* * *
“Aren’t you grateful?”
At the offhanded follow-up, Ben averted his gaze.
Not that it made much difference, being practically wrapped up in the guy’s arms, but every time their eyes met—those sharp, sun-drenched eyes—his mind flashed back to last night.
He just couldn’t bear to look for long.
Still, the fact that Haimar had contacted Central himself while Ben was completely out cold—he did owe him thanks for that.
Ben licked his dry lips.
“Yeah, thank you, I really—”
“I even gave you medicine. Cured your cold, didn’t I?”
“…Not quite,” Ben muttered.
‘That’s not the point I was thanking you for!’
And besides, he wasn’t even fully recovered yet!
Flustered, Ben jerked his head up.
As if expecting exactly that reaction, Haimar’s icy blue eyes curved under long platinum lashes, clearly amused.
The white shirt slightly revealing his firm chest and that radiant hair—like threads spun from sunlight—gave off a languid charm that could have stolen a thousand hearts.
But to Ben right now, that gorgeous face was practically a weapon.
Ben knew Haimar was good-looking.
Too good-looking, to the point he might as well not be from this world.
But every time Ben looked at that face now, all he could see was his own flustered, fever-dazed self making a fool of himself.
It was unbearable.
Sure, someone his age shouldn’t be getting worked up over a kiss.
But that someone wasn’t just anyone.
It was Haimar.
“…Hmm.”
With a pleasant, low hum, Haimar’s fingers brushed Ben’s ear.
His fingertip lightly traced the curve of his ear, then played with the earlobe before tilting Ben’s chin up.
That single gesture alone made it clear he was expecting a proper answer.
“Well… thanks for calling in for me. I owe you, for… various reasons,” Ben murmured.
He gave the appropriate thanks, and quickly glossed over the kiss part.
‘Right. It was just an accident. Not a kiss. It was just… a method of giving medicine.’
No matter how it happened, the important part was that his fever had gone down.
Forced to meet his gaze by Haimar’s hand, Ben eventually looked away again.
Haimar, watching his soft green eyes dart around helplessly without turning fully away, seemed satisfied with the vague response and gently ran his fingers along Ben’s chin.
“What I said the other day—let’s call it a slip of the tongue.”
“…Huh?”
The sudden statement left Ben blinking in confusion.
But it didn’t take long before he started to get what Haimar meant.
‘Wait… was that an apology just now—?’
He had a hunch, but the words were so unexpected that he couldn’t accept them right away.
Haimar wasn’t the type to take back anything he said—ever.
If you were to describe someone as the furthest possible person from the word “apology,” Haimar would be a light-year away.
In fact, Ben was the only person Haimar had ever apologized to in his entire life.
That said everything.
Ben’s face must’ve clearly shown how stunned he was.
Those rare, honest words made his puffy eyes widen, blinking slowly as his sluggish brain tried to come up with a response.
But all he could manage was a weak, “…Oh. Okay,” before clamming up again.
Still, despite being flustered, it felt like something had actually gotten through to him.
Maybe it was too soon to say how much, but clearly something had changed for Haimar to say something like that.
Deciding not to overthink it, Ben rubbed at his dry, tired eyes.
It was already well into the afternoon.
He couldn’t stay like this forever—he needed to get up, take more medicine, and get his head on straight.
“I should get up now.”
It felt like his body was carrying extra weight.
As he tried to stand, his legs felt impossibly heavy.
Still, Ben pushed himself, but instead of managing to sit up, he collapsed right back onto the man like he’d walked into a trap.
“Ugh—”
A large, long-fingered hand pressed against Ben’s forehead.
The warmth of Haimar’s touch startled him, and Ben instinctively grabbed the man’s wrist, but Haimar didn’t budge, carefully gauging the residual heat on Ben’s skin.
“You should sleep more.”
‘How am I supposed to sleep in this situation…?’
As Haimar’s hand withdrew and their legs subtly tangled together, Ben’s shoulders slumped in defeat.
Sure, he’d slept well so far, but that was when he was completely out of it.
Now, even if he still felt like crap, his head was clear enough to be too aware of everything.
Especially being this close, where Haimar’s cool scent subtly drifted into his nose.
