When I stirred awake again, it was around 4 a.m. The world outside was still half-asleep, the faint city lights bleeding through the curtains. My skin still burned, heat pulsing beneath my veins like a cruel reminder that the fever hadn't broken. My body felt heavy, sluggish… trapped.
Then I felt it—the weight on my arm.
Min Jae's head rested there, his hair falling into his eyes, his hand clunging mine tightly. He'd fallen asleep sitting beside me, his shoulders slumped forward, exhaustion written in every line of his body.
The sight of him like that—unguarded, vulnerable—made something ache deep inside my chest. His hand was still wrapped firmly around mine, knuckles white, as if he was afraid that if he loosened his grip, I'd vanish.
I could feel the faint tremor in his fingers even in his sleep. His thumb twitched against my skin—small, unconscious movements of someone who hadn't stopped worrying even in dreams.
My heart fluttered painfully. The fierce, controlled man who had faced down danger without flinching now looked young. Tired. Human.
Mine?
But the fever still clung to me, relentless. My forehead felt like fire, and my breath came shallow. A soft groan escaped me without meaning to, and his head snapped up instantly. His eyes found mine, sleep-blurred but alert, panic flickering across his features before he masked it.
"You're burning up again," he murmured, his voice rough with fatigue. He touched my forehead, then my neck, his hand trembling just slightly. "It's worse than before."
He stood abruptly, grabbing the basin of water that had cooled beside the bed. He changed the towel with quick, practiced hands—yet every motion was careful, reverent. When he pressed the new cloth against my forehead, his breath hitched.
"Why isn't it going down?" he whispered under his breath, more to himself than to me. "You should've been better by now."
His frustration wasn't anger—it was helplessness, sharp and quiet. He dipped the towel again, wringing it out until water dripped onto his hands, then placed it back against my skin, again and again, desperate to draw the heat away.
"Min Jae…" I managed weakly, my voice barely a whisper.
He leaned closer instantly, eyes softening even as worry tightened his jaw. "Don't talk. Just rest."
"But you haven't slept…"
He let out a dry, shaky laugh, brushing a strand of damp hair away from my face. "How could I, when you're like this?"
There was a heaviness in his tone that made my throat tighten. The kind that came from caring too much. His eyes lingered on me—searching, aching.
"You scared me," he admitted quietly, the words trembling out of him like a confession. "When you fainted, I thought—" He stopped himself, biting down the end of the sentence.
The silence stretched, filled only by the soft rhythm of our breathing. Then his hand found mine again, fingers intertwining. His thumb brushed over my skin slowly, his touch deliberate, gentle.
"You have to get better," he said, voice low, almost breaking. "You don't get to just… stop fighting, Hannah."
My chest tightened at the sound of my name on his lips. The fever made the world blur, but his face stayed sharp in my vision—the worry in his eyes, the slight tremble of his jaw, the exhaustion he was trying so hard to hide.
"Min Jae…" I whispered again, my words slurring.
"Yeah?"
She didn't say anything just looked straight in his eyes. He pressed his palm lightly against my cheek, the contrast between his cool fingers and my fevered skin sending shivers through me. He leaned closer, forehead brushing mine—soft, careful, intimate.
"Please get better," he whispered, the plea almost lost to the hum of the night.
The world dimmed again, my consciousness slipping. But before it vanished completely, I felt him pull the blanket higher, tuck it beneath my chin
When sleep claimed me again, his hand was still holding mine—steady, stubborn, unyielding.
And even through the fever, I felt it:
He wasn't just watching over me.
He was staying.
After some hours….
The room was wrapped in silence, the faint hum of the heater the only sound that dared to exist. Dawn had barely touched the sky when Hannah stirred awake, her body still heavy with fever. Her skin glistened faintly with sweat, and every breath left her chest aching.
Her vision adjusted slowly. The curtains were drawn halfway, letting in slivers of gray light. That's when she saw him.
Min Jae sat by her side, his head resting near her hand on the bed. His shoulders were slumped forward. One of his hands was clasped tightly around hers, as if even in sleep he refused to let her go.
For a long moment, she just looked at him.
The cold edges she was used to—the stern jaw, the unyielding eyes, the aura that kept the world at a distance—were gone. What she saw now was a softer version of him. The rise and fall of his chest. The faint shadows under his eyes. The warmth of his palm still pressed against her skin.
