Our dream? No! More like, yours! I grumbled in my heart.
However, at this time, I finally realized.
Young Master Hanson might be clueless about the hardship of life, but when it came to the matter of heart, he was not stupid.
The fact that he could answer me like this meant that he had realized my pathetic feelings.
I shook off Mark's hand, stumbled back to my room and locked the door.
I ignored his question "What are you going to eat?" and stayed inside.
At that moment, I felt truly exhausted.
On the day I paid the rent, I had a high fever.
When I came back home in a daze, the first thing that I heard was Mark's excited voice, "Someone who knows what they’re talking about came by to ask about my paintings today. I think this one might actually sell …. Hold on! Why is your face so red?”
He quickly came over to feel my forehead. “You’ve got a fever! Come on, we’re going to the hospital right now!”
As he spoke, he grabbed my arm and started dragging me out the door.
I could not break free from his grip, so I forced myself to speak through the pain in my throat. “I just paid the rent. We don’t have money for the hospital. It's just a sore throat. I'll be fine.”
Mark stopped walking for a long time and turned around to face me.
For the first time, I saw a fleeting guilt in his eyes. I could not help but find this situation a bit funny.
Mark gently squeezed my wrist with a voice that was softer than I heard before he asked, "Then … do we have any money to buy you some medicine? I'll go and buy fever-reducing medicine for you."
I pulled out the last of my emergency cash from my wallet and handed it to him.
Mark took it without a word and headed out the door. Halfway to the door, he suddenly stopped, turned around and rushed back to hug me tightly. “Just hold on a little longer. We can’t give up now. Things will get better, I promise!”
“Okay.” Maybe it was because I was sick, I became a bit fragile and my eyes started to sting with tears.
Mark had never taken any initiative to take care of anyone before.
During those two days, I was bedridden with a fever, he clumsily made a porridge and fed me some medicine. This act of his made me have an illusion that I meant something to him.
It felt so real that I even had a bit of hope that I should not have.
After I recovered, I dragged my weak body to the kitchen and prepared Mark's favorite foods.