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The morning sunlight streaming through the curtains stings her eyes, and each step she takes toward the phone on the counter weighs like lead down on her muscles. The symptoms are clear, her red, runny nose, her forehead burning, her body aching, dizziness and exhaustion all at once. Tawan, the bodyguard, with her iron health and healthy habits, fell sick in the slums of one harsh winter.
She knows she should start the usual preparations quickly: medicine, food, rest, but from the moment she opened her eyes at six in the morning and felt her throat dry and her senses dull, Ira was the only priority running through her clouded mind. They didn’t spend their last night together because Ira was with her mother, and the bodyguard took the time alone to train the company’s recruits at the docks.
Considering the cold, wind and the freezing rain water, now it seems like the stupidest decision.
She finally manages to make it to the kitchen, silently thanking that Xīngxīng is still curled up in a fur ball in the living room, or the little golden retriever would now be happily jumping around her. She then picks up her phone, dialling Agent Prayut, trying to steady herself on her feet, sniffing deeply.
Soon the agent’s composed voice rings out, a slight alarm in her voice, probably because it’s so early in the morning. “Is something wrong? Is Khun Ira okay?”
Tawan involuntarily smiles, but her face aches.
“Morning, agent. I believe so. I’m calling to ask you and agent Kriang to look after Ira today, she’s going to be spending the day with her team at the record company and-...”
“Boss?” A distressed sound interrupts her instructions and another voice comes over the speaker. “Are you okay? You sound hoarse as a horse!”
It’s Kriang, and the sound of a slap crackles on the other end.
“Sorry, boss.” Prayut resumes. “You’re on the speaker.”
“Of course.” Tawan sighs wearily.
Kriang whines behind Prayut, his voice saddened. “It was a compliment, not like a pony, I meant it more like a stallion and—”
“Soldier,” Tawan scolds, silencing the young man. “I am sick and will be taking the day off to recover. One will be enough. You must take good care of Ira for me. Let my father know of my absence and please check if the recruits are also suffering from last night’s training. If so, give them the rest of the week off.”
“It will be done, boss.” Prayut immediately follows suit.
“Boss?” Kriang clears his throat hesitantly. “You know Khun Ira will ask about you. What should we tell her? Maybe she’ll want to stop by…”
She’s well aware of this.
“Ira must not know.” Tawan decides before she can even think it through. “She has enough on her plate and I won’t worry her over something so insignificant. Just tell her I’ll be in company meetings and that I’ll come to her tomorrow morning.”
The silence lingers and Tawan senses judgment in it, but the agents resign themselves to nodding and following their orders. The weight settles on Tawan’s shoulders again, the slightest effort exhausting her to the brim. She stumbles back to her room, massaging her temples, grabbing a painkiller and a glass of water before collapsing back onto the bed.
She’s doing the right thing.
In a couple of hours she will be back to her old self and she will call Ira and hear about her day and promise that tomorrow she will be all hers and the idol will never have to know about the stupid situation she got herself into. This cold is silly and just a delay, nothing more, no reason for her to worry Ira knowing her busy schedule for this week.
Behind the fever and her pounding head, though, where the thoughts hide, Tawan knows it's all a useless fallacy. Because the truth is, she can't, she just can't. She can't let Ira know, she can't talk to her, because the moment she hears that voice, she'll break down and beg for Ira, for her smile, for the warmth of her presence.
But it doesn't make sense, because she's never even thought of asking anyone for something like this her entire life. All the colds, all the scrapes, the falls, the bruises, her mother died when she was four and her father never had time for colourful band-aids and kind eyes for the thermometer. She's always gotten herself back on her own and it doesn't make sense that something inside her is begging her to just call Ira to risk hearing that Ira can’t come and that she'll be okay and that they'll be together before they can miss each other.
Except she already misses her.
She sinks into the pillow, pain coursing through her entire body, and she misses Ira as if the mere sight of her could be enough to heal her. She thinks of her amber eyes of concern and affection, something Ira never holds back, always making her emotions spill out and honest. She thinks of her hands, her long pale fingers always reaching for her, as if she needs to touch Tawan as much as Tawan longs to touch her. She thinks of her voice, her laughter, her light radiating, and everything through and through.
This is pathetic, actually.
She doesn't need – she can't, she has no right to need – Ira.
