Arthit was not supposed to get sick.

That was not a rule.

It was an assumption the system had been operating under for years.

He can get injured, hexed, chased by dark objects and entities.... but not fall sick.

Incorrect assumption.

Kongpob adjusted immediately.

The first sign was absence.

No presence at morning briefing.

No interruption in corridor transit.

No argument over file ordering.

No correction of minor inefficiencies.

The system flagged it within 17 minutes.

Missing variable: Arthit Rojanapat.
Severity: increasing.

The second sign was reported verbally.

“…he’s not in today,” Prem said, flipping through notes. “Fever. Probably nothing serious.”

Kongpob stopped writing.

fully.
“…define severity.”

Prem blinked. “What.”

“Severity of condition.”

“It’s a fever.”

“That is non-specific.”

Prem frowned. “Why do you sound like you’re about to classify a disaster?”

“I am classifying.”

“That’s not—”

Kongpob had already left.

Arthit’s quarters were locked by administrative and personal wards.

That was irrelevant.

Wards were not constraints.

Only delays.

Kongpob swished his wand in most hypnotising elegance. Bypassed the administrative barrier in under two minutes.

Prem would later call it “alarming efficiency.”

Kongpob would not correct him.

Inside, the room was dim.

Arthit was on the bed.

Not unconscious.

Not alert.

In between states.

That was worse.

“…you broke in,” Arthit muttered without opening his eyes.

“I entered.”

“Is it same thing now a days? ”

“It is not.”

A pause.

Arthit coughed once. Turned slightly.
“…why are you here.”

“Monitoring deviation.”

Arthit let out a weak laugh. “Of course.”

Kongpob stepped closer.

Stopped at a precise distance.

Observed.

Temperature elevated. Breathing irregular. Energy depletion evident.

Conclusion: unacceptable.

“You’re hovering again,” Arthit said faintly.

“That is required.”

“For what.”

Kongpob did not answer immediately.
Because “care” was not a functional term in his system.

So he translated it.
“…stability maintenance.”

Arthit opened one eye.
“…you’re really bad at pretending you don’t care.”

“I am not pretending.”

“That’s worse.”

Silence.

Kongpob reached for the water beside the bed.

It was untouched.

Of course.

He adjusted it. Measured intake.

Calculated intervals.

Arthit watched him.
“…you always do this,” he muttered.

“Do what.”

“Fix things before I even ask.”

“That is efficient.”

“No,” Arthit said, quieter. “It’s you not waiting for me.”

That statement registered.

But did not resolve.

Later, Arthit drifted in and out of sleep.

Kongpob remained.

Unmoved.

Unrepositioned.

Present.

Prem would later ask if he left at any point.

He did not.

At one point, Arthit’s voice broke through again.

“…you’re going to miss your meetings.”

“I have rescheduled.”

“…you didn’t ask me.”

“That is not required.”

A pause.
Arthit coughed lightly.
“…you’re impossible.”

“That is consistent.”

A weak laugh.

Then silence again.

Night fell without change.

Kongpob did not sit.

Did not leave.

Did not shift position unnecessarily.

He simply observed.

And adjusted variables as they degraded.

Hydration.

Temperature.

Breathing rhythm.

All of it absolute.

Near midnight, Arthit spoke again.
Barely audible.
“…you’re annoying.”

“That is unchanged.”

A pause.
“…still here?”

“Yes.”
Silence.
Then softer—
“…good.”

That word did not fit any system category.

Kongpob did not process it.

He retained it.

Unfiled.

By morning, Arthit was awake.
Still weak.
But coherent.
“…you didn’t sleep,” he said.

“That is correct.”

“…that’s stupid.”

“It was required.”

“For what.”

Kongpob paused.
Then:
“Failure prevention.”

Arthit stared at him.
Then sighed.
“…you’re going to be the death of me.”

“That is statistically unlikely.”

A weak smile.
“…you’re unbelievable.”

“I have been informed.”

A pause.

Then Arthit shifted slightly, making room beside him.

Not an invitation.

Not a request.

Just space.

Kongpob did not hesitate.

He sat.

Finally.

Not because it was efficient.

Because the system had already decided it was not optional.

And for once—
that was not an error.

Arthit tugged his hand, making him lay beside himself. "Sleep."

" Next potion is to be administered — "

Arthit pulled Kongpob's head down to his level and kissed him, short circuiting some of Kongpob's logic gates.

" Sleep. Please. "

Kongpob nodded. Awkwardly closing his eyes. Arthit smiled, resting his head against Kongpob's arms, snuggling.

Kongpob's stiff shoulders relaxed.

" When we wake up, I will add you to my wards." Arthit said and before Kongpob could say anything , he added " You will get added, only if you Sleep properly."

Kongpob took out his wand, in one elegant flick, charmed a clock, to chime after 2 hours.

Another flick of wand bound their wrist in infinetly expanding thread. Then discarding the wand, Kongpob gathered Arthit in his arm, adjusted the blankets around them.

And closed his eyes.