottles of medicine, ranging from pill bottles, and several containers of some sort of food. How did that all fit in there? And more importantly, why was Vein carrying all that?
Vein turns to him then, one eyebrow raised. Xia Fei braces himself for the worst.
Instead, the other does something much more confusing.
“Let’s see.” Vein holds up one of the bottles. It’s dark brown, wrapped in a white label and rather dramatic looking blue lettering splayed across it. “This one helps with congestion and…” he looks down through his glasses at the small print, “… throat pain. Are you feeling any of that right now, Felix?”
Xia Fei is so baffled that all he can do is nod. Vein hums in response and sets it aside before picking up another one.
“What about chest aches and headaches?”
“Yes…”
And so Vein goes through every single bottle he’d brought like this, reading out the symptoms the medicine supposedly helps with, with only a bewildered Xia Fei as his audience.
He wants to know what’s wrong with me, Xia Fei realizes. He’s trying to help.
The thought doesn’t do much to quell the anxiety of his boss in his home nor the fact that his boss is currently reading medication labels at him when he feels like he’s dying from a fever, but at the very least, an unaffected part of his chest warms at the idea of it. Vein is here after all, in the middle of the night at a very inconvenient hour doing an inconvenient task.
He comes back to the present with the sound of the glass clinking. Blinking, he balks at the sight before him: his effortlessly cool and awesome boss is at his messy kitchenette, filling a glass from one of the cabinets with warm water from the secondhand dispenser in the corner.
“Laoban, what are you doing?” He tries to push the blankets back again, to get back up. But Vein is at his side in a millisecond, corralling him back into bed so he’s sitting partially upright, propped by pillows.
“Ah-ah, stay down, Felix. You need water. Here.”
Vein presses the glass into his hand and Xia Fei tries and fails to mask a shiver of relief. It’s warm water. He sips at it greedily, all too aware of Vein once more delving into his comedically large array of medicine and picking out a bottle.
There’s a sharp crack as the seal is broken and the faintly metallic scent of the water is replaced by a stronger, fruity smell. Vein puts a medicine cup down on his bedside table, the small thing filled with a pinkish liquid.
“Is that what you decided on?”
Vein raises an eyebrow, evidently amused. “Do you have any objections?”
And because Xia Fei is feeling gross and nauseous and still ultimately conflicted about this whole thing, he has to admit to himself he doesn’t. He can’t say this to Vein, though , so he just sighs and reaches to take the cup.
It tastes disgustingly sweet, but he’s more mortified by the fact that Vein just plucks the cup from his lips once he’s finished and goes to dump it in the sink.
“Laoban… you didn’t have to do that.”
“Hm.” Vein clearly didn’t hear him. Xia Fei only has a moment to wonder what in the world his boss was going to do next before something cool touches his forehead and he flinches back.
“Wha—”
“Hold still.”
Vein’s hand is on his forehead. More like his wrist, but Xia Fei’s too stunned to even make the difference properly. The other is so close to him that he can see every strand of Vein’s eyelashes, the faint joints in the frames of his glasses, and belatedly, he realizes Vein isn’t wearing any eyeliner. Did he forgo it just to get to Xia Fei in time? Xia Fei’s chest tightens at the thought of it.
“W..What are you doing?”
Vein’s gaze flicks to him and Xia Fei is nearly overcome by the intensity of it. “Checking your temperature,” is the reply, as if it’s normal.
Which it is, it is, but Xia Fei suddenly feels like he’s dying.
He jerks away from Vein’s touch with an aborted noise as he starts coughing so hard, tears spring to his eyes. He’s distantly aware of Vein withdrawing and retrieving the water from where it’d been placed aside on the bedside table, and taking one of his hands to wrap it firmly around the glass.
The message is obvious. Drink.
And so Xia Fei does. Fighting back the itch in his throat, he manages a few more sips of water and waits until the urge passes. When he’s able to wipe his eyes and look back up at Vein.
“…Sorry,” he mumbles.
Vein looks back at him, expression still one of clear amusement. “For what? You’re sick, Felix. Those things happen.”
Xia Fei has no response to that but he grumbles appropriately into his glass.
“Just feels weird… you’re taking care of me.”
Vein laughs at him. “Weird? I’m making sure my employee doesn’t die of a little fever. There’s no harm in that.”
Xia Fei once more has no reply to that. There’s so many things he could say: about employers not needing to do this for their employees, that he’s a grown man and can take care of himself, that it’s just really surreal for his boss to appear at his apartment at four in the morning. But he doesn’t. Mostly because he still feels too miserable to argue, but also because that strange warmth in his chest has started to spread.
Vein seems oblivious to his mental struggle, however, and picks up one of the food containers, cracking open the lid. The sickly sweet smell of medicine is quickly overpowered by the mouthwatering scent of broth.
Xia Fei didn’t even consider the fact that he could be hungry at this time of night. He didn’t even think he could be hungry at all while feeling this sick and nauseous. But his stomach, very clearly, says otherwise.
“Are you sure I should be eating that?” Horror movies of throwing up all over Vein’s expensive clothes flash through his mind and he shudders. “I don’t want to.. uh…”
Vein chuckles. “You’ll be fine.”
