The house had fallen silent.
Everyone else had gone about their evening, but Y/N stayed exactly where she was—seated on the edge of Yuri's bed, her eyes fixed on his sleeping face.
The IV drip beside him had run out, the slow beeping of the monitor now replaced with the stillness of his steady, but unconscious breathing.
The room was dim, lit only by the small lamp near the bedside. She hadn't eaten dinner. She hadn't even thought about it. Her stomach ached slightly from the hunger, but it was nothing compared to the weight sitting on her chest.
She gently reached out, brushing a few strands of hair away from his forehead. His fever had gone down slightly, but his skin still felt warm to the touch.
"You idiot," she whispered, her voice cracking just a little. "Why did you rush out like that… you were already sick."
Her eyes welled up, but she blinked the tears back. She wasn't going to cry—not now.
She leaned forward slightly, her voice softer this time.
"If something had happened to you… I wouldn't know what to do, Yuri."
But he didn't stir.
His breathing stayed even, his face peaceful, yet far away. Still unconscious.
She sighed, resting her head on the mattress beside him, her hand still resting gently on his.
"Please wake up soon…"
The hours stretched into the night.
Still holding his hand, she rested her head gently on the edge of the bed, her cheek brushing the sheets. Her eyelids grew heavier with each breath she took, her fingers still wrapped loosely around his.
And just like that, Y/N drifted off.
The room was quiet. Peaceful.
Outside the window, the moonlight poured softly through the curtains, casting a silvery glow across the bed where they lay—Yuri unconscious, and Y/N asleep beside him, never letting go.
For a while, nothing stirred.
Until…
Yuri's fingers moved slightly, and then, slowly, his eyes fluttered open.
His vision was blurry at first—shadows, shapes. Then, slowly, a familiar presence came into view.
There, beside him, her head resting on the mattress, was Y/N. Her hand was still wrapped around his, holding on even in sleep. Her brows were slightly furrowed, as if even in her dreams she was still worried.
For a long moment, Yuri just stared at her.
Confused. Tired. But something in him softened.He noticed how tightly she held his hand, like she was afraid to let go.
His voice was barely a whisper, hoarse from sleep and the fever.
"…Y/N?"
She didn't stir.
Morning light spilled gently through the curtains, casting a warm golden glow over the room. Y/N stirred slowly, her eyes blinking open, her neck slightly sore from sleeping in the same position all night.
Her hand…
Still wrapped around his.
She blinked again—and that's when she noticed it.
Yuri was awake.
Staring at her quietly.
His dark eyes were soft, calm, and maybe… a little amused.
"You're awake?" she asked, her voice still groggy from sleep.
"Umm." He gave a slight nod, his messy hair falling into his eyes.
She sat up quickly, frowning. "Why didn't you wake me up?"
Yuri didn't answer right away.
Instead, he gave her a small, warm smile—gentler than anything she'd ever seen on him before.
Caught off guard, she blinked, then suddenly remembered why he was in bed to begin with.
Without thinking, she reached out and placed her hand on his forehead, checking for fever.
"Still a little warm," she murmured, relief lacing her tone. "But better than last night."
Yuri's eyes followed her every move, silently, almost like he didn't want to break the moment.
"You… stayed all night?" he asked quietly.
She pulled her hand back slowly, her fingers brushing against his skin one last time. "Of course I did. Someone had to make sure you didn't do something reckless again."
He chuckled softly—weakly—but genuinely.
"Too late for that."
Just as the moment between them hung gently in the air, a soft knock came at the door.
The maid peeked in carefully, her voice polite but tinted with concern.
"Miss Y/N… I noticed your dinner was left untouched last night."
She stepped further into the room, holding a small tray. "How about having breakfast now? I've prepared something light."
She smiled gently and added, "And I've also made breakfast for the young master… something easy on the stomach."
Y/N blinked, glancing down at herself still sitting beside . She hadn't even realized how long she'd gone without eating.
Yuri looked amused again, watching the exchange quietly from the bed.
"I… uh, thank you," Y/N said, standing up quickly, brushing her slightly messy hair behind her ear. "I'll… help you bring it in."
The maid nodded warmly. "He needs to eat properly now that the fever's gone down."
Y/N looked back at Yuri, then narrowed her eyes slightly at him with mock seriousness.
"And you, don't pretend to be asleep again."
Yuri raised a brow, smirking faintly. "Wasn't pretending. Just… enjoying the view."
