That night, Jiang Xun curled up on the attendant's bed, playing games.
Duan Qizhao invited him to duo queue online, then gave away first blood less than three minutes into the match. His voice came through the voice channel, utterly self-assured. "They're definitely hacking! I clearly used Flash!"
Jiang Xun shot back, "Flashing to your death still counts as flashing," and muted him. He was about to queue solo for the next match when he glanced toward the hospital bed out of the corner of his eye.
Shen Wangjing lay on his side, facing the window, his back to him.
At first glance, it was a normal sleeping position. The blanket covered his shoulders, the cast on his left leg rested on a raised cushion, and the IV tubing hung down along the edge of the bed. Everything looked much the same as usual.
But Jiang Xun stared at his back for a moment, then rolled off the attendant's bed.
Without putting on his shoes, he padded barefoot around to the window side of the hospital bed and bent down close.
Shen Wangjing's eyes were closed, his brows tightly knitted, his lips pressed into a line. The scabbed wound at the corner of his mouth had been pulled slightly white.
His right hand was tucked beneath the pillow, his shoulders hunched, his entire body like a bow drawn to its limit.
Jiang Xun reached for the hand beneath his pillow.
The instant his fingertips touched his wrist, Shen Wangjing's eyes snapped open.
There was none of the confusion of waking in those eyes. Something churned deep in his pupils, heavy and dark, and the moment his gaze met Jiang Xun's, he failed to hide it all in time. It struck Jiang Xun's eyes, utterly exposed.
Shen Wangjing blinked, forcibly pressing