The night outside the hospital felt colder than it should. The corridor lights cast a pale glow on the sterile walls, and I sat on the plastic chair, my fingers still trembling slightly.
Not far away, Lin Shen stood with his back to me. The doctor had just left, but he hadn't moved. His shoulders were rigid, his silhouette tight with something heavy—fear, worry, anger, I couldn't tell.
But the echo of his earlier words still pulsed in my chest:
"I'm scared."
And the force of that desperate embrace, as if he'd almost lost me for real.
I wanted to call his name, but my throat wouldn't let the sound out.
The nurse gently cleaned the scrape on my arm. The sting of the alcohol pulled me back to reality—reminding me why we were even here.
Because I ran out.
Because I couldn't take his coldness anymore.
Because I wanted him to face what was happening between us.
But I never expected he would panic like that.
Never expected his voice to shake.
Never expected him to lose control.
"Miss, you're all done," the nurse said softly. "You may go."
Lin Shen finally turned around.
His face was still pale, the line of his lips tight, but the moment his eyes found me, the heaviness in them softened—just slightly—replaced with something raw and unguarded.
Concern.
Relief.
And something deeper he refused to name.
I inhaled steadily. "Let's go home."
He didn't speak. He just watched me for a few seconds, as if confirming that I was truly, physically fine, before he finally nodded.
The air outside was damp from the earlier rain. Night wind slipped across my skin, cooling the lingering heat of panic.
He opened the car door for me.
I slid inside.
He didn't move for a moment.
When he circled around and entered the driver's seat, the silence between us felt both suffocating and fragile, like a thread stretched too thin.
He gripped the steering wheel but didn't start the engine.
I turned my head. "Why aren't we leaving?"
His fingers didn't loosen.
"You scared me," he said, voice low—deeper, rougher than usual. "Do you know that?"
I froze.
He looked straight ahead, not at me, but every word hit with the weight of something he had held in for far too long.
"You walked out alone. You didn't pick up your phone. And when I saw you almost step into that car's path—" His jaw tightened. "I thought I was going to lose you."
My heart tightened, painfully.
"Lin Shen…" I whispered.
"Don't." He finally turned toward me, eyes darker than the night outside. "Don't say anything yet."
He exhaled, slow and unsteady, as if that breath carried everything he'd been burying.
"You can hate me. You can get angry at me. You can blame me for everything."
A pause.
"But running out like that…" His voice lowered, trembling at the edges. "Don't ever do that again."
I swallowed. "I didn't mean to worry you. I just—"
"You did."
He didn't raise his voice, but the quiet firmness was worse.
"You scared me. More than I thought possible."
Silence settled again.
My hands tightened on my lap.
I didn't know if I should apologize or defend myself.
I didn't know if the right answer was to stay quiet.
But his next sentence shattered me.
"You're important to me," he said, barely above a whisper.
"Too important."
My breath caught.
He looked down, as if even admitting that cost him too much.
"I shouldn't have let it get this far," he continued. "I shouldn't involve you in my mess, or drag you into my life. I shouldn't cross that line with you—"
"But you did," I cut in softly. "And so did I."
His eyes lifted, meeting mine.
For a moment, neither of us moved.
The car was silent except for our breathing.
The distance between us felt unbearably close.
I leaned slightly forward. "I didn't run because I hate you."
My voice trembled. "I ran because I care too much. Because you keep pushing me away and I don't know what I mean to you."
His lips parted, but he didn't speak.
I forced myself to continue.
"Every time you act like last night meant nothing, it hurts. And I know it wasn't nothing to you."
The muscles in his jaw worked.
His breath came out shaky.
Finally, he reached over and gently brushed the bandage on my arm with his fingertips—careful, almost hesitant.
"I can't lose you," he murmured.
The air between us thickened.
I whispered back, "Then stop pretending you don't feel anything."
The way he stared at me—like he wanted to say something, wanted to deny it, wanted to hold me, wanted to run—made my chest tighten to the point of pain.
He leaned in slightly.
Just an inch.
But it felt like the entire world shifted toward me.
His voice dropped, barely audible.
"Don't tempt me right now."
"Why not?"
His breath caught.
"Because," he said slowly, "I'm very close to doing something I shouldn't."
My pulse jumped.
Heat spread through my chest.
But before I could answer, a car honked loudly outside the parking lot, snapping the moment like a fragile thread.
He inhaled sharply and leaned back, forcing distance.
"Put on your seatbelt," he said quietly. "We're going home."
But his voice was not steady.
Not calm.
Not composed.
And I knew—
Whatever this was between us…
It was no longer something he could deny.