The Male Lead’s Sickly Aide is My Type - Chapter 93.2

Schedule: Tue and Sat. Nana's ko-fi, Nabi's kofi.

Chapter 93.2

The new form of address had begun. As expected, it felt new and different. She’d make him call her by her name someday.

Lost in thought, she was brought back to reality by his earnest gaze.

“What?”

“Aren’t you hungry?”

“Not really… Oh.”

Carinne stopped mid-sentence.

Archen hadn’t asked because he was curious about her hunger. It was a rhetorical question. She had eaten a hearty brunch before the meeting. Archen, however, hadn’t eaten anything since waking up.

They had done so much without him eating anything; he must be starving.

“Shall we go to the dining hall?”

His eyes sparkled as he nodded. They dressed and headed downstairs to the dining hall. One hungry, one observing.

The meal ended quickly.

Back in their room, they spent the evening idly playing around. Poking each other’s sides, tracing fingers across faces, then their lips meeting, exchanging shy whispers.

When they were tired of whispering, they’d playfully wrestle each other onto the bed and tickle each other’s backs and stomachs. They’d laugh hysterically under the covers, and when they came to their senses, someone would be whispering sweet nothings in their ear.

They found themselves kissing as if drawn together by an unseen force. As the night deepened, even sweet moments had to end.

Sleepiness overtook Carinne, and she rested her head on Archen’s arm.

He pulled the covers up to her neck and embraced her. They fell asleep at the same time, wrapped in each other’s arms, as one.

* * *

In the dead of night, a sharp, stabbing pain in his chest jolted Archen awake. The illness had returned after a brief respite.

Amidst the dizziness, stars flashed before his eyes.

A giant’s hand seemed to be squeezing his heart. Magic was rapidly draining from his body. He had to find the medicine before it was too late. He had to take the medicine and ease the pain before his condition worsened.

Archen carefully sat up, trying not to wake Carinne.

Nonetheless, the darkness made it impossible to distinguish the walls from the floor. He nearly tripped twice and stumbled into the wall three times before he managed to find the medicine vial hidden in his coat pocket and make his way to the hallway.

Fear of waking Carinne prevented him from lighting a lamp. He stubbed his toe on the doorframe but couldn’t even make a small sound.

He limped out of the room, his foot throbbing.

Leaning against the wall across from the door, the pain in his chest became so intense he could barely breathe. It felt as though a red-hot poker was searing his flesh.

Unable to scream or cry out for help, his only hope was the painkillers. His hands slipped as he tried to open the vial. Every time he exerted force, a stabbing pain shot through his chest. He gritted his teeth and wrestled silently with the bottle.

Finally, it opened with a click.

One, two, three, four.

Counting the pills, he quickly swallowed them.

As he waited for the pain to subside, a thousand thoughts raced through his mind. How long could he live like this? Despite his efforts to hide it, the illness would return, whether Carinne was present or not. Soon, she would learn the truth.

If she found out, how much should he confess?

And even if she didn’t, how could he possibly end things? None of these questions had answers. Unable to see the future, he felt like a small, leaky boat adrift on a vast ocean.

A boat that could sink at any moment, yet couldn’t because someone else was on board. The boat drifted helplessly, tossed by the waves, unable to move forward or back. At least the boat was alright. It knew its fate. But what about the passenger?

She believed the boat would stay afloat with her for a long time.

Guilt filled his heart, but only for a moment.

The illness didn’t allow him the luxury of guilt. A sudden surge of agony made him clutch his chest and groan. A faint, choked sound escaped his throat.

He covered his mouth, desperately stifling the scream that threatened to erupt. He should be feeling relief by now. The medicine should have taken effect, though the unrelenting pain meant only one thing.

The thing he had dreaded since before the Ashite Flower Festival, the thing he had desperately tried to avoid, even at the cost of his own life. The thing he had prayed every night to be spared from after confessing his feelings to Carinne. It had finally come for him.