The next morning…
A pale white light filtered through the curtains, soft, timid, almost shy.
Nari slowly opened her eyes.
Her body was heavy, still weak, but… the burning fever was gone.
Her skin no longer trembled.
And her mind, for the first time in days, felt clearer—less drowned.
She turned.
Sion was sleeping beside her.
One arm lay abandoned on the sheet, still marked with purplish bruises running all the way to the crease of his elbow.
His hair was a messy halo on his forehead.
His bare chest rose and fell slowly, calmly, but his skin was streaked with bruises:
yellow patches, deep hematomas, and red areas where the blows had struck hardest.
His eyelashes flickered faintly.
A shadow of stubble covered his jaw, sharpening the brutal contrast between the softness of his sleep…
and the violence still carved into his body.
A wounded body.
A beautiful one.
A body that revealed every blow he had taken two days earlier—
the truth he would never admit out loud.
And her heart… tightened.
Because she remembered.
The day before.
His cold hands pressed against her burning skin.
His trembling voice whispering "eat for me."
His body refusing to rest until hers breathed properly.
A gentle warmth bloomed inside her.
She stayed there, watching him.
For a long time.
As if every second away from him was a second wasted.
As if his sleeping face was a secret only she was allowed to witness.
She caught herself smiling.
When did I fall in love with him?
When did my heart slip without warning?
When did I stop wanting him just… physically?
A knot of anxiety tightened in her stomach.
A dull fear.
Invisible.
Unnamable.
Why do I love him so much?
Why does it scare me this much?
The thought made her shift—
a nervous move: a knee brushing the mattress, the sheet crinkling—
and she moved just enough for Sion to open his eyes.
First a blink.
Then a blurry stare.
Then that dark, soft glimmer he had only for her.
— Mm… baby… he murmured, voice deep and still half-asleep.
She didn't wait.
She leaned in and kissed him.
A long kiss.
Slow.
Lingering.
As if she needed to check he was real.
As if she wanted to breathe him in to reassure herself.
Sion responded immediately.
His hand slipped into her hair, pulling her closer with a dangerous softness, his tongue finding hers, his hips lifting faintly beneath her.
When she broke the kiss, breathless, he studied her.
His eyes were full of tender worry.
— You're feeling better? he whispered, his voice soft, almost fragile.
She nodded.
He smiled.
A real smile.
The kind he gave only to her.
He brushed his thumb across her cheek.
— You scared me.
She smiled back, tired but sincere.
— Sorry…
— You better be, he replied, sitting up slowly with a fake stern look.
Then he grabbed her waist and pulled her on top of him with a sudden move.
— Because if you faint again…
He leaned closer, lips brushing hers.
Just a millimeter.
Just enough to steal her breath.
— … I'm tying you to the bed so you can't move.
She laughed despite herself.
— Is that a threat or a promise?
He growled, a carnivorous smile tugging at his lips.
— Both.
His hands slid along her hips, slipped under her shirt, touching her still-sensitive skin.
— Stop… I'm still weak… she whispered with a soft laugh.
— Perfect, he murmured, kissing her throat.
— Means you'll struggle less.
She blushed and tapped his shoulder weakly.
— Sion, stop…
— Never.
He gently bit her neck.
She let out a soft moan.
He smirked.
— See? You're alive.
He shifted, sliding between her thighs with calculated slowness.
— And I love when you're alive.
She lifted her hand to his jaw, touching the still-red cut on his lip.
— You scare me when you say things like that, you know…
— And you scare me when you collapse on the floor, he replied, settling against her.
— So I'm offering a deal.
— What kind?
He kissed the spot just above her chest.
— You stay alive.
Another kiss.
— And I…
He lifted his gaze, eyes dark and locked onto hers.
— … stop living whenever you're not next to me.
She let out a choked laugh.
He raised one eyebrow.
— What?
— You say nonsense.
But she was smiling.
Truly.
He leaned in, kissed her again.
Long.
Slow.
As if he wanted to carve the moment into their skin, their breath, their blood.
And for a few minutes—just a few—there was no:
fever,
pain,
violent father,
fear.
Just them.
Their laughter.
Their hands.
Their voracious, dangerous love.
Nari placed her hand on his cheek.
A slow, warm, reassuring caress.
His eyes softened instantly.
— You should go see your mother today, she said gently, almost shy.
— It's been… a few days since you went.
A silence opened.
One second.
Two.
Sion sat up slowly and looked at her with that unnerving intensity, the one that felt like he could read her soul.
— Do you want to come with me?
She shook her head, smiling softly.
— No… I'll stay and rest.
I go back to work tomorrow.
— And… I want to enjoy my bed. Just sleep, finally.
He sighed dramatically, hand on his chest.
— And what am I supposed to do, huh? How am I supposed to live without you for a few hours?
She burst out laughing.
He leaned closer suddenly, serious again, eyes piercing.
— I'm kidnapping you. I swear I'll kidnap you if you keep trying to leave me alone.
— Stop, idiot…
She pushed him out of the bed with her foot—half playful, half in love.
— Go! Mister Sion! Get up!
— You're going to see your mother and stop making up scenarios.
He groaned, grabbed his T-shirt, and pulled it on with the attitude of a sulking child.
But the moment he stepped out of the apartment…
Everything changed.
His walk.
His face.
His breathing.
He became someone else.
Cold.
Hard.
Unreadable.
The version of himself he only was when Nari wasn't around.
The mask fell the second he reached the clinic.
He had barely stepped into the sterile hallway when two doctors rushed toward him.
— Mr. Jeon!
We've been looking for you.
Sion raised an eyebrow, hands in his pockets, gaze icy.
— What is it?
The head doctor, a tired-looking man in a white coat, offered a cautious smile.
— We've tried a new protocol these past few days.
A combination of neuro-sedatives and an experimental stabilizer.
He stepped aside to show the file in his hands—graphs, nerve charts.
— And… it seems to be working.
Your mother hasn't had a single episode in forty-eight hours.
The second doctor nodded enthusiastically.
— She's still fragile, of course.
— But the progress is encouraging.
— She speaks more. She sleeps better.
— And… she asked to see you.
Sion didn't answer right away.
His gaze drifted past them.
Toward the closed door at the end of the hallway.
His mother's room.
A shadow crossed his expression.
A strange mix of relief, fear, and restrained anger.
— Show me, he finally said, voice low and flat.
The doctors walked ahead.
Sion inhaled deeply—like a man preparing for battle—then pushed the door open.
The room was bathed in gentle light.
Sunlight filtered through ivory curtains, giving the air a warm, almost unreal glow.
And there…
in the bed, sitting up, hair combed, skin luminous—
His mother was smiling.