Heal These Battle Scars | MxM

Chapter Eighteen - Sunflowers & Mooncakes & The Late Night's Bliss

Time must've been an illusion; it drifted by so fast — it couldn't possibly be real, right?

Xiao Fang wasn't too sure about how many hours drifted on by, but it definitely must have been many, many hours since he had been lying motionless, sinking against the soft press of the not-so-soft bunk bed he lay in, feeling the warmth of a cotton blanket cloaked over him, sheltering him from the icy mountain breeze that swirled through the cracks from the closed window sills or under the locked door.

A dim flame coming from the oil lamp sitting on the tabletop must've been lit all through the night, come morning. The room he was in smelt awfully a lot like charcoal dust and peppermint oil. Wang Yi often smelt like charcoal; it must have been him that lay Xiao Fang to rest. Also, Yi must've clothed him while he slept because he could not think of anyone else willing enough.

Wang Yi.

Suddenly, Xiao Fang's eyes were fluttering from earlier memories of Yi walking him along the corridors, but the rays from the morning sun shone a bit too brightly, piercing through the pane of glass, burning them back shut.

How many hours had he been asleep? It couldn't possibly be too long, could it? Xiao Fang hurled the bedsheet off of him; he did not know.

"Yi?" He spoke the only name he could think of out of nowhere. The persistent ache from his body: a dull, heavy thing he suffered that dug into his muscles and burned through his flesh, begged him to rest some more, close his eyes — perhaps never open them again, but was eager to get out of bed.

In the opposite corner, sitting on the tabletop, Yi appeared lost in thought as he rummaged through stalks of letters stamped with the Red Army star, all of them sealed shut, waiting to be opened.

"Yi?" Xiao Fang went on. Though he could see Yi, his eyes were still fluttering, trying to make sense of his surroundings, his voice hoarse, cracking. If only he could get a pint of water — or something, anything — he might feel better. "Wang Yi?"

The stalk of letters slipped from Yi's fingers like melted butter the minute he heard Xiao Fang's desperate cries. "You're awake," he hurried to the bed, not bothering about the fallen letters. "Goddammit, Xiao Fang. I thought you were going to die. Do you have any idea how long you've been asleep for?"

"How should I know? I've been unconscious the whole time, haven't I?" Xiao Fang massaged his temples, twisting so he could get a better look at Yi, hovering above him. Yi seemed lost as a child while his worrisome eyes traveled all over Xiao Fang's body, searching for something. "How long?"

When Yi noticed Xiao Fang's eyes on him as if caught in an act, he swiftly turned his gaze away. "Long enough," he answered, turning stiffly around before grabbing a cup of half-filled water from the wooden stool beside the bedhead. "How are you feeling?"

"What day is it?" Xiao Fang asked, watching Yi with questionable eyes. "I'll live, I think."

Not entertained by Xiao Fang's odd sense of humor, Yi clicked his tongue before he carefully tilted the chipped enamel cup to the doctor's chapped lips, feeding him in an attentive nature, much similar to the days Xiao Fang spent hanging from the chains in that sickening room littered with the stench of dead rats.

Despite the butterflies curling around his stomach, Xiao Fang parted his lips, allowing the feel of the cool liquid to quench his thirst.

"It's the seventeenth already. Today is the Chinese New Year," Yi casually muttered, setting the cup back on the stool. "You've been asleep at least twenty-four hours. I didn't know what else to do..."

Xiao Fang wrinkled his forehead because he could not believe his ears.

In an odd sense lying here, it appeared only yesterday he had been plotting to escape with his comrades. From the million thoughts racing about, he wondered whether Jie Yu managed to reach the Nanjing Kuomintang headquarters already. If so, the Red Army would not get to shell building.