Chapter 2 The Shyness in the Clinic

Song Jingmo recognized him instantly, just by looking at his tightly covered appearance.

For a moment, Lu Er didn’t know whether to cry or to laugh.

The shouts of paparazzi at the door, the bodyguards’ blocking, the security’s reprimands—all of it blurred into a haze.

All that remained was the pounding of his own heartbeat and Song Jingmo’s icy questioning.

Was Song Jingmo suspecting that he had taken drugs or overdosed?

Right off the bat, without giving him a chance to explain, he was told to report to the police.

He must really hate him.

Six years had passed, and it seemed the hatred had only grown.

“You’ve got it wrong.”

Lu Er’s voice trembled. Almost purely by instinct to survive, he reached for the sleeve of Song Jingmo’s white coat.

But just as his fingertips were about to touch it, he recoiled like he’d been electrocuted.

Song Jingmo would be disgusted by his touch.

The situation was critical; he couldn’t afford to anger him further.

Besides, it was his fault back then.

Lu Er’s cheeks burned red, his voice low, tinged with panicked embarrassment and an unacknowledged grievance: “Someone put… something in my….”

Behind Song Jingmo’s golden-rimmed glasses, his eyelashes flickered slightly. In the still depths of his eyes, a trace of mild surprise flashed, then vanished.

Scanning once more the flushed eyes and trembling fingertips in front of him, Song Jingmo spoke in a commanding tone: “Follow me.”

The man walked upright ahead, showing no concern or sympathy for what he had gone through.

Lu Er clung to the wall, stiffly following, each step like treading on burning coals.

At the clinic door, Song Jingmo stepped aside and closed it once Lu Er entered.

The modest room was filled with the mingled scent of disinfectant and the cold cedar of Song Jingmo’s body, penetrating every corner of Lu Er’s senses.

It sent his already sensitive nerves into overdrive.

“Sit.”

Lu Er obediently sat at the edge of the examination bed, fingers nervously fiddling with the sheet.

Song Jingmo put on disposable medical gloves: “Mask and cap off.”

“C… can I not?”

After running here, sweating so much, his makeup was probably ruined. He didn’t dare imagine what he’d look like without the mask.

Song Jingmo didn’t even lift an eyelid: “You and I are just doctor and patient.”

Reluctantly, Lu Er removed the mask and cap, revealing a face that had stunned the entire internet.

Even with smudged makeup, his striking features remained flawless.

The patient on the bed was timid and obedient: “Do I need to take off my clothes?”

“Undo your collar.”

The bright light stabbed at his pupils. Lu Er instinctively closed his eyes, shrinking back.

“Open them.”

He forced his eyes open, meeting Song Jingmo’s face close-up.

Behind the lenses, his gaze was focused and sharp, no longer carrying the tenderness it once had.

The cold stethoscope pressed against Lu Er’s open shirt, touching his warm chest.

“Deep breaths.”

Lu Er complied, each inhale trembling slightly.

The stethoscope’s chill, Song Jingmo’s fingers brushing his skin inadvertently, felt torturous.

It was eerily reminiscent of that absurd night six years ago.

The same uncontrolled body.

The same Song Jingmo’s touch.

But that night had been burning entanglement; tonight was icy judgment.

Shame and fear coiled around him like vines, suffocating.

Lu Er bit his lip hard, afraid of making any embarrassing sound.

Finally, Song Jingmo straightened: “We need to draw blood to confirm drug composition. Take off your jacket and roll up your sleeves.”

Even though it was just removing a jacket, under Song Jingmo’s gaze, Lu Er felt an indescribable shyness.

He fumbled awkwardly with the buttons, fumbling several times in nervousness.

Song Jingmo’s gaze was calm, neither urging him nor offering to help.

Silent observation itself was a form of torture.

Sweating, Lu Er took off his jacket and rolled up his sleeves, revealing his fair forearms and inner elbows.

“Can… you be gentle?”

His voice was barely a whisper, carrying obvious fear and panic.

Song Jingmo paused: “You can’t even handle this little pain?”

Lu Er choked, recalling the sharp pain from that night, his cheeks flushing bright red.

So, Song Jingmo was mocking him for being overly sensitive?

Applying a tourniquet to his upper arm, Song Jingmo’s long fingers pressed on Lu Er’s inner elbow to locate a vein.

The gloves’ coolness made his scalp tingle with every touch.

“Make a fist.”

Lu Er obeyed, their breaths mingling.

The sharp sting opened a floodgate of memories.

··················

Six years ago, a morning bathed in harsh sunlight.

Lu Er woke with a splitting headache, his whole body aching as if run over by a truck.

Worse, lying beside him wasn’t a sexy girl but the studious Song Jingmo.

Ignoring the pain, Lu Er scrambled off the bed, desperate to escape.

On the bed, Song Jingmo slept peacefully, his lean torso partially covered by a blanket.

His smooth, pale back bore several claw marks, seven or eight centimeters long, with faint traces of blood.

His neck and shoulders were scattered with intimate bite marks.

A sight too gruesome to behold.

Out of guilt, Lu Er placed all the cash from his wallet and a card on the bedside table.

No sooner had he done so than Song Jingmo woke up.

The charming fox-like gleam in his eyes vanished the moment he saw the situation and Lu Er’s offering.

Replaced by disbelief, tinged with a hint of hurt.

But the hurt was quickly covered by a thick layer of coldness.

What followed was pure disgust.

A curve appeared at the corner of Song Jingmo’s mouth: “You really know how to disgust people.”

Lu Er panicked, apologizing: “I’m sorry! You know I’m straight! Just think… you were bitten by a dog!”

And without looking back, he bolted from the room.

……

“Hold still.”

The cold voice yanked Lu Er back from his unbearable memories.

Song Jingmo efficiently labeled the blood sample, removed his gloves, and tossed them in the medical waste bin.

He didn’t glance at Lu Er once during the process.

In the quiet room, the keyboard clicks sounded particularly crisp.

Lu Er couldn’t help but glance at the source.

Song Jingmo’s fingers tapped rhythmically on a black keyboard.

They were extremely beautiful hands.

Long fingers, fair at the base, knuckles defined. Nails rounded and clean. Under the jade-like skin, faint blue veins were visible.

Song Jingmo entered the information, his tone detached: “Go pay and then get the IV. I recommend a full physical checkup.”

Was Song Jingmo implying he was filthy?

Well, in the entertainment industry, how many could be clean?

The intense embarrassment washed over Lu Er. He opened his mouth to explain but realized there was no need.

The phone on the desk lit up, vibrating slightly.

Song Jingmo picked it up, not avoiding Lu Er, but his side profile softened slightly.

His voice familiar and gentle: “Just finished work, see you later.”

“Same place as usual.”

The sweet, melodious voice on the other end sounded particularly clear in the quiet clinic.

Bitterness and an indescribable panic surged unexpectedly in Lu Er’s chest.

All he wanted was to escape as quickly as possible.