Xīngxīng pulls her out of her tormented reverie and jumps onto the bed, wagging his tail, sniffing at her hand lying limply on the mattress, waiting to be petted first thing in the morning. The silver pendant on his collar gleams in the sunlight and Tawan is stunned to remember how Ira bought it for him, with his name engraved on it, how the puppy jumped into her lap and licked all over her face, while she just laughed heartily and let him do it, cuddling his small body close, Tawan watching the two of them from the kitchen stove, melting with affection for both her moon and their tiny star.
Good heavens, she can't even fool herself out of self-preservation.
She desperately needs Ira.
Suddenly, Xīngxīng’s ears pop up and he stumbles out of bed, running around the apartment euphorically. Tawan tries to sit up despite the pain, the room spinning around her, as voices sound distant, varied, but one of them, only one, immediately recognized by the damaged bodyguard.
She is here.
Ira appears at the door, Xīngxīng bouncing around her, bags in her hands and her hair pulled into a messy bun, a few strands perfectly curled, as if she’d been interrupted in the middle of a session with her hairdresser. She’s bundled up in a long coat and scarf, her cheeks flushed from the cold outside, and the sight of her makes the bodyguard’s heart race a thousand times faster.
But she looks so worried and it breaks Tawan in two.
“Baby...” Ira whimpers, turning to throw the bags into the arms of Agents Kriang and Prayut who have the decency to look guilty behind her, rushing to reach her and immediately checking her temperature with the back of her hand on her forehead, the other palm feeling down her neck.
“Agents.” Trying not to break down, Tawan casts a sharp glance at the door. “Your direct orders were to look after Ira, not to divert her from her schedule. I made sure to be emphatic on that matter.”
The distressed pair seem ready to explain themselves, but Ira’s soft hand cups her face and brings Tawan’s stern gaze back to her, inevitably seeing her disarm as she dwells in her eyes. “Don’t scold them, it’s not their fault. I knew something was wrong when you sent them without telling me directly. I’ve been boring them into the truth.”
“They still disobeyed my direct orders.” Tawan stiffens, still trying somehow to escape the delight that is those golden eyes fixed on hers.
“So that’s it, you meant for me to never know?” Ira frowns, a storm brewing.
“I didn’t want you to worry.” Tawan tries not to back away, crossing her arms like a disgruntled child, still in her casual night-suit, her hair a mess.
Kriang and Prayut watch jumping from one to the other as if watching a fierce tennis match.
“You…” Ira breathes and looks enraged, outraged by something that Tawan had deemed unimportant, but that she can now see has struck her girlfriend deeply. “Agents.” Ira gets up from the bed, heading for the door to close it. “Excuse us for a moment.”
Kriang and Prayut hurry away, Xīngxīng running after them as if invited to join the party and play, since neither Tawan nor Ira seem willing to fawn over him as usual. Ira then closes the door and turns back to the bodyguard, crossing her arms, that same dismay flashing through her eyes.
“Ira...”
“I care about you.” Ira exhales and takes Tawan by surprise, her pained eyes going wide, her heart clenching. “I worry. How is it that you can take bullets and blows for my sake and I was being left in the dark about what was really happening to you? How dare you talk like this means nothing?”
“I...” Tawan tries, but she falters and stands there, shoulders slumping, a blank stare disarmed by Ira’s stern yet hurt expression, the raw honesty inherent in it putting Tawan to shame and embarrassment, never wanting to go that deep into thought, never wanting to make a mess of things.
When no response comes, she hears a tense sigh from Ira that slowly fades into a soft sound as she walks over and sits back down beside Tawan, her fingers finding Tawan's in her lap, intertwining them.
“I understand that it’s hard for you to let yourself be taken care of. I’ll send your agents back if you want, but I’m staying. I’ll cook you proper meals and make compresses to lower your temperature. You’ll sleep and drink lots of water. Is that understood, my tough bodyguard?”
The words, still foreign territory to the silent woman sometimes, seem to come from everywhere. She wants to apologize. She wants to tell her that she loves her too. A part of her wants to argue a little more, shaken by Ira’s vulnerability that always brings out the vulnerability in her as well, almost inevitably.
“Yes.” She whispers and nods slowly, looking at their intertwined fingers and then back up into those amber eyes. “Kriang and Prayut can stay if they’re willing. Someone needs to take Xīngxīng for an afternoon walk.”
