Just right

"A tumor?"

"Yes."

"Me?"

"Yes."

A ridiculous smile surged in Adam's eyes, his suppressed laughter causing his shoulders to shrug gently. It was as if he had just heard the funniest joke of the year, shaking his head slightly, actions even bordering on the comical. "That doesn't make any sense though."

Soon, he realized his response was disrespectful to the doctor. So, he cleared his throat softly, regained his composure, and reined in his jaw, apologizing with his eyes. "I'm not challenging your authority." Adam bit his lower lip, raised his right hand, gently scratching his forehead, then raised his head again. "I mean, I don't smoke, I don't drink. I... You know. I recycle."

After saying this, Adam arched an eyebrow, revealing a self-deprecating smile. He raised his hands slightly, taking that self-ridicule spirit to the extreme. However, he quickly restrained his actions, and the doctor's words gradually wiped the smile from his face.

"Actually, your case is really quite fascinating because your cancer is the result of an incredibly rare gene mutation..."

The curve of Adam's lips froze somewhat. He stared intently at the doctor's gaze, but the doctor continued to evade eye contact. They explained incessantly, maintaining a professional and devoted attitude. There was no hint of jest in their manner, which left Adam perplexed.

A tumor? Him?

The continuous prattle around him echoed like a valley's resonance, growing distant and fainter. Eventually, only a vague echo remained, muddled and indecipherable, as if it was only the wind whistling by.

So, what did this mean? Did he really have a tumor? A malignant tumor? And what did the doctor say just now? Cancer? Did he have cancer? Why did he have cancer? What kind of cancer was it? What was the difference between cancer and a tumor? However, the doctor had just said his blood and urine tests were normal. What was happening?

Question marks, countless question marks, kept popping up in his mind, more and more of them, gradually crowding his thoughts until his brain felt congested. He only experienced a dizzying headache. His brain seemed to temporarily shut down, leaving him unable to think clearly. Everything boiled down to a single, simplified word, "cancer", magnified in his mind, then magnified again.

Andrew continued reading the report, reciting the professional medical terminology countless times until it finally flowed smoothly. However, his focus was somewhat lacking. From the corner of his eye, he saw Adam before him, his deep brown eyes turning into a whirl of confusion. His smile faded, the sunshine receded, and his focus gradually blurred, leaving only a sense of confusion.

Suddenly, time seemed to halt, and even the air ceased to flow.

This gradual sense of confusion held no sadness, no pain, no anger, no struggle. All it harbored was perplexity, laced with a faint bitterness that spread across his tongue.

Adam lowered his head, earnestly attempted to think, but his mind remained a tangled mess. He gently pushed his chair back and used his hands to support himself as he stood up. Surprisingly, his arms lacked strength, and his body stumbled, but he reflexively stabilized himself. He unconsciously flashed a smile at the doctor, as if mocking his own disarray or apologizing for his impoliteness. Yet, his eyes still lacked focus, rendering him unidentifiable.

Then, he stood up and walked to the window.

The echoing voices in his ears persisted, but Adam needed a breath of fresh air. Standing by the window, he watched the cars bustling below, his focus lingering on a bright red car. It moved with the traffic, then blurred again. He blinked, and the doctor's voice, echoing in the room, became clear once more, "The wisest course of action is to see if we can possibly reduce this thing down to a more manageable size before we consider surgery."

Right, he had a tumor, or to be more precise, a malignant tumor, in other words, cancer.

This idea emerged, and his brain, which had stopped thinking, started churning once more. Reality gradually gained clarity. His fingers involuntarily curled up, feeling icy cold. What did cancer mean? Death.

A simple word popped into his mind, causing his finger movement to falter. The doctor's calm, objective voice came again, "... Now, chemotherapy can often result in fertility issues." But he ignored it, interrupting the doctor's words. "But I'm gonna be okay?"

Andrew raised his head to look at Adam. Between his open brows, there was a hint of nervousness and more so, confusion. That uneasy sensation, like swirling smoke, spread gently, not overwhelming but gradually enveloping his brows, extending bit by bit.

Unexplainably, Andrew felt his shoulder muscles tense slightly. An intangible pressure began to spread. He avoided eye contact, trying hard to recall his response, but his mind was blank.

"Right?"

Adam's voice still carried a faint smile, and his gaze turned attentive and earnest. A glimmer of expectation glinted within.

