Chapter Fifty-Eight: The Trouble With a Cold

By the time they finally arrived home, it was already past one in the morning.

At the entrance, they changed their shoes before heading together into the living room.

“I feel a little hot…” Amemiya Sagu spoke suddenly. Hearing this, Anwa reached out to touch her forehead.

It was burning—almost forty degrees, he estimated. Looking at Amemiya Sagu again, her eyes were unfocused and misty, her pretty face flushed with fever—a clear sign of a high temperature.

Seeing this, Anwa hurriedly got up to rummage for medicine.

Shortly after, he returned carrying a cup of hot water and some unknown pills.

Amemiya Sagu was now lying on her back on the sofa, her eyes glassy and dazed as she stared at Anwa approaching.

“Come, take the medicine.”

Anwa spoke softly, placing the pills in Sagu’s mouth. She cooperated at first, but within seconds, she spat them back out.

“It’s so bitter, I don’t want it!” she grumbled, pouting adorably, her red cheeks making her look utterly different from her usual quiet self.

“Be good, you need to take the medicine first.”

Anwa coaxed patiently, once more putting the pills in her mouth, only for her to spit them out again.

This time, Sagu pressed her lips together firmly and glared at Anwa with feigned ferocity through her feverish haze.

Seeing her like this, Anwa raised an eyebrow and issued a final warning.

“You really won’t take it?”

She shook her head resolutely.

Anwa narrowed his eyes, then, without hesitation, popped the pills into his own mouth and leaned down.

“Mmm—” Sagu started to protest, but as soon as she opened her mouth, Anwa seized the opportunity.

After a brief struggle, Sagu finally swallowed the medicine.

Only when he felt her throat move did Anwa let her go.

After this ordeal, Sagu’s eyes grew even more unfocused, and her loose collar had slipped, revealing a stretch of pale skin and her delicate collarbone.

Gulping involuntarily, Anwa quickly averted his gaze.

“Forgive me, forgive me,” he muttered, rubbing his nose as he strode to the kitchen.

He made a bowl of porridge and fed it to Sagu, bit by bit, in the same way he’d given her the medicine. Halfway through, she seemed to fall asleep, no longer responding, no matter how much he coaxed.

Left with no choice, Anwa finished the rest himself.

By the time everything was done, it was nearly three in the morning.

It was so late that Anwa decided to skip a shower. He simply changed both himself and Sagu into sleepwear.

Of course, Sagu didn’t have pajamas, so she wore an oversized t-shirt. As for her lower half…

They climbed into bed. Sagu immediately turned over, presenting her back to Anwa.

Anwa blinked, then wrapped his arms around her from behind anyway.

Sagu slept soundly, as docile as a doll—soft and quiet. Even though they’d used the same shampoo and body wash these past few days, Sagu always carried a subtle, unique fragrance.

“She really smells wonderful,” Anwa murmured, burying his face in her hair.

But just then, the narrator’s voice cut in:

“The opportunity at forty degrees is right before you. With her current favorability at ninety-seven, she won’t resist much even if she pretends otherwise. Just be careful to avoid saliva contact to prevent catching her cold!”

Forty degrees and you’re still thinking about this? Are you even human?

Anwa twitched his lips, instinctively wanting to scorn the narrator, but instead, the memory of dinner that evening drifted into his mind.

That peculiar feeling—just recalling it now made his mouth dry. Without realizing, Anwa lifted his head.

He bumped against something soft and warm.

At once, he felt Sagu’s body tremble slightly in his arms.

She’s not asleep!

He realized immediately, though the swelling sensation that came over him made him uncomfortable—especially with the soft, fragrant Sagu in his arms…

Hesitating for a moment, Anwa brought his lips to Sagu’s ear and asked softly, “Sagu-chan, are you asleep?”

She didn’t answer, but her neck shrank from his breath, clearly pretending to be asleep.

Seeing this, Anwa’s eyes lit up. He moved even closer, his voice gentle as he continued.

“It’s all Sagu-chan’s fault for what happened at dinner. I’m suffering now—could you help me?”

Silence fell over the room.

Just as Anwa thought she would keep feigning sleep, Sagu’s voice, soft as a mosquito’s hum, suddenly broke the hush.

“Would… um… using my hand be okay?”

“Eh?” Anwa was startled. He propped himself up, trying to see her expression, but she immediately buried her face in the pillow.

He didn’t mind. With a hint of uncertainty, he asked again, “Really? Is it okay?”

…

After more than a minute of silence, Sagu didn’t reply. Instead, still with her back to Anwa, she slowly reached her hand behind her—her actions spoke for her.

Her delicate, boneless hand parted the mist and grasped the future.

(The detailed description here is too excessive, and I’m famously averse to such things, so let’s spare everyone the specifics.)

The next morning.

Awakening from sleep, Anwa opened his eyes to see two towering peaks of snow.

“Sagu?”

As soon as the words left his mouth, he was surprised by how hoarse his voice sounded.

At the sound, a head peeked out from between the snowy peaks—two bright, clear eyes meeting his gaze. Only a moment later did their owner hurriedly look away, a blush spreading across her cheeks.

Seeing her bashfulness, Anwa recalled the events of the night and couldn’t help but chuckle.

But before he could bask in his satisfaction, he was overtaken by a violent coughing fit.

Sagu quickly leaned over, bringing a cup of hot water from the bedside.

“Have some,” she said softly, lifting Anwa’s head with her hand. Only then did he realize he’d been resting on Sagu’s lap all along.

He sipped the hot water, then sat up against the headboard.

Looking at Sagu again, perhaps because of what had happened in the night, she didn’t dare meet his gaze. Her hands fidgeted uneasily with her shirt.

Feeling uncomfortable under his direct stare, Sagu finally stood and, mumbling something about reheating breakfast, hurried from the room.

Anwa watched her retreating figure, but his eyes couldn’t help drifting to the inside of Sagu’s thighs.

Slightly reddened—he knew that was his doing.

He couldn’t help it; Sagu’s hand had quickly tired last night, and she’d had little strength to begin with. So, Anwa had suggested a method akin to a bun and a hot dog…

And so, the night passed.