It seems like a small thing in the face of everything, but it makes Ira smile so captivatingly that Tawan thinks in a daze that it might be impossible to cool her down at this point.
She’ll grow hot and hot until the sun rises.
Her temperature is taken and she is sure another scold is about to erupt, but Ira just breathes and makes her take the painkiller with water. She cuddles Tawan under the blankets like a swaddled baby, and suddenly the bodyguard is grateful for her feverish state by masking her blush. A kiss is pressed softly to her forehead before Ira whispers gently that she will be back soon and she is alone again, her body and mind processing everything.
And suddenly she misses Ira all over again.
Which is inconceivable, considering she's right there in Tawan's kitchen, within reach of the protection of her team's best agents and in the adorable company of a puppy who literally licks the floor the idol steps on. It's also silly, because this is just a cold, she doesn't need anyone to take care of her or watch over her. She's the one who takes care of her and watches her.
It's her damn job.
This is nonsense. She throws the blankets aside, ready to swing her weakened legs out of bed and prove to her girlfriend that she's ready to get back into the swing of things, that she doesn't need medicine or broth or...
“Boss?” Kriang’s voice echoes as the door opens, and Tawan freezes, finding her two agents in the doorway, watching intently. “What do you think you’re doing?”
“I’m leaving.” Tawan answers simply, stifling a sneeze.
“What? But you can’t!” Kriang whines.
"I can't?" She furrows her eyebrows in that commanding, threatening way.
“But Khun Ira...” The poor young man gasps nervously. “She said...”
Prayut huffs and pushes him inside, closing the door and dragging the vanity chair Tawan has placed in her room for Ira, sitting on it with her arms crossed, trying to meet the wide, tense gaze Tawan gives her.
“Khun Ira’s orders.” The agent shrugs, facing her master. “She told us to keep you company while she prepares lunch, and that Xīngxīng is her sous chef. She probably knew you’d try to barge into the kitchen giving orders sooner or later.”
“Or escape through the window with a rope made of coats.” Kriang pulls up another chair, Tawan’s rolling desk chair by the window, spinning around in it as if he’s considering other escape options. “There is ventilation ducts in your condo?”
“Dude!” Prayut punches his arm, pointing with her chin at Tawan on the bed, fists clenched in her pajama shorts, her eyes narrowing with the poor agent’s every word.
“Boss...” He smiles guiltily. “Khun Ira is the client. Didn’t you say we should protect her, but always follow express orders?”
“My express orders, agent.” Tawan arches a disapproving eyebrow.
“Well, that wasn’t clear before...” He tries to run again, foolishly.
Before Tawan can scold him again, a snort echoes through the room and both her and Kriang’s eyes flick to Prayut in the doorway, her arms tense, her eyes hard on the floor as she shakes her head.
“What’s gotten into you?” Kriang nudges her knee, trying to keep his smile to hold back their boss’s fury for as long as possible.
“It’s just…” Prayut looks up quickly, distraught, but then she snorts again and looks away from her, stopping.
Tawan looks at her, studying.
Although at different times, Kriang and Prayut became her apprentices at a very young age. The boy has always been fun, clumsy, a ball of energy much like Ira's humour, and perhaps that is why they get along so well. Prayut, on the other hand, matches Tawan's own energy more, silent, analytical, calm.
"Speak your mind, agent." She then decides, stifling another sneeze that makes her voice deepen almost amusingly.
“Boss.” She gathers her courage, looking Tawan straight in the eye. “Khun Ira is worried. She dropped her headphones and almost ran over the equipment and studio staff when she saw us through the glass without you. I tried to make her see reason, but she seemed desperate to see you. Almost as much as she is when you get hurt protecting her. She… You know that, Boss. She…”
“She loves you.” Kriang helps her, saying it simply. “Khun Ira loves you very much, Boss.”
Unintentionally, Tawan’s authoritative gaze softens. Kriang and Prayut watch her warily, wondering if they’ve gone too far, and maybe they have, she considers, maybe they’re overstepping boundaries she’s always carefully set, but not a single word is a lie or a trap to disarm her. It’s true, entirely. Ira loves her, she always says it, she always shows it. And Tawan doesn’t want this truth to come entwined with so many other perceptions – worry, fear, struggle –but it does. It just does.
