Page 83 of The Wishing Game

"You don't look fine." I sigh, softly pressing the cold compress to his cheek. I slowly move it around his face. He's a little hot to the touch, but he doesn't seem like he's running a fever.

He's leaning against the wall, his head tipped back, his mouth slightly parted. His breathing is labored, and every inhale and exhale is rough and pained.

Worry mounts inside me as I don't know what I can do to help him. Should I call Cer? He seemed to know what to do with Thea. Maybe he can help Ze too.

"I should ask the others for help," I murmur.

"No," Ze rasps, catching my arm and stopping my movements. He wraps his fingers around my wrist, his hold soft but firm. "I told you I will be fine. It's just a slight inconvenience," he grits out.

His gaze pins me to the spot, lucid and unyielding.

"Cer helped Thea. I'm sure he could help you too?—"

"No," he repeats. His eyes on mine, he studies me with a strange glint.

I raise my brows in question, rotating my hand in his grasp as I attempt to pull it back. He doesn't let go, however. Instead, he tightens his grip, pulling me closer.

"Why are you being nice to me?" he asks, his breath fanning my face. His voice is crisp and clear, a contrast to his previous mumblings.

"What do you mean?" I frown, trying to pull back.

"This... Why are you being nice to me?" he repeats. His expression is puzzled, his gaze searching for an ineffable something in my features.

"Why would Inotbe nice to you?" I counter. Sure, he might be a surly asshole who doesn't know hownotto be rude, but he's not that bad. He might have attitude problems, but his actions so far have proven that he means well. And I'd rather judge someone by their actions than their words.

"No one else is," he states with a straight face. His voice doesn't falter. He truly means it.

"What about Thea and Cer? They're nice to you."

He snorts.

"They tolerate me. That is a different matter."

"How can you think that?" I blink in shock. Even to me, it's clear that Cer cares for Ze, and according to Thea, he respects and admires him.

He narrows his eyes at me.

"It is simply the way things are." He shrugs. "I know I am not...easy to be around," he admits reluctantly. He looks out of his element as he averts his gaze.

The corners of my lips tip up.

"Is that your way of apologizing for your abysmal behavior?"

"Of course not. I never apologize," he huffs out. "And you do have deplorable table manners," he points out matter-of-factly.

I shake my head at him, amused.

"You're a very odd person, Ze," I muse aloud.

"So I've been told," he replies, his shoulder blades angling up. There's that shrug again. It's the only sign that he's less than comfortable with the topic because it's the only time he'snothis confident self.

He finally lets go of my hand, and I continue to tend to him. I swipe the compress over his forehead in slow, gentle movements, eliciting a small sound of approval from him—something akin to a kitten purring at being petted.

A hidden smile is on the edge of his lips as his lids flutter shut. His breathing is not as erratic as before, his body slowly relaxing. Even the tension in his muscles evaporates as he makes himself comfortable. His chest rises and falls in a steady rhythm, almost as if it were imitating the motion of my hand. When the compress becomes lukewarm, I lean back, about to get up to wet it again. But once more, he stops me, catching my wrist. The compress slips from my hand, but he simply flattens my palm, bringing it to his cheek and burrowing his face against it.

I'm at a loss for words as I simply stare at him.

His eyes are still closed, and his moves seem to be more instinctual than intentional. He barely looks aware of what he's doing as he nuzzles his cheek against my palm.

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