His breath hitched. Looking down, he saw he was dressed in a loose-fitting women’s T-shirt—just long enough to cover his thighs. His pulse spiked.
Did she… change my clothes?
His grip on the sheets tightened as his pupils constricted. A burning heat spread across his face, crawling all the way to the tips of his ears.
From his angle, he could see into the kitchen. Clarissa’s slender figure moved fluidly as she washed the dishes, completely unaware of his inner turmoil.
Atticus swallowed hard. The sound of footsteps snapped him out of his thoughts.
Clarissa walked back in, a small packet of medicine in her hand. She took one look at him and immediately frowned.
"Your face is red again."
Before Atticus could react, she stepped closer, reaching out to touch his forehead.
Panicked, he jerked back. "What are you doing?!"
Clarissa froze, startled by his sudden outburst. His wide, dark eyes stared at her with a mixture of alarm and something else she couldn’t quite place.
"I was just checking your temperature," she said patiently. "Your face looks flushed again—are you sure your fever isn’t coming back?"
The second she said it, his face turned an even deeper shade of red.
Clarissa hesitated. Then, as worry kicked in, she turned away to grab her phone. "No, this isn’t normal. I’m calling for a ride. You need to go to the hospital—"
Before she could dial, a hand reached out and grabbed hers.
"I’m fine," Atticus said, his voice low but firm. "No hospital."
Clarissa turned back, surprised.
Atticus guided her hand toward him, pressing her palm gently against his forehead.
For a brief moment, their faces were close—too close.
Clarissa could see every fine detail of his face—the perfect symmetry of his features, the way his long lashes framed his deep, dark eyes. She could even count them.
Atticus wasn’t looking away, either. His fingers curled slightly around her wrist as he felt the coolness of her skin against his heated forehead.
Her hands were soft. Delicate. A stark contrast to his own.
It was hard to believe that someone who looked like a god could also be such a good cook.
Atticus glanced at Clarissa and asked slowly, "Is it still hot?"
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His voice pulled her back to reality. She blinked, a little embarrassed that she had been staring just now.
He was already so handsome at this age—what would he look like when he grew up?
Pushing the thought aside, Clarissa focused on checking his temperature again, this time with complete seriousness.
"It’s fine now," she said, exhaling a small sigh of relief as she pulled her hand back.
Atticus lowered his gaze slightly, his dark hair falling over his eyes, obscuring his expression. "Thanks for today. I owe you another favor."
Clarissa raised an eyebrow. "If you know you owe me a favor, maybe don’t act like such a jerk to me next time. That’ll be enough repayment."
She stood up and went to the balcony, grabbing the clothes that had dried overnight. Holding them out to him, she added, "Here—your clothes, washed and dried. I asked the security guard to change you. Do you want to change now, or take them back and do it later?"
Atticus froze. Clarissa tilted her head. "Atticus? Hello? You there?" It wasn’t until she called his name for the third time that he snapped out of his daze.
His hand shot out quickly, taking the clothes from her grasp. His voice was low, almost embarrassed. "I’ll do it myself."
Clarissa smirked slightly at his awkwardness. "Alright, I’ll wait outside."
As she moved to the kitchen, she carefully packed the supplements she had prepared for Clementine into a thermos. She planned to take them to the hospital later.
Behind her, she heard the bedroom door open.
Without turning around, she spoke. "I bought some medicine for you. It’s on the table. Make sure to take it a few more times. And if you start feeling worse, don’t be stubborn—go to the hospital."
She heard the rustling of fabric, then the soft click of the door closing.
When she finally turned back, Atticus was gone. On the table, a few banknotes were pinned beneath a cup.
Clarissa stared at them. Walking into the bedroom, she saw that the mattress had been neatly folded, and his borrowed clothes were stacked perfectly on top.
She sat down on the bed, feeling oddly conflicted. Atticus was… different from what she had imagined.
Had she mistaken him for someone else? Was this really that Atticus? Or was it just someone with the same name?
Clarissa mulled it over for a while but found no answers. Frustrated, she decided to stop thinking about it. Gathering the thermos, she rushed off to the hospital.
Clementine looked much better after a full night of rest and medication.
The moment she saw Clarissa, she tried to sit up, but Clarissa immediately stopped her.
"Lie down," she scolded gently. "The doctor said you need more rest. I made some tonic for you—have some while it’s warm."
Clementine took a sip of the broth, and suddenly, tears streamed down her face.
Clarissa’s eyes widened. "What’s wrong? Does it taste bad?"
Clementine quickly shook her head. "No… It’s just… I’m so happy. I never thought I’d get to drink something my own daughter made for me. Even if I were to die right now—"
"Don’t talk about dying," Clarissa cut her off immediately, her tone firm. She softened her voice. "I’m here to take care of you. The doctor said all you need is rest, and you’ll be fine. You’re going to live a long life."
Clementine wiped her tears, nodding, but her emotions still overwhelmed her.
Clarissa let her finish the broth, then stepped out of the room to check with the doctor. "Doctor, how is my mother?"
"She’s recovering well," the doctor reassured her. "She should be fine, but she needs to avoid heavy work. Most importantly, she must not overwork herself, stay up late, or go through any intense emotional stress."
"Understood," Clarissa said with a nod. She returned to the ward, sitting beside Clementine as she helped her take her medicine.
"Mom, I’m going to take some clothes home to wash," she said.
Clementine looked at her hesitantly. "Clarissa… I feel much better now. Why don’t we go home and rest?"
Clarissa hesitated for a moment. After thinking it over, she realized it would be better for her mother to rest at home—this way, she could take care of her more easily.
"I’ll go ask the doctor," she said.
After confirming with the doctor that Clementine could safely be discharged after another night of observation, Clarissa returned to the ward.
"Mom, you can stay one more night, and I’ll pick you up tomorrow."
Clementine’s face brightened immediately.