Claire furrowed her brow and kicked towards him. Tristan Lockwood grabbed her ankle, his palm burning hot.
Afterwards, Tristan didn’t get up right away but instead held her close, kissed her, and laid back down.
Claire was exhausted from his antics and fell asleep. When she woke up feeling hot again, she realized sothing was wrong and touched his forehead.
The heat was indeed unusual.
She was still tightly held by him. It took Claire a long ti to free herself from his grip and escape.
Tristan’s outstretched arms hugged the air, but he still curled up, his handso brows furrowed tightly, muttering incoherently: "Don’t leave ."
Claire was stunned for a few seconds, her eyes complex, but soon she regained her calm.
She took out the thermoter, asured his temperature: thirty-nine degrees.
Claire hesitated, recalling Tristan’s aversion to hospitals, and contacted Clarence Finch.
When Clarence received her call, he was montarily taken aback but quickly rushed over. After administering fluids to Tristan, he glanced at Claire and said, "He’s probably exhausted, and coupled with the inflad wound on his forehead, it’s caused the fever."
Clarence glanced at the wound on Tristan’s forehead, raising his eyebrows, "Is this your handiwork?"
Claire’s face turned stiff as she responded with a nod.
Clarence chuckled, "Well, old Tristan is quite unlucky. He hurried ho to see his wife, only to get beaten up by her."
After his words, Claire’s expression turned colder.
Clarence realized and slapped his forehead: "My mory! I forgot you guys are divorced."
Claire asked, "Is there anything else to be aware of?"
"After an hour, change his forehead dressing. If you don’t know how, wake him up and let him teach you. Also, don’t make the IV drip too fast. Whenever he gets a high fever, he hangs the drip like he’s in a rush to reincarnate."
Claire was montarily surprised: "Does he often get fevers?"
"Didn’t you know?" Clarence was sowhat surprised, "Tristan’s health has always been poor. Probably due to the aftereffects of the car accident in childhood. Even a slight ailnt leads to a fever, and his resistance is particularly weak. You’ve known him for over ten years, and he never ntioned it?"
Claire pressed her lips together.
In her mory, Tristan’s health always seed pretty good. The only other ti she saw him with a fever was when he was self-administering an injection.
Moreover, judging by his sculpted body with eight-pack abs, he didn’t seem like soone frail and constantly sick.
As Clarence reached the door, he added, "Honestly, when you two divorced, I initially felt Tristan kind of deserved it. But lately, he’s filled his schedule completely with surgeries, not giving himself any breathing space. Yesterday, when he rushed back, he probably wanted to see you early. You know him longer than I have; do you think he still cares about you?"
Claire wanted to say she didn’t know, but the words beca: "He doesn’t."
Clarence didn’t say much more, rely reminding her: "If there’s any situation, contact ."
"Okay, thank you."
After sending off Clarence, as Claire returned to the bedroom, she just happened to et Tristan’s dark eyes.
His face was pale, but he was still staring at her intently.
Claire recalled Clarence’s words, asking, "Why didn’t you tell you often have fevers?"
"Being frail and sickly isn’t anything good, not worth ntioning."
He withdrew his gaze, looking at the IV line, reaching out to increase the speed.
Claire stepped forward to stop his hand.
Her palm pressed against his, which he naturally clasped.
"What doesn’t Clarence share with you?"
Tristan’s gaze was calm, staring at the liquid in the IV, sowhat vexed for no apparent reason.
"He’s concerned about you too."
"And you?" Tristan asked, "Do you care about ?"
Claire didn’t say anything.
Yet Tristan didn’t press further, just kept holding her hand, not letting go.
Even when she got up to change his dication, he watched closely.
Tristan’s fever was irregular; during the day when Claire left for work, he was fine, but by evening, he was feverish again.
On the fifth night, Claire felt it was seriously wrong and wanted to take Tristan to the hospital.
Tristan had just taken a fever-reducing pill and said, "No need."
"No, you have to go to the hospital."
Claire tugged on his hand, pulling him out.
"A fever lasting over three days is problematic; you’re already on the fifth day. Doctor Fang also said it’s best to take you to the hospital."
She furrowed her brow, her eyes unintentionally showing worry.
Tristan glanced at her gripping his hand, paused, and followed her to the hospital.
Once at the hospital, Claire specifically sought Clarence, getting blood tests and scan docunts, conducting a complete body check-up.
"It’s still the wound infection causing the persistent high fever. Other than that, there’s nothing else."
Clarence said holding the docunts.
"The day he returned, he probably already had a slight fever. Your smack clearly aid to take him down."
While joking, Claire’s expression turned sowhat heavy.
Clarence: "Hey, I’m just kidding. Don’t think too much. He delayed it himself, ca to the hospital earlier, and it would have been better."
After thanking him, Claire headed to Tristan’s ward.
Even soone as resilient as Tristan seed worn out after a continuous fever for five days.
He hadn’t had much appetite in the past few days, barely eating, looking much thinner, even his cheeks were sunken.
"I told you it’s no big deal." Tristan lay on the hospital bed, saying, "You dragged to the hospital to suffer. An unnecessary act."
Claire: "The check-up confirms nothing wrong, it’s reassuring."
He raised an eyebrow, leaned over, and pulled her hand over, saying: "You do care about ."
"Yes."
She didn’t deny it, sitting wearily by the bedside.
"I bear so responsibility for your fever. If sothing truly happened to you, your grandparents would surely hate , and your uncle, who knows how he might retaliate."
Upon hearing this, Tristan’s expression softened sowhat: "Can’t it simply be because you care about ?"
Claire glanced at him but remained silent.
Tristan, however, continued: "That day at the amusent park, you told you liked , which actually made quite happy. That was the first ti you said you liked ."
"That was in the past." Claire withdrew her hand from his palm, "The other things I said that day were genuine too. I don’t like you now."
Tristan fell silent, staring at her without speaking.
After a mont, he reluctantly curled his lips: "I’m a patient now, can’t you say sothing nice that a patient would like to hear?"
"Sothing a patient would like to hear?" Claire looked at him strangely, "Wishing you a speedy recovery?"
"..."
Tristan’s raised lips stiffened briefly before pulling her next to him.
Considering his illness, Claire allowed him to pull her. She hadn’t expected Tristan to push his luck by holding her nape and kissing her.
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