𝐴𝑚𝑎𝑟𝑎𝑛𝑡𝒉𝑖𝑛𝑒 // 𝐿𝑒𝑒 𝑀𝑖𝑛𝒉𝑜

nineteen.

     Minho was trying really hard not to feel guilty.

     He hadn't been paying attention when she'd gotten home from work. Although he wasn't actually angry that she'd gone through with her schedule without his approval, he'd wanted to maintain his sense of strictness with her.

     If he'd only glanced at her, he would've seen just how badly she was doing.

     Minho continued stroking her back, feeling Haneul's muscles contract as she fought to smother the emotion spilling out. The floor was littered with small droplets, and Minho had to dig his nails into his palm to stop her cries from resonating through his body.

     "It's okay," he murmured as his fingers gently scraped against her clothes.

     Haneul's splotchy face angled up at him, her watery eyes empty and despairing. "It isn't, though. Everything is all wrong, I'm struggling to stay alive every day. If it weren't for you... "

     Trembling, she reached up to massage her forehead and took a hitching breath. His hand was still splayed across her shoulder blade, and Haneul instinctively leaned into his touch.

     "I'd have been dead a long time ago. I'm sorry I've been so difficult, I know you didn't choose this either."

"Haneul..."

Withdrawing his hand, Minho folded his arms behind his neck, letting his head hang back for a second while he collected his thoughts. If she kept talking like this, he would say something he'd regret later.

Stay detached.

"You should get to bed," he said finally, gesturing toward her room. "Come on."

Taking her elbow, Minho led Haneul to her bed, drawing back the covers for her to crawl under. As she slid down onto her pillow, Minho settled next to her.

"Do you need anything? Water or food?"

Haneul moistened her chapped lips. "Some water and another blanket? Maybe some medicine? It's in the cabinet above the stove... I couldn't reach it."

His head bobbed as he filed her requests away. "Anything else?"

The hesitation in her expression was obvious even as she shook her head. Minho frowned in disapproval, raising a brow in question.

"Be honest."

"Soup. Please."

He could tell that she was embarrassed to request it, probably because it was him she was asking, but Minho nodded again before brushing her hair back from her face in a gesture that felt a bit too natural.

Her cheeks were growing flushed, probably from the fever, so Minho hunted in the kitchen for the medicine she wanted and hurriedly returned to dose her.

     "Thank you," her weak hum of gratitude filtered up to him. He set the water on her nightstand and frowned, running meticulously through his mental list again.

     In a few minutes, Haneul was smothered in blankets, her baleful eyes watching Minho use his divine power to smugly heat up a bowl of soup.

     "I have a stove for a reason, you know."

     "Shut up."

The soup was gone in minutes, Haneul refusing a spoon and just drinking hungrily from the bowl. With her stomach full and aching body tucked in, Haneul struggled against sleep, tired but wanting to stay in this strangely gentle moment. Her drooping eyes kept drifting to Minho, who had settled to read in the small armchair stationed at the foot of her bed.