Without thinking, her fingers moved. Gently, she brushed back a lock of hair that had fallen over his forehead. Her touch was feather-light, hesitant, almost trembling. But just as she tucked the strand away, his eyes fluttered open.
Deep, dark, and awake.
She froze. Her breath caught in her throat, and panic shot through her veins. She immediately tried to pull her hand away—but before she could, his fingers tightened around hers.
Min Jae caught her hand, firm but gentle, his thumb brushing against her knuckles. He didn't say anything. Just looked at her—steady, unreadable, his gaze holding hers like gravity itself.
"...You're awake," she whispered, barely audible.
He hummed softly, his lips curving just slightly. "I could say the same for you."
Hannah swallowed, her heart pounding in her chest. "You should've slept on the couch. You'll hurt your neck."
He leaned back slightly, but his hand didn't release hers. "And leave you here alone while you're burning up?" His tone was quiet, but there was a sharp edge of emotion beneath it—something protective, something dangerous.
Her cheeks flushed—not just from the fever. Or because of the fever?
He finally stood, running a tired hand through his hair. "Wait here," he said, voice low. "I'll get something for you."
She watched him move toward the kitchen. The sound of the kettle, the faint aroma of ginger, the soft clatter of porcelain—it all felt so unreal. When he returned, the tray in his hands carried a bowl of warm porridge, steam curling like whispers between them.
He set it down carefully beside her bed. "Eat a little. You haven't had anything since last night."
"I can do it," she mumbled, but her hands trembled as she reached for the spoon.
Min Jae sighed quietly, took the spoon himself, and stirred the porridge. "Let me." His voice softened—firm, yet gentle enough that she couldn't say no.
He fed her slowly, each motion calm and deliberate. Between the quiet sounds of the spoon and the faint rain beginning to fall outside, something unspoken stretched between them—something warm and unsteady.
When she finished, he wiped the corner of her mouth with a napkin, his fingers brushing her cheek. For a heartbeat, neither of them moved. His eyes lingered—dark and heavy, full of things neither dared to say.
Then—
Her phone buzzed on the nightstand. The sound shattered the stillness. Hannah glanced over, heart skipping when she saw the name flashing on the screen.
Fatima.
She reached for it too quickly, the sudden movement sending a wave of dizziness through her. Min Jae's gaze flicked to her instantly, worry tightening his jaw, but he didn't stop her.
She answered the call, and Fatima's frantic voice burst through. "HANNAH?! Why are you not replying to my texts? You look awful! Are you sick? There's someone there, right?!"
Hannah tried to smile through the exhaustion. "Relax. It's nothing. I'll tell you later."
But Fatima wasn't fooled. "You're lying."
Before Hannah could answer, she felt his eyes again—steady, unblinking. When she turned, Min Jae was already standing, watching her quietly. He didn't say a word. Just gave her one last look before walking out of the room. The soft click of the door closing felt like something breaking.
Her breath trembled.
"Tell me what really happened," Fatima whispered.
And Hannah did. She told her everything. The break-in. The fight. The fear that hadn't left her bones.
She tried to sound calm, but the weight in her voice betrayed her. And when Fatima said, "You don't have to act strong, Hannah, especially in front of me. It's okay to cry brother" the mask shattered.
The tears came fast. Violent.
"Wait I--I am not feeling okay!!! Gimme a second." Hannah said while getting off from her bed and while sobbing badly.
Her chest heaved, her sobs cutting through the silence until they turned into coughing fits. The fever surged again, her body trembling as she stumbled from the bed, clutching the phone.
The room spun. The floor tilted.
Then—
The door burst open.
Min Jae.
He crossed the room in two strides, catching her just as her legs gave way. His arm slid around her waist, pulling her close against him. She could feel the tension in his muscles, the rapid rhythm of his heartbeat against her back.
"Yah, Hannah—what are you doing?" His voice was rough, half anger, half fear. "You should be in bed."
She tried to speak, but only coughed harder. He grabbed a glass, filled it with water, and held it to her lips. "Slowly," he whispered, his voice trembling despite himself. "I've got you."
The phone was still buzzing weakly with Fatima's voice. Min Jae took it gently from her hands. His expression hardened.
"She's okay," he said, his tone low but steady. "I'm here."
Fatima fell silent—and then ended the call.
Min Jae set the phone aside and turned back to her. His hand found her forehead, thumb brushing lightly across her temple. "Still burning," he muttered, more to himself than her. "You never listen."
