The hotel room was dimly lit, the only source of light coming from the city outside the window. I lay curled up in Red’s bed, my body aching from the fever that had taken hold. The room smelled faintly of medicine and the warm scent of Red’s jacket, which was draped over me like a blanket.

Red stood near the door, his posture stiff, his brown eyes locked onto me. His usual unreadable expression faltered for a brief second when I spoke.

“Red, you don’t have to do this,” I murmured, my voice hoarse but soft. “I’m not your little girl anymore, and I get that now.”

His whole body tensed, as if my words physically hit him. His eyes flickered with something unreadable, something deep. For a long moment, he just stared at me, completely still, as if he was processing every word.

I forced a small smile despite the fever burning through me. “It’s fine, Red. You should go.”

I expected him to leave, to nod stiffly and walk out like he always did when he was done making sure I was okay. But he didn’t. Instead, he did something unexpected.

He moved.

Slowly, carefully, he walked toward me and crouched by the bed, his arms resting on the edge of the mattress. His gaze was steady, unwavering.

“No,” he said. Just one word, but it carried so much weight.

I blinked, surprised. “No?”

He let out a slow exhale, running a hand through his dark brown hair. He was always strict, always serious, but tonight… he wasn’t. There was no lecture, no warning about being reckless or taking better care of myself. Just… Red, sitting there, staring at me with that same intense look he always had.

"You’ll always be my little girl," he said, his voice softer than I’d ever heard it. "No matter how old you get."

The words hit me harder than I expected. My breath caught, and suddenly my vision blurred—not from the fever, but from the emotion swelling in my chest.

I opened my mouth to say something, anything, but then I saw the hesitation in his eyes. Red never hesitated. He always knew what to do, what to say—or rather, what not to say. But now, he seemed unsure, like he was afraid he’d say the wrong thing.

And then, in another move that caught me off guard, he reached out and gently touched my forehead. His hand was cool against my burning skin.

"You’re too warm," he muttered. He glanced at the damp washcloth on the nightstand and reached for it, wringing it out before placing it on my forehead.

I chuckled weakly. "I do have a fever, you know."

He shot me a look that almost seemed annoyed, but there was no real heat behind it. "I know," he murmured. "But it doesn’t mean I’m leaving."

I blinked up at him, exhaustion making my limbs feel like lead. "But you always act so tough," I whispered. "You’re never this nice."

Red’s lips twitched, almost like he wanted to smile but didn’t know how. Instead, he just shook his head, reaching for the blankets and tucking them more securely around me.

"I’m always like this," he said simply. "You just don’t notice."

I frowned at that. "That’s not true—"

"It is," he interrupted, his voice quiet but firm. "I just… don’t say it."

He hesitated again, then—before I could react—he reached out and booped my nose with his finger. The same way he used to do when we were kids.

I scrunched my face in surprise. "Red, did you just—"

Before I could finish, he leaned down and wrapped his arms around me, pulling me into a hug. His grip was strong but careful, like he was afraid of hurting me in my feverish state.

For a moment, I froze. Red wasn’t the type to initiate affection. Ever. But now, here he was, holding me like I was something fragile.

"I’m not going to try and kill you, you know," he murmured against my hair. His voice was slightly amused, but there was something else there—something deeper.

I let out a breathless laugh, relaxing into his embrace. "I was kind of scared of you for a while."

He huffed softly, shaking his head. "I know."

We stayed like that for a while, his arms wrapped securely around me, his steady presence grounding me in a way that no medicine ever could. My fever still burned, my body still ached, but somehow… I felt safe.

And for the first time in a long time, I knew—no matter how old I got, no matter what happened—Red would always be there.

And for that I was grateful.

Red stood stiffly by the side of the bed, his brown eyes dark with something I couldn’t quite place. His usual stern expression softened, but he still didn’t move. I could tell he was thinking—debating.

"Red," I rasped, shifting under the blankets. My fever made my limbs feel like lead, but I still managed a weak smile. "You don't have to do this. I'm not your little girl anymore, and I get that now."

He didn't react at first, just staring at me, his hands clenched into fists at his sides. The silence stretched between us, thick and heavy, but I was used to that with Red. Talking wasn’t his thing.

Finally, after what felt like forever, he let out a slow exhale. His fists unclenched, and he moved toward me, kneeling beside the bed.

"You'll always be my little girl," he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. "No matter how old you get."

I blinked, caught off guard by the words. Red rarely spoke—especially not like this. It made my chest tighten, the warmth in his voice wrapping around me like a blanket.

"Red..."

He shook his head before I could say anything else. "Sleep," he ordered, but his voice lacked its usual strictness.

I sighed, my eyelids growing heavier. "Fine, fine... but you're still too serious, you know that?" I teased weakly.

Red just huffed, but then—gently, carefully—he shifted onto the bed beside me and pulled me into his arms. His embrace was warm and steady, and despite his usual strict demeanor, there was nothing rigid about the way he held me now.

"You're burning up," he muttered, adjusting the blanket around me.

I let out a weak chuckle, snuggling closer. "Yeah, that's kinda what a fever does."

He rolled his eyes but didn't let go. Instead, he tightened his hold slightly, his grip protective, grounding.

A small part of me hesitated before speaking again. "Red... you’re not going to kill me, right?"

That finally earned me a reaction. He stiffened before pulling back just enough to look at me properly, his brows furrowed.

"What?" he asked, clearly caught off guard.

I shrugged tiredly. "I mean, you always look so serious. And sometimes… I dunno, you’re kinda scary."

For a second, I thought he was going to stay silent. But then, to my absolute shock, he sighed and reached up—his calloused fingers booping my nose.

"Boop," he said flatly.

I blinked. Then, despite my fever, I burst out laughing. "Did you just—?"

Red sighed again, like he couldn’t believe he was doing this, but the corners of his lips twitched just slightly. "I'm not trying to kill you, Mia. Don’t be stupid."

That only made me laugh harder, though it quickly turned into a cough. Red tensed instantly, rubbing soothing circles on my back.

"Sleep," he repeated, softer this time.

I yawned, exhaustion creeping in. "Okay... but only 'cause you're being nice today."

Red hummed in response, holding me just a little closer. And as I drifted off to sleep, I felt safe—warm, protected. Because no matter how old I got, I knew Red would always be there.

The room was dimly lit, the soft glow of a bedside lamp casting long shadows against the walls. My fever had left me weak, my body aching, and despite the cool cloth Red had placed on my forehead, I still felt unbearably warm.

"You know, Red, you don't have to stay here," I muttered, my voice hoarse. I reached up to adjust the damp cloth, my hands trembling slightly. "I know you hate me, so you might as well go. I'll be fine."

The truth?

I wouldn't be.

I wanted him to stay. I wanted my brother. But I knew—at least, I thought I knew—that he hated me.

Red stood by the window, his back turned to me, arms crossed behind him. He had that same unreadable expression, the one that made it impossible to tell what he was thinking. When I spoke, though, I saw his posture stiffen ever so slightly, his head tilting just a bit, like he hadn't expected me to say that.

"You should go," I repeated, coughing violently. I turned onto my side, away from him, squeezing my eyes shut. I waited to hear the door open, to hear his quiet footsteps fading away, to feel the cold emptiness of being left alone again.

But that didn't happen.

Instead, I felt the bed dip behind me. Then, a warm hand slipped under my shirt, rubbing slow, soothing circles on my back.

I tensed at first. Red wasn’t the type to do this. He was strict, silent, impossible to read. Why was he doing this now?

"Red," I tried again, my voice softer this time. "I know you hate me. And I'm not your little girl anymore. I understand. You should go and have fun."

His hand paused for only a second before continuing. Then, to my absolute shock, he spoke.

"I don’t hate you."

