Archive of Our Own

The first thing Orm noticed was the light. It streamed through the blinds at an angle she rarely saw, too sharp, too bright for a weekday morning. Her internal clock, usually calibrated to Ling's precise schedule, screamed that something was wrong. Ling's alarm hadn't gone off. The familiar digital melody that marked 6:00 AM every weekday was conspicuously absent.

Orm shifted slightly, intending to slip out of bed without disturbing her girlfriend, but found herself anchored. Something held her in place, a weight on her torso that wasn't the usual lazy morning arm draped across her stomach. Looking down, Orm's eyes widened.

Ling was still asleep at 9:17 AM. That alone was borderline alarming. Ling, who once got up at 4:30 AM to prepare for a 7:00 AM meeting, who considered sleeping past 7:00 AM a luxury reserved for vacation days, was curled against her side, face pressed into Orm's shoulder. But it wasn't just her presence that startled Orm, it was how she was holding on.

Both of Ling's hands gripped the fabric of Orm's tshirt with an intensity that suggested she might float away if she let go. Her knuckles were white, her fingers clenched so tightly that the material bunched between them. Even in sleep, there was something desperate about her hold, something that made Orm's heart beat faster with concern.

Orm gently tried to ease herself free, moving just an inch to test whether Ling would stir. The grip tightened immediately, a soft whimper escaping Ling's lips as she burrowed closer. That was when Orm noticed the heat radiating from her girlfriend's body, the slight flush on her cheeks even in sleep.

Carefully, Orm placed the back of her hand against Ling's forehead. The warmth was unmistakable, a low grade fever that explained this uncharacteristic behavior. Ling, who once attended a company retreat with strep throat because "the quarterly review couldn't be postponed," was actually allowing herself to rest.

And then, as if sensing Orm's realization, Ling's eyes fluttered open. They were glassy, unfocused, and immediately locked onto Orm's face.

"You're still here," Ling murmured, her voice raspy with sleep and something else, vulnerability that Orm rarely saw in her confident, self sufficient girlfriend.

"Of course I'm still here," Orm replied softly, stroking Ling's hair. "You're burning up."

Ling blinked slowly, processing this information. "I feel strange," she admitted, her grip on Orm's shirt loosening slightly but not releasing. "Everything feels... distant. Except you."

Orm's heart melted a little. "That's the fever talking. You need rest."

"No," Ling insisted, her eyes closing again. "Need you."

And that was the moment Orm discovered something no one had warned her about. Sick Ling was not the same Ling.

The woman who normally insisted she was perfectly fine even when she very clearly wasn’t, the one who would downplay discomfort, brush off pain, and stubbornly continue as if needing help was a personal failure, had once been exactly the same way about a sprained wrist.

Orm remembered it clearly. Ling had insisted it was “nothing serious,” even as she avoided using that hand, even as she winced when she thought no one was looking. She had refused to rest it properly, refused assistance for days, until the smallest tasks had slowly forced her stubbornness into surrender. Even then, she had pretended it was just “inconvenient,” not necessary.

That version of Ling would have fought being taken care of, even when she clearly needed it.

This version did not.

Now, lying sick and quiet, she looked at Orm with something stripped down and unguarded. No deflection, no practiced independence, no reflexive insistence that she was fine. Just a softness that felt unfamiliar on her face, as if exhaustion had loosened something she usually kept tightly controlled.

The change was so subtle it almost shouldn’t have mattered. And yet it did.

Orm felt something settle in her chest, protectiveness, yes, but also a quieter kind of disbelief, the kind that came from realizing someone you thought you understood had hidden entire shades of themselves in plain sight.

Because this was still Ling.

Just… no longer trying so hard to be untouchable.

"Okay," Orm promised, settling back against the pillows. "I'm not going anywhere."

Ling's body relaxed almost instantly, her grip softening into something more comfortable, more possessive. "Stay," she whispered, already drifting back to sleep.

Orm watched her, marveling at this transformation. She had always loved Ling's independence, her fierce self reliance that matched Orm's own. But this version of Ling, soft, needy, openly affectionate was something she hadn't realized she was missing. Something she would come to know far too well over the next few days.

***

The first sign that Ling’s illness had fundamentally altered her personality came when Orm tried to get up for water.

Her throat was dry from sleep, the kind of dryness that made even breathing feel slightly louder than it should, and she moved carefully, as if any sudden motion might disturb the fragile quiet of the morning. Ling was still asleep, or at least appeared to be. Her breathing was slow, uneven at the edges, her presence still anchored firmly against Orm’s side.

Orm took a slow breath and began to untangle herself from Ling’s limbs, which had somehow wrapped around her during the night with an unconscious persistence that now felt almost deliberate in hindsight. An arm loosened reluctantly. A leg shifted just enough to allow movement, but not enough to suggest true release. It was less letting go and more negotiating space.

It took longer than it should have.

Orm had just managed to place her feet on the cool wooden floor when a small sound broke the stillness behind her. Not loud. Not urgent. Just enough to interrupt the motion completely.

“Stay.”

It wasn’t said like a request that expected negotiation. It wasn’t even fully awake. It was quiet, slightly rough with sleep, but threaded with something instinctive, something that did not sound like it had been thought through at all.

Orm froze mid movement.

Slowly, she turned.

Ling was already watching her. Her eyes were still heavy with sleep, lashes slightly lowered, but there was a focus in them that didn’t match the rest of her state. Steady, direct, quietly insistent in a way that made the room feel smaller than it had a moment ago.

The air between them seemed to shift, stretching just slightly, as if even the morning itself had paused to register what had been said. The warmth from the bed still clung to Orm’s skin, grounding her in place more than the command itself.

Orm hesitated, caught between the simple need for water and something softer she didn’t want to name too quickly.

“What?” she asked at last, quieter than she intended, her voice still carrying the remnants of sleep.

"Stay." Ling's voice was firm, leaving no room for negotiation. "Don't go."

"Ling, I'm just getting water," Orm explained, gesturing toward the bedroom door. "I'll be right back."

A tiny frown formed between Ling's eyebrows. "Don't take too long."

Orm almost fell over. This was the same woman who once said, "I can manage myself" while actively bleeding from a paper cut, refusing a bandage because "it's just a flesh wound." The same Ling who had once carried heavy grocery bags up three flights of stairs with a sprained ankle rather than admit she needed help. Now she was acting as if a trip to the kitchen was a life threatening journey, one from which Orm might never return, as though the hallway itself had suddenly become a place of unseen hazards and tragedy. Orm stared at her in silence, blinking slowly, wondering when exactly getting water had become an act of survival.

