The fever had been clinging to me for two days, burning my skin as though the sun had crawled beneath it. The house felt too large, too hollow; every wall carried the sound of my shallow breathing.
Granny had been bringing me warm rice porridge, wiping my forehead with wet cloths, whispering soft prayers under her breath.
Yet even with her presence, a part of me kept waiting… waiting for a face I knew would never come.
I told myself that Anurak would not step through this house — that he belonged to a world beyond my fevered longing.
Still, in my half-dreaming state, his name spun around me like incense smoke.
I kept my eyes on the door, though I told myself not to.
He would not come.
Why would he?
And yet… as twilight spread its purple shawl across the village, Granny entered my room with a smile that didn't need words.
"Kael… there is someone for you."
For a second, I thought my heart stopped beating.
Before I could prepare myself, he stepped inside — and suddenly, everything around me changed.
His face was unsure, as though he had to question every step before taking it.
He wore a simple white shirt with sleeves rolled up, and black shaman pants wrapped neatly at the waist.
He looked eternal.
The small wind, slipping past the wooden shutters, touched his messy hair, making a tiny strand fall across his face.
But what caught me — what held me — was his expression when his eyes found me.
There was no smile.
Only stillness, like a monk before an altar.
Yet in that stillness flickered something unguarded — concern, conflict, the faintest shadow of sorrow.
As though seeing me weakened had carved a line deeper into him.
I drank in that look, storing it like breath in my chest, desperate to believe it was real.
He sat slowly beside the bed. The wooden chair creaked under his weight, but he said nothing.
His hands rested neatly upon his knees, his gaze lowered for a moment — trembling with things unsaid.
Silence stretched between us — heavy, fragile.
And then, before I could stop myself, the words slipped out, raw and soft:
"I missed you."
The confession floated between us like incense smoke — delicate, impossible to take back.
For a long heartbeat, he didn't answer. Only his breath shifted — shallow, as though it had caught in his throat.
My hand twitched against the blanket, aching to bridge the space.
Then, slowly — timidly — I reached toward his hands. They were warm, almost forbidding.
But when my fingers brushed his, he didn't pull away.
I clung to that stillness, inching closer.
The fever throbbed in my veins, but it was nothing compared to the ache in my chest.
I whispered, voice breaking,
"Can I hold you, Rak?"
The name fell from my lips unbidden, softer than breath — carrying every night of dream, every day of longing.
His shoulders tightened, a storm flickering across his face.
And yet… he leaned forward, just slightly.
I rose weakly and wrapped my arms around him.
At first, he was stiff — like a man bound by rules only he could hear.
His breath stilled, his hands frozen at his sides.
I buried my face into his shoulder, inhaling the faint scent of sandalwood and river air clinging to him.
Slowly — so slowly — something shifted.
His chest rose and fell again, his shoulders softened.
And though he didn't embrace me, he didn't deny me either.
The hug stretched into eternity — my fever burning against his calm, my trembling against his restraint.
And in that eternity, I felt him exhale — a whisper brushing my ear, low and aching:
"Kael… why do you make it hard for me?"
The words pierced deeper than any refusal could.
I tightened my hold, tears pressing hot behind my eyes.
"Because… I can't stop, Rak. I can't stop wanting you near."
Silence again.
But this time it thrummed — alive, filled with all that neither of us dared to say.
I didn't let go.
Not yet.
Not while my heart still remembered how it felt to call his name.