His voice was quiet, deep, and warm in a way I hadn’t heard in a long time.

I turned my head slightly, but I didn’t look at him. I was too afraid that if I did, he’d disappear like a mirage.

"You… don’t?" My voice wavered.

Red let out a soft sigh. "No."

Silence settled between us again, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. His hand never stopped its rhythmic motion against my back, steady and reassuring.

After a while, he shifted, and suddenly, I felt his arms wrap around me from behind, pulling me close. I stiffened for a moment, but he didn’t let go. His warmth seeped into me, his grip firm but gentle.

"You'll always be my little girl," he murmured against the top of my head. "No matter how old you get."

My throat tightened, and I swallowed hard.

"But you're always so strict," I whispered. "You always look at me like... like I’m a problem."

Red was silent for a moment before he finally answered. "I’m strict because I worry. And because… I don’t know how to say things the way I should."

I turned slightly in his arms, enough to see his face. His brown eyes—usually so unreadable—held something soft, something raw.

"You looked scared of me," I admitted.

His lips pressed into a thin line. Then, quietly, he said, "I wasn’t scared of you. I was scared… of messing this up. Of messing us up."

My breath hitched.

Red wasn’t the type to say things like this. But he was saying it now. For me.

Tears pricked at my eyes, but I blinked them away, nuzzling into his chest.

"You’re not messing anything up," I murmured. "I just… I just thought you didn’t want me anymore."

His arms tightened around me.

"That’s not true."

I sighed, finally allowing myself to relax. Red wasn’t usually like this—he was always the strong, silent one, the one who didn’t say much and kept his emotions locked away. But tonight, he was different.

Tonight, he was my big brother.

And for the first time in a long time, I felt safe.

The fever burned through me like a wildfire, leaving my body aching and weak. My skin was slick with sweat, and every breath felt heavy. The cool cloth Red had placed on my forehead helped, but it wasn’t enough to chase away the fever-induced haze clouding my thoughts.

"You know, Red, you don’t have to stay here," I mumbled, my voice hoarse. I weakly adjusted the damp cloth, trying to ignore the way Red stood near the window, arms crossed behind his back, staring outside in silence. "I know you hate me, so you might as well go. I'll be fine."

The truth?

I wouldn't be.

I needed him. I wanted my brother to be here, but I knew—at least, I thought I knew—he hated me.

Red turned toward me, his brown eyes flickering with something unreadable. I couldn’t tell if he was surprised or annoyed. Maybe both. He said nothing, just watching me like he was waiting for something.

I let out a weak cough, rolling onto my side to face away from him. "You should go," I repeated, my voice cracking. My throat was dry, my body exhausted, and the last thing I wanted was for him to stay out of obligation.

I waited to hear the door creak open, to hear his footsteps fade as he left. But instead, the bed dipped beside me. A strong yet gentle hand slid under my shirt and began rubbing my back in slow, soothing circles.

I stiffened in shock.

This wasn’t the Red I knew—strict, silent, distant. This wasn’t the Red who rarely showed emotion, who always seemed so hard to reach. But here he was, comforting me like it was the most natural thing in the world.

I swallowed hard, trying again. "Red, I know you hate me, and I’m not your little girl anymore. I understand. You should go and have fun."

My voice was barely a whisper by the end of my sentence, my exhaustion weighing down on me like a heavy blanket.

The rubbing on my back didn’t stop. If anything, Red’s hand stilled for a moment before resuming, slower, more deliberate.

Then, for the first time in what felt like forever, he spoke.

"Mia," his voice was quiet, rough from disuse, but gentle in a way that made my throat tighten. "You’ll always be my little girl. No matter how old you get."

I turned my head slightly, peeking at him through fevered, blurry eyes. "You mean that?"

Red sighed, and before I could react, he leaned down and pulled me into a tight embrace. My head rested against his chest, his warmth grounding me despite the fever burning inside me.

"I don’t hate you," he said, his voice low but firm. "I never have."

I blinked up at him, confused and still groggy from the fever. "Then… why are you always so strict with me?"

His arms tightened around me protectively. "Because I worry about you."

My breath hitched.

"I don’t talk much," he admitted, resting his chin lightly on top of my head. "And I know that makes things hard. But I need you to know—I’m not going to hurt you, Mia. I never would."

I swallowed back the lump in my throat. "You sure? ‘Cause you kinda look like a serial killer sometimes."

Red huffed out something that almost sounded like a chuckle. "I know."

Silence settled between us, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. Red continued to hold me, his warmth and steady heartbeat slowly lulling me into a sense of security I hadn’t felt in a long time. His strictness, his distance—I had always mistaken it for resentment. But now, wrapped in his arms, I finally understood.

Red wasn’t cold. He wasn’t cruel.

He was just my big brother, and he loved me in his own way.

"Get some sleep," he murmured against my hair.

I yawned, my exhaustion winning over my stubbornness. "You'll be here when I wake up?"

His hold on me tightened slightly. "I promise."

And for the first time that night, I let myself believe him.

The room was dimly lit, the only illumination coming from the small lamp by the bedside. Outside, the wind howled softly against the windowpane, making the feverish heat coursing through my body feel even more unbearable. I clutched at the damp cloth Red had placed on my forehead, trying to keep it from slipping as sweat dampened my skin. My body ached, my throat burned, and my head felt like it was being split in two.

And yet, none of that compared to the pain in my chest—the pain of knowing that Red didn’t want to be here.

“You know, Red,” I murmured, my voice hoarse and weak, “you don’t have to stay here.”

I couldn’t look at him. Not when I knew what his answer would be. My gaze remained fixed on the ceiling, blinking slowly as dizziness washed over me. “I know you hate me, so you might as well go. I’ll be fine.”

Lies.

I wouldn’t be fine.

I wanted him to stay. I wanted my big brother. But I knew better. Red hated me. I had always been a burden, a nuisance, someone he had to put up with. And yet, here he was.

Why?

Red stood by the window, his back turned to me, arms crossed behind him. The moonlight cast a soft glow on his figure, his brown eyes reflecting the night sky outside. For a moment, I thought he didn’t hear me. Or maybe he was ignoring me. Maybe he was waiting for the right moment to leave.

Then, slowly, he turned.

His expression wasn’t one of annoyance. Nor was it cold, distant, or indifferent like I had expected. Instead, it was… surprised. Like he couldn’t believe what I had just said.

I coughed violently, my body shaking with the force of it, and turned away from him, curling up on my side. It hurt. Everything hurt. But the worst part was knowing that, at any second, I would hear the sound of the door opening and closing, and Red would be gone.

I braced myself for it.

But instead, I felt the bed dip beside me.

A soothing hand slipped under my shirt, rubbing slow, careful circles on my back. The touch was gentle, reassuring—so unlike the Red I had come to know.

I stiffened. “Red…” I tried again, my voice barely above a whisper. “I know you hate me. And I’m not your little girl anymore. I understand. You should go and have fun.”

The hand on my back didn’t stop. If anything, the pressure became firmer, more deliberate, like he was trying to ground me. Like he wanted me to know he was still there.

“Hate you?” His voice, though quiet, was steady. And full of something I couldn’t quite place. “Mia… I don’t hate you.”

I blinked, momentarily stunned. I had spent so long convinced that he resented me, that he wanted nothing to do with me. Hearing him say otherwise made my throat tighten with emotion.

“You don’t have to say that,” I whispered, my fever-clouded mind making it hard to focus. “You don’t have to lie.”

There was a long silence. Then, I felt him shift beside me.

A pair of strong arms wrapped around me, pulling me into the warmth of his embrace. I froze, my body going rigid against his, not knowing how to react.

Red never hugged me. He never showed affection. He was always so strict, so distant, always watching from afar but never stepping in.

And yet, here he was.

