Chapter 14: Warmth in Winter

The Winter Morning Light

The faint light of a winter morning filtered through the gap in the curtains, casting a pale, cold glow across the still room. Outside, the wind whispered against the window, nudging the curtains so they tapped softly against the wooden frame.

On the large bed in the center of the room, Thien Duc lay curled on his side, the blanket pulled up to his shoulders, though his face still showed every trace of exhaustion. His cheeks were flushed with fever, breath slow and heavy. Beads of cold sweat slid from his temple down the curve of his neck.

Huyet Minh stood beside the bed, watching every subtle movement. His long, cool fingers reached forward, brushing lightly across Thien Duc's forehead. The fever radiated against his touch, and for a moment, his dark eyes shadowed with worry—though there was something deeper there, something harder to name.

"Burning up like this, and you still say you're fine?" His voice was low, even, yet it seemed to tighten the quiet air of the room.

Thien Duc's eyes cracked open, hazy from the fever. His voice was barely above a whisper:

"I… I'm fine. Just… a little tired…"

Huyet Minh's brows pulled tight, his gaze sharpening. He leaned closer, his tone firm, each word weighted:

"Fine? You coughed all night, your nose wouldn't stop running, your whole body's burning—and you're calling this fine?"

A faint smile tugged at Thien Duc's lips, weary but tinged with stubbornness.

"You're exaggerating. It's not as bad as you think."

Huyet Minh stayed silent for a few beats, eyes lowering before meeting his again. His voice dropped, soft but resolute:

"Thien Duc, the one thing you're worst at… is lying. Stop trying. Just stay still."

Thien Duc let out a shallow breath, his lashes trembling.

"Alright… I'm a little tired. But if I rest, I'll be fine."

"You said the same thing last night." Huyet Minh's lips curved, but it wasn't amusement—just the frustration of knowing him too well.

"No. Not this time. You stay here. I'll handle everything."

He turned and left the room, the door closing with a muted click. In the empty hallway, Huyet Minh paused before the bathroom and locked the door behind him. His palm opened, a faint red light glowing within, swirling with strange, rune-like patterns. His gaze hardened for an instant, voice dropping to a whisper only he could hear:

"Warm broth. Medicine. Warm water. Easy. I can do this."

The glow faded. He inhaled deeply, his expression smoothing back into calm as he made his way to the kitchen.

---

The soft clang of pots and the faint scent of rice and scallion drifted through the quiet house. Thien Duc stirred, his eyes opening just enough to catch the sound. His voice, faint and rough, reached out:

"Huyet Minh… what are you doing?"

From the kitchen, his voice called back, louder so it would carry:

"Making porridge for you. Don't get out of bed. Just stay put."

Thien Duc's lips curved faintly, a tired smile.

"You're… such a nuisance."

"Yeah. A nuisance." Huyet Minh's tone held a shadow of a smile, though firm underneath.

"But if I'm the one taking care of you, do you really mind?"

A soft, hoarse laugh escaped Thien Duc.

"No…"

---

Some time later, the bedroom door opened. Huyet Minh stepped in with a wooden tray: a steaming bowl of porridge, a few fever tablets, and a glass of warm water. He set it down on the bedside table and took a seat at the edge of the bed. His voice softened:

"Sit up. Eat something. You need the strength to recover."

Thien Duc shifted slightly, murmuring:

"I'm not hungry…"

Huyet Minh's gaze lowered, his voice taking on a quiet sternness:

"Hungry or not, you're eating. Don't make me feed you myself."

One eye cracked open, a weak frown forming.

"You wouldn't actually—"

A faint smirk pulled at Huyet Minh's lips.

"Not just feed you. I could embarrass you far more than that."

Thien Duc sighed, struggling upright to take the spoon.

"Fine. I'll eat."

Huyet Minh steadied the tray, his tone quiet as his eyes lingered on him:

"Stop pretending to be strong. You don't have to. Not when I'm here."

Thien Duc said nothing, simply spooned the warm porridge slowly. The heat traced down his throat, softening the ache in his body, easing him by degrees.

When the bowl was empty, he lay back down, eyes drifting closed. Huyet Minh stayed seated, pulling the blanket snug around his shoulders. His voice dropped, quiet but firm:

"If you won't look after yourself… I'll do it for you."

Thien Duc's eyes fluttered open just enough to offer a faint smile.

