Chapter 65 - Like a prey

Chapter 65: Chapter 65 - Like a prey

The doctors arrived before Jua could decide what to ask first.

Mao Mao lifted his head at the knock, though he didn’t release Jua’s hand until the nurse approached the bed. Even then, he placed it carefully on the blanket before moving his chair aside.

Three people entered. The doctor at the front introduced himself, explained that he had been overseeing Jua’s care, and began asking questions while the others checked the equipment beside the bed.

Jua answered as best he could. His voice was still rough, and speaking for more than a few words made him want another piece of ice. The doctor gave him time, waiting patiently when he needed to swallow.

Mao Mao said very little.

He stood beside the window, close enough to see everything, his coat now draped over the chair. Without it, the breadth of his shoulders was even more noticeable. His sleeves were pushed back slightly, exposing strong wrists and the watch fastened around one of them.

Jua caught himself looking.

It was difficult not to. Every time he glanced away and looked back, there was another difference to absorb.

Then their eyes met.

Mao Mao’s attention settled on him with an intensity that made Jua lose track of the doctor’s question.

He had been watched by the boy before. Mao Mao used to follow him around the room with his eyes, waiting for Jua to notice him and make space beside him. Back then, Jua had understood what he wanted.

This gaze... it was harder to read.

It moved over him slowly, lingering on his face, his throat, the hand resting outside the blanket. There was relief in it, certainly, but something else held Jua’s attention. Mao Mao looked as though he had found something he had spent years searching for and was already considering how to keep it within reach.

For one uneasy moment, Jua felt like prey being watched from very close by.

"Mr Jua?"

He turned back to the doctor.

"Sorry."

The question was repeated, and Jua answered it, annoyed with himself for being distracted. He had been awake for less than an hour. His head was muddled, his body barely worked, and he was probably reading too much into a man who had just discovered someone he cared about was conscious after twenty years.

Still, when the doctor took his wrist to examine his hand, Mao Mao’s eyes followed the movement.

A slight pressure against one joint made Jua wince.

Mao Mao straightened.

The doctor noticed immediately and eased his grip.

"Is that painful?"

"A little."

He adjusted his examination without fuss. Near the window, Mao Mao remained silent, but the look he gave the doctor was cold enough that Jua glanced between them.

Nobody else seemed surprised.

The nurse passed over another instrument. The doctor explained what he was doing before touching Jua again, and the examination continued with a care that felt thoroughly practised.

Jua began to wonder how many times Mao Mao had stood in this room watching them.

How many small changes had sent him reaching for a phone? How often had someone needed to explain a bruise, a mark from a needle, or a stiff joint that had become painful during therapy?

He looked toward the chair and the folded blanket over its back.

Twenty years was a long time to sit beside a bed.

When the doctor asked him to move his legs, Jua concentrated on the task instead. His feet shifted beneath the blanket, but bending his knees took more effort. By the time he finished, a dull fatigue had spread through his thighs.

The doctor observed each movement, then spoke quietly to the nurse before turning back to him.

"We’d like to help you sit at the edge of the bed first. If you feel well enough after that, we can try standing briefly."

Jua nodded. He was tired of lying there, and an unreasonable part of him wanted proof that he could still do something as ordinary as put his feet on the floor.

The nurse lowered the blanket.

She had barely reached toward his shoulder when Mao Mao stepped forward.

"I’ll help him."

His voice was calm, but his hand was already beneath Jua’s arm.

The nurse moved aside. The doctor gave a few instructions, directing how slowly they should proceed, and Mao Mao followed them without taking his eyes off Jua.

One broad palm settled behind his upper back. The other supported his arm as he was eased upright.

The room shifted unpleasantly.

Jua closed his eyes until it steadied, leaning into the support despite himself. His hair slipped forward around his face, and Mao Mao brushed it aside before it could catch beneath his hand.

"Take your time," the doctor said.

Jua waited, breathing through the strange heaviness in his head. Being upright felt like considerably more work than it should have.

Mao Mao didn’t hurry him.

When Jua finally opened his eyes, he found the man bent slightly toward him, studying his face from a distance that would once have been perfectly natural.

Now Jua was acutely aware of it.

He looked down instead, watching as his legs were guided over the side of the bed. His feet met the floor, cool beneath his soles, and he sat there for a moment getting used to the sensation.

Mao Mao crouched to make sure they were positioned properly.

The sight brought back an absurdly clear memory of the child sitting on a chair while Jua checked the scrape on his knee. He remembered holding that little leg steady, warning him not to kick.

Now Mao Mao’s hand nearly enclosed his ankle.

Jua swallowed.

He had thought he understood the passage of time when he saw the man in the doorway. Apparently, understanding it would have to happen in pieces.

"Ready?" Mao Mao asked.

Jua nodded.

Getting to his feet was awkward.

He tried to push himself up, but his arms trembled and his knees didn’t seem willing to take over. Mao Mao supported more of his weight without comment, one arm secure around his back while the other steadied him at the elbow.

For a brief, embarrassing second, Jua was almost entirely in his hold.

Then his legs straightened enough for him to stand.

His feet felt strangely distant. He knew where they were, could feel the floor beneath them, but balancing over them required his full attention.

The doctor remained close, speaking to him while the nurse watched his face.

Jua heard only half of it.

The hand spread across his back was hot.

He could feel each finger through the thin fabric of his clothes, the palm broad enough to cover much more of him than he expected. It was a sensible place to support someone, yet the pressure made him restless. He shifted his shoulders, trying to settle his shirt where it had pulled against his skin.

Mao Mao noticed.

"Does it hurt here?"

Before Jua could explain, the hand began moving in a slow rub over his back.

"No, it’s—"

His balance wavered, interrupting him. Mao Mao drew him closer, and the palm slid lower, following the curve of his spine toward his waist.

Jua went still.

The hand stopped just above his buttocks, firm enough to support him, low enough that he became uncomfortably aware of how close they were standing.

He lifted his head to look at Mao Mao.

Up.

He actually had to look up.

The man was a full head taller than him, taller than the doctor beside them and everyone else in the room. From this close, Jua could see the underside of his jaw, the movement in his throat when he swallowed.

He remembered being able to rest his chin on Mao Mao’s head.

Now, if he leaned forward, his face would meet the man’s chest.

Mao Mao looked down at him, his expression immediately attentive.

"What is it?"

Jua’s fingers tightened weakly around his sleeve.

"Your hand. A little higher."

For a moment, Mao Mao’s gaze remained fixed on his face.

Then his palm moved back to the middle of his back.

"Here?"

Jua nodded, trying to ignore the warmth creeping into his own cheeks. He wasn’t used to needing so much help, and being held upright by someone he still kept thinking of as a child made the whole thing worse.

The doctor asked whether he felt dizzy.

"A bit," Jua admitted.

That was enough for Mao Mao to begin guiding him back toward the mattress. He did it slowly, waiting until the back of Jua’s legs touched the bed before helping him sit.

Jua was grateful, though the speed of the decision made him glance up again.

Mao Mao was already adjusting the pillow behind him.

The doctor continued speaking, explaining that there was no need to force more activity today. Jua listened this time, his hands resting on his thighs while the weakness gradually stopped trembling through them.

Beside him, Mao Mao smoothed the fabric at his shoulder and drew his hair clear.

Jua watched the familiar care in those unfamiliar hands.

When Mao Mao looked at him again, his expression softened.

It should have reassured him completely.

Instead, Jua found himself remembering how quickly everyone had stepped aside when he approached the bed.