"I'll be back in two minutes," Orm promised, hurrying to the kitchen and back.

When she returned with a glass of water, Ling was sitting up in bed, looking pale and miserable. Her eyes tracked Orm's every movement as she approached.

"You came back," Ling said, as if this were a surprise.

"I told you I would," Orm replied, handing her the water and feeling her forehead again. The fever seemed to be holding steady, not worsening but not improving either.

Ling drank slowly, her eyes never leaving Orm's face. When she finished, she set the glass on the nightstand and immediately reached for Orm's hand. "Don't leave again."

"Ling, you need to rest. I have things to do today," Orm said gently, trying to reason with her.

"Cancel them," Ling countered, her grip tightening. "Stay with me."

Orm sighed, the sound carrying the weight of everything she was supposed to do today. She had a full schedule waiting for her. Client meetings, project deadlines, emails that would only multiply if ignored, but none of it felt louder than the quiet panic on Ling’s face. Ling looked flushed, still tangled in sleep and something more fragile. Ling looked far too serious about the possibility of being abandoned for something as trivial as work, as if Orm leaving the room might trigger some catastrophic chain of events. Orm held her gaze for a long moment, something soft and resigned settling in her chest. Finally, she exhaled again, slower this time.

“Okay,” she relented quietly. “I’ll work from home today.”

Ling's entire body relaxed, a small smile playing on her lips. "Good," she murmured, pulling Orm back toward the bed. "Come here."

Orm allowed herself to be guided back under the covers, where Ling immediately curled around her like a cat seeking warmth. This was new territory for them. Their relationship was built on mutual independence, on respecting each other's space and time. They lived together, shared a life, but maintained their separate worlds within their shared apartment. Now, those boundaries were dissolving, and Orm wasn't sure how to navigate this new landscape of neediness.

The second sign of Ling's transformation came when Orm tried to use the bathroom. She carefully extricated herself from Ling's embrace, thinking her girlfriend had fallen back into a feverish sleep. She had just reached the door when a hand caught her wrist.

"Where are you going?"

"The bathroom," Orm replied, startled by Ling's sudden alertness.

Ling considered this for a moment, her eyes narrowed as if evaluating the risk. "Okay." Then, as Orm turned to leave: "Come back quickly."

Orm couldn't help but smile. "I'll try not to get lost on the way."

When she returned less than two minutes later, Ling was sitting up in bed, looking worried. "You were gone too long."

"It was literally ninety seconds," Orm laughed, settling back on the edge of the bed.

"It felt longer," Ling insisted, reaching for Orm's hand again. "Don't leave me again."

This pattern continued throughout the day. Orm couldn't leave the room without Ling expressing distress. Not because Ling was physically unable to survive without her, but because she refused to be alone. Each time Orm stood up, Ling would watch her with wounded eyes, her hand always reaching out to maintain some form of contact.

The most dramatic shift came in the afternoon when Orm needed to make an important phone call. She stepped into the hallway, closing the bedroom door behind her for some privacy. She was gone for perhaps five minutes before the door creaked open.

There stood Ling, wrapped in the duvet like a miserable burrito, her hair disheveled and her face pale. "Why are you standing there?" she asked, her voice small and hurt.

"Ling, I'm on a work call," Orm whispered, covering the phone receiver.

"I miss you," Ling replied, as if this were the most natural thing in the world to say while her girlfriend was conducting business.

"I was gone for five minutes," Orm said, torn between exasperation and affection.

"It was a difficult five minutes," Ling insisted, shivering slightly despite the warmth of the blanket.

Orm had to turn away from the phone to keep her client from hearing her laughter. "Go back to bed. I'll be there in a minute."

Ling nodded but didn't move until Orm promised again that she would return quickly. As she disappeared back into the bedroom, Orm found herself smiling. This clingy, needy version of Ling was completely foreign, yet somehow endearing in a way she couldn't quite explain.

Later that evening, as Orm worked on her laptop from the armchair in the corner of their bedroom, she noticed Ling watching her with an intensity that was becoming familiar. What was new was the expression on Ling's face, a mixture of adoration and something else, something deeper.

"What are you looking at?" Orm asked, not looking up from her keyboard.

"You," Ling replied, her voice soft but clear. "Just... you."

Orm finally looked up, catching the full force of Ling's gaze. "Like what?"

"Like you're the most interesting thing in the room," Ling said, a small smile playing on her lips. "Like you always are."

Orm felt a warmth spread through her chest that had nothing to do with the feverish heat still radiating from Ling's body. "You're delirious."

"Maybe," Ling conceded. "But that doesn't make it less true." She shifted in the bed, extending a hand toward Orm. "Come here?"

Orm saved her document and closed the laptop, moving to sit on the edge of the bed. Ling immediately laced their fingers together, her thumb stroking the back of Orm's hand in a rhythmic motion that was both comforting and possessive.

"I've never seen you like this," Orm observed softly. "It's... different."

"Bad different?" Ling asked, her eyes searching Orm's face with an intensity that suggested the answer mattered more than she would normally admit.

"No," Orm reassured her quickly. "Just... different. You're usually so... contained. So self sufficient."

Ling considered this, her gaze drifting toward the ceiling. "It takes a lot of energy to be contained," she said quietly. "To always be the one who has it together. Who doesn't need anything from anyone." Her eyes returned to Orm's. "I don't have that energy right now."

Something shifted between them in that moment, a deeper understanding of the careful construction that made up Ling's usual personality. The armor of competence and self reliance that she wore like a second skin. Orm had always admired it, even envied it sometimes. Now she was seeing what lay beneath, and it was more vulnerable, more honest, than she had expected.

"It's okay to need things," Orm said, her voice gentle. "It's okay to need me."

Ling's fingers tightened around hers. "I always need you," she admitted. "I'm just usually better at hiding it."

Orm leaned down and pressed a soft kiss to Ling's forehead, avoiding her lips in an attempt to maintain some boundaries against the inevitable spread of germs. "Rest now," she murmured. "I'm not going anywhere."

Ling closed her eyes, a contented sigh escaping her lips. "Stay," she whispered again, as if it were the only word that mattered.

"I'm right here," Orm promised, settling against the headboard and stroking Ling's hair until her breathing evened out into the deep rhythm of sleep.

