To Love A Villain

Chapter 214: Fight For Life

>>Enya

Einar’s hand gently let go of mine. I didn’t hesitate now. I rushed to Ahin’s side and dropped to my knees in the blood-soaked gravel.

"Ahin—" I whispered, brushing the damp hair from his forehead. His skin was burning. His lashes fluttered faintly.

He didn’t open his eyes, but his lips moved, breath faint against my wrist.

I don’t know what he said. It was too soft to hear.

But my chest ached from the force of the feeling rising in it.

"I’m here," I whispered. "I’m here, Ahin."

And this time, I didn’t try to stop the tears.

***

The fever came that night.

By dusk, Ahin was shivering beneath the blankets, his skin hot to the touch, breath shallow, and lashes trembling like a boy lost in dreams. His injuries had been cleaned and wrapped, salves and healing wards applied by the maids, but none of that stopped the way his body shook. By the time we did all the cleaning, his wound had gotten infected enough to give him a fever.

The doctor said that it was exhaustion as well.

I didn’t sleep that night. I couldn’t

I sat beside his bed, eyes trained on his pale face. A single candle flickered at the edge of the bedside table, its flame gently dancing with every breath he took. His brown hair clung to his temples, soaked in sweat.

He looked so still. Too still.

I reached out and wrung the wet cloth again, pressing it carefully to his forehead.

"Ahin..." I whispered.

His brow furrowed faintly. His lips moved, no sound coming out.

"Ahin, you’re safe now. It’s alright."

His eyes fluttered—almost open—and for a moment, the dark amber of them met mine.

Recognition. Pain. A ghost of a smile.

But before I could speak again, the moment vanished. His lids sank shut, breath quickening as if the fever yanked him back under.

"Ahin?"

Nothing.

The silence was unbearable.

I stayed.

Each hour passed like molasses in winter, thick and heavy. I changed the cloth. I adjusted the blankets. I whispered words I didn’t understand, hoping they’d reach him in whatever half-lit place his mind drifted through.

Sometimes he spoke.

Disjointed words.

"Don’t go..."

"...not alone..."

"...your hands are warm..."

Each time, my heart clenched. I would lean in, call his name, try to answer—

But the fever always took him back.

He slipped in and out of consciousness, never long enough to stay with me, never fully aware. And yet every time he opened his eyes, they searched for me. Like he knew. Like some part of him felt I was near, even through the haze of delirium.

Around dawn, I replaced the cloth again. My fingers paused on his cheek, feeling the heat, the unnatural burn of it.

"You scared me," I whispered, brushing his damp hair back. "You idiot." He stirred faintly. "Why didn’t you run?"

His lips parted, cracked and dry. "...because you..." I stilled. "...you..."

But whatever came next was lost, swallowed by sleep once again.

Tears welled in my eyes, and I blinked them back.

Why did it hurt this much? Why did it matter?

Was this what it felt like to love someone?

I folded my arms on the edge of the bed and rested my head there beside him, listening to his faint, uneven breathing.

"I’m not going anywhere," I whispered, my voice shaking. "So come back to me, Ahin. Please."

The candle burned low, and I stayed there, waiting.

Waiting for him to wake.

***

>>Einar

The room was still, save for the soft rhythm of breathing—hers and his. Ahin lay on the bed, his body still pale, wrapped in bandages, his breath shallow but steady. His fever had finally broken.

And Enya... Enya had fallen asleep, curled awkwardly at the side of the bed, her arms tucked beneath her head. Her hair spilled over the mattress like red ink across parchment. She hadn’t left his side in almost two days.

I stood in the doorway, watching them. My brush-stained hands still bore remnants of earlier hours spent painting. But now, those colors felt far away. This scene was made of silence, warmth, and a strange undercurrent of dread. The kind that comes when something fragile has barely been saved.

Ahin stirred.

His eyes cracked open, slow and bleary, the amber in them dulled by exhaustion. But he was awake.

I stepped forward quietly and crouched beside the bed. His eyes met mine.

"...Master Einar..."

His voice was hoarse, rough with sleep and pain. I lifted a hand, silencing him before he tried to push through it.

"Don’t call me that," I said gently. "Just Einar is fine."

He looked around—confused at first—until his eyes landed on her. Still asleep, cheek pressed to the blanket. Something in his expression changed.

