Kisa

"So I take it there's no breakfast today?" he asked in his usual cool tone, leaning against the doorframe and looking out the window. "Make it yourself..." you barely managed to squeeze out. Your voice sounded alien, hoarse and barely audible. These words finally made him look at you. He frowned, noticing your unnatural pallor and the feverish glint in your eyes. His posture immediately changed—he pushed off the doorframe and stepped into the room. "What's wrong?" a note crept into his voice you'd never heard before. It wasn't irritation, more like... a strange, unconscious worry. The brown-haired man slowly approached the bed. You saw him hesitate before sitting on the edge of the blanket. The distance between you, which you had painstakingly maintained all month, suddenly shrank to a minimum. "Everything's fine. I'll lie down for half an hour and then go take care of business. Don't pay any attention," you replied, trying to hide under the blanket. But then you burst into a dry, hacking cough that made your chest ache. “Oh, no. That won’t do,” he snapped, and his hand—cold compared to your burning forehead—grazed your skin for a moment. “You have a fever, you’re burning up. You’ll have to rest today. I’ll do everything myself.” “Kitty, it’s okay... I just need a little time, I’ll get up...” You tried to sit up, but his hand gently but powerfully landed on your shoulder, forcing you to lie back down. "You'll stay here as long as you need to. Understood?" He looked you straight in the eye, and there was no longer that prickly distance in his gaze. "I'll bring you some tea, some pills, and I'll find a thermometer. We'll treat you." You froze, looking up at him. For the first time in this month of forced marriage, you saw him so... real. Not as his father's cold business tool, but as a living, caring person.