As she watched Ling sleep, Orm couldn't help but marvel at this transformation. The woman who once calmly informed her that "emotions are a luxury I can't afford during tax season" was now clinging to her hand in her sleep, as if afraid she might disappear. The contrast was so stark, so unexpected, that it felt like discovering a whole new person in the body of someone she thought she knew completely.

And Orm found herself wondering, not for the first time that day, whether this version of Ling would disappear completely when the fever broke. Or if perhaps some small part of this softer, more open woman would remain, a permanent change to the carefully constructed fortress of Ling's personality.

***

The next morning brought a new challenge. Food. Ling’s fever had continued through the night, refusing to break even as she drifted in and out of restless sleep. She woke looking drained, skin pale and warm with exhaustion, her appetite gone entirely, but not her longing for comfort. She kept mentioning, almost absently, how much she missed her mother’s congee, as though the thought alone anchored her to something gentler than her current state.

"I'm going to cook," Orm announced with more confidence than she felt, remembering the simple rice porridge Ling's mother had made during her last visit.

Ling, half asleep on the couch where Orm had moved her to change the bedding, opened one eye. "Should I write my will first?"

Orm gasped, dramatically placing a hand over her heart. "Excuse me? I'm a perfectly capable cook."

"You burned instant noodles," Ling countered, her voice raspy but amused.

"That happened once," Orm insisted, crossing her arms defensively.

"Twice," Ling corrected, a small smile playing on her lips. "The second time, you set off the smoke alarm and had to open all the windows in December."

"You said you would never bring that up again," Orm grumbled, already feeling her confidence wavering.

"I lied," Ling replied, closing her eyes again. "But I appreciate the gesture. Just don't burn the apartment down while I'm too sick to escape."

Determined to prove her culinary competence, Orm marched into the kitchen with her phone held high, Google already open to "how to make chicken congee for sick people." The recipe seemed simple enough. Rice, water, chicken, ginger. How could she possibly mess that up?

The answer, as it turned out, was in numerous and creative ways.

First, there was the rice to water ratio. The recipe insisted on one cup of rice to eight cups of water, a level of precision Orm briefly considered respecting before realizing her measuring cups had somehow migrated to the highest cabinet in the kitchen. She tilted her head back slightly, eyes tracking them with mild resignation.

Being taller than Ling normally made things easier. This, unfortunately, was not one of those things. Not without noise, not without movement, and definitely not without waking the person currently sleeping like her entire nervous system depended on it.

Orm paused, then quietly reached for the pot anyway. “Eyeballing it,” she decided, almost to herself, “is fine.”

It was not.

Thirty minutes later, Orm stared at a pot that contained something resembling rice soup more than congee. The grains floated sadly in a watery broth, none of them having broken down into the creamy consistency she was aiming for. "How do you fix watery congee?" she typed into her phone, the autocorrect helpfully suggesting "how do you fix your life decisions?"

The next attempt involved the chicken. The recipe called for chicken thighs, but all Orm could find in the freezer were chicken breasts, which she defrosted in the microwave with growing impatience. When she finally added them to the pot, they looked suspiciously pink, even after simmering for what seemed like an appropriate amount of time.

"How do you know if chicken is cooked?" she googled again, scrolling through increasingly unhelpful answers until she found one that suggested cutting into the thickest part. She did, and found the meat still disturbingly pink near the bone.

"Why is cooking so complicated?" she muttered to herself, fishing the chicken pieces out and putting them back in the pot with increasing frustration.

The true disaster struck when she decided to add the ginger and scallions. The recipe called for them to be finely minced, but Orm's knife skills were questionable at best, and she ended up with uneven chunks that she hoped would somehow dissolve into the broth. In her haste to add them, she accidentally turned the burner up too high, and the congee began to bubble ominously, threatening to boil over.

"Why is the smoke alarm so sensitive?" she googled next, fanning the air with a dishtowel as the alarm began to chirp intermittently, sensing her culinary incompetence even before actual smoke appeared.

Meanwhile, Ling had moved from the couch to a stool at the kitchen counter, wrapped in her blanket like a royal observer watching a jester perform. She said nothing, but her eyes followed Orm's every move, a mixture of amusement and something softer, something that looked suspiciously like love.

"What?" Orm finally demanded, pausing in her frantic stirring to glare at her girlfriend. "Why are you looking at me like that?"

"Like what?" Ling asked, her expression innocent.

"Like you're going to write a poem about me," Orm accused, gesturing at the bubbling pot with her wooden spoon.

Ling considered this. "I might."

Orm froze, the spoon halfway to her mouth for a taste test. "You wouldn't dare."

"I'm sick," Ling reminded her, a mischievous glint in her eyes. "The fever has removed all shame. I could write an epic poem about your heroic struggle with rice and water."

Orm couldn't help but laugh despite her frustration. "You're enjoying this, aren't you? Watching me suffer."

"Absolutely," Ling confirmed without hesitation. "It's the most entertaining thing that's happened all week. And I've had three board meetings."

"That's saying something," Orm muttered, returning to her stirring with renewed determination. "You're supposed to be delirious and pathetic, not witty and judgmental."

"I can multitask," Ling replied, her eyes softening as she watched Orm taste the congee and immediately spit it back into the sink. "How bad is it?"

"The rice is still too separate," Orm diagnosed, poking at the contents of the pot with her spoon. "And the chicken might be both raw and overcooked at the same time, which I didn't think was possible."

Ling slid off the stool, blanket and all, and shuffled to Orm's side. "Let me see," she said, peering into the pot. "You need to cook it longer. And lower the heat. And add more water."

"You're supposed to be resting," Orm protested, even as she turned down the burner at Ling's instruction.

"I am resting," Ling countered, leaning her head against Orm's shoulder. "This is therapeutic. Like watching a cooking show, but with more personal investment in the host's success."

Orm wrapped an arm around Ling's blanket-wrapped form, pulling her closer despite the germs she was undoubtedly exposing herself to. "You're impossible."

"You love me," Ling murmured, her eyes already drifting closed again.

"Unfortunately," Orm agreed, pressing a kiss to the top of Ling's head. "Now go back to the couch before you infect the entire kitchen."

Ling allowed herself to be guided back to the couch, leaving Orm to finish her culinary battle alone. With Ling's advice fresh in her mind, Orm adjusted the heat, added more water, and resigned herself to a longer cooking time. She stirred occasionally, checking the consistency and testing the chicken until it was finally cooked through.

