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"You don't need to stay here and take care of me. I'm not a child," Mo Sanmei grumbles in a hoarse voice, and then turns his head to the side, pulling the blanket up higher, like he could disappear into the bed.
Zheng Xijue feels a small smile tugging at his lips. "Well, you do act like one when you're sick," he says.
Mo Sanmei huffs, but doesn't actually contradict him. Maybe, because his voice isn't up to too much talking right now.
"I'm glad Xiaowen called me," Zheng Xijue says, crouching down next to the bed. Slowly, Mo Sanmei turns his head to look at him. Zheng Xijue smiles at him.
"Fine. I'm glad you're here," Mo Sanmei rasps out reluctantly.