The morning sun barely filtered through the curtains, casting a soft glow over the room. Miss lay bundled under the covers, her brows furrowed in discomfort. A dull ache throbbed behind her eyes and nose, each breath thick with congestion. Her pet was already busy moving quietly around the room. A humidifier hummed gently in the corner.
"I made breakfast, Miss," he said, his voice soft, as he placed a tray on the table beside the bed. A steaming bowl of oatmeal, a cup of hot tea, and a glass of water sat beside her prescribed medication.
She groaned, rolling onto her side to face him with a deep scowl. "Don't want it." Her voice was sharp, congested, and half-buried in the pillow.
Her pet didn't flinch. He simply nodded, as if he expected it. "I'll leave it here in case you change your mind." the pet said softly, straightening his tie as he placed a comforting hand on her shoulder.
An unmistakable sneeze echoed through the bedroom. The Miss sat up, rubbing her nose with a frustrated huff as her sinuses screamed in protest. She was already in a bad mood.
"I doubt it," she snapped, eyeing the oatmeal with disdain. "It's bad enough I'm sneezing my head off, and now you want me to eat this mush?"
"You need something easily digestible, Miss," he said, his tone calm but firm. "And I know you don't like it, but it's easy on your stomach."
She narrowed her eyes at him, her voice dripping with irritation. "I don't care. I hate oatmeal, and I don't want to eat it in bed. I hate the smell lingering here."
She turned her head and buried her face into her "baby", a body-sized pillow nearly as tall as she was. It was the only thing in her life that didn't talk back.
He glanced around the room, his lips twitching in mild amusement. "Miss, you've been sneezing nonstop. I'm fairly certain you won't be able to smell anything."
She bristled at his response, folding her arms across her chest. "That doesn't change the fact that it's disgusting. I don't want food here."
"Don't you have somewhere to be, love?" she shot back, rolling onto her side to avoid his gaze. She hated feeling like this, so helpless and irritable, and worse, needing him.
"Yes, Miss," he replied evenly. "But I'd rather make sure you're comfortable first." He leaned down, brushing a hand gently across her forehead. "No fever."
"I don't need it. I don't need anything from you," She turned away, curling into the long body pillow she always clung to at night. He was leaving anyway.
"I'm fine," she grumbled. "Go. Do your work. I don't need you hovering over me."
He hesitated for a moment, clearly concerned. But the insistent buzzing phone reminded him, he had to hurry.
"Don't bother me. Just go already," she snapped, though her voice was weaker than usual, muffled by the stuffy nose and exhaustion.
After a brief pause, he nodded and left for work.
By the time he checked his phone, an hour had already passed by as the morning meeting came to a conclusion.
Unease gnawed at his chest. He checked his phone.
No message.
He called.
No reply.
He called again.
Still nothing.
Once more.
Silence.
"I'll be back in an hour," he told his assistant, already walking out the door.
He found the bedroom exactly as he'd left it, untouched tray, unopened medicine. The cocoon of blankets didn't twitch until he gently sat on the bed's edge.
"Miss." He shook her shoulder gently. "You need to eat."
He shakes her again.
"Miss, you need to eat something and take your meds"
Again.
"Miss."
She opens her bloodshot eyes, glaring daggers at him.
The Miss wrinkled her nose, barely able to breathe through her congestion. "I'm not hungry," she muttered, her tone clipped.
"Miss," he said gently, but there was a firmness beneath his words. "You need to eat. You can't take your meds on an empty stomach"
"I don't care," she muttered, turning her head away stubbornly.
He didn't argue this time. Instead, he sat down beside her, scooping up a spoonful of porridge. "If you won't eat, I'll have to feed you."
Her eyes shot to his, narrowing. "You wouldn't dare."
He lifted a spoon. She bit his thumb, He didn't blink.
His gaze met hers, unwavering. "Oh, I would, Miss. You're not skipping breakfast, it'll only make you feel worse."
A frustrated huff escaped her lips, but after a long pause, she begrudgingly took the spoon from his hand and ate a bite. "This is your fault, you know," she muttered between bites.
"I'm here now, aren't I?" he replied, his voice calm as ever.
"Yes, well, it's not enough," she snapped, trying her best to swallow the thick goop under his amused but firm gaze.
She handed the bowl back to him after three bites.