By the time the congee had reached its proper creamy texture, Orm felt a sense of accomplishment that was almost excessive for something so simple. She stared at it for a moment longer than necessary, as if she had just completed something far more complicated than breakfast. Still, there was satisfaction in it, quiet, warm, and oddly grounding.

She had done it. She had successfully cooked a meal that would not, in any universe she was willing to accept, poison her sick girlfriend.

Carefully, she ladled the congee into a bowl, watching the steam curl upward in soft threads. A small sprinkle of scallions went on top for color, an unnecessary but intentional finishing touch. Then she picked it up with both hands and carried it toward the living room with exaggerated care, as though the slightest misstep might undo her entire achievement.

Ling was asleep on the couch, her breathing even and her face peaceful despite the flush of fever still coloring her cheeks. Orm hesitated, not wanting to wake her, but as she set the bowl on the coffee table, Ling's eyes fluttered open.

"Is it done?" she asked, her voice thick with sleep.

"It's done," Orm confirmed, unable to keep the pride out of her voice. "And I didn't even set off the smoke alarm this time."

Ling pushed herself up, leaning against the couch cushions as Orm handed her the bowl. She took a careful spoonful, her expression thoughtful as she tasted it. "It's good," she said after a moment, and Orm felt a rush of relief so intense it almost made her dizzy. "Really good."

"I'm glad you think so," Orm replied, settling on the floor beside the couch. "Because I'm pretty sure I used up all my cooking energy for the month."

Ling ate slowly, her eyes never leaving Orm's face. There was something in her gaze a warmth, an affection that went beyond the usual comfort of their relationship. It was deeper, more vulnerable, and it made Orm's heart ache with a mixture of love and apprehension.

"What?" Orm asked again, unable to bear the intensity of Ling's stare.

"Nothing," Ling replied, but then continued, "Just... you made this for me."

"That's what people do when someone's sick," Orm said with a shrug, trying to downplay the significance.

"No," Ling insisted, setting her bowl aside. "You burned water trying to make instant noodles. You once tried to bake cookies and forgot to add flour. You set a pan on fire making grilled cheese." She paused, her eyes softening. "But you tried. For me. That's... that's everything."

Orm felt her cheeks flush, a mixture of embarrassment and pleasure at Ling's words. "It's just congee," she said weakly.

"It's not just congee," Ling corrected, reaching out to tangle her fingers in Orm's hair. "It's care. It's love. It's you being terrible at something but doing it anyway because I needed it."

Before Orm could respond, Ling's expression shifted, the vulnerability giving way to something more playful, more mischievous. "You know," she said, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper, "you're very pretty when you're flustered."

Orm blinked. "What?"

"You're very pretty," Ling repeated, her eyes tracing Orm's features with an openness that was both flattering and slightly unnerving. "Especially when you're concentrating on not burning the apartment down."

"Ling, you're sick," Orm protested, even as she felt a warmth spreading through her chest at the compliment.

"I know," Ling agreed, her fingers still tangled in Orm's hair. "But that doesn't make it less true. You're the most beautiful person I've ever seen."

"Stop," Orm laughed, trying to pull away, but Ling's grip tightened gently.

"No," Ling insisted, her eyes serious now. "Don't tell me to stop. Don't tell me to be quiet. I'm sick, and I'm tired of always being so... controlled. So contained. Let me say what I want to say."

Orm stilled, caught by the intensity in Ling's gaze. "Okay," she whispered. "Say what you want to say."

"I love you," Ling said simply, her voice clear despite the rasp of sickness. "I love you so much it hurts sometimes. I love you when you're competent and professional and I love you when you're burning instant noodles. I love you when you're annoyed with me and I love you when you're taking care of me. I just... I love you."

Orm felt tears prick at her eyes, overwhelmed by the raw honesty of Ling's words. "I love you too," she whispered, leaning in to press a kiss to Ling's cheek. "Even when you're being ridiculous."

"I'm always ridiculous," Ling countered, a small smile playing on her lips. "You're just usually too polite to mention it."

"Someone has to be," Orm replied, reaching up to cup Ling's face in her hand. "Now finish your congee before it gets cold."

Ling complied, but her eyes never left Orm's face, as if memorizing every detail. It was both flattering and slightly unnerving, this intense scrutiny, but Orm found herself leaning into it, into this rare moment of unfiltered affection from a woman who usually kept her emotions carefully guarded.

As Ling finished her congee, Orm found herself wondering again about this transformation. Was it just the fever, this temporary breakdown of Ling's carefully constructed defenses? Or was this something more, something that had always been there beneath the surface, waiting for the right moment to emerge?

And more importantly, what would happen when the fever broke and Ling returned to her usual self contained self? Would this moment of vulnerability disappear with it, or would it leave a permanent mark on their relationship, on the way they saw each other and interacted with each other?

Orm didn't have answers to these questions, but as she watched Ling drift off to sleep again, her face peaceful and her body relaxed, she found herself hoping that some small part of this softer, more open Ling would remain. That perhaps this illness, this temporary breakdown of Ling's defenses, might actually strengthen their relationship rather than just testing it.

***

The next day brought a new challenge, Maintaining boundaries. Ling’s fever had broken overnight, but she remained weak in that soft, inconvenient way that made her unusually persistent about staying close. Her need for contact was quietly relentless, as though recovery came with the side effect of refusing to be alone.

Orm found herself in what could only be described as a danger zone of affection, every small decision suddenly requiring more thought than it should, whether to move away, whether to stay, whether a few extra seconds of contact would really matter. It felt less like a morning routine and more like managing an emotional system with unpredictable variables.

"No kissing," Orm announced firmly as Ling leaned in for a good morning kiss, her lips already puckered in anticipation.

Ling looked betrayed, her expression so wounded that Orm almost gave in immediately. "What?"

"You're sick," Orm explained, trying to sound reasonable despite the guilt already creeping in. "I don't want to get sick."

Ling considered this for approximately three seconds before proposing a compromise. "A little kiss?"

"No."

"One?" Ling tried again, her eyes already beginning to water with manufactured distress.

"No."

"Half?" Ling suggested, her expression so hopeful that Orm had to suppress a laugh. "How do you have half a kiss?"

"I don't know," Ling admitted, her determination undeterred. "Let's find out."

Orm sighed, already feeling her resolve weakening. "Ling, no. I need to stay healthy so I can take care of you."

"You're already taking care of me," Ling countered, her hand reaching out to trace the line of Orm's jaw. "What's one little kiss between caretaker and patient?"

