After classes Smyle came home he was already feeling soo tired and a little sick. He came home late at 7:00 pm and after having dinner he went to bed.
Rayden arrived late ... At 10 pm .
And for first time smyle wasn't waiting. He was sleeping.
Rayden saw a sticky note there in refrigerator.
The note : Have dinner. Sorry I didn't wait up. I'm was so tired today. But don't you dare to sleep without food. I have a camera having eyes on you.
The dining table had a small cute robot.
Rayden smiled:
"cute"
IN MORNING
The first sign something was wrong was the silence.
Smyle was never quiet in the morning.
Usually he complained about waking up. Complained about breakfast. Complained about life itself before even drinking coffee.
Today—
nothing.
Rayden noticed immediately.
Smyle sat at the dining table wearing an oversized black hoodie, hair messy from sleep, staring blankly at his untouched toast like it had personally betrayed him.
Rayden lowered his tablet slowly.
"You're sick."
Smyle blinked once.
"No, I'm not."
His voice sounded awful.
Rayden raised an eyebrow.
"You sound like you swallowed sandpaper."
"I'm alive."
"Debatable."
Smyle glared weakly.
"I hate when you're observant."
"You hate when I'm right."
Smyle opened his mouth to argue.
Then immediately sneezed.
Hard.
Rayden stared at him.
Smyle stared back.
"…That proves nothing."
Rayden leaned back in his chair slowly.
"You're impossible."
"I'm surviving."
"You look like you died three business days ago."
Smyle pointed at him accusingly.
"You've become meaner recently."
"And you've become dramatic recently."
Smyle scoffed and reached for his coffee.
Halfway through lifting the mug—
his hand shook slightly.
The mug slipped.
Before it could fall—
Rayden caught it effortlessly.
At the same time, his other hand steadied Smyle by the wrist.
Too fast.
Too instinctive.
Smyle froze.
Rayden's eyes narrowed slightly.
"You're shaking."
"I'm fine."
"You almost dropped boiling coffee on yourself."
"That happens."
"No," Rayden said calmly. "It doesn't."
Smyle tried standing anyway.
Bad decision.
The moment he got up, dizziness hit him hard enough that the room tilted slightly.
His knees nearly gave out.
And immediately—
a hand grabbed his waist firmly.
Steadying him before he could fall.
Smyle inhaled sharply.
Rayden was standing close now. Too close.
One hand still around his waist. The other holding the coffee mug safely away.
"You're sick," Rayden repeated flatly.
Smyle hated how safe that grip felt.
"…Maybe a little."
"A little?"
"I can still walk."
"You almost collapsed."
"That's dramatic."
"You literally leaned into me."
Smyle immediately looked offended.
"I did not."
Rayden looked down pointedly at the hand clutching his sleeve.
Smyle released him instantly.
"…That was temporary."
Rayden's mouth twitched slightly.
"Of course."
TWO HOURS LATER—
Smyle deeply regretted existing.
The fever had arrived fully now.
His body ached. His head felt heavy. And somehow the room was both too warm and too cold at the same time.
Worst of all—
Rayden had become unbearable.
Absolutely unbearable.
"Take the medicine."
"No."
Rayden looked up from where he sat beside the bed working on his laptop.
"No?"
"It tastes evil."
"It's medicine."
"It tastes like betrayal."
"It's orange flavored."
"That makes it worse."
Rayden stared at him for a long moment.
Then calmly: "You're more than twenty years old."
"And suffering."
"You're behaving like a child."
"You made me drink liquid poison."
Rayden handed him water.
"Drink."
Smyle narrowed his eyes suspiciously.
"You enjoy this."
"Yes."
Smyle looked genuinely betrayed.
"You admit it so easily."
Rayden returned to typing calmly.
"You're entertaining when weak."
Smyle grabbed the nearest pillow and threw it directly at him.
Rayden caught it without looking away from the laptop screen.
"That was rude."
"You're rude."
"You started the violence."
"You started the emotional damage."
Rayden actually laughed quietly at that.
Smyle immediately looked away.
Because recently—
that laugh had become dangerous.
Not because it was rare anymore.
But because Smyle liked hearing it.
Way too much.
LATER THAT AFTERNOON—
Smyle woke up to silence.
The room was dim now. Rain tapping softly against the windows.
For a second he forgot where he was.
Then he shifted slightly—
and smelled food.
His eyes narrowed immediately.
"Oh no."
The bedroom door opened.
Rayden walked in carrying a tray.
Smyle sat up slowly.
"…What is that."
"Soup."
Smyle looked horrified.
"You cooked?"
"Yes."
"That explains the smell."
Rayden set the tray down calmly.
"You're rude for someone dependent on me."
Smyle stared into the bowl suspiciously.
"…Did you google this."
"No."
"That's somehow worse."
Rayden sat beside the bed while Smyle reluctantly took the spoon.
One bite.
Silence.
Another bite.
