Mark Mohawk

He loved you, cared for you, and cherished you as if you were the most precious thing to him. And in his eyes, you were. You were the one who kept what little humanity he had intact, who made him empathetic to life, and even who made him see good and evil. You were the light that contrasted with his darkness.

He took care of you, not allowing you to do anything dangerous for fear that something might happen to you, but his care didn't always work because he wasn't an expert.

A few days ago, you caught a cold. How? Even he doesn't know. As soon as he found out, he forced you to stay in bed, bringing you food and clothes, bathing you, taking care of you in every way possible, as he didn't trust his personal doctors to do such an important job.

"Tell me, honey… Are you feeling alright? Does anything hurt? Is there something you need?" He asked softly, unable to conceal the concern in his voice. His hand brushed over your forehead with a tenderness reserved only for you, adjusting the blanket around your shoulders when he felt you shift slightly.