"The difference between healthy caretaker and second patient," Orm replied, gently removing Ling's hand from her face.

Ling's expression shifted, the playful pleading giving way to genuine hurt. "Do you not love me anymore?"

"Absolutely not," Orm protested, horrified by the suggestion. "Don't do that. That's emotional blackmail."

"You used to kiss me," Ling continued, her voice dropping to a wounded whisper. "Yesterday."

"I'm trying to be responsible," Orm explained, already feeling herself weakening under the weight of Ling's disappointment.

"I miss the old us," Ling sighed dramatically, flopping back against the pillows with an air of tragic resignation. "The us that kissed freely, without fear of germs or consequences."

"It's been 24 hours," Orm laughed, despite herself. "Not a lifetime."

"It feels like a lifetime," Ling insisted, her eyes already beginning to water again. "A cold, lonely, kissless lifetime."

Orm lasted approximately five more minutes before giving in, leaning down to press a quick kiss to Ling's forehead. "There," she said, trying to sound firm. "Now that's all you're getting until you're better."

Ling accepted this compromise with a grace that Orm should have found suspicious. But she was too relieved to have avoided a full blown pouting session to notice the triumphant glint in Ling's eyes, the subtle shift in her expression that suggested this was merely round one in a much longer battle.

The next assault came later that afternoon, as Orm was trying to catch up on work emails from her laptop at the kitchen table. Ling, who had been resting on the couch, appeared suddenly at her side, her blanket trailing behind her like a royal cape.

"What are you doing?" she asked, her voice casual as she leaned against Orm's shoulder.

"Working," Orm replied, trying to focus on the email she was composing. "I have a deadline tomorrow."

"Work can wait," Ling countered, her hand already reaching for Orm's mouse, closing the laptop with a decisive click. "I'm bored."

Orm sighed, reopening her laptop. "Ling, I need to get this done. You should be resting."

"I am resting," Ling insisted, her arms wrapping around Orm's neck from behind. "This is resting. With you."

Orm could feel Ling's breath against her ear, her body warm and pliant despite the lingering weakness from her illness. "You're not making this easy," she murmured, already losing her train of thought.

"I'm not supposed to make it easy," Ling replied, her lips brushing against Orm's temple. "I'm supposed to be distracting. And needy. And pathetic."

"You're succeeding admirably," Orm admitted, closing her laptop again, this time with less reluctance. "What do you want to do?"

"Cuddle," Ling replied immediately, as if this were the most obvious answer in the world. "On the couch. With a movie. And snacks."

Orm allowed herself to be guided to the couch, where Ling immediately arranged them into a configuration that involved maximum body contact. Ling wrapped around Orm like a human blanket, her head on Orm's shoulder, one arm draped across her stomach, and a leg thrown over hers for good measure.

"Comfortable?" Orm asked, her voice dry despite the affection she felt for this clingy, needy version of her girlfriend.

"Almost," Ling replied, shifting slightly until she was satisfied with their position. "Now pick a movie."

Orm scrolled through the options, finally settling on a romantic comedy that seemed suitably light and distracting. But as the opening credits began to roll, she found it difficult to focus on the screen. Ling's attention was entirely on her, her eyes tracing Orm's profile with an intensity that was both flattering and slightly unnerving.

"What?" Orm asked, turning to meet Ling's gaze. "Do I have something on my face?"

"No," Ling replied, her fingers coming up to trace Orm's jawline. "You're just... very distracting."

"I'm the one who's supposed to be working," Orm reminded her gently. "You're the one who's supposed to be resting."

"I am resting," Ling countered, her eyes softening as she continued to trace Orm's features. "This is the most restful I've been all week."

Orm couldn't help but smile, turning her head to press a kiss to Ling's forehead. "You're impossible."

"You love it," Ling murmured, her lips already seeking out Orm's again.

"No," Orm protested gently, turning her head away. "We talked about this. No kissing."

"Just one," Ling pleaded, her voice already taking on that wheedling tone that Orm was finding increasingly difficult to resist. "A tiny one. A peck. That's all."

Orm considered this, her resolve already weakening. "One," she agreed, turning back to face Ling. "And then we watch the movie."

Ling's lips met hers in a kiss that was anything but a peck, soft, lingering, and impossibly sweet. Orm felt herself melting into it, her arms coming up to wrap around Ling's shoulders, pulling her closer despite her earlier resolution.

"See?" Ling murmured against her lips. "That wasn't so bad, was it?"

"One," Orm reminded her, gently disentangling herself. "We agreed."

"One," Ling conceded, settling back against Orm's shoulder with a contented sigh. "For now."

Orm should have known better than to trust that concession. She should have recognized the glint in Ling's eyes, the subtle shift in her expression that suggested this was merely a temporary truce, not a surrender. But she was too caught up in the warmth of the moment, too relieved to have avoided a full blown negotiation over physical contact to notice the warning signs.

The next assault came later that evening, as Orm was trying to get Ling to take her medicine. Ling, who had been dozing on the couch, opened one eye as Orm approached with the glass of water and pills.

"No," she said, her voice firm despite the sleepiness.

"Ling, you have to take this," Orm insisted, holding out the pills. "It will help you feel better."

"I don't want to," Ling replied, turning her face away with the stubbornness of a sick child. "It tastes bad."

"You're thirty one years old," Orm reminded her, trying to sound stern despite her amusement. "You don't get to refuse medicine because it tastes bad."

"I'll take it if you give me a kiss," Ling bargained, her eyes already beginning to water with manufactured distress.

Orm sighed, already feeling herself weakening under the weight of Ling's disappointment. "You're manipulating me."

"I'm sick," Ling countered, her voice taking on that wheedling tone that Orm was finding increasingly difficult to resist. "I'm allowed to be manipulative when I'm sick."

"That's not how it works," Orm protested, even as she found herself leaning in, her lips already brushing against Ling's cheek.

"A real kiss," Ling insisted, turning her head to capture Orm's lips with her own. "Not a pity kiss."

Orm lasted approximately three more seconds before giving in, her lips meeting Ling's in a kiss that was anything but pity. Soft, lingering, and impossibly sweet. She felt herself melting into it, her arms coming up to wrap around Ling's shoulders, pulling her closer despite her earlier resolution.

"There," she murmured against Ling's lips. "Now take your medicine."

Ling complied, swallowing the pills with a grimace before immediately wrapping herself around Orm again. "You're a good caretaker," she murmured, her eyes already drifting closed again.

