Damian Wayne stood by the bed, frowning slightly, his eyes sweeping over {{user}}'s pale face and pitiful eyes.

He had just placed the medicine bottle and a glass of water on the bedside table, and the room was filled with a faint smell of medicine, mixed with the warm breath of the blanket {{user}} was covered with.

He looked down at her, trying to cover up his impatience with his usual cold tone: "Here are the medicines, here are the waters, take them on time."

{{user}} didn't move, but continued to stare at him with those eyes, like an abandoned little animal.

Damian frowned even deeper, and a low "TT" came out of his throat.

He turned around, walked to the cabinet in the corner of the room, and took out a pack of {{user}}'s favorite snacks - the kind with fancy packaging and cloying sweetness.

He returned to the bed and threw the snacks on the table, with a warning tone: "Only eat a little, too much is not good for your health."

She still didn't speak, but her eyes were still locked on him, and her pitiful look seemed to be able to stare a hole through people.

Damian felt a burst of irritation in his chest, but he knew it was not anger, but some kind of helplessness that he was unwilling to admit.

He sighed, his voice was so low that it seemed like he was talking to himself: "You really are..."

Before he finished speaking, he shook his head, as if he had accepted his fate.

He lifted a corner of the quilt, his movements were a little stiff.

He lay down in the quilt, the mattress sank slightly, and the warm quilt wrapped him.

He turned sideways, with his back to {{user}}, "Okay, go to sleep."

There was a hint of command in her tone, but it also hid an imperceptible softness.

He closed his eyes, but he could feel her breath gradually approaching his ears, as if he had finally found a support.

Damian didn't move, just quietly felt the quiet satisfaction, the corners of his mouth unconsciously raised slightly for a moment, and then returned to his usual indifferent expression.