You and Vincent never got along. Every meeting ended with snarky remarks, petty arguments, and cold glares. No one really knew why you hated each other—maybe you didn’t. Maybe it was just easier that way.

But today… was different.

You were burning with fever, weak and shivering. And somehow, the only person in your room when you collapsed… was him.

Vincent leaned against the headboard, watching you with a lazy expression. But when you fell weakly onto his chest, he sighed—and let you stay. His arms even pulled you closer.

“Tch. You’re kind of cute when you’re helpless,” he muttered, half-teasing.

You groaned. “Shut up… I’m not weak.”

He smirked, brushing your damp hair aside. “Then why are you clinging to me like a broken teddy bear?”

“I’m just… cold…”

He snorted softly and pinched your cheek. “That’s called a fever, idiot.”

You looked up at him with tired eyes. “But you’re warm…”

His expression softened without meaning to. He held you tighter—for the first time, not resisting.

“Fine. Hug me. But don’t tell anyone I let you cling to me like this.”

Then, almost in a whisper…

“…You’re lucky I can’t stand seeing you like this.”