Chapter 45: Fevered Edges

POV: Kaito Yamada

The water she gave me touched my mouth before the world fully returned to focus. I swallowed slowly, each sip sliding down my throat with effort. It helped—barely.

Her hand brushed my forehead, and the heat beneath her fingertips made her breath catch. I didn’t flinch.

I always flinched from unnecessary touch.

Always.

But right then, I didn’t have the strength.

When my eyes lifted, Hana was kneeling beside the sofa, hands hovering uncertainly like she wasn’t sure if touching me would break something important. The concern in her eyes was… sharp. Unsettling. Directed at me.

“K-Kaito-san?” she whispered. “You need something… cold medicine, a compress—anything to help.”

If I’d been in my usual state, I might have waved her off with ease. Instead, the sound that escaped me was a thin laugh—dry, barely there.

“It’s… unnecessary,” I muttered, voice rough and uncooperative.

But even breathing felt like a chore. My shoulders sagged against the cushions. Every inhale was measured, deliberate, like I was rationing energy by the second. I knew how I looked—pale, worn, not myself.

Still, I didn’t want her to see me like this.

Not her.

She stood suddenly. I watched her through blurred vision as she moved from room to room. Kitchen. Bathroom. Hallway closet. Her footsteps quick, purposeful, increasingly frustrated.

Nothing.

I already knew there would be nothing.

She returned, breath uneven, eyes wide.

Then—

“I’ll be right back,” she said firmly. “Stay here. Don’t move.”

I couldn’t have moved if I wanted to.

But I nodded—barely—granting her permission I wasn’t used to giving.

The door clicked shut behind her, and silence spread through the penthouse. The haze pressed in almost immediately. The cushions pulled me downward. My eyelids dropped. I drifted.

Darkness.

Light.

A sound—maybe the elevator?

The dim throb of fever in my temples.

I surfaced again for a moment. My vision doubled. The glass of water on the table shimmered at the edges. I tried to straighten, but the attempt stole what little strength I had left.

I closed my eyes again.

Then—

The door opened softly.

Her footsteps approached, quicker this time, shoes scuffing lightly against the floor as she rushed toward me. The rustle of a plastic bag. The subtle thud of her kneeling.

“Kaito-san,” she said softly, breath still chilled from outside. “I got some medicine. And a compress.”

I blinked up at her, slow and sluggish. A faint heat rose to my cheeks. Fever—or the humiliation of being seen like this. Even I couldn’t tell at that point.

“I… don’t need it,” I said, though the words broke weakly in my throat.

“Yes, you do,” she said, gentle but immovable. “You’re sick. You haven’t slept. You need rest.”

I turned my head slightly, jaw tight.

Admitting weakness—to anyone—felt like peeling skin.

But she didn’t push.

She simply waited.

I relented without speaking.

She poured more water, guided the glass to my hands. My fingers trembled—I hated that she noticed. I swallowed the tablets, each movement deliberate. When I met her eyes by accident, something warm flickered there.

Soft.

Steady.

Nothing like pity.

She dampened a towel, wrung it out, and pressed the cool cloth to my forehead. My muscles tensed instinctively, but the relief was immediate—sharp, then soothing.

“Better?” she asked.

“Somewhat,” I muttered, nearly inaudible.

She adjusted the compress carefully. Her presence settled beside me—warm, steadying. The rise and fall of my breathing evened out little by little. My thoughts untangled just enough to recognize how close she was, how quiet the apartment had become with just the two of us in it.

“I’ll stay here,” she said softly. “You rest. I’ll take care of everything else tonight.”

My eyes opened. Hers were there—gentle, unwavering. Something inside me shifted, unfamiliar and disarming. I gave a faint nod. It was all I could manage.

She stayed until she was sure the fever had eased a shade. Only then did she stand, lifting the compress to refresh it, her movements careful as if afraid to disturb something delicate.

“Sleep now,” she said quietly. “I’ll check on you soon.”

I let myself lean deeper into the cushions. My eyes drifted shut, the world softening at the edges. Her footsteps moved away, but the warmth of her presence lingered—like she’d left a light on inside my chest.

And for the first time in days, my body unclenched.

For the first time in a week, I slept.

Not alone.

Not entirely.

Hana was here.

And somehow, impossibly, that made it safe to close my eyes.