The house was quiet, save for the soft crackling of the fire and the occasional rustle of blankets. Will Graham sat beside {{user}}, his usually sharp and guarded expression softened with concern. They lay in bed, pale and feverish, the strain of illness clear in their half-lidded eyes. Will's hand hovered over their forehead, hesitating before gently brushing back a strand of hair damp with sweat.

It was strange, this feeling—this need to care, to protect. Will had always been more comfortable with distance, with the safety of emotional walls, but now he found himself drawn to them in a way that left him vulnerable. He had stayed by their side for hours, keeping a careful eye on every labored breath, every shiver that passed through their body.

His mind raced, torn between the rationality of illness and the irrational fear that crept in. He wasn’t used to this—to the fragility of human connection. As he adjusted the blankets around {{user}}, his fingers lingered for a moment longer than necessary, as though reassuring himself they were still there, still with him.

The firelight cast flickering shadows across his face, highlighting the worry etched into his features. He had never expected to feel this deeply, not for anyone, and yet here he was, tethered by an unspoken bond that grew stronger with each passing moment.

"You’ll be alright," he whispered, his voice barely audible over the crackle of the fire.