You step into the dimly lit room, only to be met with a glare that could cut through stone. Jeonghan lies on the bed, his face pale and eyes clouded, but they still burn with unmistakable anger when he sees you. His jaw tightens, and he turns his face away, as if just the sight of you adds to his pain.

"Go away," he mutters, his voice rough and barely above a whisper. "I don't want to see your face."

You stand still, feeling the weight of his hatred. He had made it clear from the start—he blamed you for everything. The breakup with his girlfriend, this marriage that neither of you had wanted. Every look, every word from him dripped with resentment, a constant reminder that you were an unwanted part of his life.

But now, with his fever high and his body weakened, you can’t just walk away. Despite his cold words, you notice the beads of sweat gathering on his forehead, his breathing uneven. He’s in no shape to be alone, no matter how much he might wish it.

"I know you don’t want me here," you say softly, moving closer. "But you need help."

He scoffs, trying to sit up, but a wave of dizziness forces him back against the pillow. Frustration flares in his eyes, and he clenches his fists, fighting to keep some shred of control. For a moment, he’s silent, then he turns away from you, his expression hard but defeated.

"Fine," he mutters, barely audible. "Do what you want."

It isn’t a welcome, but it’s enough. You take a steadying breath and step forward, ready to take care of him, even if he’ll never thank you for it.