Page 68 of He Should Be Mine

So I settle back. I watch and I observe. And I feast on it all.

He doesn’t hover nervously or pace the room like a bad TV dad. He moves through the apartment with quiet efficiency, like taking care of me is something he’s done a thousand times. Like it’s just part of the day. Like I’m not an inconvenience.

My throat is a ruined thing, so I don’t speak. But Dario doesn’t ask questions I can’t answer. He doesn’t poke at the silence. He just checks the clock, brings me water, keeps the meds on schedule with the kind of calm that feels dangerous. Because it’s careful. Because it’s kind.

The first time I try to sit up for more than five minutes, I end up coughing so hard my whole chest spasms. It wracks through me like thunder. My ribs scream. I taste blood. I double over, shaking, eyes blurring with tears.

I try to hide it, of course I do, but Dario’s there before I can even flinch away. He sits beside me, one strong arm bracing me upright while the other holds a tissue to my mouth. He doesn’t say anything when I cry. Doesn’t tellme to calm down or breathe slower. Just rubs slow circles on my back and lets me get through it.

I’m trembling when the coughing fades. My face is a mess of tears and spit and shame. I try to turn away, but Dario won’t let me fold in on myself. He takes the tissue, wipes my cheeks gently, and tucks the blanket tighter around me.

“You’re alright,” he says quietly, like a vow. “You’re alright now.”

And for a moment, I almost believe it.

It’s the little things that undo me. The way he brings me tea, exactly how I like it, milky and sweet, the way I usually only make it for myself when I’m sad and alone. The way he reads the label on the antibiotic syrup twice and measures it out with steady hands. The way he leaves the TV on low, tuned to one of those cozy cooking shows, like he knows the silence gets to me if he steps out of the room.

I don’t think he even realizes he’s doing it. He just does.

He never asks me how I’m feeling. He doesn’t make me perform strength or gratitude. He just acts like this is normal. Like I deserve it.

It’s unbearable.

No one has ever taken care of me like this. Not without asking for something in return. Not without reminding me what I owe.

Dario just… looks at me like I’m someone worth staying for.

I wish I could joke it off. Say something ridiculous, toss my hair, call him Duckling and make him roll his eyes. But I don’t have the energy for armor. All I have is this fragile ache in my chest that’s getting harder to ignore.

Because the truth is, it’s not the pain or the fever or the bruises that scare me.

It’s this. Being cared for like I matter. Being seen without the mask.

And feeling desperately, oh so desperately, that I want it to last.

Sleep claims me for a little while and when I wake up, Dario’s in the kitchen again, quietly fussing with something, tea, maybe. Or soup. Or just keeping his hands busy while I lie here, bundled in this blanket like something fragile and shrinking.

The sofa creaks when I shift. The blanket itches faintly against my cheek. The TV murmurs in the background, but I’m not watching. I’m just… here. Staring at the ceiling, heart thudding slow and heavy in my chest.

And it hits me.

It doesn’t creep in like a slow dawning, it crashes. Like a fever breaking. Like a window slamming open in a storm. I’m falling for him. God help me, I’m falling for Dario.

My whole body goes still.

The realization is so sharp it steals my breath more effectively than the cough. I’m not used to this kind of feeling. Wanting someone like this, not just their touch or their praise or their attention. Wanting their care. Their quiet. Their goodness.

And Dario is good. He’s not soft, not even close, but there’s something honest in the way he looks at me. Solid. Earnest. Like if I asked him for something, really asked, he’d give it without hesitation.

I remember the hospital. The moment they let him in. I was barely awake, throat a mess, world swimming… and then I saw him.

He didn’t say anything poetic. Didn’t touch me. Just stood in the doorway, and I felt something in my chest unlock. The relief was so intense it hurt.

I thought,you came.And now I think,You always do.

I close my eyes and press the heel of my hand over my heart like I can stop this thing from blooming any further. Because I know how this ends.

I start listing the reasons. Quietly. A litany, a shield.