I Start with a Bad Hand!

“Isn’t he an idiot…?”

I quietly thought to myself as I looked down at Icarus, neatly lying on the guest room bed. His labored breathing filled the room along with the crackling sound of the fireplace. As I wrung out the wet cloth tightly, I resisted the urge to grab the feverish Icarus by the collar.

“Of course you’d get a fever, standing out there in those thin clothes in the cold…”

Recalling the exasperating events of last night, I let out a sigh.

“Miss! At this hour of the night… and in that…!”

“August.”

“Y-Yes?”

“Prepare a room for His Highness.”

“Yes…”

The butler, who had witnessed Icarus and me covered in a fur coat that looked like it had been half-eaten by a bear, opened the door with a pale face.

Seeing Icarus, I realized that extreme cold exposure could make someone turn so red. Watching his flushed cheeks and neck, I wrapped a blanket around him, and Icarus silently accepted my touch.

“You arrived so suddenly… No. I apologize, the room isn’t properly prepared to accommodate ‘His Highness.'”

I carefully corrected my informal speech, guiding Icarus in the direction the butler hurriedly moved. Draped in a fluffy blanket, he lowered his head and asked,

“So, have you given up on the meal now?”

It seemed like quite a while since we entered the room, but his body still emanated cold. I pulled the blanket up again and whispered,

“You didn’t make any effort to look for food.”

“That’s a shame. I was quite entertained so far.”

When I opened the door to Dietrich’s former room, which had now become a guest room, the butler greeted us with a slightly disheveled smile. Luckily, it hadn’t been long since Irene stayed there, so the room was in decent condition. Sharing a secret glance of relief, I told August,

“Bring in some thick blankets and more firewood.”

“…It’s alright.”

Looking around the room, Icarus replied indifferently. The butler, who was about to leave quickly, hesitated and turned back at his words.

“I’m going to be the master of the North soon… There’s no need to make a fuss over a little cold like this.”

With an unfamiliar mature face and demeanor, Icarus spoke firmly to the butler. The butler, looking somewhat moved, nodded solemnly. Watching this, I looked at Icarus, filled with questions.

Withstanding the cold without an overcoat, claiming he didn’t need additional heating even in the rather chilly Heylem…

“Are royal people… really different?”

No, they weren’t.

Icarus, who had bravely told the butler not to worry and to stop bringing more firewood, didn’t show up in the dining room the next morning. After several knocks, I entered the room to find Icarus bedridden.

“Hey… what’s going on? Are you alright?”

Icarus, who was breathing heavily and unable to respond properly, didn’t fully come to his senses until the afternoon. I pulled a chair next to his side where he lay groaning with a wet cloth on his forehead and came to a conclusion.

‘No matter how you look at it, he’s really a bit foolish.’

I placed the soup I had brought with a clatter on the table next to the bed. His irregular breathing had somehow become steady. Where did that confidence come from, thinking he’d be fine in such extreme cold? Was it youthful arrogance?

“Ugh…”

“You’re awake? Eat some soup and take your medicine.”

His eyes, which had been closed, slowly opened. He looked at me with half-closed eyes, then turned over and lay on his side again. I stared at his broad back and asked,

“What are you doing? Come here so I can put the wet cloth on you.”

My voice, hoarse, echoed softly against the walls.

“…I don’t want to show you such an unsightly appearance.”

He gave such an absurd reason. I lightly laughed at his pointless attempt and replied,

“It’s too late for that. I’ve already seen everything.”

A mischievous smile played around his reddened eyes.

“The only thing that might impress you is my looks. If even that gets ruined, what will I do?”

Hmm…

However, among the many elements that made up Icarus, his appearance was of lower importance to me. To be honest, the name Icarus held more significance than his looks.

And this was tied to my lifelong preference.

‘No, he is handsome, but…’

While it’s true that Icarus meets the objective standards of beauty, my judgments always have a subjective component. His somewhat flashy features didn’t align with my preference for low-key, neat appearances. There was a reason I chose to follow a story where his brother was the main character…

‘I like people with a calm demeanor and a gentle appearance…’

So, while I didn’t deny he was handsome beyond my preferences, I couldn’t easily respond to Icarus’s statement. Moreover, it would be odd to suddenly discuss my personal taste, and evaluating someone’s looks to their face didn’t sit right with me.

Most importantly, if I said that, and Icarus asked, “Then what kind of person do you like?” I couldn’t possibly reply, “Your brother, minus the personality issues.”

After a long silence, I averted my gaze. Icarus’s face gradually hardened from its smiling expression, and feeling awkward, I lightly patted his shoulder.

“Come on, hurry up.”

Icarus looked back at me, clearly displeased.

“Ouch.”

Ouch?

I forgot my original intention to turn his body and took a step back.

“You’re all grown up and act like a child…”

“…I’m hurt.”

A faint, congested voice followed by intermittent coughs escaped him. Seeing that, I couldn’t help but sigh.

