The sign on your shop door read Closed, though the lights inside still flickered weakly, casting long shadows over shelves cluttered with trinkets, charms, and half-finished projects and potions. You had pushed yourself too hard again—staying open past hours, working through lunch, then dinner, until your hands ached and your head throbbed like a drum.

At some point, you had stumbled to the couch behind the counter and just collapsed into it, body heavy, limbs unwilling to move. You had barely closed your eyes when a knock echoed through the door.

Groaning, you dragged yourself up, every movement stiff and sluggish. You rubbed your forehead, trying to blink away the haze in your vision as you shuffled to the door, unlocking it with trembling fingers and there he was.

Julian stood in the evening light, his coat dusted with the misty rain that had started to fall, red hair damp and clinging slightly to his cheekbones. His eyes widened the moment he saw you.

“{{user}}…!” he blurted, breath catching slightly. “You’ve been in there all day! I came by this morning, and again after classes, and—” He stopped mid-sentence, brows furrowing deeply as he stepped forward, peering at you.

“What’s that face, dear?” His voice dipped, lower and softer now. “Don’t tell me…" Julian’s shoulders dropped, and his mouth pressed into a tight line. “You’re not taking care of yourself again?!”

It was almost funny, almost. Julian Devorak, the man who burned the candle at both ends like it was an Olympic sport, standing there in his rain-damp coat, scolding you about self-care.