They were standing. Min jae still holding Hannah. Hannah sobbing lightly
The room went silent again—but this time, it wasn't empty. The air between them was charged, thick with something that neither of them dared name.
When he reached out and brushed the hair from her face, her eyes fluttered closed. The fever was still there, but so was the warmth of his touch—steady, grounding, unshakable.
But before he could say anything, Hannah broke.
The moment she looked up at him—his worried eyes, the tension in his jaw, the way his hand still trembled from holding her—something inside her snapped. She clutched the fabric of his shirt and buried her face into his chest, sobs shaking her body.
Min Jae froze. For a heartbeat, he didn't move—his breath caught somewhere between shock and ache. Then slowly, almost hesitantly, his arms came around her. One hand rested against the back of her head, the other at her waist, steadying her trembling frame tapping slowly on
He could feel the heat of her fever through the thin fabric, her uneven breaths, the way her tears soaked into his shirt. Every sob cut through him like a knife.
"Shh," he murmured, his voice softening, barely more than a whisper. "You're okay now. I've got you, Hannah."
She didn't respond—only clung tighter, as if afraid he'd disappear if she let go.
Min Jae's chest rose and fell unevenly. He'd seen her cry before—anger, frustration, exhaustion—but this was different. This was brokenness. The kind that came from fear that lingered even when danger was gone.
He held her tighter, fingers tracing slow, soothing circles against her back. Her tears dampened his shoulder, her breathing uneven. Every sound she made tore at him, and yet… it also made something in him ache to protect her more fiercely than he ever had before.
He leaned closer, whispering near her temple, "You're safe. No one's going to hurt you again."
Minutes passed before her sobs began to fade, melting into soft hiccups. Her body finally relaxed in his arms, her forehead resting against his chest.
Min Jae stayed still, unwilling to break the fragile peace that had settled between them. His thumb brushed her cheek, wiping away the last of her tears. When she looked up at him, her lashes wet and eyes glassy, his breath hitched.
There was something about the way she looked at him—vulnerable, trusting—that undid him completely.
And in that moment, without words, something shifted between them.
For the first time, calm washed over her.
He huuged her lightly. To console her. As a friend?
After sometime, Her phone buzzed on the nightstand. The sound made them both glance up. Hannah reached for it weakly, the screen lighting up with a name that made her heart lurch.
Amna.
She sighed, swiping to answer. "Amnaa, why are you awake?"
"Khalaaa!" came the excited, sleepy voice on the other end. "You forgot me today! And Fatima said you told her about your prince—tall, broad-shouldered, deep voice. That's him, right?"
"Amnaaa!" Hannah groaned, nearly dropping the phone. From the corner of her eye, she caught Min Jae leaning against the wall, arms folded, watching her with raised brows and the faintest smirk.
"I swear, I didn't—"
Amna giggled. "I knew it! You do have a prince charming!"
Hannah quickly hushed her. "If I ever really have one, you'll be the first to know. Now sleep, okay? I love you."
"Love you toooo," came the drowsy reply before the call ended.
When she turned, Min Jae was still watching her, smirk deepening. "Tall. Broad-shouldered. Deep voice?" he repeated, clearly enjoying himself.
"Yah! Don't start," she muttered, cheeks flushing crimson.
He chuckled—a low, warm sound that filled the quiet room. Then he picked up the small bottle from the nightstand and handed it to her. "Here. Take your medicine."
Hannah obeyed silently, swallowing the pill before sipping water. When she handed the glass back, she avoided his gaze. "You should go back. It's late."
Min Jae tilted his head slightly, his expression softening. "You sure you want to be alone after all this?"
"I'll manage," she said quietly, pulling the blanket up.
He sighed, then leaned down slightly, just close enough for her to feel his breath ghost against her ear. His voice dropped to a low whisper—warm, teasing, and achingly gentle.
"Goodnight, princess."
And with that, he turned and walked out, his footsteps fading into the quiet hallway.
Hannah froze, heart thundering in her chest. For a moment, she just stared at the door he'd disappeared through. Then she groaned softly, grabbing the nearest pillow and burying her face in it.
"Aishhh, Amnaaa! You jinxed it!" she mumbled, voice muffled.
But even as she scolded herself, she couldn't stop smiling. Her cheeks burned, her pulse refused to settle, and the echo of his voice still lingered in her ears.