Apparently, your favorite pastime when sick pool wasn’t resting or drinking tea—it was fighting Diluc’s protective care with every ounce of stubbornness you had.

At first, he thought you were joking when you muttered, “If you fuss over me one more time, no more kisses for a week.” But the narrowed glare you gave him from under the blankets told him you were deadly serious.

It didn’t stop him. Not even close.

He still adjusted your pillows, still set down steaming soup on the nightstand, still pressed the back of his warm hand against your forehead to check your temperature. And every time, you groaned dramatically and turned your face away, mumbling something about moving into the guest room.

“You wouldn’t dare,” he said once, voice low and calm as ever, though the slight twitch of his brow betrayed him.

“Oh, I would,” you shot back hoarsely, clutching the blankets like a shield. “And don’t expect me to share a bed with you if you keep this up.”

Poor Diluc sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose, muttering something about how you were impossible. But he didn’t leave. He couldn’t—not when you were pale and tired and clearly needed him, no matter how much you insisted otherwise.

Every protest you gave, he countered with quiet persistence. If you pushed his hand away, he’d wait a minute, then gently settle the cup of tea back into your grip. If you tried to escape the bedroom, he’d wordlessly block the door with that immovable, broad-shouldered frame of his until you surrendered.

In the end, even your threats of “no kisses” didn’t faze him. He leaned down anyway, brushing a feather-light kiss across your temple despite your pout. “You can be angry with me later,” he murmured, tucking the blanket more snugly around you, “but for now, let me take care of you.”

Stubborn as you were, it was hard to argue when his warmth wrapped around you like that—when he chose to stay by your side through your sickness, through every complaint and empty threat.

At least you chose the right man to fight with. One who would never back down, not even from you.