Holding me like he used to when I was small.

I barely had the strength to lift my arms, but somehow, I managed to grip the fabric of his shirt, burying my face into his chest. He was warm—so warm—and for the first time in a long time, I felt safe.

“You’ll always be my little girl,” he murmured against my hair. “No matter how old you get.”

I squeezed my eyes shut, trying to fight the tears that threatened to spill. “You mean that?” I croaked.

He nodded against me. “Yeah.”

The weight of those words settled deep in my heart, melting away the insecurities I had carried for so long. Maybe Red wasn’t the best at showing it, but he cared. He always had. I had just been too blind to see it.

I sniffled, my voice barely above a whisper. “You’re not gonna kill me, right?”

Red huffed, the closest thing to a chuckle I’d ever heard from him. “Mia.”

I tilted my head up to look at him. “What? You’re scary.”

He sighed, rolling his eyes slightly, but there was no real annoyance in his expression. Only something close to amusement. “I’m not going to kill you.”

“Promise?”

“Promise.”

I let out a weak giggle, my body finally relaxing in his hold. “Good. ‘Cause that would suck.”

Red shook his head, gently adjusting the cloth on my forehead. “Get some sleep, idiot.”

I smiled sleepily. “Only if you stay.”

“I’m not going anywhere.”

I sighed in relief, pressing myself closer to his warmth. The fever was still there, and my body still ached, but somehow, it didn’t seem so bad anymore.

Because for the first time in a long time, I wasn’t alone.

The room was dimly lit, the only illumination coming from the soft glow of the bedside lamp. The fever made everything hazy—my body felt heavy, my head pounded, and the cool cloth Red had placed on my forehead was the only thing keeping me from completely overheating. Even in my fevered state, I knew he didn’t want to be here. Why would he?

I swallowed thickly, trying to keep my voice steady. “You know, Red, you don’t have to stay here.” My voice was hoarse, barely above a whisper. “I know you hate me, so you might as well go. I’ll be fine.”

The truth?

I wouldn’t be.

I wanted my brother. I wanted him more than anything, but I also knew—knew in my heart—that Red hated me. He was just here because he had to be.

Red stood near the window, his back partially turned, his arms crossed behind him. The dim light caught his brown eyes, making them look even darker than usual. He didn’t respond at first, just kept staring out at the night sky. Maybe he was waiting for me to pass out so he could leave.

I turned away, coughing violently. My body shook with the effort, and tears stung my eyes from the sheer force of it. “You should go,” I croaked, my voice breaking.

I waited for the sound of the door opening, the soft click of it closing behind him. I waited for him to leave like I knew he wanted to.

But instead—

The bed dipped.

A warm hand slipped under my shirt, rubbing slow, soothing circles on my back. The touch was so gentle, so careful, that it nearly broke me right then and there. I squeezed my eyes shut, my breath shuddering as I tried to fight the tears threatening to spill.

I tried again. “Red, I know you hate me,” I whispered, voice trembling. “And I’m not your little girl anymore. I understand. You should go and have fun.”

Still, he didn’t speak. He just kept rubbing my back, his touch steady, unrelenting. My chest ached—whether from the fever or the overwhelming emotions, I wasn’t sure.

Then, finally, after what felt like forever, Red spoke.

“You’re still my little girl.” His voice was soft, deep, filled with something I couldn’t quite place.

I turned my head slightly, staring at him through bleary eyes. He was watching me, his brown eyes filled with something warm, something raw. He didn’t look mad. He didn’t look like he hated me.

He looked… sad.

I swallowed, my throat thick with emotion. “But I’m not,” I whispered. “I’m not a little kid anymore, Red. I’m not the same girl who clung to you. Who cried when someone else held me. Who thought you were—” I cut myself off, my voice catching.

Red just looked at me for a long moment before shifting. In one swift motion, he laid down beside me and pulled me into his arms, tucking my head under his chin. His arms wrapped around me tightly, holding me in a way that made me feel small, safe, like nothing in the world could hurt me as long as he was here.

I stiffened at first, too shocked to move. Red wasn’t the type to hug—he was always so strict, so composed, always keeping his emotions locked away.

But not tonight.

Tonight, he held me like he was afraid to let go.

I finally let myself relax against him, my fever making me too weak to argue. My fingers curled into his jacket, holding on as if he’d disappear if I didn’t.

“You’ll always be my little girl,” he murmured against my hair. “No matter how old you get.”

My breath hitched, and I squeezed my eyes shut, trying to keep the tears at bay. But it was useless.

“Then why do you act like you don’t care?” My voice cracked, and I hated how weak I sounded.

Red was silent for a moment before he sighed. “I never stopped caring.”

“Then why—”

“I thought you didn’t need me anymore.” His grip on me tightened slightly. “I thought you… outgrew me.”

A fresh wave of tears burned at my eyes, and I shook my head weakly. “You’re an idiot,” I whispered, my voice barely audible. “I needed you. I still need you.”

Red exhaled sharply, as if those words had knocked the air out of him. His hand found my hair, gently running his fingers through the strands like he used to when I was younger.

I clung to him, feeling the warmth of his embrace seep into my bones. For the first time in a long time, I felt safe. I felt like I wasn’t alone.

But the darkness still lingered in the back of my mind, the thoughts I couldn’t shake.

I swallowed thickly, gathering the courage to say what had been weighing on me for so long. “You could just let me die,” I whispered, barely breathing the words. “Then you wouldn’t have to deal with me anymore. You could have a happy life without me.”

The room fell deathly silent.

Then—

Red pulled back just enough to look at me, his brown eyes burning with an intensity that sent a shiver down my spine. “Don’t,” he said, his voice low, firm. “Don’t ever say that again.”

I flinched slightly, startled by the sharpness in his tone.

Red exhaled, his expression softening. “I love you.” His voice was quieter this time, but no less intense. “With everything I have. I always have. And I always will.”

I blinked up at him, my breath catching.

“I thought you hated me,” I admitted, my voice small.

“I could never hate you.” He shook his head, his thumb gently brushing against my cheek. “You were the one who followed me everywhere. The one who cried when anyone else tried to hold you. The one who trusted me more than anyone. You were the little girl who made my world less lonely.”

My chest ached, my throat tightening with emotion.

“You raised me,” I whispered.

Red gave a small nod. “Yeah,” he murmured. “And I wouldn’t change that for anything.”

I bit my lip, trying to hold back the fresh wave of tears.

Then, before I could stop myself, I buried my face against his chest, gripping his jacket tightly. “I missed you,” I choked out.

Red’s arms tightened around me, holding me close. “I missed you too,” he whispered.

And for the first time in what felt like forever, I felt like I was home.

The fever burned through me like wildfire, making my body feel heavy and weak. Sweat clung to my skin, my limbs aching with exhaustion, but it wasn’t just the sickness weighing me down. It was the overwhelming certainty that Red didn’t want to be here. That he didn’t want to be with me.

"You know, Red, you don’t have to stay here," I mumbled, my voice hoarse as I tried to steady the cool cloth he had placed on my forehead. My fingers gripped it loosely, as if letting go would mean surrendering entirely. "I know you hate me, so you might as well go. I'll be fine."

The truth?

I wouldn’t be.

I wanted him here. More than anything, I wanted my brother. But I knew—I knew—that he hated me.

Red stood by the window, his back turned to me, his arms crossed behind him in that stiff, silent way of his. His brown eyes, usually so unreadable, were focused on something in the distance, as if he wasn’t really here. As if he was just waiting for the right moment to walk away.

He didn’t say anything.

I sighed, turning away from him, my body wracked with violent coughs that left me trembling. "You should go," I rasped, trying to keep my voice steady. "I know you don’t care, and I’m not your little girl anymore. I understand. You should go and have fun."

Silence.

