With shaky hands, Henry slowly made his way to the door. Each step felt heavier than the last, his legs unsteady as dizziness washed over him.

His head spun, and for a moment, he nearly lost his balance. Shaking his head to clear the fog, he took a deep breath before turning the handle. There, standing in the doorway, was Diois—his face calm and unreadable, but his eyes locked on Henry immediately.

"You just woke up? No morning classes today?" Diois asked, his tone casual.

"I..." Henry’s throat felt dry, and the words struggled to come out.

Diois frowned, stepping inside with a concerned look.

"You okay? You don’t look good," he said, reaching out to touch Henry's face.

The moment his hand made contact, Diois’s expression changed, turning serious. "You're burning up. You’ve got a fever."

Panic flashed across Diois’s face as he gently grabbed Henry and guided him to the bed.
"Lie down," he ordered, his voice firmer now. He quickly pulled out his phone. "I’m calling a doctor."

Before Diois could dial, Henry weakly reached out, grasping his hand to stop him. "I’m fine," Henry muttered, his voice barely above a whisper. "There’s medicine in the drawer... I’ll take it."

Henry tried to sit up, but his body betrayed him again, swaying dangerously. Before he could fall, Diois was there, catching him and easing him back down.

"Stay here. Don’t move," Diois said firmly, covering Henry with a blanket.

"Tell me where the medicine is, and I’ll get it for you."
His voice softened, but there was still an edge of urgency as he made sure Henry stayed put, tucking the blanket around him with a tenderness that seemed almost out of character.

Henry, too weak to argue, sank back into the bed as Diois gently covered him with the blanket. His head throbbed, and the fever clouded his thoughts.

Henry closed his eyes, trying to steady his breathing, but his heart raced—whether from the fever or Diois's presence, he couldn't tell.

He couldn’t even muster the energy to resist Diois’s sudden gentleness.

“It’s… in the drawer next to the bed,” Henry mumbled, his voice barely audible.

Diois immediately went to the drawer, rummaging through until he found the fever medicine.

His usual cold and commanding demeanor seemed to soften in the face of Henry’s sickness. Without a word, he poured a glass of water and brought the medicine to Henry.

Gently, he lifted Henry's head, sitting beside him on the bed, supporting him as he placed the pills in his mouth.

"Here," Diois said softly, his earlier coldness was replaced by an unexpected tenderness.
Henry swallowed pills with the water, his throat aching.

His body felt heavy, every muscle aching from the fever. He closed his eyes for a moment, trying to escape the dizziness.

Diois, for once, seemed unsure of what to do. He watched Henry carefully, as if afraid something might happen to him.

The tension that usually filled the air between them had dissipated, replaced by an unexpected quiet concern.

“You should have told me you were sick,” Diois muttered, more to himself than to Henry, his hand brushing Henry’s damp forehead.

“I didn’t even realize it myself until just now,” Henry whispered, his voice raspy from the fever.

He didn’t want to admit that the fever had been creeping up on him since yesterday, but he had pushed it aside, hoping it would pass.

Diois frowned, his hand resting on Henry’s forehead again. The heat was still there, burning under his touch.

“You shouldn’t be alone like this. I’ll stay until you’re better,” he said, leaving no room for argument.

Henry’s heart sank at the thought of Diois staying with him, but he was too exhausted to protest.

All he wanted was to sleep, to escape the fever and the confusing whirlwind that was Diois.

Diois stayed by Henry’s side, his eyes focused on him with an intensity that Henry wasn’t used to. The room fell into an odd silence, broken only by the sound of Henry’s labored breathing.

"Don’t worry," Diois finally said in a quiet voice. "I’m here. I’ll take care of you."

Those words felt strange, almost out of place, coming from Diois. Henry wanted to question him, to ask why he cared, but he was too tired to argue. The fever clouded his thoughts, making everything feel distant, dreamlike.

He turned over, facing away from Diois, and closed his eyes, hoping sleep would take him soon.

"Sleep," Diois whispered softly. "You’re safe."
For the first time in his life, Henry allowed himself to believe that.
As the warmth of the medicine and Diois's hand on his hair, slowly started to take effect, Henry’s eyelids grew heavy.

He didn’t want to fall asleep with Diois sitting so close, but his body wasn’t giving him much of a choice. Just as his consciousness began to slip away, he felt Diois’s hand gently stroking his hair.

Henry woke to the sound of a knock at the door, his eyelids heavy as he rubbed them, trying to fully wake up. As his vision cleared, he saw Diois walking back into the room, something small in his hand.

"You're awake?" Diois quickly placed the small bag on the table before sitting beside Henry, his hand immediately reaching for Henry’s forehead. "How are you feeling now? Your fever’s gone."

Henry stared at him, confused. He couldn’t understand why Diois was doing all of this—why he was caring for him like this. His eyes drifted to the towel and bowl of water beside the bed.

Diois must have wiped him down while he was feverish. No one had ever taken care of Henry like this before, and it didn’t sit well with him. It felt unfamiliar, unsettling.

"Better," Henry mumbled, looking away.

Diois watched him for a moment, then stood up. "I ordered breakfast. Eat something and rest," he said, starting to arrange the food onto plates.

Henry couldn’t take his eyes off Diois, his mind racing. Was this really the same man who had threatened him yesterday? The contrast was jarring, and Henry didn’t know how to make sense of it.

As Henry sat there, watching Diois move around the room with surprising care, he felt a strange knot in his stomach.

The tension from the last night hadn’t left him, but now, there was an added layer of confusion. Diois's actions didn’t match the possessive, threatening man he’d encountered before.

"Here," Diois said, sitting next to Henry with a plate holding a bowl of porridge and eggs.

"Eat. You need to get your strength back." He scooped up a spoonful of porridge, raising it toward Henry’s mouth.

Henry hesitated, his gaze fixed on the plate before reluctantly taking a bite. He couldn’t deny his hunger, but a deep uneasiness clung to him.

Memories of Diois’s cold, commanding tone, the possessive way he had grabbed and kissed him, flashed in his mind. And now, as if none of that had happened, Diois was here—acting like they were friends, as if he hadn’t upended Henry's life with his actions.

Diois watched him in silence, his eyes never leaving Henry as he ate. The tension in the room was palpable, thick with the weight of unsaid things. Finally, after a few moments of uneasy quiet, Henry spoke up.

His fingers tightened around the blanket as he struggled to find the words. “Why are you doing this?” The question slipped out before he could stop himself.

Diois’s hand paused mid-air with the spoon. He didn’t answer right away, his expression carefully neutral, his eyes unreadable.

"Why?" Henry’s frustration bubbled to the surface.

"One minute you’re—" He faltered, searching for the right words.
"And now you’re here, taking care of me like nothing happened."

Diois sighed, raising the spoon to Henry’s mouth again, his tone soft yet firm. “I told you, you're mine now,” he said, a strange tenderness in his voice. “I take care of what's mine.”