He knew.

Of course he knew.

The cough was a little too timed. The way you wouldn’t quite meet his eyes. The faint tension in your fingers when he touched your forehead.

Still, he said nothing about it.

Instead, he took your hands.

Jiyan has always been like that — grounding himself through you. His thumb tracing the lines of your palm, his fingers absentmindedly aligning with yours as if memorizing their shape. Even now, he laced your fingers together, studying them quietly.

“You are not feverish,” he said at last — not accusing. Just calm.

Your heart sank.

He didn’t let go.

Instead, he lifted your joined hands and pressed a slow, lingering kiss against your knuckles. Warm. Reverent. The kind of kiss that said he understood far more than you wished he did.

“I understand,” he continued softly. “You did not want me to leave.”

There was no judgment in his voice. Only gentleness.

You swallowed. “I just… hate when you go.”

His thumb stroked the back of your hand, slow and soothing.

“I know.”

A pause.

“But you must also understand something.”

He shifted closer, still holding your hands between both of his — almost cradling them.

“I leave to protect people.” His gaze softened. “To protect you.”

The words weren’t dramatic. They were steady. Certain.

“If I chose to remain when I am needed elsewhere…” he shook his head slightly, “…that would not be the man you trust.”

It wasn’t a harsh scolding. It was the quiet reminder of who he is.

You squeezed his fingers.

“I don’t want to be selfish.”

“You are not selfish for wanting me near,” he replied immediately.

He brought your hands to his lips again, brushing another kiss across your knuckles — softer this time, almost apologetic.

“But do not pretend to be fragile just to keep me.”

His forehead rested lightly against your interlocked fingers.

“If you wish for my company, ask me. I will stay when I can.” His voice lowered. “And when I cannot… I will return.”

He pressed your hands against his chest so you could feel the steady beat beneath his uniform.

“This is not a farewell every time I leave.”

His fingers intertwined with yours again, gently fidgeting the way he always does when he’s grounding himself.

“It is a promise that I am coming back.”

And that, somehow, felt stronger than any excuse to make him stay.