I squeezed my eyes shut, bracing myself for the inevitable sound of the door opening and closing. For the moment Red would leave, just like I always expected him to.

But instead—

I felt the bed dip.

A warm, steady hand slipped under my shirt and began rubbing slow, soothing circles on my back. I stiffened in shock.

"Red…?" My voice cracked, disbelieving.

He didn’t answer, not right away. He just kept rubbing my back, the motion calm, deliberate—like he used to when I was little. Back when I would cry at night and he was the only one who could hold me without me screaming for him. Back when he was the only one I trusted.

Tears pricked at the corners of my burning eyes. My throat ached, but I forced the words out anyway. "You can just let me die," I whispered bitterly. "Then you can finally have a happy life."

The moment those words left my lips, Red moved.

Before I could react, his arms were around me, pulling me into his chest. His grip was firm but careful, his warmth surrounding me completely. His chin rested gently on top of my head, and his hand found its way back to my back, continuing those slow, comforting circles.

I froze.

I wasn’t expecting this. I wasn’t expecting him to care.

"...Mia." His voice was quiet, deep, a rare sound that felt so foreign yet so familiar.

I waited for him to let go. For him to push me away like I expected.

But he didn’t.

Instead, he pulled me closer, his hand tightening slightly around me, as if he was afraid I would disappear.

"You’ll always be my little girl," he murmured. "No matter how old you get."

I let out a shaky breath, my body trembling against his. "You don’t have to say that," I whispered. "You don’t have to pretend."

His grip on me tightened. "I’m not pretending."

I swallowed hard, trying to fight the lump in my throat. "...Then why do you hate me?"

Red went still.

For a long moment, he didn’t say anything. I thought maybe he wouldn’t say anything. That he would just sit there, holding me in silence, until I fell asleep and forgot this conversation ever happened.

But then—

"...I don’t hate you," he admitted softly.

My breath hitched.

"You think I do," he continued, his voice low but steady. "But I don’t. I never have."

I clenched my fists against his shirt. "Then why do you always act like you do?"

Red sighed, his fingers absentmindedly brushing through my hair. "Because I’m not good at this," he confessed. "I don’t know how to show things the way you need me to."

My throat tightened. "...Then why are you here?"

"Because you’re sick," he answered immediately. "Because you’re mine. Because I love you, Mia."

Tears spilled down my cheeks, hot and unrelenting. "You never say that."

"I know."

"I thought you wanted me gone."

Red shook his head, his hand still rubbing my back. "Never."

I hiccupped, burying my face into his chest, clutching onto him like I used to when I was little. The fever was still making my body ache, but somehow, in his arms, I felt safe.

Like I wasn’t alone.

Like I had always been his little girl.

No matter what.

The room was dim, the only light coming from the bedside lamp that cast a soft glow over the walls. The fever was making everything hazy, my body hot and trembling under the weight of the blankets. My head ached, my throat burned, and every breath felt heavy, like I was drowning in thick air. The damp cloth Red had placed on my forehead was the only thing keeping me from slipping completely into the fever’s grasp.

Red stood by the window, arms crossed behind his back, his usual unreadable expression in place. He had been like that for a while now, silent as ever, just watching the outside world. I swallowed, my throat dry and sore, and turned my head slightly, trying to meet his gaze.

“You know, Red,” I started, my voice weak and hoarse. “You don’t have to stay here.”

He didn’t move.

I forced a bitter chuckle, though it came out more like a wheeze. “I know you hate me, so you might as well go. I’ll be fine.”

The truth?

I wouldn’t be.

But I knew Red hated me, or at least, that’s what I told myself. He had always been distant, strict, never one for words. He was never the type to coddle or comfort. He barely spoke to anyone, and when he did, it was usually a few short words.

But once upon a time, I was different.

Once, I had been his little girl. The one who clung to him when I was scared, the one who cried if anyone but Red held me. The one who thought of him as more than a brother, as a mother, a father, everything. The one he had raised.

But that was a long time ago.

“Go,” I whispered, coughing violently. I turned to my side, curling in on myself as the fever burned through me. “You should go and have fun.”

I waited. I expected to hear the door open and close, for him to walk out without a word, just like I knew he would.

But instead, I felt the bed dip.

A warm hand slipped under my shirt, pressing against my burning skin, rubbing slow, soothing circles along my back. My body stiffened in shock. He wasn’t leaving.

He was staying.

I tried again, though my voice was weaker this time. “Red, I know you hate me, and I’m not your little girl anymore. I understand. You should just go.”

His hand didn’t stop moving. If anything, he pressed a little firmer, his touch grounding me, as if trying to make me believe he was really here. His warmth was calming, and despite my fever-addled mind, I found myself relaxing against him, my body leaning into his comfort like I had so many years ago.

Then, for the first time in what felt like forever, he spoke.

“You’re still my little girl,” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper but filled with so much weight that it made my chest ache.

I shut my eyes tightly, swallowing down the emotions that threatened to rise. “No, I’m not,” I croaked. “Not anymore.”

He was quiet for a long time, his hand never stopping its slow movements on my back. I felt his breathing, steady and calm, the complete opposite of my own ragged gasps. He had always been like this, silent but firm, like an unmovable force in my life.

“I know you think I hate you,” he said finally, his voice quieter than before. “But you’re wrong.”

I turned my head slightly, just enough to see his face. His brown eyes, usually so hard to read, were softer now. They held something I couldn’t quite place—something warm, something steady, something… familiar.

“I don’t hate you,” he continued. “I never did.”

A lump formed in my throat. I wanted to believe him, I really did, but my mind was too foggy, too filled with doubt. “Then why don’t you—why don’t you ever talk to me?” My voice cracked, and I hated how weak I sounded.

He sighed, looking away for a moment before meeting my eyes again. “Because I don’t know how.”

I blinked. That… wasn’t what I expected.

“I was never good at talking,” he admitted, his fingers brushing against my hair. “But that doesn’t mean I don’t care.”

My vision blurred, whether from the fever or the tears, I wasn’t sure. I clenched my fists, my nails digging into my palms as I whispered, “Then why didn’t you ever say anything before?”

Red’s jaw tightened, his gaze flickering with something I couldn’t quite name. Regret, maybe.

“I thought you knew,” he said simply.

I let out a small, broken laugh. “I didn’t.”

Silence.

And then, suddenly, his arms wrapped around me, pulling me close, pressing my fevered body against his steady warmth. My breath hitched at the unexpected embrace. Red never hugged people. He barely even touched people.

But he was hugging me now.

Holding me like I was still that little girl who clung to him all those years ago.

I trembled against him, the fever making my limbs weak, my thoughts sluggish. “You could just let me die,” I muttered, my voice barely above a whisper. “Then you wouldn’t have to deal with me anymore. You could have a happy life.”

His grip on me tightened.

“Don’t say that,” he murmured, his voice almost sharp, but there was something else there too. Something raw. Something desperate.

I didn’t respond.

Instead, I closed my eyes, letting myself sink into his warmth. For once, I didn’t feel alone.

For once, I didn’t feel hated.

For once, I felt like I was still his little girl.

And as Red held me through the fever, rubbing slow circles on my back, whispering quiet reassurances that I could barely process, I realized something.

I had been wrong.

Red did love me.

He loved me with his whole heart.

The room was hazy, the heat of my fever making everything feel like a fog. My body burned with an intensity I couldn’t fight, my head spinning in and out of consciousness. The cool cloth Red had gently placed on my forehead felt like the only thing keeping me tethered to reality. My throat ached with every breath, and I could feel my chest rising and falling too rapidly, too shallowly, as if my body was trying to escape itself. But my mind, well, it was stuck here, clouded with fever, twisted with thoughts I couldn’t chase away.