"I'm a weak caretaker," Orm corrected, stroking Ling's hair as she drifted off to sleep. "I should be stronger."

"You're exactly the right amount of strong," Ling slurred, her words already beginning to blur with sleep. "Strong enough to take care of me. Weak enough to let me take care of you."

Orm smiled, pressing a soft kiss to Ling's forehead despite her earlier resolution. "Go to sleep," she murmured. "You need your rest."

Ling complied, her breathing evening out into the deep rhythm of sleep almost immediately. But as Orm watched her, she couldn't help but feel a sense of apprehension mixed with her affection. This battle of affection, this constant negotiation over boundaries and physical contact, was exhausting. And she couldn't help but wonder how long she would be able to maintain her resolve against Ling's relentless campaign of affection, especially when part of her didn't really want to resist at all.

***

The breaking point came two days later. Ling's fever had finally broken for good, leaving her weak but recovering, her appetite returning and her energy slowly beginning to return to normal. Orm should have been relieved, should have been celebrating the end of her caretaking duties. Instead, she found herself feeling strangely bereft, missing the clingy, needy version of Ling that had dominated their apartment for the past three days.

"You're staring again," Ling observed, her voice amused as she looked up from the book she was reading on the couch.

"Am I?" Orm asked, trying to sound casual despite the sudden warmth in her cheeks. "I was just thinking."

"About what?" Ling prompted, setting her book aside to give Orm her full attention.

"About how much better you're looking," Orm replied, which was true but not the whole truth. "Your color is back. You almost look human again."

“I feel almost human again,” Ling confirmed, a faint smile tugging at her lips. Her voice had regained some of its usual steadiness, though there was still a softness to it that hadn’t fully disappeared yet. “Which means I’ll be back to work tomorrow, and things can go back to normal.”

Orm didn’t answer immediately. Normal. The word landed differently than it should have. Their normal wasn’t absence, it was distance carefully maintained within the same space, shared routines without lingering touches, quiet coexistence that didn’t ask for too much.

“Right,” Orm said at last, though it came out quieter than intended. “Back to normal.” A pause. Then, more honestly than she meant to be, “I’ll miss… this.”

Ling tilted her head slightly, already reading her too easily.

“This?”

Orm hesitated, then exhaled a small, defeated breath. “You know. You being… like this.”

Ling’s expression softened at once, something gentler slipping through the lingering exhaustion in her eyes. She shifted closer without thinking, her hand finding Orm’s as if it had always belonged there.

“I’ll miss it too,” she admitted quietly. “Being allowed to be like this.” A pause, then a small, almost embarrassed smile. “But I’ll also be glad to stop feeling so… helpless.”

Her thumb brushed lightly against Orm’s knuckles.

“Even if I think I liked having you take care of me more than I should have.”

"I didn't mind it," Orm said quickly, perhaps too quickly. "It was... nice. In a way."

"Nice?" Ling asked, her eyebrows raised in amusement. "Nice to have a girlfriend who followed you into the bathroom and cried when you went to the kitchen?"

"Okay, maybe not nice," Orm conceded with a laugh. "But... different. It was nice to feel needed."

"You always feel needed," Ling countered, her fingers lacing through Orm's. "You just don't always let yourself feel it."

Orm considered this, struck by the truth of it. She was so used to being the self-sufficient one, the capable one, that she rarely allowed herself to need or be needed in any obvious way. "Maybe," she conceded. "But it was different with you. Softer. More... open."

Ling's expression shifted, the amusement giving way to something deeper, more vulnerable. "I'm always open with you," she said quietly. "Even when I don't seem like it."

"I know," Orm replied, her thumb stroking the back of Ling's hand. "But this was different. This was... unfiltered. No barriers. No defenses."

"Is that what you liked?" Ling asked, her voice soft. "The lack of barriers?"

"I think so," Orm admitted, surprised by her own honesty. "It felt... real. More real than our usual interactions, sometimes."

Ling considered this, her gaze drifting toward the window before returning to Orm's face. "Maybe that's what illness does," she suggested. "It strips away all the pretense, all the performance. It leaves just... the essential parts of us."

"The essential parts," Orm repeated, testing the words. "I like that. The essential Ling."

Ling smiled, a genuine, unguarded smile that Orm hadn't seen in days. "I like the essential Orm too," she replied, her fingers tightening around Orm's. "The one who burns instant noodles but tries anyway because someone she loves is sick."

"That's me," Orm laughed, leaning in to press a kiss to Ling's cheek. "The essential, culinary challenged Orm."

"The best kind of Orm," Ling murmured, her lips already seeking out Orm's again. "The one I love."

Orm met her halfway, her lips brushing against Ling's in a soft, lingering kiss that felt both familiar and new. There was no hesitation this time, no internal debate about boundaries or consequences. Just the simple, undeniable pleasure of being close to the person she loved, the person she had cared for through sickness and was now seeing return to health.

"You're going to get sick again," Orm murmured against her lips, even as she deepened the kiss.

"You're worth it," Ling replied, her arms already wrapping around Orm's shoulders, pulling her closer. "Don't say that like you're in a movie."

"I love you," Ling insisted, her eyes serious now. "I needed to say it. Properly. Without fever delirium as an excuse."

"I know," Orm replied, her heart aching with affection. "I love you too."

"Again," Ling demanded, her lips already seeking out Orm's again.

"Ling" Orm protested, even as she felt herself melting into the kiss.

"Again," Ling insisted, her fingers tangling in Orm's hair, holding her in place. "Say it again."

"I love you," Orm whispered against her lips, surrendering completely to the moment, to the essential parts of them that illness had revealed and affection had strengthened. "I love you, I love you, I love you."

Ling smiled against her lips, a triumphant, satisfied smile that suggested she had won this battle of affection, this war of wills that had been waged over the past few days. And as Orm surrendered completely, she found herself not minding the defeat at all.

Three days later, karma came for Orm. It arrived not with a dramatic thunderclap or a sudden realization, but with a scratchy throat and a dull headache that worsened throughout the morning. By afternoon, she was curled on the couch, shivering despite the warmth of the blanket Ling had draped over her, her body aching with a familiarity that was both annoying and inevitable.

"You gave me your sickness," Orm accused, her voice raspy as Ling entered the living room with a glass of water and a thermometer.

"You kissed me," Ling replied, her expression entirely too innocent for someone who had deliberately and systematically broken down all of Orm's defenses over the past week.