If Tawan were blindfolded to see, she would still know, only because she feels the same way.
With a deep, hoarse breath, she still stands but wraps the blanket around her arms and marches to the door, the agents looking at each other warily, perhaps deciding whether they should let her pass or grab her by the elbows back to the bed and risk their necks – or their jobs.
“I’m not running away.” She announces unfazed.
Immediately Prayut jumps up from her chair and opens the door, and Tawan wastes no time, walking out, clutching the blanket tightly, the agents following her almost obediently, waiting to be scolded again, this time probably by Ira.
When they step into the living room, though, Tawan stops, her socks nearly slipping on the smooth wood floor. Because right there, a couple of feet away, in the kitchen light, her cheeks flushed by the stove and a golden retriever puppy nuzzling her legs, Ira is moving back and forth with sliced ingredients and spices, intently humming something to herself.
If Tawan immediately feels a little stronger, she tries not to show it, restraining herself from rushing to hug Ira from behind and dwelling in the softness of her body for the rest of her life, comforted by the delicious smell of gaeng jued in the pot. Instead, she sighs and walks around the room to the couch, wrapping herself back in the blanket as if to hide in plain sight, too proud to thank her agents or to draw Ira’s attention to her presence or to tell her the reason she left her bed.
She feels a little stronger, and this is the reason.
“Smells amazing!” Kriang, still feeling the tension, raises his arms in victory, breaking the tension left from their conversation, Ira immediately turning from the kitchen, eyes on the agents before falling back onto the couch.
It’s coming, the agents think, Ira’s scolding.
But then, smiling fondly, she shakes her head, pulling out and wringing out a cold washcloth from the bow in the counter and walking over to the couch, silently motioning for the agents to give them a moment.
She sits on the edge of the seat, uncovering Tawan’s face only to find her eyes slightly open, as if waiting to be sent back to her room. But Ira leans toward her, that fond smile etched on her face, and presses the cold compress to her forehead, laughing when Tawan grimaces.
“It’s for the fever. My mother used to do that when I was a kid and caught a cold.”
Tawan nods, picturing a little Ira with a cold, and as adorable as the image is, it brings back memories of her own childhood, losing her mother, her father’s hardening of heart, growing up divided, the only connecting thread being their bloody fists against others, and the development of the security company since her teen years. No compresses, no medicine, no warm broth.
Nothing like this.
Nothing like the hands that reverently roam her face, Ira's chin resting on her chest, feeling her breathing loudly, moving up to the top to gently kiss the crown of her head, then her reddened nose, then her cheeks.
“No...” Tawan protests and turns her face away when Ira’s lips brush against hers. It’s like hell to refuse, but she can’t risk it. “I don’t want you to get sick.”
Ira’s laugh, sweet and amused, makes her look back at her like a call from deep within, those big amber eyes shining on hers, those soft, immaculate hands, holding her jaw firmly, her lips taken and surrendered irrevocably. It’s tight and lingering until it becomes a light brush, a gentle trace over her skin.
“My bodyguard.” Then Ira’s voice taunts. “Did you come here to boss me around, or just because you wanted to be closer to me?”
Tawan blushes, no escape, the words stumbling in her throat, mixing with a persistent cough that she holds back, eyes wide and dazed, Ira's laughter again sweet as honey through her ears.
“Boss!” Kriang shouts from the kitchen, interrupting them. “You should eat. You’ll feel better, I’m sure. Right now. I’ll bring you a plate.”
“You know…” Prayut, arms crossed near the wide windows, chuckles mischievously. “He’s only saying that because he’s hungry too.”
“I don’t doubt that..” Ira grins at them, straightening up on the couch. “But you’re right, Khun Kriang. Let’s eat. Grab some bowls from the cupboard behind you. Prayut can get the parsley from the pantry, please.”
“On it!” Kriang runs to the cupboards, jumping up and down with excitement.
Ira then turns, looking at her patient, Tawan’s eyes never leaving her, her expression alternating between stern and melting, her hand instinctively slipping out of the blanket to brush her fingers against Ira’s on the seat.
“It’s okay.” Ira whispers for only her to hear. “I want you closer to me, too.”
If Tawan weren’t exhausted, hungry, and too committed to not infecting Ira with her cold, she might as well kiss her all over again, watching in a daze as Ira gets up to get her some food.