I could feel his eyes on me, though. Red was always watching, always there. But this time, there was a tension in his gaze I hadn’t seen before. A soft, almost… uncertain look. I hated how weak I was right now, how exposed. I hated that I was the one laying here in bed, helpless, while he stood at the window, arms crossed, his back to me as though he didn’t know what to do with the situation.

"You know, Red, you don't have to stay here," I managed to whisper, my voice hoarse and weak. My head felt too heavy to lift, and I forced myself to blink slowly, trying to focus. "I know you hate me, so you might as well go. I'll be fine."

It wasn’t true. I wasn’t fine. I could barely get the words out, barely even keep my thoughts straight, but I couldn’t say that. I couldn’t tell him how I felt. How desperate I was to feel close to him again, to feel like his little sister, the one who had been with him through everything. But I also knew, deep down, that wasn’t how he saw me anymore. The distance between us had been there for so long now.

The silence stretched between us, heavy and uncomfortable. I could feel him, standing there, but it was like he was miles away.

I expected the door to open, expected Red to just walk out. He had every reason to.

But then I felt the bed dip beside me. A weight pressed gently against the mattress as Red’s presence shifted. My heart skipped a beat as I turned to look at him, a mix of surprise and confusion washing over me.

Before I could say anything, I felt his hand—warm and steady—slip under my shirt and rub my back. His touch was gentle, comforting, like a balm on my fevered skin. It wasn’t a touch I was used to from him, not in this way. It wasn’t strict or commanding like it usually was, it was… kind. So kind that it made my chest tighten.

I tried again to push him away, even though I didn’t want him to go. Even though my heart ached for him to stay.

"Red, I know you hate me," I whispered through another violent cough, my body convulsing as I turned to the other side, clutching the blankets closer. "I’m not your little girl anymore. I understand. You should go. You should go and have fun." My voice cracked as I spoke, like I was forcing the words out of a deep, painful place I didn’t want to visit.

There was no response at first. The room seemed to hang in the quiet, save for the soft rustling of his movement. The moment stretched, filled with all the unsaid things between us. My body shivered, my fever climbing higher, but I didn’t want to look up. I didn’t want him to see how broken I felt.

Then I felt it. His arms wrapped around me, pulling me gently into his chest. For a moment, I thought it was a dream, a part of the feverish delirium in my mind. But no, it was real. His embrace was warm, strong, and it felt so familiar, like home. He held me close, and I could feel his heartbeat, steady and calm, against my cheek.

“Mia,” Red whispered softly, his voice deep, with the rare tenderness I only ever heard when he was talking to me. His words were quiet, but they broke through the haze of my fever, making my heart flutter with the emotion I didn’t want to acknowledge. “You’ll always be my little girl. No matter how old you get.”

The words hit me like a wave. I choked back a sob, my eyes stinging. He wasn’t pushing me away. He wasn’t abandoning me. He was holding me, just like he used to when I was younger, when I needed him the most.

I closed my eyes, the tears blurring my vision, as I let myself be held, let myself feel the warmth of his arms around me. But my thoughts were clouded, and the fever burned through me.

“You should just let me die, Red,” I said weakly, the words slipping out before I could stop them. “You’ll be free. You’ll be happy. I’m just holding you back.”

There was a long silence. His grip on me tightened, and for a moment, I thought he wasn’t going to say anything.

But then his voice, low and steady, spoke again, like the truth that was buried beneath the surface.

“I’m not going to let you die, Mia,” he said firmly, his breath warm against my hair. “And I’m not going to leave you. Not now. Not ever.”

I didn’t say anything for a while. His words settled deep inside me, soaking into the places I thought I’d closed off. Red wasn’t going to let me go. He was still here. He still loved me.

And despite all the distance, despite all the years of silence and the things left unsaid, he still cared for me in a way that nothing else could ever replace.

I pulled myself closer to him, needing the reassurance, the comfort. “But I—I thought you hated me,” I whispered through a shaky breath.

Red’s hand gently stroked my hair, as if trying to calm me down, trying to ease the storm of emotions inside me. “I don’t hate you, Mia. I never did. You’re my sister. You’re everything to me. I can’t just let you go.”

I felt the warmth of his breath against my temple, the strong, steady beat of his heart, and I realized then that the bond between us had never broken. It was still there, woven tightly through all the years of silence, the misunderstandings, the pain.

“I was scared, Mia,” Red continued, his voice softer now. “Scared of losing you. Scared of what you might become… without me.” He paused, taking a deep breath. “But you don’t have to face things alone. Not anymore.”

The tears came freely then. I didn’t try to stop them, didn’t try to hold back. I let them fall, letting the years of pain, of fear, of uncertainty pour out of me. Red just held me tighter, as if he understood. As if he had always known.

“I love you, Mia,” he whispered, his voice rough, but full of the truth I had needed to hear. “I always will.”

And in that moment, I realized something I hadn’t allowed myself to acknowledge for so long: I wasn’t alone. No matter how much I pushed him away, no matter how much I doubted, Red had never stopped loving me. He was still my brother, the one who had raised me, who had always been there when I needed him the most.

And as I drifted off to sleep in his arms, a quiet peace settled in my heart.

The room was dimly lit, the air thick with the scent of medicine and the faint buzz of a fan in the corner. The sheets felt too heavy, and every breath I took seemed to make my chest ache more. My body was fighting something I couldn’t explain—fever and chills that made me shiver despite the warmth.

I wanted my brother. But at the same time, I didn’t want him to see me like this. It was foolish, I knew. But that deep, selfish part of me that had been there for so long still craved his presence. Yet the other part—the part that thought he might be better off without me—felt like I was just a burden.

“Red,” I croaked, my voice weak from the fever, “you don’t have to stay here.” I could barely keep my eyes open as I felt the cool cloth he’d placed on my forehead shift ever so slightly.

Red stood by the window, his arms crossed, gazing out into the still night. He was always so composed, so distant. It was what I loved about him, but also what made me feel like I wasn’t enough. He rarely showed emotion, and when he did, it was for reasons I couldn’t fully grasp. Not that I was ready to confront it. Not when I was burning up with a fever and the room felt like it was spinning.

“I know you hate me,” I continued softly, trying to steady the cool cloth. “I’m not your little girl anymore, I get it. So you might as well go. I’ll be fine. I’m used to this…”

I turned my back to him, hoping the weakness in my voice wouldn’t break. I thought I heard the door creak. I thought that would be the moment Red would leave. I would hear the soft click of the door as he stepped outside, leaving me to fade into the loneliness I’d known for so long.

But then, there was a shift in the room, a subtle dip in the bed that caught me off guard. And then I felt a warmth I hadn’t expected. Red’s hand slid under my shirt, his rough fingers gently rubbing my back. The soothing sensation made my body relax, if only for a moment.

I didn’t speak at first, overwhelmed by the fact that he was still here. He was still here, even after everything. Even after all the years of me thinking I was just a burden.

“I told you, you should go…” I murmured, trying to turn, but my body felt heavy, weak. “I’m not worth it. You should just go. You don’t have to take care of me, Red.”

The words were weak, fragile, like the final remnants of hope that had been crushed by years of my own self-doubt. I thought I was doing him a favor, but deep down, I was pleading for him to stay.

Red’s hand stopped, and for a moment, I thought I had pushed him away. But then I heard him exhale, a soft, heavy sigh that was almost a relief.

“Don’t say that,” Red’s voice was low, uncharacteristically gentle. It was rare for him to speak so much. I always cherished the few words he offered, even if they were few and far between.

He shifted on the bed, and I felt the warmth of his body as he sat beside me, his hand still resting gently on my back. “Mia,” he whispered. “You’ve always been my little girl.”