"Miss...". His voice stern with a hint of warning. "You need to eat more." He picks up a spoonful.
Just the sight of it, makes her want to gag.
"I can't. And who are you to boss me around? Get lost!"
"Miss, just one more," He raises a spoon to her mouth "Please?"abusing his smile, he knew she couldn't turn down.
"Oppa, you're unfair af!" she begrudgingly took a bite.
"Now was that so hard, Miss." He hands her the medication.
"I don't want meds, it's useless!"
"Miss, it will help. You've barely taken any," he said, trying to keep his tone gentle.
"I said no!" she snapped, pushing the pills away with a wave of her hand.
He crouched beside her, his hand resting on the side of the bed. "You're being stubborn, Miss. If you don't take it, you'll feel worse."
"Stubborn? I'm not the one abandoning my responsibilities!" she growled, but the sharpness in her voice faltered. She looked away guiltily, shooting her hand forward. "Fine, give me the meds."
"They do nothing for me." She still took it.
His phone buzzed, his assistant, reminding him he had to return.
He tucked her in "Remember to stay hydrated."
She sniffled, not looking at him. "I won't."
Smoothing the blanket up to her chin. "The hot tea will soothe your headache."
Then he left.
The moment the front door clicked shut, the Miss exhaled sharply through her nose, or tried to, at least. The congestion made it sound more like a disgruntled whistle. She glared at the untouched tea, now tepid, and the half-eaten oatmeal congealing into something vaguely threatening.
She slumped into her body pillow, hugging it like a sullen cat.
Stupid pet. Stupid meds. Stupid sinuses.
She kicked at the blankets, tangling herself further in them, then groaned when the movement sent a fresh pulse of pressure behind her eyes. The room was too quiet. Too bright. Too empty.
Barely an hour passed before the phone rang.
"Miss?" His voice was calm, but she could hear the soft clatter of an office in the background. He'd barely settled again.
"Bring me coffee," she demanded, though it came out more like a sulky plea.
"You don't even like coffee, Miss."
"I never said I liked it," she replied sharply. "I just want something warm, thick and sweet."
"I want coffee. Get me a Malaysian White Latte." She said sharply, though her voice was weak.
"No coffee," he replied, his tone still gentle but unyielding. "I'll bring you tea or soup, whichever you prefer."
"Neither!" she groaned, flopping back onto the pillows. "You're useless."
"I'll see you soon, Miss," he replied, ignoring the insult.
When he opened the door, he was greeted by the sound of yet another sneeze, followed by a groan. The Miss was curled up in bed, looking as miserable as ever.
"You're back," she muttered, her voice thick with congestion. "About time."
Her pet entered the room, holding a cup. "How are you feeling, Miss?"
"Like I've been hit by a train," she muttered, She eyed the cup with open disdain. "I don't want this. I asked for coffee."
"You can't have coffee, Miss," he replied firmly. "It will only make things worse. This will help you feel better."
She let out a dramatic sigh, sinking back into her pillows, still sneezing periodically. "I don't care. I just want warm, thick and sweet coffee." she grumbled, though she leaned into him as he sat down on the bed beside her. "You're making me miserable"
Her pet raised an eyebrow. "Miss, you're already miserable. I don't think coffee is going to help with that."
"I brought some tea instead," he said, ignoring her complaint. "You'll feel better after you drink it."
Her scowl deepened, but she reluctantly took a small sip, immediately pulling a face. "Poison," she declared with royal offense, nose crinkling like a wronged cat.
"Tastes like leaf water," she muttered.
"It is leaf water," he replied.
she grumbled. "You're torturing me."
"If that's what it takes to make sure you get better, then I suppose so," he teased lightly.
"It's too sweet."
"Miss, I didn't put any sugar in it," he said, a hint of amusement playing at the edge of his voice.
"Then it's too bitter," she shot back.
He merely smiled, his expression of indulgent adulation. "Would you like honey instead?"
She let out an exasperated sigh, followed by another sneeze. "Everything's bad today. If you're going to brew tea, at least make it strong."
"Your taste buds are broken," he said, swapping it for the reviled lemon tea. "Compromise."
He chuckled. "I'll make better tea next time. You need something gentle. And you'll survive for now"
She hurled a tissue box at his retreating back.
"No. Just go."
It bounced off the doorframe with a dull thud. She glared at it for a moment, then slumped deeper into the bed. The pounding in her skull was getting worse. Maybe if she slept, it would go away.
