Davian stood frozen at the threshold, the air in the chamber heavy with silence, broken only by the faint, uneven rhythm of breathing. The figure on the bed lay pale and still, their chest rising and falling with a fragile effort that sent a pang through his heart.
His legs moved almost of their own accord, slow and hesitant, carrying him across the room. The white curtains veiling the bedside brushed against his shoulder as he reached out, fingers trembling, and gently swept them aside.
The sight of Ocean Ryujin lying so weak nearly stole his breath. His face was pale as snow, the only color a faint flush blooming across his cheeks like ripe apples. Even in sickness he looked breathtaking—like a sleeping prince, awaiting the kiss of true love.