Minutes later, the bodyguard swallows spoonfuls and looks around to realize that the silence during the meal is not as awkward as she thought it would be. It is not awkward that Kriang is sitting on the carpet devouring his second bowl and bawling in tears over an episode of a GL, “The Secret of Us”, that has been a hit lately. Ira and Kriang have this in common, television series about girl’s love.
Tawan actually thinks they are a little too dramatic.
Prayut doesn't seem interested either, chewing slowly and surreptitiously feeding Xīngxīng small pieces of chicken under the kitchen counter.
Ira eats her small portion slowly, her gaze shifting from the television to watch Tawan, tenderly and endlessly, the hint of a smile on her lips as she sees the enthusiasm with which the bodyguard empties every last drop from her bowl.
And right there, catching Ira in the act with that soft gaze, Tawan feels a little stronger again.
Tawan’s agents thank Ira profusely and promise to take care of the dishes and Xīngxīng afternoon walk, ensuring that they both can rest until nightfall. Tawan wants to oppose them, to remind them that Ira has obligations, to remind them that they have reports to write, but all it takes is for Ira’s hand to intertwine with hers and she is being pulled into the bedroom without another word of protest.
It’s quiet between them now, quiet as the sound of pacification.
Ira lies down and brings Tawan’s still weak and aching body down to lie on top of hers, cradling her in her arms, Tawan’s cheek resting on her chest, breathing in and out like a lullaby. She’s done running, done denying, so exhausted from pretending that this isn’t exactly where she wants to be anymore.
“Rest, my bodyguard.”
So she does, promptly.
Tawan closes her eyes, sinks into the warmth of her touch, her voice, her presence, and finally falls asleep.
The world is dark, cold and heavy on the shoulders.
Tawan is looking down at one, three, five young recruits in black boots, the rain pouring down on them all on the empty docks. They are tired of running, stumbling on the mud-damaged ground, almost begging to give up. One of them finally falls on his own arm, and the sound of a broken bone echoes above the storm.
She looks at her own reflection in a broken window with rusty frames.
She is smiling, cruelly.
A blink.
It’s getting darker, so dark that her reflection disappears in the glass, the injured recruits below her disappear into shadow, the rain itself vanishes thinly into thin air. Tawan is suddenly seeing from below, gritting her teeth as the sharp pain shoots through her body, the exposed fracture in her right leg dripping blood onto the hard concrete floor. A laugh rings out, another cruel one, and she looks up to see her father’s hard eyes, disappointment and a twisted amusement in his expression, one she knows comes from his own training in his youth where he broke his collarbone and languished for two hours until her grandfather, his father, called for the paramedics, just to see if he could handle the pain on a mission without proper resources.
Tawan holds back tears and looks down, ripping off her belt and tying it just above the fracture, the searing pain burning as she tugs at the buckle with her teeth to fasten it. The whimper in her throat caused by agony draws another cruel laugh, and she looks up ready to meet her father's gaze, to prove to her father that she is strong, that she is invincible, unbreakable, so much more than he will ever be.
But all she sees through the darkness, laughing mercilessly, is herself, years older, scars deeper, harder across her soul.
Ira's hands are cradling her face when Tawan opens her eyes, panting and sweating cold, shaking all over, her fingers clenched in the old t-shirt Ira has taken from her closet. Her girlfriend searches her eyes, stroking her damp hair, trying to ground her in reality, concern etched in hers. A moment, then, quietly, her heart returning to an orderly rhythm, her body steadying, Ira's hands calming her.
Silence stretches, and then her own voice, husky and low.
“N’Ira...”
“Hey…” Ira smiles, squeezing, never stopping his caress.
“I woke you up.”
“You were having a nightmare.” Ira nods, but there’s not a single ounce of complaint. “You remember that?”
Tawan does, vividly.
“I’m sorry. You go back to sleep, please? I’ll just cool down for a moment.”
Ira doesn't try to stop her, watching until she enters the bedroom bathroom and closes the door. Tawan slams her palms down on the sink, trying to breathe properly. She looks at her reflection in the mirror, still tired, still sick, splashing cold water on the back of her neck and breathing it all in again.
It was just a dream.
A stupid nightmare.
