Chiko coughs up more blood into the half-full pail.

He lies back down on her mattress lifelessly.

"Sir," David says, still standing beside his deathbed, "allow me to call—"

"Say her name and I'll fire you," Chiko croaks out. "You won't find another job with as good a pay as this, David."

He hears the old man's grunt of frustration. "You won't be here to fire me if we don't call her," he snaps.

Chiko looks at him, squinting.

David clears his throat and adds, as an afterthought, "Sir."

"Myc will be...lady of the...manor. Myc...a lady. It makes me laugh but...she'll fire you," Chiko strains to say, coughing in between his words, and his fingers go to his chest—as if touching his own skin would take away the pain.

But he can't even feel his own fingers.

Chiko woke up a week ago and found the bed and her room empty.

He sat on the bed for hours, staring at his hand, thinking that she did the right thing for herself. It was about time she got to her senses.

Even...even so. His chest felt hollow, his bones felt weak. Chiko's nose bled first. And then his mouth. And then he lost feeling in his fingers and toes and skin, like a wisp of air only passes through his cheeks when he touches his face.

His sister has been angry with him. Ricci, too, even David and their housekeeper, Helga. Chiko ordered them to never call or go to Isolde.

As the lord of the manor, they have no choice but to oblige. That's how the Dyer family works.

Because he knows she'd come. That fucking angel would come if she knew he was dying without her touch.

Once Dyers found their person, they needed physical daily contact to keep their blood pumping, their hearts beating, their bones moving. It's pointless to live otherwise.

Everything the person feels when they touch the Dyer, the Dyer feels a hundred times.

Everything Isolde feels when she touches him, Chiko feels a thousand times.

He was fine before he found her. Alone and lonely, isolated, never knowing the feeling of touch and warmth and skin...but fine.

He's not now. He needs her now.

Chiko sits up again and coughs up more blood into the pail. "David," he rasps. "When I'm gone. You know what you have to do."

His butler looks at him. "You want me to kill Miss Myc."

"My previous attempt at burning the house down didn't work, so yes, after she fires you. You...can't kill...your lady of the manor." Chiko smiles, his teeth covered in blood. "That's the only way...for the Dyer line t-to fucking end."

David sighs and takes the pail. "I'll have another—"

The door to his room slams open and his sister barges in, crying. "Chiko, I'm so sorry, I'm so sorry, please forgive me."

"What the fuck did you do." His voice is calm but seething.

Myc takes a deep breath but doesn't answer.

Chiko sees Isolde walk up behind his sister with Ricci.

"What the fuck did you do!" Chiko screams, voice hoarse and throat scratchy, and then he's getting up from bed because fuck, fuck, fuck, he needs—he needs her now—now, now, fucking now—

"Hyung!" Ricci shouts, stepping forward with his palms out when Chiko nearly stumbles off the bed in his delirium, in his thirst and hunger and desperation. "Hyung, be careful—"

"Get her out." Chiko grabs the bedpost scratches the wood, closing his eyes. "Fucking get her out!"

"Shut up," her voice snaps, closer to him, and then his skin is on fire.

Isolde grabbed his hand.

"What do I have to do?" she asks Chiko, and then Ricci and Myc when he doesn't answer.

"We need to leave," David says, and his voice sounds so far away even though he's right next to the fucking bed—all he can hear and sense and feel in his goddamn fingers is her—"Miss Myc. Mr. Jeon."

Chiko heaves, head bowed, kneeling on the fucking floor while Isolde stands above him, touching his hand.

His skin is on fucking fire.

Burn me, he thinks. Burn me, burn me, burn me—

"Get out." His voice is weak. "Get out."

Fucking stubborn angel—"No."

Her hand tightens in his and he winces at the sensation. "Fuck you."

"Fuck me yourself, coward."

Chiko shudders. A whole shiver runs up from the base of his neck to the line of his spine.

"Oh," Isolde breathes, and her knees bend in front of him and suddenly her face is fucking closer. "Oh, that's what we need to do?"

"Get the fuck out." His chest cracks open when he drops his hand from hers and turns away, latching his fingers to the bedsheet, but they fall off. To the floor. His body sensations and physical feelings are gone once again.

"For fuck's sake, Chiko." Isolde touches him again and he's burning and alive, and he doesn't know how she does it but she drags him up the bed, keeping his hands on her hips and thighs, and kneels over him. Her skin is a beautiful dark color and he wants to touch and claim every single inch—"I'm not going anywhere. Not when you're dying every time I take my hands off you."

Chiko was ready. He was ready, he was at death's door with his fist propped up against the wood to knock. He left instructions to David, he fucking—he—the Dyer line—

Her hands are on his face. Brushes his hair away from his sweaty forehead, runs down his cheeks. His neck. Throat. Traces his collarbone with the tip of her finger and even just that makes him groan quietly. Chiko's eyes are shut tightly, his features tightening as his fingers twitch on her thighs, begging him to move them—

"Are you hurting?" she murmurs quietly.

"Yes."

Isolde's hands pause from running down the buttons of his shirt, and Chiko digs his heels into the mattress. "In a good way?" she breathes quietly.

Chiko doesn't answer.

Her hands start to move again, over the expanse and breadth of his chest, and Chiko turns his head and presses it into the pillow, gasping for breath.

"Will this be enough?" Isolde asks him.

No. No, no, no, no—"Yes."

His body betrays him. Chiko breaks into cold sweat once more and his hands fall off her legs when she takes her hands off him.

He tries to lift a finger or move his toe. He can't.

"Liar," Isolde says with a little scoff, taking his hands again, touching him again. "So we need to...do that so your physical and body sensations come back?"

"Leave."

"Answer me."

"You don't want to do this," Chiko rasps, finally opening his eyes to meet hers. "I'm the worst fucking choice."

"Then shut up because it's my choice." She slides her hands to his face and kisses him.

Isolde is fucking opium.

She's gentle and slow while he works through the fire in his body, a sob stuck in his throat when she tastes him, breathes in his mouth, and the fire travels through his face, down to his hands, and he fists the fucking bedsheets and his heels fucking make indentations on the mattress as his physical sensations return one by one.

"You taste like blood," Isolde whispers.

"You taste like opium." Chiko can't fucking recognize his voice.

"Feel me, Chiko." Isolde grabs his hands and puts them on her, under her shirt, and he winces as his fingers spread over her fucking skin—

He doesn't know what he's doing. His hands are shaking when she gets rid of their clothes and lies under him and there's not a single barrier stopping him from feeling her, he feels her, he feels every inch—

Fuck her. Fuck her for not leaving. Fuck her for doing this. Fuck her for not leaving him to die when she knows he can't fucking resist—

"Stop," Isolde gasps in his mouth when he pushes in, slamming in to her, and tears prick in her eyes. Chiko's own eyes fucking squeeze shut because he doesn't want to see the pain in them. "Stop, Chiko, no," she sobs.

"What?" he snaps, stilling. "This what you wanted, right?"

"Stop trying to hurt me, stop trying to make me regret this," Isolde chokes out, her voice cracking, and her hand comes up to his face to brush her thumb on his cheek. "I want this. I want you. So do it right. Don't hurt me. Feel me."

Chiko lets out a hiss when she clenches around him, and he fists the sheets beside her head and drops onto her, breath fanning her skin, and his lips travel slowly to her neck and throat and chest. "I am," he groans against her, catching his breath, and then slowly thrusts in. His hands curl in her hair. "I do."

His hands don't leave her body long after they've finished.

He can feel his own skin again.

Feel hers.