My Mute Crush

Please Warm Me Up

Yibo's POV

For the past two days I haven't seen Xiao Zhan around my suite, I wonder if he is still fine. I have sent Arthur to my office to bring all the paper work here so he can look into it on behalf of me. As for Uncle Huang, he visits me in every two hours. But lying here on this bed for the entire day without doing anything is something I am yet to get used to. The moment I close my eyes to sleep, the parting face of My Zhan doesn't let me rest. It feels like I left someone who loved me more than anything in this world for someone who doesn't even care about me being alive.

The thousands of apologies won't change the situation I pushed him into. Yet again, if given a second chance, I would probably choose the same option which is returning back. But the void created by that incident, I guess will remain with me for the time eternity. I don't know how to face this Zhan after spending and imagining my life with other. In other words, the betraying I did unwittingly perhaps makes me unsuitable for that innocent soul. But still, I still feel like my love for that Zhan was more than my love for this one, that, that Zhan loved me more than this Zhan.

I was in my own world when a click of door warns me of someone's intrusion. To see someone right now was the least thing I wanted to happen. With a click of my tongue I glanced up, only to hurt myself with the sight.

At once I tried to sit on the bed, but it was he who rushed near me, helping me to sit properly. 'I am responsible for this state'—the thought started haunting me the moment I saw his paled face again. As our sight seeks each other's face, a rogue tear subconsciously started slithering down on my cheek.

The soft touch of his warm fingers on my cold cheek provided the comfort I was seeking for the past two days. My subconscious mind guided my face to lean into the touch.

He loves me.. his eyes says so.

Don't. Leave. Me

He did his usual calligraphy on my cheek, and I shook my head.

"Never." I replied, and this time it was his eyes that betrayed him by allowing the stored tears to run freely.

Should I say that I know about his confession, about his begging, about his desperation when I wasn't in my right mind? Should I let him know that it was his touches, his desperation, his warmth that brought me back?

No. I shouldn't! I am not worthy of his love. I chose to be with my imagination rather than him.

"How have you been?" I asked, and I could again feel his finger moving on my cheek. Is this his new found kink to scribble on my body?

I am sorry. I was sleeping for too long.

"You want to turn my body into a note pad?" I asked, and he shook his head violently before raising his other hand which was tightly held by me.

Oh fuck!

Why didn't I realise this soon? How am I expecting him to use his sign language with one hand? Nevertheless, I love the tingling felling of his finger scribbling on my skin.

"I am sorry." As I said this, I let go of his hand. "I am expected to get discharge in two-three days. You shouldn't come here to exhaust yourself. Okay?" I asked as I saw him taking a seat on the stool placed beside my bed. He is still in the cloths I saw him two days back. Was he here for the past two days?

"I am going home. Should I bring something for you to eat?" he asks, and I shook my head in denial. I don't want him exhaust himself for me.