The next morning, Jiwon stretched with a lazy groan, rubbing the sleep from his eyes as he stepped out of his chamber. The palace was quiet, the soft golden light of dawn seeping through the windows. Instinct guided his feet down the halls, leading him straight to the library.

Because, of course, Seungho would already be there.

Or so he thought.

The moment he pushed open the library doors, he was met with an unfamiliar sight—emptiness. The desk was untouched, the candles unlit, and not a single scroll had been disturbed. Jiwon frowned.

"Is he still asleep?"

The thought was almost laughable. His ever-dutiful, ever-serious teacher sleeping in past dawn? Impossible. Yet the evidence—or rather, the lack of it—suggested otherwise.

Curiosity tugged at him, and before he could stop himself, his feet had already turned back toward Seungho’s bedchamber.

Standing before the wooden doors, Jiwon hesitated briefly before knocking. “Seonsaengnim?” he called.

Silence.

Jiwon knocked again. “Are you still sleeping? That’s new.”

Still, no response.

His frown deepened. Something about this felt… off. Seungho wasn’t the type to oversleep, and he definitely wasn’t the type to ignore Jiwon knocking on his door first thing in the morning.

Pushing down the mild unease creeping up his spine, Jiwon carefully pressed against the door, and to his mild surprise, it wasn’t locked. He peeked inside before stepping in fully, his gaze instantly landing on the still figure lying on the bed.

And then, for the first time, he saw Seungho not in his usual pristine, untouchable state.

His usually composed teacher was a mess. His dark hair, normally so neatly tied, was tousled against the pillow. A faint sheen of sweat clung to his pale skin, and his brows were faintly furrowed as if even in sleep, he couldn’t find peace. His nightgown was loosened, the fabric slipping slightly between the sheets, exposing a glimpse of the sharp lines of his collarbone and the soft curve of his chest.

Jiwon froze.

Something unfamiliar stirred in his chest at the sight—an odd, unexplainable heat creeping up the back of his neck. He swallowed, shaking the feeling away as he stepped closer, carefully placing a hand against Seungho’s forehead.

Hot.

Too hot.

Jiwon exhaled sharply. “Tch, of course, you’d get yourself sick,” he muttered under his breath. “And of course, you wouldn’t tell anyone about it.”

His fingers moved on instinct, gently fixing the loose fabric of Seungho’s robe to cover his exposed skin. But just as he was about to pull his hand away, a firm grip suddenly caught his wrist.

Jiwon barely suppressed the startled jolt that ran through him as he looked down—only to meet a pair of half-lidded, sleep-heavy eyes staring back at him.

Seungho blinked slowly, his grip weak but still firm around Jiwon’s wrist. His usually sharp gaze was clouded, dazed from fever. "…What are you doing?" His voice was hoarse, quieter than usual.

Jiwon hesitated before answering. “You didn’t show up in the library, so I came to check on you. Good thing I did.” He nodded toward him. “You’re burning up.”

Seungho exhaled, his hold on Jiwon loosening, but his gaze didn’t waver. “You shouldn’t be in here,” he muttered.

Jiwon smirked despite himself. "Should I leave you to suffer alone, then?"

Seungho closed his eyes briefly, as if too exhausted to argue.

Jiwon sighed, watching as Seungho shifted, the motion making the fabric of his robe slip further off his shoulder. Without thinking, Jiwon reached out again, his fingers brushing against Seungho’s warm skin as he adjusted the robe properly.

“Stop that,” Seungho muttered, barely audible.

Jiwon raised an eyebrow. “Stop what? Taking care of you?”

Seungho opened his eyes again, and this time, Jiwon was met with something different—something unreadable in his fevered gaze.

Their eyes locked, and for a brief moment, neither moved.

The tension was different from their usual banter, quieter but heavier. Jiwon’s fingers lingered a second longer than necessary against the fabric before he finally pulled away, clearing his throat.

“…I’ll get you some medicine,” Jiwon muttered, turning on his heel before Seungho could say anything else.

As he left the room, his heart was beating a little faster than it should have been.

Jiwon stepped out of the room, exhaling sharply as he leaned against the door for a moment. His heartbeat was oddly erratic, his fingers still faintly warm from where they had brushed against Seungho’s skin.

"What the hell was that?"

He shook his head, pushing the thought aside. This wasn’t the time to get caught up in weird feelings. Seungho was sick, and knowing him, he’d pretend he wasn’t just to avoid being taken care of. Jiwon wasn’t about to let that happen.

With that thought, he made his way toward the kitchen, gathering whatever remedies the palace staff used for fevers. A servant tried to insist on taking care of it instead, but Jiwon waved them off. He didn’t trust anyone else to make sure Seungho actually took his medicine.

By the time he returned, Seungho was still lying there, barely awake, but his fevered eyes flickered toward Jiwon as he approached.

"You’re still here," Seungho murmured, voice raspier than before.

Jiwon clicked his tongue. "Of course, I am. Did you think I’d just leave you to melt into your sheets?"

Seungho exhaled tiredly, shifting slightly. His robe slipped again, but this time, Jiwon resisted the urge to fix it for him. He sat down at the edge of the bed instead, holding out the medicine.

"Drink."

Seungho eyed it warily. "I don’t need—"

Jiwon shoved the cup closer to his lips. "Do not start with me, seonsaengnim. You have a fever. You’re drinking this whether you like it or not."

A slow glare. "I should’ve let you fail your studies when you were younger."

Jiwon grinned. "And yet, here I am, perfectly literate and taking care of you."

Seungho sighed but begrudgingly took the cup, drinking in slow sips. Jiwon watched carefully, waiting for him to finish before placing the empty cup aside.

"There. That wasn’t so bad, was it?"

Seungho only gave him a half-lidded stare, clearly exhausted. His body still held tension, though—his usual stubborn need to remain composed, even when he was barely conscious.

Jiwon rolled his eyes. "Just sleep, seonsaengnim."

"Not with you hovering over me."

Jiwon smirked. "Worried I’ll do something?"

Seungho gave him a dry look, though his fever-flushed face made it less intimidating. "I don’t trust you."

Jiwon placed a hand dramatically over his heart. "You wound me."

Ignoring him, Seungho shifted, trying to get comfortable. But Jiwon could see the way his brows furrowed, the discomfort still evident in his expression.

With a sigh, Jiwon reached out again, this time pressing his palm gently against Seungho’s forehead. Seungho stiffened slightly at the touch, but Jiwon ignored it.

"You’re still burning up," Jiwon muttered, voice softer now.

Seungho blinked up at him, the usual sharpness in his gaze dulled by exhaustion. For a moment, neither of them spoke.

Jiwon knew he was pushing boundaries. Knew this kind of familiarity wasn’t normal for them. But for some reason, he didn’t want to pull away just yet.

Seungho’s gaze flickered, unreadable.

Then, barely above a whisper, he muttered, "You’re too close."

Jiwon smirked but didn’t move. "Am I?"

A quiet tension hung in the air.

Then, finally, Seungho sighed, closing his eyes. "If you’re not going to leave, at least be quiet."

Jiwon chuckled. "Fine, fine. I’ll shut up. For now."

With that, he sat back, watching as Seungho’s breathing slowly evened out. He stayed there for a little while longer, just watching.

Just making sure.

And, maybe, just maybe, enjoying the sight of his ever-composed teacher finally letting his guard down.