That weekend, Mrs. Kim informed me that she, along with Mr. Kim and Hanbyul would be visiting their relatives in another part of Seoul. I asked whether Hanbin would be tagging along, and she told me at first, he would. However, since he is now having a fever (which shocked me because we literally had hot chocolates together just hours ago), he would not. “The long journey would probably drain him even more,” she said, and I nodded in understanding.

Mrs. Kim also told me that they would only return the next day.

“Can you check on Hanbin every once in a while?” Mrs. Kim asked as she stood next to the car. “That boy doesn’t know how to take care of himself.”

I mentally agreed to her statement, as I can see how careless the said boy is with his clothing. Perhaps that is why he is now under the weather.

“Sure, aunt. Don’t worry,” I smiled reassuringly to her. They left not too long after that, and I am now having the house all to myself. Not really, but since Hanbin is sick and he is still in his room despite how late it is already for a person to wake up from their sleep, it is basically the same thing.

It is three in the afternoon when I noticed that Hanbin is still in his room. I wonder if he is already awake. I put a bookmark on the page I am reading and close the book before I go upstairs, specifically to his room. I knock on the door, but no answer. I try again, only to be presented with the same result. Deciding that it would not hurt if I just went inside, I slowly turn the doorknob.

His room is dark that it is hard for me to trace anything. I let the door open to let the light from the hallway helps me inside. Walking very carefully in order not to make any unnecessary noise that could startle the sick boy, I finally see the figure on the king-sized bed that is all covered up with the thick duvet. I tiptoe to the other side of the bed, and turn on the bedside lamp that is placed on the small table beside his bed.

Hanbin’s pale face comes to my sight. A sudden vast of pity fills my heart upon seeing his face. So much for “I’m not bothered by the cold”, huh? I bit my lip. Absentmindedly, I reach out and place my palm on his forehead, and I am shocked once more once my hand makes contact with his burning hot skin. He stirs a little, probably senses the touch I have on him, but it does not wake him.

I pull my hand again as I wonder what to do next.

He needs to take the medicine—that is for sure. However, he needs to fill his stomach beforehand. But, first thing first…

I go to my room, grab a piece of cloth before I go downstairs to take a bowl from the kitchen. I fill the bowl with water before I return to his room. I dip the cloth into the water, rinse it, and place it onto his forehead. I pull the duvet closer to his body to ensure that he is warm enough, and he is deep asleep the whole time. I sigh. His mom is right; he really cannot take care of himself. I should have asked him to dress more warmly next time, if he were to stay out long like yesterday.

Turning off the bed lamp, I walk outside of the room to do the next thing on my To-Do list: feed the sick person.

“Hanbin, wake up,” I sit on the small space on the bed and softly shake his shoulder. He mumbles incoherent words that I could not make myself understand but shows no sign of waking up. I shake my head as I place my hand on his neck now and a sigh of relief escapes my mouth; his body is not as hot as before. Smiling, I shake him once more, and this time his eyes flutter open. Probably sensing something cold on his forehead, he struggles to find out what it is.

“I put that on you,” I say. “To help reducing the heat.”

Hearing that, he stops wailing and focuses his eyes on me instead. He looks terrible, which is so unlike him. I chuckle unknowingly at my thought.

“Hayi, I’m sick,” he mutters lowly. Even his voice is hoarse. “You should leave.”

I shake my head. “Nope. Not until you eat these,” I reply as my finger points to the food that I have prepared and set on the small table. He blinks in confusion. “You have to eat. Can you sit up?” I ask.

“I don’t have the appetite.”

“Not to be rude or anything, but I don’t care,” I retort. How could he say that when I had put myself in trouble just to cook for him? “Now, sit up. Eat, before I make you.”

“Is it just me…” he trails off. “Or are you just extra annoying today?” he asks in annoyance, but he still sits up anyway.

I smile in satisfaction as I ignore his question. I take the tray and put it on the empty space on the bed.

“What are those?” he asks, clearly not interested in what he is forced to do.

“Chicken porridge and chicken broth,” I answer patiently. I have had experiences of taking care of my younger siblings when they were sick, so I am used to this kind of bratty attitude. Since he shows no sign of movement, I urge him. “What are you waiting for? Eat,” I take the bowl of porridge and put it i