When she returns as quietly as possible, Ira is still awake, legs crossed between the sheets, waiting for her. Tawan feels vulnerable again, guilty again, too exposed for the merely acceptable of her rule-filled life.
But then it’s there, shimmering in the darkness of the room, this tender gaze that disarms her from the inside out, Ira offering her hand, suspended in the space between them, asking Tawan not to run away, not to shut her out. And Tawan does without even thinking, wrapping her fingers around hers and sitting right next to her, looking away but still there.
“What happened?” Ira asks gently, leaning against her shoulder.
“It’s nothing. It was just a dream.”
“Just a cold...” Ira snorts. “Just a dream.”
“N’Ira...”
“Nothing about you is just something to me.” Ira moves gracefully, carefully leaning on her shoulders to straddle her, cradling her troubled face, demanding without a word that their eyes meet. “So make room for me to care for you, give me space inside of you. Just a little more than you already have. Just enough for you to trust me.”
“I trust you.” Tawan holds her lightly by the waist.
Ira smiles warmly, waiting. “Then tell me.”
Tawan gazes at this smile, this one that Ira grants no one else, and feels all her defenses crumble. The world is the same, growing dark, but Ira, her Ira, she is the one who shines through any darkness, and this truth has terrified the fearless Tawan ever since they first bumped into each other years ago.
But right now, unpretentiously, it brings her open, filled with confidence.
“I insisted on training at the docks last night,” Tawan begins huskily, eyes on Ira’s, no judgment in sight. “My father wants the new team ready for action in the next four weeks and I had to reinforce the circuit so they’re ready, so they don’t get killed doing their job. I didn’t anticipate the rain, but I didn’t cancel it. That’s how I got sick and I gave the recruits the week off because I’m sure they got sick too.”
“And they’re fine.” Ira nods and looks at her patiently, trying to understand the source of her distress. “Prayut said some of them caught the cold, but they’re fine and wished you a speedy recovery. You don’t have to worry.”
“Except that I do.” Tawan shakes her head no, disturbed. “This is my father. This is how he was trained, this is how I was trained. No compassion, no care. I did this to my recruits, I did what he does, I am becoming who he is.”
It’s desperate, but it doesn’t sound like it. Ira feels the desperation beneath the assertive words and she wonders how long Tawan has been feeling this way, and this quiet desperation threatens to seize her own rational thinking, because it doesn’t make sense, because it’s not fair, and because it couldn’t be further from the truth.
Because Ira met him once, Tawan's father, the Captain of the company.
And he couldn't begin to dream of being half the heart his daughter carries so heavily and yet so preciously. Ira takes a deep breath, the back of her hand stroking away the torment on Tawan's face, then she whispers only.
“You really can’t see yourself, can you?”
Tawan stills, eyes wide. “What?”
She definitely couldn’t see herself, or she would know that Ira is compelled to smile from her place on her lap, because whenever she’s surprised Tawan gives her those lost puppy eyes.
“You are kind, patient, and caring.” Ira keeps her whisper sweet and slow. “You are fierce with my stalkers, it’s true. And you can knock them down and draw their blood without breaking a sweat, I know…” She laughs, and her laughter makes Tawan laugh too. “But when you’re not fighting on your job, you are anything but aggressive or ruthless. Above all, you are never, ever cruel. I feel it in every part of you and around you. How you teach and correct your agents as if you care for them instead of being angry or disappointed. How you are never malicious or rude to my reckless fans. How you pick wildflowers from the handlebars of your motorcycle just because you know I like them. How you laugh at Xīngxīng’s antics, even after he chews on your favorite boot. You didn’t even blink before deciding to take him to the vet in case he gets nauseous. How you…”
Overwhelmed by each word, Tawan sucks in a shaky breath and tightens her grip on Ira’s waist, bringing her closer.
“This... Just like that.” Ira sighs and chuckles, closing her eyes and leaning even closer, resting their foreheads together, gently rubbing the damp strands of hair on the back of Tawan’s neck, causing her to close her eyes in the same daze. “How you hold me like this, in your arms, strong and yet delicate, like I’m everything to you. You’re gentle. You’re nothing like him. And no one else.”
Tawan only knows she's still breathing because her mouth drops open and the air comes and goes, catching the minty breath of her toothpaste exhaling from Ira's mouth, both of them too close, the same oxygen, the same fragile, triumphant moment shared, her heart swelling and growing tenfold, making room in her ribcage just to hold Ira and everything she means.