"... If you need someone to talk to," Andrew finally managed to recall, but the words came out exceedingly difficult, even stumbling. He raised his hand slightly, then let it fall weakly. He wasn't even sure why he made this gesture or what he intended to do. "Um... we have an excellent staff here at the hospital of social workers and psychologists...."

The doctor's words gradually grew blurry again in his ears. Adam returned his gaze to the window. His mind gradually turned into a blank canvas, not like the pristine whiteness of paper, but a chaotic blankness. Countless thoughts surged gently, but they swirled into a mess, impossible to untangle. Deep within his pupils, confusion and bewilderment were evident. It felt as if time had frozen in this moment.

His deep brown eyes remained clear and bright, yet his soul seemed to be missing. Through his slender shoulders, one could almost glimpse the fading of a lively spirit. The brilliant sunlight gradually dissipated, the exuberant atmosphere slowly calmed, and the entire world sank into a haze. Not a bright white, not a profound black, but a vague gray filled with uncertainty.

Will stood quietly in place, his gaze unwaveringly fixed on that figure.

A figure that bore confusion, loss, bewilderment, and loneliness. Everything was faint, not tumultuous. He felt the person's aura weakening, like a bright flame dimming as its fuel dwindled. Around the fireplace, a faint warmth lingered, yet the temperature uncontrollably dropped.

This process of cooling, so slow, yet so helpless. Mostly, it was a bewildering desire to resist, yet not knowing where to start that left him bewildered, frozen in place like this.

Unexplainably, Will tasted a hint of bitterness.

Not the wrenching, earth-shattering, heart-wrenching pain, nor the emotionally profound, tear-inducing, soul-stirring kind of impact. It was more like a cup of lukewarm water, just right, gently tugging at the wounds deep within. That stifling tang, something only he could savor.

Suddenly, Will turned his head, unable to bear it. In that figure, he saw himself, lost and bewildered. Memories finally resurfaced, vivid and terrifyingly real, almost suffocating him.

Jonathan stood there, seemingly lost in thought, a lingering smile at the corner of his lips, bearing the subtle expressions, details, and lines he'd portrayed as Renly in his act. It was a completely natural playfulness, evoking a smile in anyone who saw it. He enjoyed such moments, the times of making the best out of a bad situation. Yet, soon, Jonathan tasted the bitterness that surged almost unconsumably.

He finally understood Renly's intention.

Compared to the previous performance, this one seemed unremarkable. No signs of exertion, no emotional outbursts, no dramatic ups and downs. It was all downplayed, allowing the intricate emotions hidden within to be savored.

Confusion, bewilderment, loss—the vacant sense of emptiness had lost its direction, never really understanding what cancer truly meant, and what it would bring. It was as if he'd never truly comprehended what cancer entailed, what it meant to confront it, and where the future path lay.

The sudden feeling of helplessness rushed in like a three-year-old who'd knocked over a cake stand, anxiously anticipating parental scolding while unsure of the severity of his actions. Innocence gleamed in his eyes, a genuine perplexity that easily struck a chord deep within, leaving him breathless with its acidity.

Cancer.

The weight of just this one word was like a mountain pressing on his chest.

Renly had restrained all the theatrical outbursts, leaving everything in a delicately crafted subtlety that flowed naturally.

Comparatively, the previous performance appeared absurd, exaggerated, comical, even oily. The all-encompassing explosion of that act, in this context, seemed cheap. At first glance, it evoked awe, a powerful strike; but upon closer consideration, it was too fierce, too forceful, too impatient, with everything bursting forth in a rush, remaining at the surface.

No need for explanation, no need for debate. Jonathan merely licked his lips, the bitterness on his tongue wrinkling his entire face. He knew that this was a truly exceptional performance.

No wonder. No wonder Renly had been so dissatisfied earlier, no wonder his words had been so vehement, no wonder he had even requested a break despite its discourtesy. The difference in states made the performances worlds apart. If Jonathan had known that Renly was capable of delivering such a performance, he would've surely scoffed at his earlier acts.

But commendably, he didn't know, yet Renly had brought it up himself.

This dedication made Jonathan's cheeks feel slightly warm. Reflecting on his earlier conjectures and mockery, he found his head a little hard to lift.

"... Cut!" Five seconds late, the entire set fell silent, and it was Jonathan who broke the balance with an embarrassed scratch of his head. After thinking for a moment, he took the initiative to say, "Let's watch the playback."