Chapter 91 Hold Hands for Awhile

Chapter 91: Hold Hands for a While

With Shen Ci blatantly peeking at him through the conference room’s glass wall, Shen Shiyan spoke clearly and at a slightly faster pace as he laid out the meeting points and task objectives, shaving the forty-minute meeting down to twenty-five.

When he exited the conference room, Shen Ci trailed after him like a magnetically attached tail.

Shen Shiyan had completely redone Shen Siwen’s break room, but he almost never stayed overnight at the company, at most taking a nap in there. This was the first time Shen Shiyan found having a restroom in the office so useful.

Shen Shiyan blocked Shen Ci from entering the restroom and locked the door from the inside. When he came out, he looked a whole lot more refreshed.

“Brother,” Shen Ci said, his eyes following Shen Shiyan’s movements as he dried his hair. “Have you gotten OCD about cleanliness lately? Why are you always showering?”

Shen Shiyan paused, a water droplet dripping from his hair tip, and lowered his voice, “I’ve always been a clean freak. I’m showering because it’s too hot.”

Shen Ci scooted closer from the other end of the leather couch, looking all innocent, “Didn’t you tell Sister Zizhu you were cold before the meeting, bro?”

“...” Shen Shiyan’s brows furrowed slightly, and he gritted out, “I’m just fickle, okay?”

Shen Shiyan rarely got truly mad at Shen Ci and couldn’t bring himself to snap at him, so he had to deal with his feelings on his own.

Life was slow and easy. Shen Ci got busy studying for finals and had no time to dwell on Shen Shiyan’s matters. If his grades tanked because of his feelings, Shen Shiyan would definitely be disappointed. As a result, Shen Ci’s grades didn’t drop—they actually improved, landing him in the top five of his class.

After the break, Shen Ci went back to his usual weird self. Except for the time he spent cosplaying or hanging out with Song Qiuchi and the others, he was practically glued to Shen Shiyan.

But Shen Shiyan’s days weren’t so easy. After countless cold showers, his usually strong body finally gave in and he got sick with a fever in mid-August.

He got a fever shot at the hospital in the afternoon, but it barely helped, and the fever shot back up at night.

Shen Ci grabbed the thermometer gun and pointed it at Shen Shiyan’s forehead. The little screen flashed a glowing red 39.2°C. Worried it was too soon for another shot, he didn’t give Shen Shiyan any more fever meds. Instead, he soaked two towels in cold water, wrung them out, and swapped them to cool him down.

This was the second time Shen Ci had seen him sick, and it was way worse than the first. Watching him lie in bed with furrowed brows, a sickly flush from the fever, and short, labored breaths, Shen Ci felt helpless and even a bit sad.

Since he was always the one being taken care of, Shen Ci wasn’t very good at this at first.

He didn’t know whether to turn on the AC, or use cold or warm compresses, or what to do when Shen Shiyan, buried under a bunch of blankets, still shivered from the cold.

He looked it all up online, and after figuring things out, he took one of the two winter blankets off Shen Shiyan, lifted the top a little, and gently wiped the light sweat off his neck and collarbone with a towel.

Then it was just changing towels over and over. Shen Ci went downstairs to the convenience store for some electrolyte water and slowly spooned some into Shen Shiyan’s slightly parted lips.

In the middle of the night, Shen Shiyan’s foggy mind finally cleared up a little. He opened his eyes with effort and reached out to grab Shen Ci’s wrist while he was wiping his forehead.

“Why aren’t you sleeping?” Shen Shiyan’s throat was dry and scratchy, his voice hoarse. “I’m fine. Go to sleep.”

Shen Ci pouted at him, picked up the thermometer gun from the pillow, and aimed it at Shen Shiyan’s forehead. Seeing 38.1°C on the display, he relaxed a bit.

“How can you say you’re fine? You were burning up at over 39°C, and it’s only just dropped a little.” Shen Ci insisted on shoving Shen Shiyan’s hand back under the blanket, then reached for the electrolyte water on the nightstand. “Drink a little; it’ll make you feel better.”

Shen Ci thoughtfully placed a long straw in the cup.

Shen Shiyan didn’t argue. He opened his mouth and took the straw, listening to Shen Ci’s soft chatter.

“I was so scared. That fever shot didn’t help at all. You went straight to bed after dinner, and no matter how much I called you, you wouldn’t answer. I almost called 120 before you finally responded a couple of times...”

Shen Ci’s voice faded as he left, then quickly returned. He replaced the towel with a freshly washed one and gently pressed it to Shen Shiyan’s forehead.

“It’s already three o’clock.” Shen Ci leaned in and pressed his cheek against Shen Shiyan’s for a second or two before pulling back. “Not as hot anymore. Online, they say this is more accurate than a thermometer.”

The corners of Shen Shiyan’s slightly dry, straight lips lifted a little.

Shen Ci smoothed the blanket at the side and leaned by the bed to ask, “Brother, are you hungry?”

Shen Shiyan shook his head slightly, still feeling dizzy. The towel on his forehead was a bit heavy and nearly fell off, but Shen Ci quickly caught it and replaced it with a new one.

“Then get some more sleep.” Shen Ci remembered something and pulled out his phone to search online. “You’ll feel better once you sleep.”

Falling asleep wasn’t easy, but whenever Shen Ci was sick and uncomfortable, Shen Shiyan always told him gently like this, as a form of comfort and companionship.

Shen Ci took a screenshot of the search results and looked up to find Shen Shiyan still watching him with a soft expression.

“Go to sleep,” Shen Ci urged, reaching out to cover Shen Shiyan’s eyes with one hand.

“Shen Ci,” Shen Shiyan said, eyes closed, feeling the slight dampness from Shen Ci’s frequent towel washing, the cool temperature, and a faint fragrance. “Hold my hand for a while.”

Shen Shiyan’s voice wasn’t loud, lacking its usual coldness. It was hoarse and slurred, carrying a hint of weak softness. People often showed their more vulnerable side when sick, and he was no exception—especially after nearly three months of Shen Ci’s subtle provocations.

“Want a hug for a while?” Shen Ci asked, but at this moment, he had no other thoughts—only the memory of the first time he had a fever as a child, when Shen Shiyan had pulled him onto the bed and held him.

There was a brief silence in the room. Shen Shiyan’s internal struggle dissolved into his hazy consciousness, and he softly hummed in agreement.

Just hugging won’t spread it.

Shen Shiyan’s eyelids felt heavy, but he still worried about passing his illness to Shen Ci.

The weight on his forehead was removed, his temperature was checked, and then a not-too-cold cooling patch was applied.

Then Shen Ci took off his shoes, gently lifted a corner of the blanket, and nestled close to Shen Shiyan, whose temperature was 37.6°C.

Shen Shiyan’s body ached a little, but he still turned onto his side and loosely pulled Shen Ci into his arms.

“Why use a towel when you have a cooling patch?” Shen Shiyan asked, rubbing his chin against the top of Shen Ci’s head.

Shen Ci slipped his arm through the gap in Shen Shiyan’s elbow, wrapped it around his waist and back, and stroked him soothingly a few times, his breath brushing against Shen Shiyan’s collarbone. “I’ve used those before. They’re too cold at first and really uncomfortable. I warmed this one on my arm first so it’s a bit better. With the towel, I can control the temperature myself. Changing it a few times will make you more comfortable.”

Shen Shiyan hugged him tighter and let out a soft “Mm” from his throat.