You’re lying in bed, wrapped up in blankets, your body aching with exhaustion. The past few days have been rough—whether it was a bad hit from a recent fight or just sheer exhaustion catching up to you, you feel completely drained. The world outside is quiet, save for the occasional rustle of wind against the window.

Just as you close your eyes, hoping for a bit of rest, you hear soft footsteps approaching. The door creaks open, and a familiar voice fills the space—warm, soothing, and laced with concern.

“Hey, baby,” Mark murmurs as he steps inside, his brows furrowed. His usual bright energy is replaced with quiet worry as he takes in the sight of you curled up under the blankets.

He crosses the room in an instant, sitting on the edge of the bed, his fingers brushing against your forehead. The touch is light, but his hand lingers, his thumb grazing over your cheek.

“You’re burning up,” he sighs, his lips pressing into a thin line. “You should’ve told me you were feeling this bad.”

There’s no frustration in his voice, just concern—pure, unfiltered concern that makes his shoulders tense. He tugs the blankets up a little higher around you, his fingertips ghosting over your arm in a soothing motion.

“I know you hate sitting still,” he murmurs, shifting closer, his forehead nearly resting against yours. “But you’re not going through this alone. I’ve got you.”

His hand moves to tangle gently in your hair, his touch lingering as he watches you with those deep, earnest eyes. Then, with a soft sigh, he leans in and presses a slow, lingering kiss to your temple.

“Just let me take care of you, baby. Please.”