‘Yeah, what could I possibly say to someone who’s sick…?’

His forehead was hot when I touched it with the back of my hand. I had always felt that Heylem’s people were strangely resistant to colds despite the weather. Perhaps they had built up their immune systems, or those who hadn’t simply didn’t live to pass on their genes.

Regardless, the cold medicine here was pretty rudimentary. As I shook the concoction, which was more like tea than medicine, I looked at his still sulky face.

‘Though it’s better than nothing, judging by his condition, it doesn’t seem like it will help much.’

His face looked a bit slimmer than usual, softened by the fever rather than appearing sharp. Watching his slightly dazed, feverish face, I urged him to get up. As he moved sluggishly, I ended up muttering the words I’d been holding back.

“Idiot.”

“…What?”

My hand had grown warm from his transferred heat. As I tried to pull my hand away from his forehead, his hand loosely entangled with mine, pulling it back to his cheek, which was just as warm.

“…It feels cool.”

As he lightly pressed my hand to his forehead, the warmth spread up my fingertips. His reddened eyes were closed. Feeling the vibration of his murmured words, I waited until my hand felt lukewarm, matching the temperature of his cheek. I wondered why he was smiling so contentedly, despite his feverish face, and said,

“If you give me your cold, I’ll kick you out immediately.”

The smile faded. With a sulky face and a deliberately strained cough, Icarus spoke,

“…You’re so heartless. Even the jailer in prison wouldn’t be this cold.”

“Be quiet, you germ spreader.”

Whether he was too weak to respond, Icarus just moved his lips without a sound, then let out a groan. His cheek was already hotter than my hand again. I twisted my hand free from his loose grip. His hand, which hesitated for a moment, limply fell after getting lightly slapped.

I rubbed my hand on the marble windowsill to cool it down. Once my hand was cold enough, I carefully placed it on his forehead again. His body flinched slightly but soon relaxed with a satisfied, low chuckle.

“Get some sleep. I need to get back to work.”

“…If I fall asleep. Are you going to leave me alone and go back to work?”

Forcing his eyelids closed, I met his bright, red eyes. The whites were streaked with burst blood vessels. Glancing at that, I tapped the books and notebooks I had brought.

“I’m not going anywhere. Where would I go, leaving a sick person alone?”

“…Really?”

“Yes, really.”

I pulled the blanket up to his neck again.

“So, stay covered and get better soon.”

“…I’m hot.”

Icarus, pretending not to hear me, turned his head and muttered. His eyes, which had been blinking weakly, now seemed completely heavy-lidded. It looked like he would fall asleep soon if I stayed quiet, so I opened my book next to him. Watching this, Icarus soon closed his eyes.

Before long, the room was filled with the sound of his low, regular breathing. I quietly listened to it, then placed the back of my hand on his forehead. The heat was still there. I continued reading for a while, then impulsively muttered,

“…Thank you for yesterday.”

There was no response from Icarus, buried under the covers. Emboldened by his silence, I spoke a bit more.

“And for your feelings.”

I paused to choose my words. Though many thoughts came to mind, there was only one thing that needed to be said.

“But later on, when you meet many people and have many experiences, you’ll realize that the feelings you have now aren’t as special as they seem. What I’m saying is… well… even if it’s not me, you’ll eventually meet someone who will stay by your side. I always wanted to tell you that.”

With that, I closed my mouth. I looked down at his closed eyes, then turned my gaze back to my book.

I still dislike feelings that I can’t be responsible for. In a world where many have ruined their lives and others’ lives with a careless ‘as long as it’s good for now’ attitude, I, at least, didn’t want to do the same to someone else. And I certainly didn’t want to make him, who had likely been hurt by such irresponsibility for a long time, another victim of it.

Before long, the room was filled only with the sound of pages turning and the scratching of a pen. Then, a low voice emerged from the pile of blankets.

“…I’ll keep my distance.”

My hand stopped turning the page.

“So don’t push me away…”

Apart from his low, even breathing and occasional groans, no other sounds came from the blanket heap.

His muffled words were unclear; it was hard to tell if he said “don’t push me away” or “don’t hate me.” The context suggested the former, but it wasn’t certain. It was something said in his sleep, so I shouldn’t dwell on it… but somehow, I couldn’t focus on the text anymore.

Sliding off the chair I had been leaning on, I gazed at his peacefully closed eyes. His long eyelashes lay neatly below his red eyelids, as if woven with golden thread.

I quietly listened to his now steady breathing as I lay by the bedside. On the off chance, however slim, that he had meant “don’t hate me,” I had something important to say to him.

Knowing it was likely “don’t push me away,” I held onto the faint possibility and whispered softly, looking at his gently rising and falling chest, his calm lips, and his closed eyes.

“…I don’t hate you.”

By now, the book had long since lost my interest. Until his eyelashes, glimmering in the setting sun, reflected another light, I watched his sleeping face for a long time that day.