* * *
Even his fingers looked handsome as they picked up the Post-it note.
“Foolish.”
The cold remark slipped from Haimar’s lips as he scrutinized Moria’s handwriting.
At first glance, it seemed directed at Moria, but just looking at his face made it clear that wasn’t the case.
Earlier, when he looked at Moria, there had been a faint hint of exasperation mixed in with his indifference.
But now, his expression was one of pure displeasure, with none of that previous nuance.
It must be meant for Ben.
Moria stared blankly at Haimar, and when their eyes met, he awkwardly twitched the corner of his lips.
Haimar’s expression shifted back to what it had been before, and with nothing more to say, he turned his back to leave.
“Well then.”
“Take care~.”
Moria had been nervous that his thoughts would be read again, so he was immensely grateful when Haimar left of his own accord.
Now, it was time to spill every little detail of this bizarre encounter to his Esper, Liran Siu.
The address Moria had given led to a small, run-down villa.
When Haimar grabbed the doorknob of the unit listed on the note and turned it, the rusted door creaked open.
The first thing he felt was the damp, stagnant heat in the air.
The room was small and completely dark, with no lights on.
Amid the heavy silence, he could hear the faint sound of labored breathing.
The peculiar warmth mixed with the cold air lingering in the room—undoubtedly coming from the person inside.
The space was empty, devoid of any personal belongings.
There was no bed, just a lone couch and a table in the center.
And there, sprawled pitifully on the shabby sofa, was the man Haimar had been searching for all day.
Ben’s face was flushed with fever, one cheek covered with a large gauze pad.
Deep dark circles under his eyes made him look unmistakably ill.
Not just a little sick—severely so.
Haimar’s mood soured slightly at the stark difference from this morning.
His soft-colored hair clung to his forehead, damp with sweat, and his clothes were sticking to his skin in patches.
The chill running up his body made him shiver like a sick puppy, whimpering weakly.
Unable to stand the sight any longer, Haimar reached out and pressed his palm against Ben’s forehead.
…Hot.
“Tch.”
“How did you let yourself get this bad?”
Clicking his tongue, Haimar muttered under his breath.
At the sound of his voice, Ben’s eyelids fluttered, brows scrunching as if in discomfort before he barely managed to open them.
“…Ugh…”
Ben had no idea how much time had passed.
He’d kept his eyes shut, trying to endure the relentless fever, so he hadn’t been able to keep track of anything.
Forget checking the time—just forcing his heavy eyelids open took every last ounce of energy he had left.
But the cool touch on his burning forehead—
Wait. A hand?
No one was supposed to come here. Who was touching his forehead right now?
As his hazy mind grasped at the thought, an image surfaced—someone with the same cool body temperature as the hand on his skin.
Slowly, Ben turned his head away from the dark ceiling.
His blurry vision caught the outline of a figure.
The room was unlit, yet the platinum blond hair gleamed faintly in the darkness.
His gaze then met a pair of piercing eyes, and in that instant, Ben knew exactly who was in front of him.
…Haimar?
His throat, raw and parched, stung at the effort of swallowing.
He tried to say the name but only managed to part his lips soundlessly.
He attempted again, but all that came out was a hoarse rasp, the pain scraping against his throat making him wince.
“Don’t force yourself to speak.”
Haimar’s voice, deep and smooth, resonated in the dim space.
Taking the hint, Ben closed his mouth.
Speaking wouldn’t help; the pounding in his head made it hard to think straight anyway.
Only the cool hand resting on his burning forehead felt clear and distinct.
“Did you take any medicine?”
Haimar asked, but Ben didn’t respond—just kept taking shallow, uneven breaths.
He tried to shake his head slightly, but the dizziness made it impossible to tell if he had actually moved at all.
Seeing the lack of response, Haimar didn’t bother waiting for an answer.
His sharp gaze swept the room, analyzing the situation.
If it were anyone else, he could have just read their thoughts, but with Ben, that was impossible.
Then his eyes landed on a crumpled medicine packet lying on the floor a short distance from the sofa.
The packet had been folded tightly, but it hadn’t been opened.
So, he hadn’t even taken any.
Haimar was about to pull his hand away to grab the medicine when—
“…?”