I tried to move away, but his hand stayed firm, steady, as if grounding me. “You’ve always been my responsibility,” he continued softly, his voice a comforting presence that seemed to break through the feverish haze. “Even when you grew up, even when things were tough… you’ll always be my little girl. No matter what happens. I’m not going to leave you.”

I didn’t know what to say. The words felt caught in my throat, too tangled to form a proper sentence. Part of me wanted to cry out, to yell that I was fine on my own. But another part of me—a smaller, more vulnerable part—felt relief. He was here. He hadn’t left. He hadn’t given up on me.

Red gently shifted me onto my side, making sure I was comfortable, and pulled the covers closer around me. Then, without a word, he leaned down and kissed my forehead. The gesture was so simple, but it held so much weight.

“I’m not going anywhere,” Red said softly, his voice thick with the quiet determination I knew all too well. “You’re not alone.”

But even that didn’t feel like enough. I didn’t just want him to stay because I was sick. I wanted him to stay because... because I was scared. Scared of losing him. Scared of being left behind.

“I told you,” I whispered, trying to sit up a little, though the dizziness made it hard. “I know you hate me. I’m just… I’m just a burden. You’re better off without me. I’ve messed everything up so many times. Why do you even bother?”

Red didn’t move for a long moment, and for a second, I thought maybe I had crossed a line. But then, his hand brushed my hair back, and he lowered his head so that his face was only inches away from mine.

“You didn’t mess anything up,” Red said softly, so quietly that I almost didn’t catch it. His voice was raw, like he was speaking from some deeper place than he usually let anyone see. “You’ve never been a burden, Mia. You’re my little sister. I’ve always loved you. Even when it didn’t feel like it, I was always there for you.”

I looked at him, my breath catching in my throat as I tried to understand what he was saying.

“I know you’ve been through a lot. But you’re not alone. Not now. Not ever.” His words were gentle, but firm. “I may not say it often, but you matter. More than you’ll ever know.”

I tried to say something in response, but the words caught in my throat, a sob threatening to break free. I squeezed my eyes shut, trying to hold back the flood of emotions, but it didn’t work. The tears came anyway. Tears of relief, of fear, of love. I felt them trickling down my cheeks, and I reached up to wipe them away, but Red was already there, his thumb brushing away the tears as they fell.

“You don’t have to be strong all the time,” Red whispered, his voice warm and comforting. “You don’t have to hide your emotions from me. I’m here, Mia. Always.”

And in that moment, I let go. I let myself cry. Let myself be vulnerable in a way I hadn’t allowed myself to be in years. And Red was there, his arms wrapping around me, pulling me close as I cried into his chest.

“I’ll always protect you,” Red said, his voice barely audible, but full of conviction. “No matter what happens, Mia. I’ll never leave you.”

And for the first time in a long time, I believed him.

I was burning up. The fever had taken over my body, leaving me shivering even under the blanket, and my head felt like it was about to explode. The room was spinning, but through the haze of dizziness, there was one thing I couldn’t escape—the feeling of loneliness. And a part of me wished that Red would just leave me alone.

"You know, Red, you don't have to stay here," I said through the feverish heat, trying my best to keep the cool cloth he’d placed on my forehead steady. "I know you hate me, so you might as well go. I'll be fine."

The words left my mouth more out of desperation than anything else, because in the back of my mind, I didn’t believe they were true. I needed him. I always did. But the idea of him seeing me like this… vulnerable and sick… it made my stomach churn. He always acted like he didn’t want anything to do with me, like I was just a burden.

I coughed violently, trying to turn over onto my other side, but everything hurt too much. The bed felt so hot, my own body like a furnace. I closed my eyes, hoping for it to stop, hoping for some kind of relief.

I heard Red’s footsteps shift, and I thought, maybe now he would leave. Maybe this time he would listen to me.

The door didn’t creak open and shut like I expected it to, though. Instead, I felt the bed dip, and a cool, soothing hand slipped under my shirt, gently rubbing my back. I stiffened, surprised.

Red’s touch was always gentle, but today there was something else in it. There was care. Concern. He wasn’t leaving.

His voice came softly, breaking through the haze of feverish thoughts. "Mia," he said, a rare softness in his usually stoic tone. "I’m not leaving. You need me."

I struggled to keep my eyes open. "But… but I’m not your little girl anymore. You don’t have to stay. I know you hate me."

He let out a sigh, his hand never leaving my back. I felt his fingers trace small, comforting circles against my skin, a contrast to the burning pain in my body. Red never spoke much, and I couldn’t recall the last time I had heard him say anything other than a few words of command. But today, something was different.

"That’s not true," he replied quietly. "Mia… you’re always going to be my little girl. No matter how old you get."

I felt a lump in my throat. I didn’t know why, but those words hit me harder than I expected. The tears I had been holding back welled up, threatening to spill over.

"Red… you don’t have to stay," I whispered hoarsely, my voice breaking. "I know I’m a burden. You can just let me die, and you can go live a happy life."

The words were out before I could stop them, and immediately, I regretted it. I was tired, my body aching, and I didn’t want him to feel sorry for me. I didn’t want to drag him down.

Red froze, and for a moment, there was complete silence. I was too embarrassed to look at him, too ashamed of what I had just said. But then, I felt the familiar weight of his body as he climbed into the bed beside me, wrapping his arms around me in a tight, secure hug. I tensed for a moment, but then I realized I wasn’t going anywhere. He wasn’t going to leave me.

He held me close as my body trembled from the fever and the emotion I had let spill over. "Mia," Red said softly, the rare warmth in his voice more comforting than I had ever imagined. "You’re not a burden. I don’t care what you think. I’m not leaving you, and I’m never going to let you go."

I couldn’t help it. The tears came, hot and fast, and I cried into his chest, my body wracked with sobs. I was still sick, still burning with fever, but Red was here. And in that moment, his presence was enough to make me feel safe, like maybe everything was going to be okay.

"I’m so sorry," I choked out between sobs. "I didn’t mean it. I just… I just thought…"

"I know," he whispered. "I know you didn’t mean it. But you’re not alone, Mia. I’m here for you, always."

His words wrapped around me like a blanket, soothing the storm inside of me. His arms tightened around me as he laid me back down onto the pillow, keeping me close as I tried to settle into the warmth of his embrace.

Red wasn’t usually one to show much emotion, but when it came to me, he always had a way of being there. Even when he didn’t say much, his presence alone was enough to make me feel like I could get through anything.

"You’re my little girl," he murmured softly, brushing a strand of hair away from my forehead. "No matter what happens, I’ll always take care of you. I won’t let anything happen to you. You mean everything to me."

I shook my head slightly, still feeling the heat of the fever seeping through my body, but for the first time in a long while, I felt comforted. The weight of his words, and the feeling of his hands running over my back, assured me in a way that nothing else could.

I closed my eyes, a small, contented sigh escaping my lips. In his arms, I knew I was safe.

And as I drifted in and out of sleep, the last thing I heard before I finally fell into a deep, healing rest was Red’s voice, speaking softly in my ear.

"I love you, Mia. Always."

And in that moment, I knew that no matter how old I got, no matter how much time passed, I would always be his little girl.

The room was dimly lit, the soft glow of a bedside lamp casting long shadows against the walls. My fever made everything feel hazy, and the damp cloth Red had placed on my forehead had long since started to warm, but I was too exhausted to move it. I could barely keep my eyes open, but the silence between us was unbearable.

"You know, Red, you don't have to stay here," I croaked, my voice weak and raspy. "I know you hate me, so you might as well go. I'll be fine."

The truth?

I wouldn’t be.

I wanted my brother. I wanted the Red I used to know—the one who, despite his silence, was always there, always protecting me. But deep down, I was convinced that Red hated me now. That I had somehow driven him away.

