Chapter 7
The only sound in the room was the steady beeping of the monitor.
I pulled up a chair and sat by Julian's bedside.
He was still out cold, his brow furrowed, as if in pain.
I wrung out a damp towel and gently laid it across his forehead.
Then I dipped a cotton swab in water and moistened his parched lips.
As I watched him sleep, appearing so unguarded, my heart melted.
All that cocky, annoying vibe he usually had was nowhere to be seen.
Asleep, Julian's features were relaxed, and his lashes looked like tiny brushes.
His skin was so good, even girls would envy him.
That was when it hit me that he was seriously good-looking.
He had a boyish charm, with sharp, striking features.
I got lost staring at him.
All these years, all my attention was on competing with him, on beating him.
But I'd never looked at him like this, in such silence.
He didn't seem quite so irritating after all.
After a while, he seemed uncomfortable, letting out a soft groan in his sleep.
I immediately leaned in, whispering softly, "Julian? Are you awake? Does anything hurt?"
He didn't open his eyes, just mumbled in his sleep, "Water..."
"Okay, I'll get you some water."
I rushed to pour some water, but when I returned, he unexpectedly reached out and grabbed my hand.
His palm was still feverishly hot, but his grip was barely there.
He was like a lost animal, fragile and quietly relying on me.
My heart, betraying me again, skipped a beat.
I didn't pull away. I let him keep holding my hand.
After a while, he finally seemed to settle down, his breathing gradually becoming calm.
I stared at his hand holding mine, and almost without thinking, I reached out with my other hand and gently placed it over his.
Just then, the door to the room was gently pushed open.
Ellen walked in.
She was dressed in casual clothes, looking like she'd rushed over from home.
Her gaze locked onto our intertwined hands.
In that moment, it felt like my whole life slowed to a crawl.
Ellen's eyes were like a scalpel, precise, cool, but with a touch of inquisitiveness.
Her stare fixed directly on my hand, covering Julian's.
Our hands, entwined together, looked glaringly obvious under the soft hospital lights.
My mind went totally blank.
All my composure, all my professionalism, crumbled in that moment.
I felt like a thief caught in the act, my face burning with embarrassment.
I was doomed for real this time.
Not only did I answered when Julian called out "Mom," but now his mom had walked in and caught me holding her son's hand.
I tried to pull my hand away using all the strength I had.
But even in his sleep, Julian seemed to sense something.
His brow furrowed even more. Instead of letting go, his grip on my hand tightened.
He clung to me, refusing to let go.
I wanted to die right then and there.
Julian, you bastard! Let go of me.
I shot him desperate looks, trying to will him to let go, but he was totally oblivious.
The room was eerily quiet, almost suffocating.
I could hear my heart thundering in my chest, loud as a drum.
"D-Dr. Godwin..." I stammered.
My voice was so dry, it felt like sandpaper scraping my throat. "He... he's got a fever. I was using physical cooling methods. He probably felt uncomfortable, so..."
My explanation was so weak, even I couldn't buy it.
Who the hell did physical cooling like this?
Was holding hands supposed to bring down a fever?
Ellen didn't say a word.
She just stared at me, her eyes so deep and impossible to read.
Just when the silence was about to make me lose my mind, Ellen finally made a move.
She walked up to the bed, not glancing at our intertwined hands, all business as she checked the monitor.
"Heart rate 110, blood pressure 130/80, oxygen saturation 98%." As she softly read out the numbers, her eyes stayed on the monitor, frowning slightly.
Then she reached out, checked Julian's forehead, and gently lifted his eyelids to check his eyes.
Her movements were smooth and professional, every gesture calm and practiced.
It was like the sharp-eyed woman from just now had never existed.
"When did the fever start? What was the highest temperature? What have you done so far?" Ellen asked, her tone shifting back to its usual clinical seriousness.
I breathed a sigh of relief, pulled myself back together, and forced myself to focus on the job.
"I found it about half an hour ago during my rounds. His temperature was 102.4°F," I replied.