Her face flushed instantly. "Shut up."
The maid, clearly trying to hide her smile, turned and left to get the breakfast trays
Y/N paused near the door, turning back to look at Yuri as he settled back against the pillows.
"Wait for me," she said softly, her voice filled with concern. "I'll go bring your breakfast."
But Yuri shook his head slightly, his eyes already starting to drift half-closed again.
"Have your breakfast first," he murmured, his voice low and a bit raspy. "I'm not hungry… I'll rest for a while."
She stood there for a moment, her hand on the doorframe, torn between insisting and letting him be.
"You're not skipping it. You lost a lot of energy."
"Mmm," he hummed sleepily, clearly not in the mood to argue, but also clearly not about to eat on his own.
Y/N sighed quietly, watching him settle deeper into the blankets. His skin wasn't as flushed now, and his breathing was slower—more at ease. He really was resting.
"Fine," she muttered. "But I'll be back in ten. And you're eating even if I have to feed you myself."
Yuri gave a lazy smile, eyes still closed.
"That doesn't sound so bad…"
She rolled her eyes and turned on her heel, hiding the soft smile tugging at her lips as she walked toward the kitchen.
Yuri's POV:
He closed his eyes, sinking deeper into the pillows, the warmth of the blanket barely comforting compared to the warmth that lingered from her hand still imprinted in his.
Even with his eyelids shut, her face wouldn't leave his mind—the way she looked sleeping beside him, her hair falling gently across her cheek, the way her brows were slightly furrowed even in rest, like she was still worrying… about him.
He sighed quietly, his chest rising and falling with the heaviness of the moment.
"She didn't even have dinner yesterday…" he muttered to himself, guilt tugging at the edges of his heart.
She stayed all night. Didn't eat. Didn't sleep properly. All for me.
He turned his head slightly to the side where she'd been sitting just minutes ago. The sheets still held the faint imprint of her.
"Bakka," he whispered with the barest of smiles, "always worrying more about others than herself…"
Flashback — 10 years ago
A storm raged outside the grand mansion, lightning flashing through the tall windows. The rain pounded the roof relentlessly, echoing like footsteps in a cavernous space.
Inside one of the many rooms, a 14-year-old Yuri lay curled under heavy blankets, his face flushed, drenched in sweat. His breaths came out uneven, and his forehead burned with fever.
The room was dim, illuminated only by the soft glow of a small lamp beside the bed.
Outside the door, there was movement—maids rushing back and forth, carrying towels, bowls of cold water, medicine. Their voices whispered urgently:
"The young master's condition isn't improving."
"Doctor said it might be from stress—"
"He's been alone too much lately…"
No one stayed.
Not truly.
Yuri stirred slightly, blinking through a haze of fever. His throat was dry, his head aching. He turned toward the door, his small voice barely audible.
"Dad…?"
No answer.
The silence that followed was familiar. Heavy. Cold.
He tried to sit up, but his arms were too weak. The blankets felt heavier than usual—like they were pressing him down, holding the weight of loneliness itself.
He looked toward the empty chair by his bed. Always empty.
They brought medicine, towels, water. But not presence. Not care.
No one held his hand.
No one whispered, "I'm here."
He stared up at the ceiling, eyes glossy with unshed tears, thinking maybe… maybe if he got really sick, someone would finally stay.
But no one did.
Back to present
Yuri's fingers twitched slightly on the blanket.
And even though his eyes were still closed, his mind whispered:
"This time… someone stayed."
I rushed into my room, tossed my uniform aside, and jumped into the shower as fast as I could. The water was barely warm, but I didn't care. I just needed to be quick—he was waiting. Even if he said he wasn't hungry, I knew better.
I changed into my comfiest clothes—a loose hoodie and soft joggers—and ran down to the kitchen, hair still damp. I gulped down a glass of milk in one shot, barely tasting it. My stomach grumbled, but I brushed it off.
Then I looked at the plate.
I took my sandwich… and quietly placed it beside his. He might eat more if he sees it's mine too, I thought. Maybe it'd make him feel less alone.
Author's POV:
Y/N tiptoed quietly into Yuri's room, the breakfast tray balanced carefully in her hands. The room was still—bathed in warm morning light, the curtains swaying gently with the breeze from the window.
She moved soundlessly, placing the tray down on the side table. Two plates, side by side—one for him, one for her.
Then, she sat beside him again.
His face was still turned toward the window, peaceful, eyes closed.