“You are.” Tawan finally manages to whisper back.
“Uhm?” Ira tilts her head, awakening from passionate lethargy.
Then Tawan continues, opening her eyes.
“You are everything to me, Ira.”
Soon after, with a subtle gasp, Ira is kissing her, lowering her onto the pillow and consuming every twisted thought in her head, until she is falling asleep again, still on her soft lips.
And finally for the rest of a night without more nightmares.
Usually Tawan would wake up to the quiet alarm clock, or the first ray of sunlight piercing through the windows. When she is with Ira, which is now thankfully most nights, she tries to wake up quietly, kissing her softly on the forehead and slipping out of bed to make her breakfast and let her rest for a couple more hours.
This time, however, she notices the oddity as soon as she opens her eyes.
Ira had fallen asleep in her arms, but now she is curled up and shaking beside her, whimpering softly. Tawan sits up immediately, concerned as ever, noticing that her own throat is clear and her own muscles are strong, her body almost completely recovered from the cold of the day before.
She turns, kneeling on the mattress, and pulls the blanket from Ira’s grasp, rushing to check on her, but one look at that perfect slightly upturned little nose, that is now all red, and it’s obvious. Ira opens her eyes, pouting, coughing behind her mouth, and Tawan touches the back of her hand to her forehead, feverish and heavy.
“Ira...” She scolds, mostly to herself.
“Baby, it hurts.” Ira continues to pout, trying to pull Tawan by her shorts drawstrings back into the warmth of her embrace, demanding.
But the bodyguard gently holds her arms. “Baby, I must take you to the hospital, let’s change your clothes.” She jumps out of bed, pacing the room with renewed energy.
“No hospital.” Ira sinks into the pillow, refusing. “I want to stay here with you.”
Tawan sighs for a moment, going back to check her temperature again, that exaggerated pout never failing to make her surrender completely.
“Wait here.” She stands up. “I’ll send Kriang to the pharmacy and Prayut to the grocery store, I’ll be back in a second.”
Ira nods softly, wrapping herself in the blanket as Tawan practically runs into the hallway, looking for her agents. By the time she reaches the living room, though, it would be comical if she weren’t so worried about Ira, because Kriang is groaning on the couch, clutching a blanket, and Prayut is trying to keep herself steady in an armchair near the door, holding her head, both agents with red noses and puffy cheeks.
They all caught her cold.
Through another long sigh, Tawan nods to herself gravely, making a plan in her head, nearly tripping over Xīngxīng when he wakes up in his bed by the window and runs between her legs to greet her. She grabs him and lets him lick her chin good morning, hurrying back to the bedroom to find Ira massaging her temples, stretching her probably aching legs on the bed.
It takes a moment for Tawan to come back to reality when all she can think about is how Ira is still the most beautiful sight she has ever laid eyes on, her heartbeat booming through her ears.
Then Ira sees her and smiles, the red on her nose intensifying.
“Hey.”
Tawan smiles, still guilty, still worried, but so captivated that she simply can’t help it. She holds Xīngxīng toward Ira, composing herself. “Since you’re the last man standing, tiny agent, you’re responsible for looking after Ira while I get more supplies. Understood?”
As if he really understood, the little puppy jumped on the bed and ran to throw himself on Ira's lap, licking her face and making her laugh, earning caresses in his golden fur in return, the way he likes the most, Ira's long nails scratching his belly.
"I'll be right back, yes?" The bodyguard leaned over and took one of her hands, firm and delicate, kissing her knuckles tightly.
"I'll be here." Ira shrugged mischievously, laughing hoarsely.
“Don’t worry, baby.” Tawan then grabs her wallet and a pair of sneakers, opening the door and giving her one last look – certain, devoted and reassuring. “I promise I’ll take care of you.”
She leaves with the words, brief and yet absolute, hanging in the room, piercing right into Ira’s heart to spill pure starlight. And in the stillness of the morning, with Xīngxīng snuggled in her lap, Kriang and Prayut coughing and sneezing outside, and the lingering memory of Tawan – her strong, gentle, genuine, precious Tawan – forever entwined within her, Ira answers softly, so that not even she can hear herself clearly, a secret granted to the universe.
“I know you will.”