Red stood by the window, his arms crossed behind his back, staring out into the night. His brown eyes, usually sharp and unreadable, flickered with something I couldn't decipher as he slowly turned to face me.

"You should go," I repeated, turning over as a violent cough wracked my body. It hurt. My chest ached, my throat burned, and my entire body felt like it was on fire. But I refused to let him see how much pain I was in.

For a few seconds, nothing happened. I expected to hear the door creak open and the soft sound of his footsteps fading away. I expected him to leave—because why wouldn’t he?

But then, I felt the bed dip.

A warm hand slipped beneath my shirt, rubbing slow, comforting circles on my back. It was a touch I had missed—gentle, familiar, safe.

My eyes stung with tears.

"Red, I know you hate me," I whispered, barely able to get the words out. "And I know I’m not your little girl anymore. I understand. You should go and have fun."

Still, he stayed.

His hand never stopped moving, his touch as steady as ever. He wasn't strict today, not like he usually was. No harsh glares, no reprimands, no stiff silence. Just warmth.

I swallowed hard, my fever making me dizzy. "You can just let me die," I muttered bitterly. "You can finally be free of me. You can have a happy life."

The hand on my back froze.

Then, slowly, Red moved. Before I could react, I was pulled into a tight embrace, my head resting against his chest. His arms, strong and steady, wrapped around me protectively.

"Don’t say that," he said.

It was barely a whisper, but it was there. His voice—one he rarely used—was full of emotion.

I stiffened. "But you—"

"I don’t hate you." His voice was firm, almost desperate. "I never hated you."

I trembled, pressing my face against his chest. "Then why...?"

"You’ve always been my little girl," he murmured, tightening his hold on me. "No matter how old you get."

My breath hitched.

I squeezed my eyes shut, trying to fight back the overwhelming emotions threatening to spill over. Red never spoke like this. He never had to. But here he was, holding me, whispering the words I had longed to hear.

"You were the one who got attached to me first," he said softly, his fingers combing through my hair. "The one who cried if anyone else held you. The one who followed me everywhere, even when I tried to push you away."

A tear slipped down my cheek.

"You were the one who thought I was your mother," he continued, his voice quieter now. "The one who—" he hesitated, then exhaled softly "—the one who made me feel like I wasn’t alone."

I clutched at his shirt, my fever making my limbs feel heavy, but I refused to let go. "I thought you didn’t want me anymore."

Red shook his head, resting his chin atop mine. "I thought you didn’t need me anymore."

A choked sob escaped my throat. "I’ll always need you."

He held me even closer, his warmth seeping into my feverish skin. "Then stop saying things like that," he murmured. "Stop talking like you’re nothing to me. Because you’re everything."

I didn’t have the strength to reply. All I could do was curl up in his embrace, listening to the steady beat of his heart.

For the first time in a long time, I felt safe.

Red wasn’t leaving.

Red still loved me.

With his arms around me, shielding me from the nightmares that haunted my fevered mind, I finally allowed myself to sleep.

The fever burned through me like wildfire, leaving my body weak and aching. I could barely move without shivering, and every breath felt like I was inhaling fire. The cold cloth Red had placed on my forehead was the only relief I had, but even that felt like it was losing its effectiveness.

Red stood by the window, his back to me, his arms crossed behind him as he stared into the dark night outside. He hadn’t said much since he arrived, just the occasional movement—adjusting my blankets, making sure I had water, pressing a fresh cloth to my burning skin.

I swallowed hard, my throat raw, and forced out the words I had been holding back. “You know, Red, you don’t have to stay here.” My voice was weak, but I tried to make it sound steady. “I know you hate me, so you might as well go. I’ll be fine.”

The truth?

I wouldn’t be.

I wanted my brother. But I knew—knew—that my brother hated me.

Red turned his head slightly, just enough for me to catch a glimpse of his brown eyes. They flickered with something—surprise? Disbelief? I couldn’t tell.

I coughed violently, curling onto my side. “You should go,” I rasped, squeezing my eyes shut as my body trembled.

For a moment, I braced myself for the sound of the door opening and closing. I waited for Red’s quiet footsteps to fade as he walked away, leaving me alone in my fevered misery.

But then… the bed dipped.

I stiffened as I felt a strong yet gentle hand slip under my shirt, pressing against my back in slow, soothing circles.

I froze.

He wasn’t leaving.

I tried again, my voice cracking, “Red, I know you hate me, and I’m not your little girl anymore. I understand. You should go and have fun.”

Red didn’t respond right away. His hand continued its rhythmic motions on my back, his touch warm, grounding, real.

And then—

“I don’t hate you.”

His voice was quiet, rough from disuse, but there was something else in it, something that made my breath hitch.

I turned my head slightly, trying to see his expression, but my fever made everything hazy. “Then why… why do you act like you don’t care?”

Red exhaled sharply, as if the question physically pained him. He was silent for a long time, and I was almost convinced he wasn’t going to answer. But then—

“I thought…” He hesitated. “I thought you didn’t need me anymore.”

I blinked in confusion. “What?”

Red’s hand stilled on my back. When he spoke again, his voice was lower, softer. “You grew up. You made friends. You stopped clinging to me like you used to.”

I swallowed thickly. “That’s… not true.”

He let out a humorless chuckle. “It felt like it.”

I shifted, my weak limbs barely cooperating as I turned to look at him. Red was staring down at me now, his brown eyes intense, filled with something I hadn’t seen in so long—concern.

Real, raw concern.

“I thought you were tired of me,” he admitted, his voice almost too soft to hear. “That you didn’t need me like before.”

Tears welled up in my eyes before I could stop them. My voice trembled as I whispered, “I thought you didn’t want me anymore.”

Red’s eyes widened slightly, and in the next moment, I was being pulled into his arms. His grip was firm but careful, as if he was afraid I would break.

I stiffened at first, unused to the warmth, the safety of his embrace. But then… I melted into it.

His chin rested lightly on the top of my head, and I felt his breath against my hair as he whispered, “You’ll always be my little girl. No matter how old you get.”

A sob broke past my lips before I could stop it. I gripped the fabric of his shirt weakly, my fever-drained body trembling.

“Then don’t leave me,” I choked out.

Red tightened his hold. “I won’t.”

I don’t know how long we stayed like that, but at some point, my exhaustion won over. My body was still burning, still aching, but Red’s warmth was enough to make me feel safe.

Just as sleep began to pull me under, I mumbled, barely conscious, “You’re not gonna try and kill me, right?”

A soft exhale—almost a laugh. “No, Mia,” he murmured. “Never.”

And then, just before I drifted into unconsciousness, I felt it—

A gentle kiss pressed to my fevered forehead.

And for the first time in a long time, I knew.

Red still loved me.

He had always loved me.

With his whole heart.

The room was dimly lit, the soft glow of a bedside lamp casting shadows along the walls. The fever had settled deep into my bones, making it hard to stay awake, yet impossible to rest. My skin was slick with sweat, and the cold cloth Red had placed on my forehead had already begun to warm.

"You know, Red, you don’t have to stay here," I muttered, my voice hoarse from both exhaustion and the fever burning through me. I tried to keep the cloth steady, but my fingers trembled as I held onto it. "I know you hate me, so you might as well go. I’ll be fine."

It was a lie.

I wouldn't be fine.

I needed him. I always had. But I knew—at least, I thought I knew—he hated me.

Red stood by the window, his arms crossed behind his back, staring out at the night sky. His posture was unreadable, his brown eyes lost in thought. He didn’t respond immediately, and for a moment, I thought he was going to ignore me altogether.

"Go," I whispered again, turning onto my side. The movement sent sharp coughs ripping through my chest, each one wracking my body with pain.

I braced myself for the sound of the door opening, for the click of it closing as he left me alone, like I expected him to.

But instead, I felt the bed dip under his weight.