Rayden watched him carefully.
"Well?"
Smyle looked emotionally devastated.
"…It's actually good."
Rayden leaned back slightly, looking entirely too satisfied with himself.
"I know."
"You're smiling."
"I'm not."
"You literally are."
"It's subtle."
Smyle pointed the spoon at him dramatically.
"You've changed."
"You say that like it's a bad thing."
Smyle froze for half a second.
Because the answer should've been easy.
Instead—
he quietly took another spoonful.
Rayden noticed.
Of course he did.
By evening, the fever got worse again.
Smyle lay curled beneath the blanket while the rain outside grew heavier.
Rayden sat nearby working quietly.
The soft clicking of keyboard keys filled the room.
Smyle watched him silently for a while.
Black shirt. Sleeves rolled slightly. Glasses low on his nose.
His expression calmer than usual.
Less sharp.
Smyle frowned slightly.
"You cancelled meetings."
Rayden didn't look up.
"Yes."
"Why."
"You're sick."
"That's not an answer."
Rayden finally glanced at him.
"It's enough of one."
Smyle looked at him carefully.
"You don't stop working for anyone."
A pause.
Then calmly: "I am working."
"You moved your entire office into my room."
Rayden looked entirely unbothered.
"Efficient."
Smyle stared at him for another second.
Then quietly: "…You worry too much."
That made Rayden pause typing briefly.
Only briefly.
"You don't worry enough."
Silence settled again.
Soft this time.
Rain tapping against glass. Laptop humming quietly. Blankets warm around him.
And somehow—
Smyle realized he felt calmer with Rayden there.
That realization should've scared him more than it did.
Around midnight—
Smyle woke again.
The fever made everything blurry around the edges.
The room was dark except for the desk lamp near the couch.
Rayden was still awake.
Still working.
Smyle frowned weakly.
"…You're still here?"
Rayden looked over immediately.
"You're awake."
"That didn't answer my question."
"You needed medicine again."
Smyle groaned dramatically and buried half his face into the pillow.
"I hate medicine."
"I know."
"I hate fevers."
"I know."
"…I hate you a little too."
Rayden's mouth twitched slightly.
"That one's less convincing."
Smyle weakly kicked him beneath the blanket.
Rayden caught his ankle immediately before he could retreat.
Smyle blinked.
Rayden released him just as quickly.
Neither of them spoke for a second.
Then quietly—
too quietly—
Smyle asked: "Why do you care this much?"
Rayden answered too fast.
"Because you—"
Silence.
The air shifted instantly.
Smyle looked at him slowly.
Rayden had stopped speaking completely.
"…Because me what?"
For the first time in days—
Rayden looked away first.
His jaw tightened slightly.
Then: "You're troublesome."
Liar.
The word sat heavily between them.
Because for one second—
just one—
Smyle thought he was about to say something real.
Something dangerous.
Smyle's heartbeat became uneven again.
He hated that.
So instead he muttered: "You're terrible at changing the subject."
"And you're terrible at resting."
"We all have flaws."
Rayden huffed a quiet laugh.
Smyle looked away immediately after hearing it.
Again.
Dangerous.
Everything about this was becoming dangerous.
Later—
the fever finally began easing slightly.
Smyle drifted in and out of sleep quietly.
At some point he woke enough to notice movement nearby.
Rayden adjusting the blanket.
Careful. Gentle.
Like Smyle was something fragile.
The thought made his chest feel strange.
Half-asleep, Smyle reached out instinctively.
His fingers wrapped lightly around Rayden's wrist.
Warm.
Steady.
Rayden froze immediately.
Smyle's eyes were barely open now.
Sleep pulling him under again.
And softly— without thinking—
"Stay."
Silence.
Smyle was already half asleep again. Breathing slow. Grip weak but present around Rayden's wrist.
Rayden looked down at him quietly.
At the hand holding onto him.
At the fever-flushed face pressed into the pillow.
And something inside his chest tightened painfully.
Because Smyle said it unconsciously.
Not teasing. Not joking. Not out of obligation.
Just instinct.
Rayden slowly sat back down beside the bed.
Carefully adjusting his hand so Smyle could keep holding onto him comfortably.
Then quietly—
so quietly it almost disappeared into the rain—
"…Okay."
And for the rest of the night—
Rayden stayed.
NEXT MORNING -
Rayden slowly opened his eyes Smyle curved beside him like a kitty with his head on Rayden's chest.
Rayden could feel the rhythm of his breath in his chest. His face was looking like an angel sleeping.
Smyle started mummuring something and slowly opened his eyes.
Rayden closed his eyes shut as he saw Smyle opening his eyes.
Smyle was still sick, he looked at rayden and whispered- "aww looks like an angel like sleeping". He rubbed his face against Rayden's chest like a kitty and went to sleep again.
Rayden cheeks turned bright pink and ears turned red. He didn't knew why it was happening but it really made Rayden's heart skip a beat.