"You infected me," Orm insisted, accepting the water with a glare that lacked its usual force.

"You kissed me," Ling repeated, placing the back of her hand against Orm's forehead. "You have a fever."

"You could have stopped me," Orm grumbled, already feeling the familiar wave of exhaustion that had characterized Ling's illness.

"You looked sad," Ling countered, her lips already twitching with suppressed amusement. "I can't resist when you look sad."

"You are weak," Orm accused, though her heart wasn't in it. She was too tired, too sick to maintain any real indignation.

"I am in love," Ling corrected, her expression softening as she brushed a stray strand of hair from Orm's face. "There's a difference."

Orm narrowed her eyes, trying to muster the energy to be truly offended. "You did this on purpose."

"I did not," Ling replied, her expression one of perfect innocence. A pause. Another pause. A tiny smile. "Maybe a little."

Orm sighed, already knowing how this would play out. The roles were reversed now, the caretaker becoming the patient, the needy one becoming the self sufficient one. And as much as she had complained about Ling's clinginess, as much as she had resisted her constant need for physical contact, Orm found herself expecting the same treatment now. She expected soup. She expected warm blankets. She expected cuddles. She expected at least a day of being spoiled, of being doted on the way she had doted on Ling for the past week.

Instead, Ling placed the glass of water on the coffee table within easy reach, set the thermometer beside it, and arranged the blanket around Orm's shoulders with clinical precision. Then she said the words Orm had been dreading

"Okay. Rest well."

And started walking away.

Orm was horrified. "Wait."

Ling turned at the entrance to the hallway, her expression perfectly neutral. "Yes?"

"Where are you going?" Orm asked, trying to keep the panic out of her voice.

"To work," Ling replied, as if this were the most normal thing in the world. "I have meetings."

"YOU WERE CLINGY FOR THREE DAYS," Orm reminded her, her voice rising with indignation. "YOU FOLLOWED ME INTO THE KITCHEN."

"I know," Ling acknowledged, her expression still neutral.

"YOU CRIED BECAUSE I WENT TO THE BATHROOM," Orm continued, her voice growing louder. "YOU SAID YOU MISSED ME AFTER THREE MINUTES."

Ling looked thoughtful, as if genuinely considering these accusations. Then a slow smile spread across her face. "Correct."

"SO?" Orm demanded, her frustration mounting. "You're just going to leave me here? Sick and alone?"

Ling opened her arms, a gesture that was both inviting and challenging. A beat. Two.

The realization hit Orm with the force of a physical blow. "You want me to ask."

A smile. "Maybe."

"You're evil," Orm accused, though her heart was already beginning to race with anticipation.

"You love me," Ling countered, her arms still open.

"Unfortunately," Orm conceded, already feeling herself weakening under the weight of her own need, her own desire for the comfort and affection she had so freely given over the past week.

Orm opened her arms, a silent invitation that was both surrender and victory. "Come here."

Ling immediately crossed the room, climbing back onto the couch without hesitation, without dignity, without pretending. Her face buried into Orm's neck, her body curling around Orm's with the same possessive neediness that Orm had complained about just days ago.

"I'm sick," Orm murmured, her arms wrapping around Ling's shoulders, pulling her closer.

"I know," Ling replied, her lips already seeking out Orm's neck. "I'm going to get sick again."

"I don't care," Orm insisted, her fingers tangling in Ling's hair, holding her in place. "You are impossible."

"I learned from the best," Ling countered, her teeth nipping gently at Orm's earlobe, sending a shiver down her spine that had nothing to do with fever.

Orm laughed despite her sore throat, despite the headache that was beginning to form behind her eyes. She wrapped her arms around Ling anyway, holding her close, surrendering completely to this reversal of roles, to this perfect, predictable karma.

And as Orm drifted off to sleep, Ling wrapped around her like a human blanket, she found herself not minding the defeat at all. In fact, she thought she might rather enjoy it.

The morning light was different again. This time, it wasn't the sharp angle of an unexpected late riser, but the muted, hazy quality of light filtered through a fever. Orm's throat felt like she'd swallowed sandpaper, and her head throbbed with a dull, persistent rhythm that matched her heartbeat. She was the one now, curled into a ball, shivering despite the two blankets piled on top of her.

And Ling was awake.

Of course, Ling was awake.

At 6:00 AM on the dot, Orm heard the familiar digital melody of Ling's alarm. She heard it being silenced, the soft padding of feet on the floor, the opening and closing of drawers. For a moment, a wave of panic washed over her. She was sick. Ling was better. This was it. This was the abandonment she had semi jokingly, semi seriously feared.

She squeezed her eyes shut, feigning sleep, listening to the sounds of Ling's morning routine. The bathroom door closing, the shower running, the faint sounds of someone getting ready for their day. Each sound was a nail in the coffin of her expectations. No soup. No doting. Just the cold, hard reality of a partner who had business to attend to.

The bedroom door creaked open. Orm held her breath, expecting to hear the front door close next. Instead, she heard the soft click of the bedroom door closing again. Then footsteps approached the bed.

A weight settled on the edge of the mattress. Orm risked opening one eye, just a slit.

Ling was sitting there, already dressed in work clothes, a crisp blouse and tailored trousers. She was holding a mug of coffee, looking perfectly professional and collected. The CEO version of herself had, indeed, returned. She was watching Orm with an expression that was difficult to read in the dim morning light.

"You're awake," Ling said, her voice quiet. It wasn't a question.

Orm didn't bother denying it. "My head feels like it's full of angry bees."

Ling took a sip of her coffee, her gaze unwavering. "I made an appointment with Dr. Chen for you at 10:30. I'll move my 11:00 meeting."

Orm stared at her. "You... what?"

"I also moved your 14:00 client call to tomorrow and emailed your team to let them know you're taking a sick day," Ling continued, as if discussing the weather. "I rescheduled your lunch with Sarah, but she said to send you her best and that she owes you a drink."

Orm was speechless. This was not the cold abandonment she had been bracing herself for. This was something else entirely. This was... competent care. This was the Ling she knew, the Ling who managed everything, now turned on her behalf.

"You didn't have to do that," Orm finally managed to say, her voice raspy.

"I know," Ling replied, taking another sip of coffee. "But you did it for me. And you're terrible at rescheduling things. You always double book yourself."

Orm couldn't argue with that. "Thank you."

"You're welcome," Ling said. She set her mug down on the nightstand. "I have to go in for a few hours, but I'll be back by lunch. I'll bring soup. Not your soup. Real soup."