It was impossible to ignore.
“I don’t think I’ll be able to sleep…”
Even if the fever had mostly broken, his throat still burned every time he spoke.
His voice was scratchy, rough—like fingernails raking across a chalkboard.
From what he’d learned so far, Haimar wasn’t the type to take “I want to get up” as an answer anyway.
And Ben’s heavy limbs seemed to be begging him to just give up and rest.
After all, Haimar wasn’t entirely blameless for why Ben ended up sick in the first place.
Maybe… just for today, it was okay to forget everything and rest.
‘Yeah. What’s the harm? One way or the other… it’ll all work out.’
Eventually, once he let go of the tension and quietly let himself be held by Haimar, the heaviness in his body eased.
As embarrassing and nerve-wracking as it was, what choice did he have?
He decided to leave tomorrow’s worries for tomorrow.
With a slow breath, Ben exhaled.
From outside the window, a silence only felt in the blue seasons seeped through the crisp air like a lullaby, brushing softly against Ben’s ears.
The house probably didn’t even have the heating on, but the warmth wrapping around his body was just enough to make him forget the slight chill.
Not long ago, he was saying he couldn’t fall asleep, but now—maybe it was the meds finally kicking in—it didn’t feel so impossible anymore.
“…Never mind. I think… I’m getting a little sleepy.”
Instead of answering, a steady, even rhythm of breathing tickled just above his head.
Had Haimar moved closer?
Ben had the sudden urge to rub at his hair, just to feel it.
If he touched it, he’d probably notice the strands warmed by the breath that brushed over them.
“They say colds only go away if you pass them on.”
“…Who says that?”
“People, I guess?”
“I’m not passing anything on…”
If you could catch a cold from me, the whole world would’ve been wiped out by a single sneeze.
If there had been even the slightest risk of contagion, he wouldn’t be lying here like this in the first place.
The word “cold” didn’t even suit a man like him.
It made more sense to say viruses were too afraid of him to stick around.
At Ben’s small grumble of protest, Haimar’s chest gave a low, silent chuckle.
The vibration of that laugh, deep and quiet, resonated through the chest Ben was leaning against, slowly coaxing his senses into sleep.
He tried to resist the waves of drowsiness washing over him, but then he felt a hand gently stroking his hair.
That soft, just-right touch made him mumble something unintelligible, and soon after, Ben completely gave in to sleep.
He couldn’t remember what exactly he’d said before he drifted off. But one thing was certain:
He hadn’t told him to stop. Because it felt too comforting to ask him to.
“Huff… huff…”
The young man trembled as he took shelter in the shadow of a building, hiding from the harsh midday sun.
The distant murmurs of the crowd brushing past his ears didn’t matter to him.
He just wanted to disappear. He wanted the blazing sunlight to miss him entirely, for not even a sliver of it to reach the darkness he was hiding in.
Even though the sunlit street and the narrow, shadowed alley belonged to the same world, the line between light and dark was stark, like black and white.
In that bright, white outside world, his pain was nothing more than a primitive, irrelevant piece of the greater picture.
He wasn’t even running—just standing there—but his breathing was ragged, his throat tight, like someone was choking him.
No matter how much he gasped for air, it never felt like enough, and his heart pounded even harder.
His fists clenched so tightly that his knuckles felt like they might snap.
Something was going terribly wrong.
No—something had already gone wrong.
His bloodshot eyes shut tightly, the man pressed his pale face into his hands, trying to suppress the nausea rising in his stomach.
But his face, pressed against his palms, twitched uncontrollably, moving without his will—like bugs crawling under his skin.
That feeling drove him to retch violently, though there was nothing left in his stomach to bring up.
He kept gagging. Again and again. Until whatever was out of control inside him finally settled.
Just this morning, everything had been fine.
He was on vacation, visiting his homeland, Eternita, spending time with family he’d missed.
He was supposed to stop by the capital, Central, afterward.
He had taken his time with breakfast, sure, but that was still within the range of a normal, unremarkable day.
The only twist was missing the bus and switching to the train instead.
And that—that had been the mistake.
The single, crucial mistake that ruined everything.
* * *