Then, to my shock, I felt a warm hand slip under my shirt, rubbing gentle circles against my burning back. It was soothing, familiar, and it brought back memories I had buried deep.

I swallowed hard. "Red, I know you hate me, and I’m not your little girl anymore. I understand." My voice wavered. "You should go and have fun. Forget about me."

His hand stilled for just a second before resuming its slow, comforting motions.

I squeezed my eyes shut, waiting for the inevitable silence.

But then, a quiet voice broke through the stillness.

"I don’t hate you."

My breath hitched. Red hardly ever spoke, and when he did, it was rarely more than a nod or a single word. But he had spoken for me.

"Liar," I whispered.

The bed shifted again, and then suddenly, I was being pulled into his arms. His warmth enveloped me, his firm embrace grounding me in a way that made my throat tighten. He was never one for affection, not like this, but now? He held me like I was the most fragile thing in the world.

"You’ll always be my little girl," he murmured against my hair, his voice soft, uncharacteristically tender. "No matter how old you get."

I stiffened. "Even if I die?" The words slipped out before I could stop them.

Red inhaled sharply, his grip tightening. "Don’t say that."

"It’s true," I muttered. "You could just let me die and have a happy life."

His arms tightened further, his heartbeat steady against my feverish skin. "You think I’d be happy without you?"

I didn’t answer. I didn’t have the strength to argue.

He pulled back slightly so he could look at me, his brown eyes darker than usual, filled with an emotion I couldn’t quite place.

"Do you really think I’d be okay if you were gone?" His voice was so low, so quiet, yet filled with so much weight.

I hesitated. "I don’t know."

He sighed and, for once, he wasn’t strict. He wasn’t the serious, silent Red that everyone knew. He was just my brother. The boy who had raised me. The one who had held me when I cried as a child. The one who, no matter how much I thought he hated me, never truly let me go.

"I love you," he said, and I felt my breath catch. "With everything I have. You’re my little girl. Always."

I felt my throat close up, my vision blurring with unshed tears. "But—"

"No buts," he interrupted gently. "I need you to understand something." He exhaled, his fingers brushing through my damp hair. "I’ve never hated you. Not once. You’re the one person who could always get through to me. You’re the one who cried if anyone but me held you. You followed me everywhere, clung to me like I was the only one in the world you trusted."

My breath hitched. I pressed my face against his chest, trying to hold back the emotions threatening to spill over. His words, his presence, everything about this moment shattered the doubts I had carried for so long.

Red never hated me. He never wanted to leave me. He never saw me as a burden.

"I thought…" My voice cracked. "I thought you hated me because I was weak. Because I always needed you."

His arms tightened around me again, his chin resting lightly on top of my head. "You're not weak," he murmured, his voice steady. "And even if you were, that wouldn’t make me love you any less."

I swallowed the lump in my throat. "Then why did you stop talking to me? Why did you always act so distant?"

Red was quiet for a moment, as if searching for the right words. Then he sighed. "I was scared."

I blinked, surprised. "Scared? Of what?"

"Of losing you," he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. "Of not being able to protect you. I thought if I distanced myself, you wouldn’t rely on me so much. That maybe you’d be safer that way."

Tears burned at the edges of my eyes. "That’s stupid," I whispered.

A soft chuckle rumbled from his chest, and for the first time in a long while, I felt the tension between us break just a little.

"I know," he said, his fingers brushing against my feverish cheek. "And I’m sorry."

I exhaled shakily, finally allowing myself to relax in his embrace. "Just… don’t leave, okay?"

Red shifted slightly, adjusting me so I was lying more comfortably against him. "I won’t." His voice was firm, unshakable. "Not now. Not ever."

And in that moment, with his arms wrapped securely around me, I finally believed him.

The fever burned hot against my skin, making my limbs heavy and my head throb with every heartbeat. My vision blurred as I tried to focus on the ceiling, but the swirling patterns of sickness made everything feel like it was spinning. The cool cloth Red had placed on my forehead was the only relief, though I struggled to keep it steady.

“You know, Red, you don’t have to stay here,” I muttered weakly, trying to sound indifferent even as my voice cracked. “I know you hate me, so you might as well go. I’ll be fine.”

That was a lie.

I wouldn’t be fine.

I wanted my brother here. I needed him. But I knew—at least, I thought I knew—that he didn’t want me. That he hated me.

Red, who had been standing near the window with his arms crossed behind his back, slowly turned to look at me. His brown eyes, deep and unreadable, held something I couldn’t quite understand. Surprise? Hurt?

I turned away, coughing violently, my body shaking with the effort. My throat was raw, my chest aching with every ragged breath. I clenched my eyes shut, waiting for the inevitable sound of the door opening and closing.

Red would leave.

He always left.

But the sound never came. Instead, I felt the mattress dip beside me, and then, to my shock, a warm hand slipped under my shirt and rubbed my back in slow, soothing circles.

I froze.

Red never did this. He never touched anyone unless necessary.

“Red…” I tried again, my voice barely above a whisper. “I know you hate me, and I’m not your little girl anymore. I understand. You should go and have fun.”

His hand paused for a brief moment before continuing, just as gentle as before. The silence between us stretched, but it wasn’t the cold, distant silence I had come to expect. It was different.

Finally, his deep voice, rough from disuse, broke through the quiet.

“I don’t hate you.”

I swallowed, my throat burning. “You don’t have to lie.”

“I’m not.” His voice was firm. “I never hated you.”

I turned my head slightly, peering at him through fevered eyes. “Then why…” I swallowed again, my voice failing me. “Why do you always act like you don’t care?”

Red’s jaw tightened. He exhaled slowly, his fingers still rubbing small, careful circles on my back. “I’m strict. I know that. And I’m quiet. But that doesn’t mean I don’t care. It never did.”

I scoffed weakly. “Could’ve fooled me.”

Red was silent again, but this time, it was a different kind of silence. It was heavy, filled with something unspoken, something I had been too sick and too hurt to recognize before.

“I…” He hesitated, as if struggling to find the right words. “I wasn’t good at showing it. But I never stopped caring.”

I clenched my fists in the sheets. “You should’ve just let me die,” I mumbled, my voice barely above a whisper. “Then you wouldn’t have to deal with me anymore. You could have a happy life.”

The air in the room changed.

Red’s hand suddenly stopped, his fingers curling slightly as if restraining something.

And then, before I could process what was happening, he moved.

I gasped as I was pulled against his chest, his arms wrapping tightly around me, his warmth completely surrounding me.

“Don’t say that,” he murmured into my hair, his voice rough and almost… broken. “Don’t ever say that.”

I trembled, not from the fever, but from the sheer emotion in his voice. Red, my cold, distant, unreadable brother, was shaking. Holding me like he was afraid I’d disappear.

“I thought…” My voice cracked. “I thought you didn’t want me anymore.”

Red pulled back slightly, just enough to look me in the eyes. His expression was softer than I had ever seen it.

“You’ll always be my little girl,” he said, his voice firm yet gentle. “No matter how old you get.”

Tears welled up in my eyes. “But I—”

“No,” he interrupted, shaking his head. “You listen to me, Mia. You are the little girl who clung to me when you were scared. The one who cried if anyone else tried to hold you. The one who looked at me like I was your whole world.” He swallowed hard, his grip on me tightening just slightly. “I raised you. And I love you.”

The dam broke.

I sobbed, gripping onto his shirt as tightly as I could, afraid that if I let go, he’d disappear again.

“I missed you,” I choked out. “I missed you so much.”

Red rested his chin on top of my head. “I know,” he whispered. “I missed you too.”

That night, he didn’t let go. He held me close, rubbing my back whenever I coughed, whispering reassurances even when my fever made me too delirious to respond.

And for the first time in a long, long time, I felt safe.