Nuocheng woke to unfamiliar ceiling tiles. He squeezed his eyes shut against the light, the ache behind them sharpening with every second he stayed conscious.
Blinking, disoriented, he took in the plain white walls, the narrow window letting in gray morning light, the single chair pushed against a desk in the corner. None of it belonged to any room he recognized.
He sat up too fast, and the blanket slipped, and he realized, with a jolt that stole the air from his lungs, that he was completely naked underneath it.
A scream tore out of him before he could stop it, raw and panicked, both hands flying to cover himself though there was no one in the room to see. His mind raced through the fragments of last night, the drinks, the tilting room, Yuanjun’s hands on his waist, the darkness swallowing everything before he hit the floor.
Had someone touched him? Had they gotten what they wanted after all?
Nuocheng felt sick, disgusted with his own body, disgusted with himself for walking into that party in the first place, for drinking anything at all after everything that had already happened to him once before. He should have known better. He should have left the second he saw Mo Lei’s face across the room.
Both hands pressed over his face, eyes burning hot and wet. His dad had never been this foolish. He had no idea how to explain any of this to anyone.
The door opened, and every thought in his head froze solid.
"Oh, you’re awake? That’s good to see."
Nuocheng’s head snapped up, and his eyes landed on Sicheng standing in the doorway, a plastic bag of takeout hanging from one hand.
Relief hit him so hard it nearly knocked the breath back out of him.
"I’m so relieved," Nuocheng said, voice cracking, a tired smile pulling at his mouth despite everything. If Sicheng had been the one to bring him here, then whatever had happened, it hadn’t been with any of those bastards at the table.
Sicheng didn’t smile back. He crossed the room, set the food down on the desk without a word, and stepped back toward the door, putting distance between them like Nuocheng might reach for him if he stood too close.
"Your clothes are on the table," Sicheng said, voice flat, eyes fixed somewhere over Nuocheng’s shoulder rather than on his face. "Take your time before you leave."
"Wait." Nuocheng’s throat tightened. "I want to thank you."
"No." The word came out immediate, final. "Just leave me alone. I don’t want to see you again. If you ever see me somewhere, ignore me. You’ve done more than enough."
Something in Nuocheng’s chest cracked at that, though he understood, in some distant part of himself, exactly why Sicheng felt entitled to say it.
Nuocheng nodded, lowering his head, unable to hold that flat, closed-off stare any longer.
"Thank you for helping me," he said quietly. "If you ever need anything from me, please don’t hesitate to ask."
Sicheng said nothing, turning to walk out, the door shutting behind him with a soft click that somehow felt louder than a slam.
Nuocheng sat alone in the silence that followed, staring at the closed door, the food going cold on the desk beside him.
Questions crowded his mind: why Sicheng had been the one to bring him here instead of calling an ambulance, or Chenxi, or anyone else at that party; what exactly had happened after he passed out; whether Sicheng had carried him out himself, or fought anyone off to do it.
None of them left his mouth. Asking would only give them a reason to interact again, and Sicheng had made himself painfully clear about wanting none of that.
He got dressed slowly, hands still trembling faintly from the leftover panic, every movement heavier than it should have been.
Checking himself carefully as he dressed, he searched for any sign, any bruise or ache that would confirm his worst fear.
He found nothing beyond the general soreness of having slept wrong on an unfamiliar mattress.
Whatever had happened last night, at least his body seemed intact.
Nuocheng folded the blanket out of some strange, useless instinct to leave the room as undisturbed as he’d found it, then picked up the bag of food Sicheng had left behind, still warm enough to know it had been bought recently, probably on the way here.
He didn’t understand this man.
Didn’t understand how someone who’d told him to stay away twice now, who clearly wanted nothing to do with him, kept showing up exactly when he needed him most.
It would have been easier, in some ways, if Sicheng had simply let him rot at that party.
At least then the guilt wouldn’t sit quite so heavy, tangled up with a gratitude he had no way of expressing.
Nuocheng let himself out quietly, the hallway beyond unfamiliar, some modest apartment building he didn’t recognize.
He pulled out his phone the moment he reached the street, fingers hovering over Chenxi’s contact for a long moment before he finally pressed the dial button.
"Where have you been?" Chenxi’s voice came through sharp with worry the second the line connected. "I’ve been calling all night."
"I’m fine." Nuocheng’s voice came out hoarse, unconvincing even to his own ears. "Come get me. I’ll explain in the car."
He hung up before Chenxi could ask anything else, standing alone on the sidewalk with the bag of cold food in one hand and feeling lethargic all over.
Nuocheng wondered if the effects of the drug had truly worn out.
The morning traffic moved past him, indifferent, ordinary, as if the entire city hadn’t shifted overnight while he’d been unconscious in a stranger’s bed.
He wondered how much of what happened at that party would follow him into work today, whether Yuanjun would act like nothing had happened, whether the others at the table would treat it as some kind of joke.
Nuocheng wondered, too, what it had cost Sicheng to get him out of there.
Whatever it was, he doubted he’d ever get the chance to find out.