Her phone buzzed, dragging her back to consciousness. She cracked open one eye, groggy, she squinted at the screen, then looked out the window. The entire room was bathed in a golden, late-afternoon glow. and glanced toward the window. How long had she been out?
A message blinked on the screen.
Pet: Miss, how are you feeling now?
She groaned, pulling the blanket over her head.
Miss: Stuffy.
Pet: Did you change?.
Miss: Can't be bothered to.
Pet: Why not.
Miss: Too much work.
Seconds later, her phone lit up with an incoming call. She considered ignoring it.
"Miss," his voice, like a sad puppy begging for scraps.
"Leave me alone."
A beat. Then a sneeze exploded out of her before she could stop it.
"See?" he said triumphantly. "You're going to catch an actual cold at this rate."
"Shut up," she snapped. "You're making my headache worse."
He gasped, faux wounded. "Your stubbornness is truly aweinspiring, Miss."
"I'm tired," she muttered, flopping onto her side. "And why do you care, anyway?"
"Because I'm your loyal, tragically underappreciated pet," he said with exaggerated dignity. "Now. Either you change, or I'm coming back."
She groaned, tossing her phone onto the mattress. "Like I told you to go in the first place."
"You didn't have to," he chirped. "I live for rejection."
"Ugh. Leave me alone. You're annoying me."
"Miss..." he began, his voice firm but still caring, "I can't keep coming back every hour."
"Then don't come back," she snapped. "You're of no help anyway."
"Ouch," he said cheerfully. "Such slander."
She could practically hear the pout.
The call cut off with a congested sigh and the fluttering sound of another tissue being ripped free.
He sighed, standing in the doorway, watching for a long moment. giving an apologetic look to his assistant.
"I'll reschedule the Clint meeting," she offered.
His tired eyes crinkled at the corners, that damnably charming smile breaking through. He pressed a grateful kiss to her cheek. "You're a saint, Angela!"
The elevator doors hadn't even closed before she heard his dress shoes clattering down the emergency stairwell.
Back in the dim bedroom that smelled of sandalwood and resentment, he dabbed at her glistening forehead with a washcloth. The rhythmic drip-drip of condensation from the humidifier marked time like a metronome.
"You know," he mused, carefully avoiding the death glare she was drilling into his temple, "this constitutes a labor violation. Hazard pay at minimum."
Her lips, chapped from mouth breathing, twisted into something between a smirk and a sneer. "You don't get paid anything." A pause. "You're not on my payroll."
The washcloth made a soft plop as he dropped it into the basin. "I could be." His fingers made quick work of the top button on her sweat-damp blouse. "In fact, you should be paying me double for rescheduling paying clients."
Her eyes could have melted steel. "No one asked you to play nurse. Leave."
A chuckle rumbled in his chest as he peeled away the soiled fabric. "Tch. Even sick, you're the tsundere queen."
The pillow she hurled at his head missed by a mile, her weakened arms betraying her fury. "You're enjoying this," she accused, voice cracking like thin ice.
He caught the second pillow mid-air, tucking it deftly behind her back. "You are," he corrected with infuriating calm, "a handful."
"Not," she ground out between clenched teeth as he pressed a fresh hot pack to her throbbing temples, "what I said."
"You'll feel better soon," he said, "But I can't keep running back and forth."
"I didn't ask you to." she muttered under her breath.
He smirked. "Of course not, Miss."
She huffed, pushing her face into the pillow, her voice muffled. "You're terrible at taking care of me."
"And yet, you keep making me back," he teased, gently stroking her back.
"That's only because you keep messing everything up," she retorted.. "You never get it right."
"Be good, I'll be back in an hour or two with lunch."
The apartment was stale with silence, the air dense with sleep and something else.
The door opened softly, like it didn't want to wake her.
Shoes off. Socks discarded. The gentle rustle of clothes. The tap ran. Something clattered in the kitchen. She heard it all with a strange detachment. He found her curled up on the couch, arms crossed, a deep frown etched across her face. Her eyes flicked towards him as he walked in, Coat half off, tie loosened. His hair was slightly mussed, a rare break in his usual composed demeanor. But she didn't say a word. Instead, she pulled the blanket tighter around her. She must be feeling better, he thought proudly.
