-----
-----
"Have some water first, then take your medicine."
Blake held out a glass toward the "angel."
"Thank you…"
Mahiru Shiina murmured softly. She took the glass, sipped a little, then tilted her head back and swallowed the cold medicine.
Mission accomplished.
She let out a small breath and looked up at him. Her gentle, sweet voice was noticeably hoarse.
"I feel a bit better now… Blake, you can head back…"
"The medicine takes at least twenty minutes to kick in. There's no way you'd feel better already—it just hit your stomach," Mr. Blake said, taking the glass back with a casual sigh. "Do you have a thermometer at home? Start tracking your temperature now. If the fever doesn't go down, we'll have to take you to the hospital."
"Um…"
Mahiru averted her gaze, clearly guilty.
Blake deadpanned. "So that's a no."
"…Yeah, I don't."
"No this, no that." He couldn't help but complain. "If you're living alone, at least take care of yourself."
Mahiru fell silent.
Even being scolded like that, she couldn't feel any annoyance at all.
This feeling… so this is what it's like to have someone worry about you?
"I just moved in not long ago, and I'm usually pretty healthy… I rarely get sick…"
She tried to defend herself in a small voice, though it lacked conviction.
"Save it. I'll go grab a thermometer." Blake turned toward the door. "I'll be back in a few minutes."
"…"
Once he left, the living room fell into sudden silence.
It was late at night.
Everything was still.
The quiet felt almost suffocating.
Maybe it was because she was sick, but every second dragged on endlessly. Mahiru kept glancing toward the entryway.
(He said a few minutes… it's already been a while…)
She bit her lower lip, a faint sense of disappointment creeping in.
"I'm back."
Blake returned, holding an electronic thermometer.
Her eyes lit up instantly, regaining their sparkle.
"…Welcome back."
He didn't notice the subtle shift in her tone. Walking over, he handed it to her.
"Here. Check your temperature."
"Okay…"
Mahiru took it obediently, a quiet sense of relief settling in her chest.
There were only two people in the room, yet the moment he came back, the cold, empty space felt warm again.
Unlike the old mercury thermometers, the electronic one worked fast. In just twenty seconds, it beeped.
"Mr. Blake, it's done…"
"Let me see." He took it and frowned slightly. "39.8°C. That's basically forty. No wonder you're this weak."
Mahiru pressed her lips together, too embarrassed to speak.
(I knew it was bad, but I didn't expect it to be this high… no wonder I can barely walk…)
(Good thing Mr. Blake lives next door. Otherwise, this could've been dangerous.)
As a high schooler, she knew how risky a persistent high fever could be. If she'd tried to tough it out alone instead of asking him for help, who knew what might've happened after a whole night like this?
She might've woken up with the mind of a three-year-old—drooling, eyes unfocused, mouth crooked…
"N-no way!"
Mahiru quickly shook her head, chasing away the horrifying image.
"No way what?"
Blake looked at her, puzzled.
"N-nothing…" She turned her face aside, clutching a cushion as she spoke with quiet gratitude. "Anyway… thank you so much for coming to take care of me."
"It's normal for neighbors to help each other," he said casually. "If I got sick in the middle of the night, you'd take care of me too, right?"
Mahiru: "…"
Hey, why are you looking away?
This is where you say yes without hesitation!
"I could come during the day," Mahiru said, hugging the cushion, her eyes curving into crescent moons. "But not at night. You have a younger sister at home, yet you'd have some other girl come take care of you… in the middle of the night, no less. I'd be worried about my innocence."
Blake's expression didn't change. "Great. Then your innocence is in serious danger right now."
Mahiru looked at him. Her caramel-colored eyes shimmered, bright and lively, and a faint smile tugged at her lips.
"If you try anything, Mr. Blake… I do know a bit of self-defense."
You can barely walk right now. Even if time stopped, those little fists would only feel like a massage.
"Cough, cough…"
Before he could respond, she raised a hand to her mouth and coughed again.
"Want me to purify your magic again?" Blake suggested, turning serious. "Seems like your sense of touch matters more than we thought."
Mahiru pressed her lips together, then gracefully extended her right hand. Her fingers were slender, her skin pale, faint blue veins visible under the light—like a delicate piece of art carved from white jade.
"I'll leave it to you, Mr. Blake."
After the cold shower incident earlier, she fully understood how important her sense of touch was.
Losing taste just killed your appetite. But losing touch? That could actually put your life at risk.
Thankfully it had only been cold water. If it had been scalding hot…
Just imagining it made her shiver.
"Leave it to me."
Blake gently took her hand and began purifying the magic.
Ten minutes later—
Done.
Her sense of touch quietly returned.
"Mm…"
Mahiru frowned, a faint look of discomfort crossing her face as she let out a soft groan.
Now that her sense of touch was back, she could fully feel how bad her condition was—her throat hurt, her muscles ached, her nose stung, and chills ran through her body.
In short, she felt absolutely awful.
"Mr. Blake… you can let go now," she said shyly. "My sense of touch is back."
"Alright."
He released her hand. Then his gaze shifted to her shoulder.
A damp patch stood out clearly on her bathrobe.
Following it upward, he frowned slightly.
"You didn't dry your hair?"
Mahiru turned her face away, embarrassed. "After my bath, I didn't have any strength left… I was just focused on finding medicine, so I forgot…"
"Being cold and damp will make your condition worse. If you don't dry it soon, you'll probably wake up with a headache tomorrow." He hesitated for a couple of seconds before offering, "Want me to dry it for you?"
He was already expecting her to refuse.
Mahiru might seem gentle, but she always kept a certain distance. She hated troubling others.
But the next second—
Her soft voice came out, and maybe it was just his imagination, but it carried a faint, almost spoiled tone.
"It does feel uncomfortable when it's wet… Mr. Blake, could you help me dry it?"
Mr. Blake: "…"
Wait.
You're actually agreeing?
Guess when people get sick and weak… they really do turn into kids.
"....."