His breath hitched. Looking down, he saw he was dressed in a loose-fitting won’s T-shirt—just long enough to cover his thighs. His pulse spiked.
Did she… change my clothes?
His grip on the sheets tightened as his pupils constricted. A burning heat spread across his face, crawling all the way to the tips of his ears.
From his angle, he could see into the kitchen. Clarissa’s slender figure moved fluidly as she washed the dishes, completely unaware of his inner turmoil.
Atticus swallowed hard. The sound of footsteps snapped him out of his thoughts.
Clarissa walked back in, a small packet of dicine in her hand. She took one look at him and imdiately frowned.
"Your face is red again."
Before Atticus could react, she stepped closer, reaching out to touch his forehead.
Panicked, he jerked back. "What are you doing?!"
Clarissa froze, startled by his sudden outburst. His wide, dark eyes stared at her with a mixture of alarm and sothing else she couldn’t quite place.
"I was just checking your temperature," she said patiently. "Your face looks flushed again—are you sure your fever isn’t coming back?"
The second she said it, his face turned an even deeper shade of red.
Clarissa hesitated. Then, as worry kicked in, she turned away to grab her phone. "No, this isn’t normal. I’m calling for a ride. You need to go to the hospital—"
Before she could dial, a hand reached out and grabbed hers.
"I’m fine," Atticus said, his voice low but firm. "No hospital."
Clarissa turned back, surprised.
Atticus guided her hand toward him, pressing her palm gently against his forehead.
For a brief mont, their faces were close—too close.
Clarissa could see every fine detail of his face—the perfect symtry of his features, the way his long lashes frad his deep, dark eyes. She could even count them.
Atticus wasn’t looking away, either. His fingers curled slightly around her wrist as he felt the coolness of her skin against his heated forehead.
Her hands were soft. Delicate. A stark contrast to his own.
It was hard to believe that soone who looked like a god could also be such a good cook.
Atticus glanced at Clarissa and asked slowly, "Is it still hot?"
His voice pulled her back to reality. She blinked, a little embarrassed that she had been staring just now.
He was already so handso at this age—what would he look like when he grew up?
Pushing the thought aside, Clarissa focused on checking his temperature again, this ti with complete seriousness.
"It’s fine now," she said, exhaling a small sigh of relief as she pulled her hand back.
Atticus lowered his gaze slightly, his dark hair falling over his eyes, obscuring his expression. "Thanks for today. I owe you another favor."
Clarissa raised an eyebrow. "If you know you owe a favor, maybe don’t act like such a jerk to next ti. That’ll be enough repaynt."
She stood up and went to the balcony, grabbing the clothes that had dried overnight. Holding them out to him, she added, "Here—your clothes, washed and dried. I asked the security guard to change you. Do you want to change now, or take them back and do it later?"
Atticus froze. Clarissa tilted her head. "Atticus? Hello? You there?" It wasn’t until she called his na for the third ti that he snapped out of his daze.
His hand shot out quickly, taking the clothes from her grasp. His voice was low, almost embarrassed. "I’ll do it myself."
Clarissa smirked slightly at his awkwardness. "Alright, I’ll wait outside."
As she moved to the kitchen, she carefully packed the supplents she had prepared for Clentine into a thermos. She planned to take them to the hospital later.
Behind her, she heard the bedroom door open.
Without turning around, she spoke. "I bought so dicine for you. It’s on the table. Make sure to take it a few more tis. And if you start feeling worse, don’t be stubborn—go to the hospital."
She heard the rustling of fabric, then the soft click of the door closing.
When she finally turned back, Atticus was gone. On the table, a few banknotes were pinned beneath a cup.
Clarissa stared at them. Walking into the bedroom, she saw that the mattress had been neatly folded, and his borrowed clothes were stacked perfectly on top.
She sat down on the bed, feeling oddly conflicted. Atticus was… different from what she had imagined.
Had she mistaken him for soone else? Was this really that Atticus? Or was it just soone with the sa na?
Clarissa mulled it over for a while but found no answers. Frustrated, she decided to stop thinking about it. Gathering the thermos, she rushed off to the hospital.
Clentine looked much better after a full night of rest and dication.
The mont she saw Clarissa, she tried to sit up, but Clarissa imdiately stopped her.
"Lie down," she scolded gently. "The doctor said you need more rest. I made so tonic for you—have so while it’s warm."
Clentine took a sip of the broth, and suddenly, tears stread down her face.
Clarissa’s eyes widened. "What’s wrong? Does it taste bad?"
Clentine quickly shook her head. "No… It’s just… I’m so happy. I never thought I’d get to drink sothing my own daughter made for . Even if I were to die right now—"
"Don’t talk about dying," Clarissa cut her off imdiately, her tone firm. She softened her voice. "I’m here to take care of you. The doctor said all you need is rest, and you’ll be fine. You’re going to live a long life."
Clentine wiped her tears, nodding, but her emotions still overwheld her.
Clarissa let her finish the broth, then stepped out of the room to check with the doctor. "Doctor, how is my mother?"
"She’s recovering well," the doctor reassured her. "She should be fine, but she needs to avoid heavy work. Most importantly, she must not overwork herself, stay up late, or go through any intense emotional stress."
"Understood," Clarissa said with a nod. She returned to the ward, sitting beside Clentine as she helped her take her dicine.
"Mom, I’m going to take so clothes ho to wash," she said.
Clentine looked at her hesitantly. "Clarissa… I feel much better now. Why don’t we go ho and rest?"
Clarissa hesitated for a mont. After thinking it over, she realized it would be better for her mother to rest at ho—this way, she could take care of her more easily.
"I’ll go ask the doctor," she said.
After confirming with the doctor that Clentine could safely be discharged after another night of observation, Clarissa returned to the ward.
"Mom, you can stay one more night, and I’ll pick you up tomorrow."
Clentine’s face brightened imdiately.
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