The cold no longer stole her breath.
It still bit at her skin, but the worst of the shock had passed. The fever remained, simmering beneath the surface, yet it no longer felt like it was consuming her from the inside out.
Leah rested against Izana's chest, her cheek pressed to damp skin, listening to his heartbeat.
Strong.
Steady.
Real.
"You're shaking," she murmured weakly.
"I'm not."
"You are."
"That's the water."
She gave the faintest hum of disbelief.
Her fingers drifted upward slowly, tracing the line of his collarbone, then down — until they reached the carved word.
Monster.
Her touch stilled there.
Izana's body reacted before his mind did — a subtle tightening, a faint inhale. The curse stirred beneath the scar like something irritated at being disturbed.
A dull ache pulsed once in his chest.
He ignored it.
Leah traced one letter carefully.
"M…"
Her voice was small.
"When did you do it?"
Silence answered her at first.
The water rippled softly around them.
She lifted her head slightly, blinking up at him. "You don't have to tell me. I didn't mean to—"
"No," he said quietly. "You should know."
She watched him carefully now.
His jaw tightened.
"I was fourteen."
Her fingers froze.
"Fourteen?" she repeated faintly.
"Yes."
"That's…" She swallowed. "That's so young."
He didn't respond immediately.
"I thought if I carved it first," he continued, voice steady but low, "no one else could use it against me."
Leah's brows furrowed slightly. "You wanted to own it."
"Yes."
She stared at the word again.
"Did it hurt?" she asked softly.
He almost smiled at that.
"Yes."
She shifted weakly. "That's not funny."
"I'm not laughing."
Her hand pressed gently over the scar.
"You shouldn't have had to do that," she whispered.
His gaze dropped to her face.
"You shouldn't have had to survive what you did either."
The words hung between them.
The curse pulsed faintly again, displeased at the closeness — at the vulnerability. A thin line of pain spread across his chest.
Leah noticed his breath hitch.
"Does it hurt right now?" she asked quietly.
"It's nothing."
"That's not what I asked."
He looked at her.
"…It's tolerable."
She frowned faintly.
"I don't like that it reacts when I touch you."
"It reacts when I'm weak," he corrected.
"You're not weak."
He didn't answer.
Her thumb brushed gently over the carved skin.
"You're not a monster," she said more firmly this time.
His eyes softened just slightly.
"You're biased."
"Good."
A faint exhale left him — almost a laugh.
He shifted his hand to her forehead again.
"You're cooler," he murmured.
"Am I?"
"Yes."
"I still feel hot."
"You will for a while."
She studied his face.
"You came fast."
His eyes flickered slightly.
"You called my name."
Her lips parted faintly.
"I did?"
"Yes."
"…I don't remember."
"You were on the floor."
Her expression shifted slightly at that.
"I didn't mean to scare you."
His hand tightened subtly around her.
"You didn't."
"I did."
A quiet pause.
"You don't get to decide that," he said.
She blinked slowly at him.
He continued more softly, "When you're the one lying on the floor, you don't get to decide how much it scares me."
Her chest tightened slightly.
"I didn't want you to blame yourself."
"I already do."
"Izana…"
"I pushed you away."
"You were scared."
"That doesn't make it right."
Her hand slid from his chest to his jaw, barely brushing it.
"You were trying to protect me."
"And I failed."
"You're holding me right now."
The words were simple.
But they hit harder than anything else.
He looked down at her.
She gave a faint, tired smile.
"I think that counts."
The silence that followed wasn't heavy anymore.
It was fragile.
Careful.
He placed his hand against her forehead once more.
"Your fever's down enough," he said. "We're getting out."
She made a weak noise of protest. "It's warm here."
"It's not warm."
"It is when I'm against you."
His jaw tightened slightly at that.
"Leah."
"Fine," she murmured.
He stood carefully, lifting her with him as the water slid from their skin. He stepped out of the tub and reached for a dry towel immediately.
As soon as the air hit her damp skin, she shivered.
"Cold," she whispered.
"I know."
He unwrapped the damp one from her gently and replaced it with a fresh, warm towel, securing it around her shoulders.
"Stay with me."
"I am."
He carried her back into the bedroom.
The blindfold still lay abandoned on the floor.
He ignored it.
He sat down on the edge of the bed with her in his lap and carefully used the corner of the towel to dry her hair. His movements were slow and deliberate, almost careful to the point of reverence.
She watched him through heavy eyelids.
"You didn't even put the blindfold back on."
He stilled briefly.
"No."
"Doesn't the light hurt?"
"It's manageable."
"You're lying."
"Probably."
She gave the faintest smile.
As he brushed the damp strands aside, his eyes caught something he had seen before.
The long, thick scars along her back.
Old.
Deep.
But his jaw tightened slightly.
His hand lingered for half a second longer than necessary before he looked away.
She felt it this time.
"You can ask," she murmured.
He hesitated.
"…Not tonight."
She nodded slightly.
"Okay."
He helped her lie down, then moved to his wardrobe.
She watched him pick through his clothes.
"Are you really choosing pajamas right now?"
"Yes."
"You're very serious about it."
"They need to be soft."
She almost laughed.
"You're ridiculous."
He returned to her side and helped her into his pajamas without a word, his movements steady and respectful.
When he finished adjusting the oversized sleeves, his gaze dropped to her wrist.
The bruise was still there.
Dark against her skin.
His doing.
His jaw tightened.
"I shouldn't have grabbed you like that," he said.
"You weren't yourself."
"That doesn't excuse it."
"It does a little."
"No."
She sighed faintly.
"You're impossible."
"And you're stubborn."
"Only with you."
Without a word, he stood and went back into the bathroom. He returned with ointment and clean bandages.
He sat beside her and gently applied the ointment to the bruise. His touch was careful — almost clinical — but his expression betrayed the guilt beneath it.
When he wrapped the bandage around her wrist, his fingers paused when she winced slightly.
"Sorry."
"It's fine."
When he finished, he pressed a soft kiss to her forehead.
"You keep doing that," she murmured.
"Doing what?"
"Kissing my forehead like I'm fragile."
"You are fragile right now."
"I don't like it."
"I don't care."
She huffed weakly.
After settling her under the blankets, he leaned back against the headboard.
She studied him.
"You're not sleeping."
"No."
"You need to."
"I don't."
She shifted closer slowly until her head rested in his lap.
He went still — then relaxed.
His fingers moved into her hair.
"You don't have to watch me like I'll disappear," she murmured drowsily.
"I know."
"You're doing it anyway."
"Yes."
Her fingers curled lightly against his thigh.
"Izana."
"Yes?"
"Thank you… for coming."
His hand paused in her hair.
"I will always come."
Her lips curved faintly.
"Even if I tell you not to?"
"Especially then."
Her breathing began to slow.
"Stay," she whispered.
"I'm not going anywhere."
And this time, when the curse pulsed faintly beneath his chest, he didn't even flinch.
He just kept his hand in her hair.
And stayed.