Dylan's eyes lingered on hers, searching for something beyond her composed exterior. Slowly, his gaze dropped to the container before him, the memory of her holding a bowl earlier that morning flickering through his mind. It turned out that she had prepared medicine for him, and the realization made his pulse quicken.
His throat tightened as warmth crept up his neck with self-consciousness, painting his ears a deep crimson. "You didn't have to do it," he mumbled.
"I know, but I wanted to."
Their eyes met again, and the space between them seemed to dissolve for a moment. The awkward tension from last night lingered, but beneath it was a tender thread of hope, a quiet connection that neither could deny.
Dylan reached for the container, his lips curving into a small, grateful smile. "Thank you."