She leaned in a little, her voice soft and gentle.
"Yuri…"
He stirred faintly.
"Hey," she whispered again, "I brought you breakfast. It's warm."
His eyelids fluttered slowly, and then, his gaze turned toward her.
Their eyes met—quiet, heavy with words left unsaid.
Yuri's eyes blinked open slowly, adjusting to the soft morning light. The first thing he saw wasn't the tray on the table or the breakfast she'd prepared.
It was her.
Sitting there beside him, worry still lingering in her eyes, but trying to mask it with a small smile.
And then—
"Bakka…" he mumbled, voice still a little groggy.
Y/N blinked. "Huh?"
He furrowed his brow ever so slightly, gaze drifting to her shoulders.
"Your hair's still wet."
Y/N stared at him for a second—caught off guard that this was the first thing he noticed after everything.
"…That's the first thing you say?" she asked, half-annoyed, half-flustered.
Yuri let out the faintest smile.
"You'll catch a cold. Idiot."
Y/N rolled her eyes but turned away quickly to hide the blush blooming on her cheeks.
"Eat your breakfast before it gets cold."
Yuri shifted slightly, sitting up with a soft grunt.
He looked at the tray. Then at her. Then back again.
And for the first time in a long while, the food didn't feel cold. The room didn't feel empty.
Y/N reached behind him and carefully adjusted the pillows, supporting his back.
"Slowly," she said, gently helping him sit up. Yuri leaned into her guidance, his body still a bit sluggish, but he didn't complain—not when she was this close, her hands so gentle.
She picked up the bowl of warm porridge from the tray and held it out to him.
"Here. This will go easy on your stomach."
Yuri took the bowl but didn't lift the spoon just yet. His eyes lazily scanned the tray, then locked onto the other plate.
"I want that sandwich," he said, voice low, lips curling into a mischievous smirk.
Y/N blinked, catching on instantly.
"That's not yours," she said flatly, narrowing her eyes.
"You put it on my tray," he shrugged casually, then added with a sly look, "Seems like fate."
"I put it there so you don't feel lonely eating. Not for you to steal my food."
He chuckled weakly, taking a spoonful of porridge with a smug little grin.
"Too late. I've already claimed it."
Y/N snatched the sandwich off the tray and held it protectively. "Touch it and I'll stab you on the other side."
Yuri laughed softly—and this time, it wasn't forced. It was light, real.
And in that moment, everything felt a little more normal again.
"You're cute when you're mad," he said, barely above a whisper.
Y/N blinked. "What?"
"Nothing," he said quickly, sipping his porridge like nothing happened.
Their laughter had just faded when Y/N's voice came again—this time gentler, quieter.
"Yuri…"
He looked up, meeting her eyes.
"Why didn't you tell me…"
Her fingers gripped the edge of the tray.
"That you got stabbed… back then?"
The warmth that had filled the room just seconds ago shifted into something heavier.
Yuri didn't answer right away.
He stared down at the half-empty bowl in his hands, the steam rising quietly like an excuse to look away.
Silence hung between them, stretching.
Y/N's voice dropped even softer.
"Were you trying to hide it… or did you just think I didn't need to know?"
Yuri finally spoke—but it wasn't an answer.
"…You looked scared enough when I had a fever."
Y/N's heart clenched.
"So you didn't want me to worry?" she whispered, almost angry at how calmly he said it.
Still, he didn't meet her gaze.
"I'm used to handling pain alone," he said, almost like he was just stating a fact. "Didn't think it mattered."
Y/N sat back slightly, watching him—his calm expression, the faint shadows under his eyes, the slight trembling in his fingers as he set the bowl down.
"But it does matter…" Y/N whispered, her voice barely audible.
But he heard it.
Loud and clear.
Yuri's breath caught for a second. He hadn't expected her to say it again—hadn't expected her voice to sound like that, so fragile, as if she'd been holding that truth in for a while.
His eyes lifted slowly to meet hers.
Y/N wasn't looking away this time. Her gaze held his, steady but with a quiet storm behind it. Her fingers clenched lightly on her lap, her brows furrowed in frustration—not at him, but at the idea that he'd ever think his pain didn't matter.
"You always act like you have to go through everything alone," she continued, her voice steadier now.
"Like you're supposed to handle it all just because… because you're Yuri."
He stayed silent, lips pressed together.
"That's how I'm surviving till now…"barely a murmur, almost lost in the silence.