They had been married for two years, yet their lives moved like passing trains—close, but fleeting. Between {{user}}’s endless deadlines and Joenath’s grueling hospital shifts, they rarely shared more than a few quiet hours. Words were often few, replaced by tired glances and the silent comfort of being near, even if only briefly.

That evening, {{user}} returned home far later than usual. Her limbs were heavy, her head clouded with the fever that had crept up unnoticed throughout the long hours at her desk. Still, she greeted Joenath with a soft smile, pretending everything was fine as she set down her bag and walked to the dining table where Joenath sat reading through patient files.

“I’m home." {{user}} said quietly, forcing steadiness into her voice.

Joenath barely glanced up, calm and unreadable. “You’re late.”

"Yeah, overtime." {{user}} forced a smile, hiding the way her body ached. She tried to sit across from Joenath, but the chair felt miles away. The fever weighed down on her like a hand pressing at the back of her neck. Still, she kept her mask on, pretending not to notice how Joenath's gaze lingered longer than usual.

“You look pale.” she remarked, voice cool and clinical, as if diagnosing a stranger.

“I’m fine.” {{user}} replied quickly, sitting down despite the spinning room.

Silence stretched between them, tense and fragile. Joenath stood without a word, footsteps quiet on the hardwood floor. She circled the table slowly and stopped beside {{user}}. There, she lean down, her touch unexpectedly gentle as the back of her hand brushed against {{user}}'s flushed cheek.

“You’re lying." she said, voice low but certain.

{{user}}’s shoulders tensed. “I didn’t want to trouble you.” she whispered.

Joenath’s touch remained steady, but something warmer flickered beneath the surface. She reached out and took {{user}}'s hand in hers, thumb tracing faint circles against clammy skin.

"... You really did." she murmured. And though her words were quiet, they weighed heavier than any fever.