The World Ends In 27 Days

Jingwei looked pointedly at Qinghe’s clothes. "You’re the one still dressed for the hospital."

Qinghe glanced down at his trousers and shirt as though checking whether they had transformed while he wasn’t paying attention.

Everything was clean, pressed and technically appropriate for an afternoon spent outside the emergency department. Unfortunately, there was something about the combination that made it look as though he might examine someone’s heart valves without warning.

"These came from my closet," he said after a moment.

"That doesn’t stop them from looking like hospital clothes," replied Jingwei.

Zeyu leaned back in his chair, visibly delighted to involve himself in an argument that had nothing to do with him. "This is why no one takes doctors seriously outside hospitals. You’re all convinced that changing out of scrubs means you’ve dressed properly."

Qinghe gave him a flat look. "And what are you wearing?"

"A suit," Zeyu answered, spreading his arms as though the clothing in question should have appeared through confidence alone.

Qinghe’s gaze travelled over the shirt and trousers Zeyu had been wearing since that morning. "You aren’t wearing one."

"I own a trunk," the other man replied with a smirk. The answer had no clear relationship to the question, but it seemed to satisfy Zeyu.

No one except Zhiyi appeared surprised with the fact that nothing made sense, and she was studying him as though she suspected an explanation existed if she waited long enough.

Shichen saved the updated plans before gathering the building surveys into a single stack. "I’m going home before this conversation becomes any less intelligent."

"So am I," Qinghe said as he stood. He straightened his supposedly hospital-like shirt with more irritation than the criticism warranted. "Unlike some people, I intend to arrive dressed in clothing I’m actually wearing."

Jingwei rose without announcing his destination because no one needed him to explain that he also intended to change before the dinner. He collected his tablet, gave Qinghe’s clothes one final disapproving glance and followed the others from the office.

Within several minutes, the surveys had been gathered, the tablets removed and the conference table abandoned by everyone except Hanchuan, Zhiyi and Zeyu.

Zhiyi watched the three men leave before turning toward Zeyu. He remained comfortably settled in his chair, apparently unconcerned by the fact that the dinner began in less than three hours.

"You aren’t going?" she asked after a moment.

His expression brightened with such immediate satisfaction that Hanchuan knew the question had been a mistake.

"Zhiyi," Zeyu said solemnly as he turned his chair toward her, "I have been waiting all afternoon for someone to ask me that."

She stared at him, clearly expecting him to follow the declaration with an actual answer.

"My suit is in my car," he explained, the smile on his face only getting brighter.

"Why?" she asked.

"Shichen’s family is putting on a dinner," he replied.

"That explains why you brought a suit," she said after considering his response. "It doesn’t explain why you keep it in your car."

"Emergency formalwear."

Zhiyi looked at Hanchuan as though he might be able to confirm whether that was a legitimate category of emergency.

Hanchuan refused to accept responsibility for anything Zeyu stored in his vehicle. There were limits to friendship, and the contents of Song Zeyu’s trunk had crossed them years ago.

Zeyu stood and adjusted the cuffs of the shirt he was already wearing. "A man in my position can be summoned to a gala, funeral, wedding or courtroom with very little notice. Preparedness is important."

"You keep formal clothing in your vehicle," Zhiyi repeated. Her attention moved over him as though his appearance might contain the missing piece of the explanation.

"I keep everything in my vehicle."

"Why?"

Zeyu opened his mouth, presumably prepared to offer another answer that explained nothing. Then he stopped. His eyes narrowed slightly as he remembered what had happened at the boutique and everything he had learned about giving Zhiyi questions she couldn’t properly define.

"That is an excellent question," he said carefully. "But I’m not going to answer it unless you actually want the answer."

Zhiyi considered that for a moment before she nodded her head. "I do."

"Then it’s because I’m brilliant," he answered her, completely serious.

"That isn’t an explanation," Zhiyi countered, somewhat confused.

"Au contraire," Zeyu purred. "It explains most things."

Hanchuan watched the exchange with growing suspicion. Zeyu’s nonsense wasn’t new. He had always produced it in quantities that exceeded reasonable human limits. It was Zhiyi’s ease with it that was entirely new.

Yesterday, she would have examined every ridiculous statement until she located the literal meaning buried beneath it. Today, she merely looked at Zeyu as though she had already learned which parts of Song Zeyu could be safely ignored and which ones were worth answering.

Somewhere between leaving Hanchuan’s office and returning in a dark-blue dress, the two of them had developed an understanding that hadn’t existed before.

Hanchuan wasn’t sure he liked how quickly that had happened.

Zeyu caught him watching and smiled with the satisfaction of a man who knew precisely what Hanchuan was thinking.

Then, before Hanchuan could decide whether the expression justified throwing him out personally, Zeyu announced that he was going downstairs to retrieve his suit and walked out.

Once the door closed behind Zeyu, silence settled over the office.

"You trust him now," Hanchuan said.

It wasn’t a question, but Zhiyi answered anyway. "Yes."

There was no hesitation in her voice and technically, Hanchuan had already known the answer from the way she had taken Zeyu’s hand without looking and allowed him to sit beside her. Hearing her confirm it shouldn’t have made any difference.

But it did.

"That happened quickly," he said after a moment. He knew that there might be a relationship bong on between her and his friends, it would be impossible to stop it after being together in life and death.

But he thought that he would have a least a year or two before his friends saw in her what he saw in her.

Zhiyi considered the statement. "He called you."

"I know," he said, a smile appearing on his face. " And I answered."

"He followed your instructions until I could breathe again. Afterward, he stopped asking me to make decisions I couldn’t make."

Hanchuan understood then.

He had been on the phone for the worst of it. He had heard the panic Zeyu had tried to conceal and talked him through each step until Zhiyi began breathing again.

What he hadn’t witnessed was everything that came afterward. Zeyu had recognized what had overwhelmed her, changed the entire shopping process and made certain it didn’t happen twice.

"He listened to you," Hanchuan said.

"Yes."

That explained the ease between them more clearly than a complete account of the afternoon could have. Zeyu hadn’t earned her trust by rescuing her alone. He had earned it by understanding why she had needed to be rescued and changing his behavior accordingly.

Hanchuan lifted one hand to the back of her head and drew her closer until her forehead rested briefly against his chest.

The call from Zeyu and the words she stopped breathing remained lodged somewhere beneath his ribs. Feeling her steady breath against him eased something that knowing she had been cleared by the paramedics had not.

For seven years, Hanchuan had been the only person who knew how to reach her.

He knew when to give her an instruction, when to remove a choice and when to stand quietly beside her until her thoughts returned to order. He had built that understanding slowly, through hunger, illness and thousands of small failures neither of them could afford to repeat.

The realization that Zeyu had begun learning didn’t worry him.

Of course, it didn’t help that he had to tell himself that twice.

It also didn’t mean that it wasn’t irritating.