Suddenly, Ben’s burning fingers wrapped around his wrist, pressing his hand back down onto his forehead.
If someone had asked Ben why he did it, he wouldn’t have been able to explain it properly.
Maybe it was because he didn’t want to lose that cooling touch.
His fever-ridden body found the contrast comforting, and in his fevered daze, he had never had someone beside him in times like this.
So, he had simply acted on instinct.
Regardless of the circumstances, once Haimar’s wrist was caught, he didn’t find the warmth spreading through him entirely unpleasant.
Just yesterday, Ben had pushed him away so desperately, yet now, like a child clinging to a lifeline, he was the one reaching out first.
Amused by the contrast, Haimar’s lips curled into a faint smile.
In the end, he used his ability to make the medicine packet float in the air before opening it.
Inside, a small bottle of syrup and a few pills emerged.
“You need to take your medicine.”
Even the gentle coaxing in Haimar’s voice made Ben instinctively frown at the word “medicine.”
…No… I can’t swallow it… Medicine, of all things…
His body ached so much that he barely had the energy to sit up, let alone take medicine.
Everything felt exhausting.
He just wanted to be left alone like this.
“You don’t want to? But you have to.”
…Mm… I don’t want to…
Ben, his feverish face dazed, merely gave a tiny nod while still clutching Haimar’s hand.
Watching him, Haimar couldn’t help but smile mischievously.
Until now, he had never gone out of his way to comfort someone like this, nor had he ever personally visited someone who was sick.
But if it meant seeing this unfamiliar, vulnerable side of Ben Plaskun, it wasn’t a loss.
“What if I lose my mind while you’re still sick because you won’t take your medicine?”
Ah… That would be bad…
Ben, momentarily taken aback by the absurd, teasing remark, hesitated before shaking his head.
Haimar ended up laughing quietly at the sight.
Even in a feverish daze, this man could be so earnest.
Normally, Ben would have snapped at him to stop laughing.
But right now, he wasn’t even aware of Haimar’s reaction.
All he could think about was how Haimar losing his mind would be a problem, yet he still didn’t have the energy to take his medicine.
Was there another way?
His fever-ridden thoughts spun in endless circles.
“I… don’t have the strength… to take it…”
Even in his dazed state, Ben managed to stammer out an explanation, his voice breaking.
It wasn’t that he didn’t want to take the medicine like a stubborn child—he simply didn’t have the energy to swallow it.
But wasn’t the conclusion the same?
He didn’t want to take it.
“In that case, I have a good solution.”
With an angelic smile, Haimar whispered something far more devilish.
Under normal circumstances, Ben would have sensed something was off.
But now, he was too out of it to react, even when Haimar’s hand moved from his forehead to his cheek, fingers grazing the shell of his ear.
Instead, he merely leaned into the cool touch, instinctively rubbing his feverish face against it.
…Adorable.
“Do you always get this clingy when you’re sick?”
Something about that triggered something in Haimar.
Tap, tap.
Two small green pills, freed from their plastic casing, didn’t go into Ben’s mouth—but Haimar’s.
Ben stared blankly, unable to process what was happening.
In his fevered mind, he simply assumed Haimar had another method in mind.
Even when the beautifully sculpted face drew closer, hands framing his cheeks, lips brushing against his ear as he whispered—
“You’re going to take your medicine.”
Haimar held the pills in his mouth, then took half a sip of the syrup.
“Open your mouth.”
Before Ben could react, Haimar’s lips crashed onto his.
“Mm—!”
Ben gasped at the sudden kiss.
His fever-clouded mind was too sluggish to comprehend what was happening.
All he could feel was Haimar’s smooth tongue pressing in, pushing the medicine deep into his mouth, rubbing insistently against his own.
As he instinctively swallowed the sweet, syrup-laced saliva, the pills slipped down his throat as well.
But even though the medicine was already gone, Haimar didn’t pull away.
Instead, his tongue thoroughly explored between Ben’s lips, tracing along his teeth, savoring every inch.
Ben shuddered, finally attempting to push Haimar away with trembling hands.
But the other man didn’t budge.
If anything, Ben felt himself being pressed further into the sofa, completely pinned beneath him.
* * *
Haimar, the man is sick