“Come here, sweetheart,” I said gently — forcing myself to sit upright despite the wave of dizziness that followed.
He walked inside quietly.
Barefoot.
Careful.
He stopped a few feet from the bed and looked at me closely.
His hands lifted.
“You’re not fine?” he signed — movements small but urgent.
I met his eyes.
Honest.
“No,” I admitted. “I’m not.”
His shoulders stiffened.
“What can I do?” he signed quickly. “Should I boil warm water? Bring tea? Medicine?”
My lips curved into a small smile — real but tired.
“No, baby.”
I shook my head. “I just need rest.”
I reached for his hand gently.
“I’ll be okay. Promise.”
He studied my face for a few seconds — like he was measuring whether I was telling the truth.
Then he sighed.
Small.
Resigned. “Okay.”
His hands moved again.
“I’ll give you space.”
A beat.
“I’ll check on you later.”
My chest tightened at how mature he sounded.
How protective.
“Aww...” I whispered softly. “You’re too sweet, Yannis.”
I reached forward and ruffled his hair gently.
He leaned into my touch for a brief second — allowing comfort.
