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I stumble through the front door, my body a lead weight near-dragging me to the floor. The world tilts and sways, fever burning through my veins. One thought pierces the fog clouding my mind: Natalia.

Leaning heavily against the wall, I close my eyes and try to steady my ragged breathing. The cool surface is a balm against my flushed skin. I should go to her. No, I can't let her see me like this. It will only make her afraid of me. She’ll put those walls back straight up and I can’t afford to let that happen after how I left her, breathless and panting for more.

She was the only reason I tried to put an end to this mess as fast as I could. I fought harder than I should have, only to come back to her. It’s been two nights away now, and I fear she might have questions I don’t want to answer.

The battle rages in my head as I picture her face in front of mine, her gentle hands reaching out…

I shake my head, immediately regretting the motion as pain lances through my skull. "Dammit," I mutter, running a hand over my face. My fingers come away sticky with blood. Great.

The logical part of my brain screams at me to retreat to my room, to hide the violence I’ve wrought. I should wash up, change my clothes, and get some rest. But god, how I wish I could seek the comfort of her arms instead. When did I become so pathetically obsessed?

I push off the wall, swaying slightly. "Get it together, Zolotov," I growl to myself. A few deep breaths, and I manage to take a shaky step forward. Then another.

My body screams in protest, but I grit my teeth against the pain. I've endured far worse. This is nothing. Just a few cuts and bruises.

And a raging fucking fever—one I wish Natalia could help me through. It terrifies me how much I crave her gentle touch, her soothing presence.

I pause near a shelf, leaning against the wall as another wave of dizziness washes over me. I can’t make it to my room. I need a couch, now.

As I round the corner into the living room, my breath catches in my throat. There she is, curves accentuated by the oversized sweater she wears, bathed in the soft glow of a single lamp. Her eyes, wide with concern, lock onto mine. She gasps and rises with fear-filled eyes, her book falling to the ground.

"Denis?" Her voice is barely above a whisper, but it fills the room.

I try to straighten, to project an air of nonchalance, but my body betrays me. A wince escapes before I can stop it. "It's nothing, Nat. Just a long night."

"Don't you dare lie to me, Denis Zolotov," she says, her tone brooking no argument. “It’s been two nights since you left.”

“You’ve been counting?” I ask with a pained smile as she approaches me with hurried steps, and I find myself rooted to the spot.

“I’ve been waiting,” she says, softly. “Not to mention worried sick.”

Her small hands reach out, gentle yet insistent as they ghost over my injuries. "You're hurt," she states, her voice a mix of anger and concern.

"I'm fine," I protest weakly, even as I lean into her touch. "You shouldn't worry about me."

Natalia's eyes flash. "Shouldn't I? Who else will, if not me?" she asks simply, her breaths coming out in quick, rapid, panicked bursts.

"I’ll manage, Nat," I try to say I can handle this, but she's already guiding me upstairs to my bed, her touch impossibly tender despite her obvious frustration.

"Sit," she commands once we reach upstairs, and I find myself obeying without thought. "You're going to let me help you, Denis. No arguments."

I want to resist, to maintain some semblance of control, but the warmth of her presence is too alluring. As she bustles about, gathering supplies, I realize that I already feel better.

I sink into the plush pillows on the bed, my body betraying me as it yields to Natalia's care. Her touch is a soothing balm against my fevered skin, and I find myself relaxing despite my best efforts to try to manage this myself. The truth is, her caring for me makes it all much better.

"You're burning up," Natalia mutters, her brow furrowed as she presses a cool cloth to my forehead. "What were you thinking, coming home in this state?"

I manage a weak chuckle. "I was thinking of you, actually. I hurried right back."

Her eyes soften for a moment before narrowing again. "Don't try to charm your way out of this, Denis. You're in trouble."

"Am I now?" I ask, a small smile tugging at my lips despite the pain coursing through my body.

Natalia's hands are gentle as she tends to a particularly nasty gash on my arm. "You bet you are. What if something had happened to you out there? What if—" Her voice catches, and I feel a pang in my chest that has nothing to do with my injuries.

"Hey," I say softly, reaching out to tuck a stray curl behind her ear. "I'm here now. I'm okay."