"You worried her," I murmured.

"I..." He blinked slowly. "Is she alright?"

"She hasn’t eaten. Barely slept." I looked at him, really looked. "She’s fine. But only because you’re still breathing."

He didn’t respond, but the guilt in his face said enough. He looked at her again, as if just seeing her was enough to make the pain worth it.

"She stayed with me...?"

"Wouldn’t let anyone else touch your bandages." I smiled faintly. "Almost hit a maid who tried."

He let out a weak, disbelieving breath. "...She did that?"

"Don’t look so surprised. You’re important to her."

The words hung there between us. Heavy. Unspoken.

Ahin’s fingers curled into the blanket weakly, his gaze still resting on her face.

"I have a favor to ask," I said suddenly.

He blinked, turning his gaze to me.

"When the time comes—if you ever get a chance to leave this place... I want you to take her with you."

He looked startled, unsure if he heard me right.

"I’m serious," I continued. "Take her with you. Out of here. Away from this poisoned mansion. Away from these names, this legacy, these dying halls. She doesn’t belong to this place."

"But she’s your sister," Ahin said quietly. "You’re asking me to take her away from you."

I nodded.

"Because I know you’ll keep her safe." My voice was calm,

While Ahin quietly stared at me

***

>>Enya

My neck ached.

My back was stiff.

My cheek was numb from being pressed against the edge of the mattress, but I didn’t want to move.

Something warm... steady... familiar brushed against my senses. The air felt lighter somehow. Different.

It took me a second to realize what it was.

Breath. Steady, calm breath. Not labored. Not raspy with fever.

My eyes fluttered open.

He was awake?

Ahin was awake!!!

He lay still against the pillows, eyes half-lidded but conscious, his chest rising and falling in a much more reassuring rhythm than before. His bandages were fresh—Einar must have helped while I slept—and a soft trace of color had returned to his cheeks.

I didn’t move. I couldn’t.

He was watching the ceiling, maybe thinking. Maybe dreaming. His lips parted slightly, and for a moment, I was afraid he’d disappear again.

"Ahin?" I whispered, almost afraid to say his name out loud in case this was just some cruel illusion.

His eyes shifted toward me.

Slowly, slowly.

And then... he smiled.

It was faint, barely there. But it was real.

"You’re awake..." My voice broke. I sat up straighter, blinking hard as tears welled in my eyes before I could stop them. "You’re—oh god, you’re awake..."

He blinked again, as if seeing me clearly now. "...You’re here," he murmured. His voice was raw, but not fading. "You stayed."

"Of course I did." I reached for his hand, careful, afraid of hurting him.

Ahin glanced down at our hands. His fingers twitched, the barest attempt to return the gesture.

"You were burning up," I whispered, brushing a strand of hair away from his damp forehead. "You wouldn’t stop mumbling... going in and out of it. I thought..."

I couldn’t finish. I didn’t need to.

He must have seen it on my face.

"I heard your voice... sometimes," he said. "Like a thread pulling me back."

!!!

My heart ached.

I swallowed. My throat was tight. I wanted to tell him everything—how terrified I’d been, how I had screamed when he collapsed, how I hadn’t slept, hadn’t eaten, hadn’t breathed without thinking about the pain on his face.

But instead I just said, "I’m glad you’re here."

He looked at me with that quiet gaze of his, the one that never judged or questioned—only watched.

There was so much I didn’t understand about what was happening to me. But in that moment, I understood one thing with a strange, aching certainty:

I was in love with him. The kind of love I knew I couldn’t run from.

And I didn’t know what to do with that.

"You should rest," I said softly, trying to mask the crack in my voice. "You need strength."

But his eyes stayed on mine.

"...You’re safe, right?" he asked.

It was such a simple question. But the way he asked it, like it was the only thing he truly cared about in the world, sent my heart racing.

"Yes," I said. "Because of you." I can’t believe that even in his condition he’s worried about me being thrown back in the dungeon.

He didn’t say anything more after that. His eyelids began to droop again, but this time, it wasn’t from fever—it was rest. Real rest. The kind he’d earned.

I watched as his breathing evened out.

The silence settled gently over the room.

And I didn’t move from his side.

I didn’t want to.