What follows is the most bizarre set of experiences he’s had in his life. It’s not every day that he gets handfed by his own employer. He tries to insist he can do it himself but Vein seems all the more happy to push spoonfuls into his mouth.
And, regretfully, the broth is really good.
“Did you make this?” Xia Fei asks between bites, feeling incredibly, overwhelmingly humiliated and a little bit comforted, weirdly enough.
“No.” Vein’s reply is shorter than he expected, which Xia Fei finds a little funny.
“Then…”
“Eat your food, Felix.”
Xia Fei shuts up for now and dutifully eats. Vein doesn’t let him eat too much, though Xia Fei at least is glad to see Vein at least put the container in the fridge when they’re done.
The broth settles strangely well in his stomach. Not perfectly — the nausea is still lurking somewhere beneath his ribs, waiting for its opportunity — but the sharp, empty ache he’d been feeling earlier has dulled considerably.
More concerningly, he’s starting to feel sleepy.
Xia Fei blinks blearily at Vein as the other closes the refrigerator and turns back toward him. The room is quiet again, save for the hum of the ancient appliance and the occasional drip of the faucet. His apartment feels different with another person in it. Smaller, somehow. But Xia Fei thinks he doesn’t mind it.
“Thank you,” he says.
Vein glances at him.
“For the food,” Xia Fei clarifies, suddenly feeling the need to fill the silence. “And the medicine. And… everything, really.”
“Mm.”
That’s all he gets in response, and for some reason, that makes it worse.
Xia Fei pulls the blankets a little higher, resisting the urge to hide beneath them entirely. He can still feel the phantom warmth of Vein’s hand on his shoulder, the weight of the spoon being pressed into his hand every time he’d tried to insist he could feed himself. The coolness of Vein’s wrist against his forehead feels more like a brand against his skin, a weird sense of loss now that the source is no longer there.
…There’s something conflicting about it. Vein had moved around his apartment like he belonged here, filling a cup and putting food away, checking bottles and returning them to their bag. It’s all so mundane that Xia Fei almost forgets that this is the same man who had arrived at his door at four in the morning. That this very same man is his boss.
Almost.
“You really didn’t have to do all this,” he says again.
“I know.”
Xia Fei stares at the back of his head.
Of course he knows. And Xia Fei knows, beneath the sense of unknown familiarity, that all of this is weird.
It’s already weird enough that Vein showed up. Stranger still for Vein to take care of him. And beyond that… Xia Fei, again, hasn’t been sick since he was a kid but there’s something a little.. scripted from the way Vein had been acting this entire time. Almost like there was a list he’d been going off of to take care of Xia Fei.
But pointing it out feels really rude, especially after all the effort Vein had taken to make sure Xia Fei was okay.
So after rolling around the words in his mind, he opts for a different tactic.
“Have you..” Xia Fei’s suddenly wracked with another coughing fit and doubles over — there’s a whisper of displaced air and he can suddenly feel Vein’s hand on his shoulder to keep him from buckling too far. He can’t muster any gratitude past that in favor of hacking up his lungs again.
When the episode passes, he clears his throat, feeling painfully embarrassed. “Have you not taken care of a sick person before, Laoban?”
It’s impossible to see Vein’s expression behind the mask. In the dim light, his glasses reflect the shine of the moonlight filtering in through Xia Fei’s window, shielding his eyes from Xia Fei’s gaze. He’s like a sentinel in the dark, a mark of judgement that Xia Fei feels a little ashamed of passing back.
“It’s been a while,” is all Vein says finally. His tone is unreadable. Xia Fei opens his mouth to ask something else, because what does that even mean, but Vein follows it up with a contemplative hum.
“I wonder what a person would taste like when they’re feverish.”
“Laoban….” He groans. “Probably not any good. Plus, you’d get sick too.”
“Maybe,” Vein agrees lightly. He rises then, removing his hand from Xia Fei’s shoulder. Xia Fei mourns the loss of contact. “I’ve never gotten sick before. I wonder what will happen then.”
“You’ve never gotten sick before?” Xia Fei finds that hard to believe.
“Never.” Vein fetches the glass of water again and offers it to Xia Fei. “What, surprised?”
“Uh… kinda. I mean you don’t seem like you’d get sick now, but surely as a kid…” Xia Fei drinks the water. It’s still warm.
“When I was a kid, I had much more important things to do than get sick.” Vein’s eyes crinkle at the corners again — a smile — but it looks a little flatter, more distant for half a second. “So imagine my surprise when you managed to do so as a full adult.”
Xia Fei groans at him but has no comeback. His mind is pleasantly fuzzy, making it difficult to focus on the things he wants to say. He slides further down on the pillows with a sigh.
“Don’t be mean, laoban…”
“I’m not,” Vein says, and his figure is little more than a blurry shadow now as Xia Fei fights to keep his eyes open. “You’re just a rather large handful.”
His hand descends over Xia Fei’s rapidly shrinking field of view and a gentle pressure rests against his head for several seconds before disappearing. “Falling asleep in the middle of a conversation now? How impudent.”
He doesn’t sound mad, so Xia Fei hopes it’s okay. He’s fading too quickly to process much more than a shift of movement in the blanket under his chin and the scent of Vein’s cologne as the disappearing shadow moves closer to him before retreating.
“Goodnight, Felix.”
He’s asleep before he can even think to reply.