Chapter 4

I didn’t reply to Julian’s messages again.

Even when he later sent, “Can we just say I borrowed it from you for now?”, I ignored him.

I sat on the couch, quietly waiting for him to come home.

It was past nine when Julian appeared.

His handsome face was a stormy mess. He threw his keys heavily onto the shoe rack, making a harsh clanging sound.

Before, in such moments, I would walk over, gently tug his sleeve, and sign to him:

*Are you mad?*

Then he would deliberately put on a stern face, waiting for me to coax him.

But not today.

I sat on the couch, flipping through my hospital re-examination reports.

I had never told Julian about my illness.

He thought I just had severe anemia.

At this moment, I suddenly wanted to know, what if he knew I was dying?

Would he regret all the ways he had played me?

I pricked up my ears, hearing him place a glass heavily on the kitchen counter, then deliberately slamming the fridge door.

He was waiting for me to speak, waiting for me to give in like before.

But this time, I just silently clutched the lab reports, the paper rustling between my fingers.

Julian completely missed my expectation.

He only cared about *his* expectations.

Seeing that I still wouldn’t give in, he finally couldn’t take it anymore.

Julian grabbed his jacket, gave me a cold glance, and signed:

“I’m going back to school to stay.”

I didn’t stop him.

The moment the door slammed shut, I got up and followed him out.

He made a call at the apartment complex entrance, his cool, deep voice carried to my ears by the night wind:

“Kyle, pick me up.”

“Where else would I be? At that old hag’s place.”

“Call Amber too. I have a gift for her.”

This was the first time I had heard Julian’s voice.

Usually, I could only hear a few involuntary, choked gasps escape his throat during our intimate moments.

Even those few sounds, I could tell how sexy they were.

I had asked him how he lost his voice, if there was any chance of a cure.

He tugged at his lip as he signed:

“I got sick and burned my vocal cords. Doctors say there might be hope abroad, but the medical bills would be over a million.”

At the time, I thought: when I die, I’ll donate my heart to his mother.

Then, for my other organs – corneas, kidneys, whatever – I'd find buyers beforehand.

No matter what, I had to raise enough for his medical expenses.

Making him speak again became my last wish.

Now I wasn't dead yet, but I had already heard his voice with my own ears.

Both ridiculous and pathetic.