You can talk to me, if you want, Weiran wanted to say. I’ll listen. I’ll try not to judge you as much. Not from now on.

He wrote it down.

14

THE PROPOSAL

HE DIDN’T GO to work today. He hadn’t been able to go to work yesterday either—the fatigue and the nausea were far too debilitating, and he’d only been able to hold it just enough together for his appointment with Weiran that he wasn’t spending the entire time hugging the toilet—and today, just like yesterday, he planned on making a single appearance at the company and work the rest of the day at home.

Meimei was worried about him. It was obvious even without her saying it. These couple short times that he’d gone into the company—or the times that he called or texted her, he could practically feel her anxiety. He wasn’t sure what to tell her. Hi, Meimei. I know I look like I’m dying but I’ll get over it. I looked it up and the internet said my symptoms should fade after a month. It won’t be much longer. That would just worry her more. He told her quite a bit, but he wasn’t about to tell her that he stopped taking his medication. She didn’t even know he took medication. He told her he’d had a bad time when he was starting his appointments, but he didn’t go into it. The only employee of Liu Incorporated who knew what happened that night was Mr. He, and Xiaokai had no intention on changing that. So he just smiled at Meimei, told her he was doing fine, don’t worry, and she nodded tightly with worried eyes.

He went back to the house after his half-hour visit at the office to take another shower. It was his second today, but his fever hadn’t really broken and he was sweating a lot more than was comfortable. He would have two more showers today after this—before and after his appointment, and then maybe he would shower again before he went to bed. Before he laid in bed with his eyes open, the pain and the memories washing over him again and again, that bottle of pills in his bathroom seeming so terribly tempting.

He washed, he dressed, and he headed to the hotel. His few hours of work with Zhang Weiran were a lot quieter than they were the day before—Zhang Weiran seemed too awkward to broach the subject of Xiaokai’s past again, thankfully, so most of their time was just spent on work. Xiaokai gave Weiran names and information, Weiran took notes and stored the information in his computer, and that was that.

And then—

“Does Xingyu know you’re sick?”

Xiaokai looked up. His eyes narrowed. “Who said I’m sick?”