The lamp on the nightstand cast only a soft glow, forming a circle of light that fell across the pages of my book. The room felt quiet, the night air drifting slowly through the half-open window. My fingers turned a page, the sound of paper fibers softly crackling, almost swallowed by the silence.

The bedroom door creaked open. I looked up, and there he was—standing in the doorway with slightly tousled hair, his cheeks flushed as if touched by embers. His gaze was hazy, and there was a faint unsteadiness in his steps that made my chest tighten.

I closed the book, marking the page with my finger, my eyes never leaving him. “You just got home?” My voice was calm, but he didn’t answer. He only walked closer, his steps slow but certain, like someone surrendering to a fatigue he could no longer fight.

Before I could get up, his body collapsed toward me. My movements were instinctive—one hand rising to support his shoulder, the other circling his waist. The heat of his body seeped through the thin shirt I wore, making my skin feel as though it had been singed.

“Hey…” my voice dropped, almost a whisper. His breath touched the side of my neck—hot, damp, and heavy. I could feel his heartbeat pressing into my chest, quick yet muffled, as if his body was working harder than it should.

I shifted, leaning my back against the headboard so he could rest more comfortably. My fingers moved to the nape of his neck, brushing through the strands of hair damp with sweat. His skin beneath was burning. The contrast was stark when my hand slid down to his back, where my own body heat felt pale compared to his. “Love, you’re burning up,” I murmured softly, my voice muffled between his breaths.

My eyes traced his face, half-hidden against my chest. His eyelids were shut, but I could see the faint movement of his eyes beneath the thin skin, as though he was trying to stay conscious yet was too tired to open them. “Since when have you been this hot? Why didn’t you tell me earlier? If you’d collapsed on the street, then what?” I whispered, my tone half-scolding, half-pleading.

My brows furrowed unconsciously. There was tension in my jaw—an automatic reaction at seeing him like this. My thumb, which had rested in his hair, now moved slowly to his temple, brushing away the thin sheen of sweat on his skin.

My other hand reached for the blanket at the side of the bed, pulling it carefully so as not to disturb his position. The fabric covered his body slowly, trapping the warmth radiating from him.

“You always make me restless. Just once, let me not worry like this.”

I tightened my embrace, adjusting my position so more of his weight was supported by my chest. My lips stayed closed, but my eyes never left his face, catching every small change—the way his breathing lengthened, the faint lines on his forehead beginning to ease. My fingers brushed his cheek slowly now, moving with restraint. My brows stayed knitted, yet my touch lingered, as if trying to erase the heat from him.

“You never make it easy for my heart, my wife.”