"Sleep. I'll be right here when you wake up. I'm not going anywhere."
The oppressive heat of Nate’s fever does little to ease the shivers rippling through his body. He is only vaguely aware of Rosa leaning in, her presence marked by the sweet, floral scent of her perfume cutting through the sterile scent of the hospital and the mattress of the worn bed dipping slightly at his side. As she presses a cool, damp cloth gently against his burning forehead, the immediate relief sends a wave of comfort washing over him.
Nate manages to crack his heavy eyelids open, his vision swimming into focus. Rosa looks down at him, beautiful as always, with the halo of hospital light behind her head making her appear ethereal. An unfamiliar furrow is etched between her eyebrows.
"You’re awake… thank the gods," she murmurs, her voice a soft yet steady anchor amidst the dizzying fog of his fever. She rinses a washcloth in a bowl of cool water on the bedside table, wrings it out, and carefully dabs at Nate’s flushed temple.
The tenderness of her gesture twists something sharp and aching in Nate’s chest. Being on the receiving end of this painfully domestic care—the gentle touch, the quiet concern—only makes the unrequited ache thrum louder in his ribcage.
“Oye, I’ve never been better,” he rasps with a hint of humor, and there’s some truth in it as he involuntarily leans into her soothing touch.
"Yeah, you look fantastic with your chest nearly carved out by a Haxorus," she replies sharply, her tone uncharacteristic of her, though her eyes soften with fond exasperation. Now that's a look he knows well.
He wants to ask if they managed to catch the shiny Haxorus that had put him in this hospital bed, but his words catch in his throat as Rosa gently cups his face. The warmth of her touch against his skin makes the hospital surroundings fade into the background. Arceus, he’s so gone…
Her hand moves down to his neck to check for warmth. "The doctor was able to patch your wounds up, but you need to rest. I’m keeping an eye on your fever."
Nate's heart flip-flops in his chest. He knows Rosa doesn’t have to do this; it’s not like the hospital is short on nurses, so why—
As the heat of his fever clouds his mind once more, he exhales shakily and closes his eyes, surrendering to the exhaustion that threatens to pull him under. Rosa’s sweet voice lulls him, her gentle fingers brushing through his hair with a care he knows he doesn’t deserve.
"Sleep. I'll be right here when you wake up. I'm not going anywhere."
It’s a promise that echoes his own to her on her own hospital bed years ago, and the realization stings deeper than any physical pain he feels. It’s a cruel kind of torture, having the one person he’s ever wanted so agonizingly close and yet still impossibly out of reach. He knows they can't ever be together, even on the slim chance that his affections aren't unrequited, but it all feels so unfair.
How is he supposed to stop loving her when she treats him like this?