She huffs, but I can see the worry on her face. "You're not okay, you big idiot. But you will be, because I'm going to make sure of it."

Natalia's fingers dance across my skin, carefully applying antiseptic to each cut and scrape. I wince at the sting, but her touch is so tender that I crave it more. Her brow furrows in concentration, her lips pursed in a way that's both adorable and oddly alluring.

"You're staring," she murmurs, not looking up from her task.

I clear my throat, caught off guard. "Am I?"

She glances at me, a mischievous glint in her eyes. "You are. See something you like, Mr. Zolotov?"

It’s the same thing I asked her while we waited for the car after the charity event. Her teasing tone sends me back to that night and all that happened when we got home. "Just admiring your handiwork," I deflect, but even I can hear the softness in my voice.

"Mhmm," she hums, clearly unconvinced. "Well, your handiwork is going to leave some nasty bruises."

I watch as she gently wraps a bandage around my forearm, her fingers brushing against my skin. The intimacy of the moment isn't lost on me, and I find myself struggling to maintain my usual composure.

"I'm not used to this," I admit quietly.

Natalia pauses, looking up at me. "Used to what?"

I gesture vaguely between us. "This. Being… cared for."

Her expression softens, and she places a hand on my cheek. The gentleness of her touch nearly undoes me. "Well, get used to it, because I'm not going anywhere."

In that moment, I realize how truly vulnerable I've allowed myself to become with her. It's terrifying and exhilarating all at once, and I find myself leaning into her touch.

A rare sense of peace washes over me as Natalia finishes up. She hands me a painkiller and I swallow it down with some water. I watch her gather the first aid supplies and put them away, before heading for the door out. The words tumble from my lips before I can stop them.

"Stay with me?" My voice comes out softer than I intended, almost hesitant. I hold my breath, suddenly afraid she might refuse.

Natalia pauses and turns, her eyes meeting mine. For a moment, I see surprise flicker across her face, quickly replaced by something warmer. She walks back to me, her hand coming to rest on my arm.

"Of course I'll stay," she says, her voice gentle. Her touch lingers, sending a pleasant shiver through me. "Someone needs to make sure you don't get into any more trouble tonight."

Relief floods through me, so intense it's almost dizzying. I feel a surge of gratitude, an emotion I rarely allow myself to experience. "Thank you," I murmur, covering her hand with mine.

Natalia's eyes soften further. "You don't need to thank me, Denis. I want to be here."

Her words wrap around me like a warm embrace, and I find myself smiling despite the pain still throbbing through my body.

Natalia settles beside me on the bed, her leg touches mine. The warmth of her body seeps into mine, and I feel the tension in my muscles begin to unwind.

"Are you comfortable?" she asks, her voice a gentle murmur in the quiet room.

“Mm-hmm,” I mumble, sleep slowly taking over. The scent of her hair—floral and sweet—wafts over me, and I find myself so at peace.

I find myself relaxing further into the pillows, my body heavy with exhaustion but my mind surprisingly at ease.

"Good night," I murmur, my eyes growing heavy. The steady rhythm of Natalia's breathing is lulling me toward sleep, a deep, peaceful slumber I haven't known in a long time.

As I drift off, I feel her small hand intertwine with mine. It's a gesture so simple, yet so profound. In this moment, with Natalia by my side, I feel something I thought I'd lost long ago—safe.

My breathing steadies, matching hers. The last thing I'm aware of before sleep claims me is the gentle pressure of her arm against mine, a constant reassurance in the quiet night.

I jolt awake a few hours later, my eyes snapping open in the darkness. For a moment, disorientation grips me, but then I feel a warm weight against my side. Natalia. My vision adjusts, and I see her silhouette outlined by the soft moonlight filtering through the curtains.

She's still here. I watch the gentle rise and fall of her chest, her face peaceful in sleep. Her blonde hair cascades over her shoulder, catching the silvery light.

“Thank god,” I whisper.

Natalia stirs slightly, mumbling something incoherent. I hold my breath, not wanting to wake her. But she simply snuggles closer, her curves fitting perfectly against me.

I allow myself a small smile and go right back to sleep.