A small smile touched Orm's lips despite her misery. "Hey. My soup was edible."

"It was," Ling conceded, leaning down to press a cool hand against Orm's forehead. "And it was made with love. Which is why I'm returning the favor." Her hand lingered for a moment before she stood up. "There's water and medicine on the table. Your phone is charging. Try to rest."

"Wait," Orm called out as Ling turned to leave. Ling paused, her hand on the doorknob. "Aren't you forgetting something?"

Ling looked back at her, a perfectly blank expression on her face. "Am I?"

"Aren't you going to be... clingy?" Orm asked, feeling a little ridiculous even as she said it. "Aren't you going to follow me to the bathroom and cry if I leave the room?"

A slow smile spread across Ling's face. It started in her eyes and gradually took over her entire expression, transforming her from the efficient CEO back into the woman Orm had spent the last week caring for. "Oh, that," she said, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "I was saving that for when I get back."

She walked back to the bed, leaning down until her face was just inches from Orm's. "Don't think for a second that you're getting out of this," she murmured, her breath warm against Orm's cheek. "I have three days of neediness to make up for. I'm going to be so clingy, you'll be begging me to go back to work."

Orm felt a ridiculous wave of relief wash over her. "Promise?"

"Absolutely," Ling confirmed, her lips brushing against Orm's forehead in a feather light kiss. "Now rest. You'll need your energy."

Orm watched her leave, listening as the front door opened and closed. The apartment was quiet again, but this time, it didn't feel empty. It felt like a temporary state, a brief interlude before the main event. She closed her eyes, a genuine smile on her face, and drifted back to sleep, dreaming of soup and blankets and a girlfriend who was, apparently, going to be the most annoyingly wonderful patient she could have ever wished for.

True to her word, Ling returned just after noon. The smell of pho preceded her, a fragrant, steaming cloud that promised healing and comfort. She found Orm on the couch, wrapped in a blanket, watching daytime television with the dazed expression of the truly ill.

"I'm back," Ling announced, setting a large takeout container on the coffee table. "And I brought reinforcements."

Orm eyed the container. "Is that from that place you love? The one with the line around the block?"

"The very same," Ling confirmed, already spooning broth into a bowl. "I figured you'd earned it, considering you almost burned the apartment down for me."

"That's romantic," Orm replied, her voice still raspy.

"It is," Ling agreed, handing her the bowl. "Now eat. Then we can commence Operation: Annoyingly Clingy Girlfriend."

Orm ate slowly, the warm broth soothing her sore throat and settling comfortably in her stomach. Ling watched her, already kicking off her heels and unbuttoning the top button of her blouse, a clear signal that the CEO was clocking out for the day.

"You know," Orm said between spoonfuls, "for a minute there, I thought you were actually going to be normal."

"I am normal," Ling countered, already shedding her blazer and draping it over a chair. "This is my normal now. I've discovered the benefits of neediness. It's very efficient."

"Efficient?" Orm asked with a laugh.

"Absolutely," Ling replied, already arranging herself on the couch beside Orm, mimicking the position Orm had held her in just days ago. "I get to be close to you. I get to be taken care of. And I get to make you feel guilty if you try to leave. It's a win-win situation"

"You're ridiculous," Orm murmured, setting her empty bowl aside and leaning into Ling's embrace.

"You love it," Ling countered, her arms wrapping around Orm's shoulders, pulling her close. "Now, where were we? Oh, yes. I believe you were going to the bathroom."

Orm laughed despite herself, the sound turning into a cough that rattled her chest. "I don't need to go."

"You will," Ling insisted, her tone mock serious. "And I will be right here, waiting. Counting the seconds. Missing you desperately."

"You're enjoying this way too much," Orm accused, though she made no move to escape Ling's embrace.

"I really, really am," Ling confirmed, her lips finding the sensitive spot behind Orm's ear. "Almost as much as I enjoyed watching you battle that rice cooker."

"That was a heroic struggle," Orm defended, her eyes already drifting closed. "I should get a medal."

"You should get a nap," Ling corrected, her voice softening. "And I should get to cuddle you while you nap."

"That seems fair," Orm conceded, already succumbing to the pull of sleep and the comfort of Ling's arms.

As she drifted off, she felt Ling press a soft kiss to her forehead. "Sleep now," Ling murmured. "I'll be right here when you wake up."

And she was.

For the rest of the day, and the day after that, Ling was exactly as she had promised, annoying, wonderful, and impossibly clingy in a way that made stillness feel strangely occupied.

Orm didn’t move much. She stayed where she was meant to stay, tucked into the couch or half-buried in blankets, her body wrapped in that heavy, unpleasant kind of fatigue that made even small actions feel like decisions she wasn’t willing to make.

Ling, on the other hand, moved constantly around her.

If Orm shifted slightly, Ling was there adjusting the blanket before she even finished the motion. If Orm reached for water, Ling was already handing it over, watching her with an attention that felt far too focused for something as simple as recovery.

At one point, Ling disappeared for less than a minute. Just long enough to step into the hallway and Orm found herself tracking the absence of her presence more than she cared to admit. Ling returned almost immediately, as if the distance itself had been personally offensive.

Bathroom trips were announced, monitored, and occasionally protested from the doorway. Any attempt from Orm to insist she was fine was met with a look that suggested Ling had no interest in negotiating with delusion.

And when there was nothing else to do, Ling simply stayed close, too close, always close, curled beside her with the quiet certainty of someone who had decided that recovery was not a solo activity.

Orm didn’t have the energy to argue with it. Not really.

And worse, she didn’t want to.

And Orm, to her own surprise, found that she didn’t mind at all. In fact, she thought she might rather enjoy it.

It should have felt ridiculous on how easily she had been worn down by a shared fever, how quickly her routines had bent around someone else’s presence. And yet there was nothing unpleasant about it. Not really.

Because this was their relationship, in its most unguarded form. No carefully measured boundaries, no practiced distance, no quiet insistence on independence that neither of them truly needed with each other. Only the simple, unspoken ease of being allowed to exist too close without having to justify it.

Only love. Quiet, inconvenient, and unexpectedly domestic.

And apparently, a shared flu that had stripped away whatever careful restraint they still pretended to have, leaving behind something softer. Something needier. Something that made absence feel more noticeable than presence ever had before.

Something that taught Orm, very gently, that she might already be more attached than she had ever admitted to herself.