He approached slowly, his hand resting on the back of the couch. "Feeling any better, Miss?"
"No," she muttered, her voice petulant. "Everything's terrible."
"You've been complaining about everything today," he teased lightly, his tone a deliberate contrast to her mood. "Maybe it's not the porridge or the tea. Maybe it's just you being difficult."
She huffed, too tired to argue. "You're insufferable."
"And yet, here we are," he teased, his fingers tracing slow circles along her back. "Now, how about you stop fighting and just let me take care of you for once?"
"Meh." she snapped, but her voice wavered. She was aching for comfort, and she hated how much she needed it from him.
"No more running back and forth." He gave a tired chuckle, shaking his head as he stepped away to hang his coat properly this time. The faint scent of rain clung to his damp hair as he peeled off his loosened tie and loosened the top buttons of his shirt, as if shedding the day's weight along with his formal armor.
In the small kitchen, he flicked on the light, rinsed his hands, and started gathering ingredients with quiet efficiency. He rinsed rice carefully, letting the cool water run clear, while ginger and scallions waited freshly chopped on the cutting board. He hummed softly under his breath, an old tune she liked, she adored his voice.
From the couch, she watched him out of the corner of her eye.
Minutes later, the soft bubbling of the pot filled the room. Then the scent. Rice, ginger, scallions.
She didn't look up when he padded in. He knelt before her like a servant, like a sinner, like someone too tired to posture anymore.
"Sit up, Miss." His voice was low. It didn't command. It coaxed.
She didn't
He sighed. The tray clinked against the coffee table. Congee steamed gently from a bowl, pale and perfect. A porcelain spoon rested beside it, the one with the blue peony she liked. The steam curled upward.
."I washed the rice four times. Used chicken broth. The expensive kind you like. I chopped the ginger thin. You won't even taste it." he said, tone matter-of-fact.
She didn't answer. Her breath was shallow. Her eyes flicked once to the bowl, then away.
He watched her for a moment. Then, he sat beside her, pulled her gently against his chest, and wrapped the blanket tighter around her shoulders.
He lifted the spoon.
"See?" he murmured, voice low and steady. "Not so bad."
She met his gaze, fatigue, She felt guilty.
He just rested his cheek against her temple and murmured, almost absently,
Silence.
"Why is everything a fight with you today Miss?" His voice, exhausted. "We both know I'll end up getting my way Miss."
She shot him a glare but grudgingly took a spoonful of congee, shuddering as she swallowed. "It's so bland."
"It's your recipe." he replied, sitting on the edge of the bed.
"I prefer ochazuke," she protested, but took another reluctant bite anyway.
"And telling me that would've killed you, yes?" he teased gently.
Like a steamed dumpling. "I hate needing you."
He smiled softly. "And yet, here I am. Fourth time today."
The day unfolded in fevered fragments: sneezes, scowls, and stubborn refusals. Miss was sick, irritable, and miserable, and her pet bore the brunt of her resistance. Every exchange became a small battle. He left, she sulked; he returned, she glared. And so the day wore on, tense and crumpled, like the tissues piling up between them.
"I hate you," she mumbled, though there was no conviction in it. Her cheek pressed to his side and arms wound around him like a stubborn child with her favorite plush. Clinging to him made the awful day almost tolerable.
"Everything tastes bad... nothing helps."
"I know, Miss," he whispered, brushing a strand of hair from her face.
"And you made me eat all that terrible mush," she murmured softly, her voice heavy with sleep. She shot him a half-hearted glare but didn't pull away. "I just feel awful. You didn't have to leave."
"You would've stabbed me with a fork," he joked, then softened. "I had to. But I'm here now." His voice dropped low as his hand moved through her hair, listening while she grumbled against him, complaining about everything, about the tea, the food, the smells she claimed to hate, and he only nodded, letting her vent.
"I'll work on it," he said as her protests faded. He'd fully replaced her "baby". He chuckled at the absurd thought.
Her grumbling softened to drowsy mumbles, cheek pressed to his heartbeat.
Without looking up she whispered. "I'm sorry for today." adding with a grumble. "Still you should have stayed."
For a while, she said nothing, content to rest in his arms. The warmth of his body and the steady rhythm of his breathing began to lull her into a sense of calm.
"Next time, just ask," he murmured.
She didn't reply. Her breathing evened out, calm and steady.