Chapter 5 : Vulnerability Under Observation

Garven adjusted the oxygen mask on Kael’s father, his hands steady but precise, betraying the faint tremor in his fingers. The older man stirred weakly, murmuring something unintelligible.

“Shh… it’s okay, Mr. Rivenhart,” Garven whispered, voice soft but controlled. He brushed a strand of hair from the man’s forehead, his face calm, almost angelic in its care. “You’re going to be fine. Just rest.”

Kael stood a few steps back, watching silently.

Something about the way Garven bent toward his father — careful, patient, gentle — made Kael’s chest tighten. Not irritation this time. Not annoyance.

Protective, Kael realized, to his own shock.

Garven didn’t notice Kael at first. His entire focus was on the patient, checking monitors, adjusting the IV line, muttering instructions to the machines. Every motion was deliberate, compassionate, effortless.

Kael’s jaw clenched. The memory of Garven crying last night came unbidden. Soft whimpers, tears streaking over flawless skin, vulnerability he usually hid behind humor or professionalism.

And now — here he was again. Calm. Competent. Caring. But underneath, Kael could sense the fragility he had glimpsed before.

God, he’s beautiful like this, Kael thought, swallowing hard. And no one else should see it.

Garven straightened and finally glanced up, realizing Kael was there. His eyes widened slightly — a flash of discomfort, maybe fear, or recognition of the storm between them. He quickly looked back at the patient, straightening his posture, hiding everything Kael had just seen.

Kael felt an irrational surge of jealousy.

The gentle touch of Garven’s hand on his father’s shoulder.

The quiet words that calmed him.

The way Garven moved with empathy and grace, treating someone else like this — and not him.

It hurt more than Kael expected.

“I shouldn’t even be standing here,” Kael muttered to himself. “But I can’t… leave yet.”

He exhaled sharply and finally turned, walking toward the exit. Each step was heavy — part frustration, part desire, part fear. His father’s room faded behind him, but the image of Garven bent over that man, vulnerable yet controlled, stayed burned into his mind.

Outside, Kael paused at the hospital doors, hands gripping the handles. He didn’t want to leave — but he had to.

I don’t want him for Selene.

I don’t want him for anyone.

I just… want him.

And with that bitter, conflicted thought, he walked into the night, leaving Garven behind — professional, unaware, yet impossibly human in ways Kael couldn’t stop thinking about.

Avoidance and Silent Battles

Garven moved through the hospital like a ghost. Every hallway, every glance, every doorway became a potential minefield.

He avoided the staff lounge when he knew Kael might be there.

He took the long route around the ICU instead of passing the cardiology wing.

He refused to look at the security cameras or check the visitor logs.

But Kael seemed to be everywhere.

Garven hated himself for the flutter in his chest whenever Kael’s gray eyes met his across a hallway. Hated himself for remembering that smirk, the teasing tone, the way he had observed him with interest — and a touch of jealousy.

He buried himself in work. He threw himself into patient charts, vitals, and IVs. He ran errands between floors. He answered calls with clipped efficiency.

But no matter how far he walked, Kael’s presence lingered.

And the anger began to bubble.

Anger at Kael for being effortless, for being himself, for making Garven feel exposed again.

Anger at Selene for everything — for lying, for betraying, for making him this vulnerable.

Anger at the universe for letting both of them exist in the same city, the same hospital, the same life.

He hated it. He hated it all.

But he also hated that a part of him still remembered what it felt like to be seen by Kael — truly seen, if only briefly.

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