He smiled faintly, and though his face was pale, the expression made my heart stutter.
"If seeing you here is a dream," he whispered, voice trembling like glass, "I don't want to wake up."
I stared at him, searching his features, my own breath uneven. There were so many words in his eyes, so many thoughts hanging on the edge of his lips, unspoken, unfinished. I wanted to hear all of them, even the ones that might hurt.
Then tears spilled from his eyes, silent at first, then falling harder, streaking his temples as he lay there.
"I'm really happy," he said, his voice breaking. "Even if it's just in my dreams… just seeing you again like this."
He drew a ragged breath.
What did he mean?
"You don't know how many years I've spent waiting. Racing against time, trying my best to become the stable man who can protect you, who can provide for you. I wanted to be the best for you."
My own chest tightened until it hurt.
"If this is a dream…" His hand twitched slightly against the sheet, as if reaching for me but too weak to continue. "Can you stay with me forever? Can you still accept me despite my imperfections, my flaws? I know I was wrong. I let you walk away…"
His voice cracked, softer now, like a confession slipping out.
"I'm sorry, Boss."
He was crying so hard it felt as if the walls of the room were trembling with him, as if the world itself was breaking open under his grief.
"Stop crying," I murmured, my voice gentler than I expected. "Your wounds might reopen again."
I moved closer to his bed almost without thinking, my hand reaching out to steady him.
He went completely still. The tears stopped mid-fall, as though he didn't dare blink. His wide, stunned eyes locked onto mine.
"You're… real?" he whispered, the words so small they barely reached me.
And for the first time since all of this began, I realized he hadn't truly believed I was there, not until that very moment.
He was stunned, eyes wide and glistening, but something in his body moved before his mind could stop it. As if driven by pure instinct, he tried to lift himself, to reach me, but the effort sent a tremor through him. His face contorted in pain, his breath hitching sharply. The bandages at his side shifted ever so slightly.
"I told you to stop moving," I scolded, softer than I intended.
His chest rose and fell unevenly. "Are you… for real?"
"Yeah…" I answered, unsure whether I was trying to convince him or myself.
"I don't believe it," he murmured, his voice raw, as if afraid that if he spoke louder, I'd disappear.
I exhaled, about to say something, anything, to break the heaviness. "Do you want me to ki-"
Before I could finish, his hand shot up with surprising speed and caught my wrist. In one weak but urgent pull, he drew me closer. And then, suddenly, his lips met mine.
Soft. Warm. Trembling.
For a heartbeat, I froze, my mind blank, the unfinished word 'kick' dying on my tongue.
Reflexively, my teeth caught his lower lip, not hard enough to wound, but enough to make him gasp.
"Are you crazy?" I whispered against his mouth, my own heart racing.
He didn't retreat. His forehead came to rest lightly against mine, eyes closing as though he wanted to memorize the moment.
"You're real," he breathed, his voice breaking into a laugh that was half-sob. "It tastes sweet."
His words were both ridiculous and heartbreakingly sincere. And for a moment, the hospital room, the beeping machines, and the distance of forgotten years all blurred into nothing but the heat of his breath and the shiver that ran down my spine.
I could feel my face heat up, the warmth spreading from my cheeks down to my neck. My heart was still racing, but I forced myself to clear my throat and look away.
"Come and eat breakfast," I muttered, escaping from the weight of his gaze.
I withdrew quickly, putting distance between us, but his voice followed, soft and oddly playful. "I cannot use my hands… they feel sore."
The way he said it sounded less like a complaint and more like a sly request. He didn't even try to hide the meaning behind his words. I turned, giving him a long stare, but he just blinked at me with exaggerated innocence.
In the end, I didn't have much choice. With a sigh, I picked up the tray and sat down on the chair beside his bed. "Fine. But only this once."
He smiled, almost too brightly, as I spoon-fed him. Each bite felt like he was savoring more than just the food. It was as if he was indulging in the closeness, in my reluctant attention.
"You act like a baby," I muttered, unable to hide my exasperation.
"It feels great to be your baby," he replied smoothly, his lips curving in a mischievous smile.
I rolled my eyes. "I don't think I look like your mom."
"Mommy…" he whispered suddenly, chuckling under his breath, his tone laced with mischief.
I glared at him, holding back the urge to smack his arm. "Please wipe your nose. The mucus..."
Before I even finished, he hurriedly grabbed the tissue paper and wiped at his face in a panic. Only when he realized there was nothing there did his expression falter. His eyes darted back to me, catching the little smirk I couldn't quite suppress.
"You tricked me," he muttered, half sulking, half amused.
"Now you know how it feels," I said, turning my face away so he wouldn't see the smile tugging at my lips.
He sighed.
"Don't you have other people to take care of you?" I asked quietly, trying to sound casual, though my voice wavered just a little.
For a moment, he didn't answer. He just looked at me with those steady, unflinching eyes. Then, without even a flicker of hesitation, he said, "You are my home."
The words hit harder than I expected. Home. It wasn't just a word for family or blood ties. It felt heavier, deeper. Like a claim. Like a plea. Like he wasn't just saying I took care of him, but that he belonged here, with me.
I froze, spoon still hovering mid-air.
I didn't know what to say. I didn't even know if I wanted to hear the truth behind that word. But my chest tightened anyway, as if my heart remembered something my head couldn't.
I stared at him.
And he stared back... no teasing now, no mischievous smile. Just a quiet, raw honesty in his eyes that made me feel seen and cornered all at once.
The silence stretched between us, but it wasn't uncomfortable. It was heavy, electric, full of everything unsaid.