"You're… already doing more than enough."

Huyet Minh's eyes narrowed slightly, his tone dipping lower:

"But you can't do this again. Warm water for baths. Layers when it's cold. Understood?"

"…Got it. I'll listen," Thien Duc murmured, his lashes falling shut.

Huyet Minh leaned down, tugging the blanket a little higher.

"Sleep. I'm right here."

Half-asleep, Thien Duc whispered, almost unconsciously:

"Thank you…"

Huyet Minh smiled faintly, lowering his head, his voice soft but steady:

"You're important to me. You don't need to thank me."

Thien Duc, his eyes shut, mumbled drowsily:

"Then… I'll leave myself to you…"

Huyet Minh stilled for a moment. His gaze deepened, and his reply was no louder than a breath:

"You don't have to say it. I've already accepted that role."

He leaned down, pressed a gentle kiss to Thien Duc's fever-warmed forehead, and whispered:

"Rest easy."

---

The morning light crept further into the room, soft but clear enough to reveal everything. Thien Duc stirred awake, only to feel his hand trapped in another's grip. Turning his head, he saw Huyet Minh slumped over the edge of the bed, face drawn with fatigue, his hand still wrapped firmly around his.

Thien Duc whispered:

"You… didn't sleep all night?"

Huyet Minh shifted, his eyes groggy but sharpening instantly when they met his. Sitting upright, his voice rushed out in a low, urgent stream:

"Thien Duc! You're awake? How do you feel? Still feverish? Any pain?"

Thien Duc blinked, a little overwhelmed by the cascade of concern.

"I… feel better."

Huyet Minh touched his forehead, sensing the fever had eased. He let out a quiet breath:

"Good. No more heat. That's a relief. But you still need to rest."

Thien Duc's lips curved faintly, his voice soft:

"I'm alright. But what about you? You look worse than I do."

Huyet Minh waved him off, a faint smile tugging at his lips.

"I'm fine. Strong as an ox. Looking after you isn't a problem."

Thien Duc lowered his gaze, murmuring:

"Thank you, Huyet Minh."

"For what?" Huyet Minh let out a short laugh.

"You getting better is enough for me."

He rose, stretching briefly before glancing back, his voice firm but warm:

"Wait here. I'll make breakfast. You need to eat if you want to recover quickly."

Thien Duc arched a brow.

"You're cooking? Aren't you exhausted?"

Huyet Minh shot him a sideways look, one brow raised.

"Don't underestimate me. I'm a great cook."

A soft laugh escaped Thien Duc, his head dipping in surrender.

"Alright. I'll be waiting, then."

As Huyet Minh left, his voice echoed back from the hall:

"And don't even think about leaving that bed!"

Leaning into his pillow, Thien Duc let a small smile curl his lips. Through the gap of the door, he watched Huyet Minh's retreating figure, his gaze softening. His hand pressed unconsciously to his chest, where his heart beat just a little too fast. His whisper was barely audible:

"What… is happening to me?"

---

A short while later, Huyet Minh returned, balancing a tray: a steaming bowl of porridge and a few simple but hearty dishes. He set it on the bedside table, his tone light but bright:

"Breakfast time."

Thien Duc eyed the tray, a flicker of surprise in his expression.

"You made all of this?"

Huyet Minh's smile was warm, his eyes lit like sunlight.

"Who else? Come on, try it. I want to know what you think."

Thien Duc scooped a spoonful, the heat spreading over his tongue, the flavor gentle but rich. His eyes lifted, soft with genuine surprise.

"It's… actually really good."

"Told you." Huyet Minh's smile deepened, though his gaze carried a quiet, unhidden warmth.

"From now on, I'll be your personal chef."

Thien Duc's tone turned mock-serious, his voice low:

"Aren't you afraid I'll make you do this for life?"

Huyet Minh met his eyes, voice calm but resolute:

"If it's for you… I don't mind."

Heat climbed up Thien Duc's cheeks. He turned away, muttering softly:

"Don't… say things like that."

A quiet chuckle escaped Huyet Minh, warm and low.

"You're blushing."

Thien Duc shot him a side glance, lowering his voice:

"Just eat. Stop talking."

The room fell quiet again, save for the faint clink of spoon against bowl. But in the stillness, a lingering warmth remained—not just from the food, but from the way Huyet Minh's gaze never once left him.