Chapter 117: When The Snow Starts, We’ll Go To X Country...
My fingers slide from his shoulder to his neck, tracing the scars lightly, barely grazing his skin, as though I’m afraid of hurting him.
"Silas..."
His breath hitches slightly, but he doesn’t move.
My voice is soft, almost swallowed by the rhythm of the rain.
"What are these scars on your neck?"
For a long moment, he doesn’t move.
He simply lies there in the circle of my arms—still and silent beneath the blanket, his breath warm and uneven against my chest. The only sounds are the whisper of rain against the glass wall, the distant hum of the house settling into the night, and the steady rhythm of my own heartbeat.
I don’t rush him. I don’t pull away.
I just wait.
My fingers remain against his neck, tracing the edges of those deep purple scars with a gentleness that feels unfamiliar.
"You don’t have to answer right away." My voice is low, careful, as though speaking too loudly might shatter the fragile quiet surrounding us.
"I’m just... worried."
My thumb brushes lightly over one of the marks.
"These scars look painful." I pause, searching for the right words. "I want to know why you’re putting yourself through this."
The words hang in the air between us, suspended in the dim golden light. I can feel the weight of them, the way they settle into the space we share.
For a moment, there is nothing.
Just the sound of his breathing. The faint rustle of sheets. Then, slowly, he lifts his head from my chest.
His eyes find mine.
They’re half-lidded—not with sleep, but with something heavier. Exhaustion. His gaze is hazy, unfocused, yet beneath it lingers something else.
Guilt. Fear. Maybe both.
He sits up carefully, the blanket pooling around his waist and slipping from his shoulders. Then he reaches for the notebook and pencil on the bedside table.
Every movement seems to cost him. I watch him, a knot tightening in my chest.
I shouldn’t have asked.
Not now. Not when he’s like this.
But I need to know.
The pencil scratches softly across the paper. His fingers tremble around it, the words coming slowly, as though each one takes effort. When he’s finished, he tears off the page and hands it to me.
I take it gently and lower my gaze.
Crystal Country’s winter is too strong for an outsider. Too harsh for someone like me. Even before the snow falls, the cold is unbearable.
I read the words slowly. They settle in my chest like stones.
Silas lowers his gaze and writes another note.
I come from a warm place. X Country’s winters are gentle. My body isn’t built for this. My stamina is weak. I can barely handle the rain. That’s why...
His hand pauses above the page. For a moment, he hesitates. Then he continues writing.
I started taking injections. To build my resistance. So I could endure the cold before the snow starts.
I read the last line again.
Injections.
My eyes drop to the scars on his neck. The deep purple marks. The bruises. The needle scars.
He’s been injecting himself—alone, in secret, suffering through it without telling anyone.
Just to survive a winter.
Just to stay here.
I look at him.
His head is lowered, his hair falling across his forehead. His cheeks are still flushed with fever, his face pale beneath the warmth burning through him.
He looks exhausted. Fragile.
My voice comes out quieter than I intended. "Why didn’t you tell me?"
He doesn’t lift his head. His fingers move across the page again, slow and careful.
I didn’t want to worry you. If I told you, you might send me back to X Country. And I don’t want to leave you.
The words are simple. Honest.
He wasn’t afraid of the injections. He was afraid of being sent away.
I set the note aside. My hands rise, cupping his face, tilting it gently until he has no choice but to meet my eyes. His skin is hot beneath my palms. His breath catches in his throat.
"Why would I send you back?"
The question hangs between us. I don’t raise my voice. I don’t need to.
"I told you before. I don’t want to be apart from you. I don’t even want to think about it."
His lips part slightly. Trembling. I brush my thumb across his fever-warm cheek.
"You should have told me. If you were suffering like this..." My voice lowers. "I should have known."
His gaze drops again. He bites his lower lip, nervous and ashamed. Like he’s done something wrong. When all he wanted was to stay by my side.
I lean forward until my forehead rests against his. The heat of his skin seeps into mine.
"Promise me." My voice is quiet. "From now on, you won’t hide anything from me."
He looks up slowly, his eyes meeting mine. A long pause. Then, almost imperceptibly, he nods.
I let out a breath I didn’t realize I was holding.
"And stop using those injections." My voice is quiet, but firm. Unwavering. "I won’t let you hurt yourself like that. Not for me. Not for anything."
He pulls back slightly, his expression shifting. He reaches for the notebook again and writes, his hand moving with renewed urgency.
If I stop, I won’t be able to bear the snow. And I don’t want to go back to X Country. I don’t want to be apart from you.
I stare at the words. Desperate. Honest. Completely unguarded.
I cup his face again, drawing him closer until there is no space left between us.
"Then we’ll go together."
The words leave me before I can think about them. But they feel right.
His eyes widen—like he’s heard something impossible, something too beautiful to trust.
I lean forward and press a gentle kiss to his lips. "When the snow starts, we’ll go to X Country."
Another kiss, softer this time, lingering at the corner of his mouth.
"Both of us."
His breath catches.
"Just promise me. No more injections."
I pull back just enough to meet his gaze.
"Do you understand?"
He nods. Slowly at first—then faster, as the weight of my words sinks in. A smile breaks across his face, bright and unguarded, chasing away the shadows that had settled there.
The notebook slips from his hands. The pencil follows, rolling across the sheets.
And then his arms are around me.
He throws himself forward, pulling me down with him, burying his face against my chest. His smile is so wide I can feel it through the fabric of my shirt.
I fall back against the pillows, his weight pressing me into the mattress. His face is lit up, his fever forgotten, his exhaustion pushed aside by something brighter.
He hugs me tightly. Like I’ve given him something precious.
I pull the blanket over us and wrap my arms around him. He’s still warm. Still feverish. But he’s smiling. A real smile. The kind that reaches his eyes.
For a long moment, I just hold him there, listening to the rain against the glass and feeling the steady beat of his heart against my chest.
And somehow—
That feels like enough.
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