Some Kind of Love

CHAPTER 9

I was jolted awake by the sharp sound of the doorbell. Instinctively, I reached for the clock on my bedside table. 3:00 AM. Who on earth could it be at this hour?

So much had happened earlier that I hadn’t even realized I’d fallen asleep. Still groggy, I slowly got out of bed and crept toward the door, every footstep soft and cautious. My heart thudded nervously. I couldn’t just open the door without knowing who was on the other side.

“Who’s out there?” I called, my hand tightly gripping the doorknob, which remained securely locked.

“Shhh… Z-Zia…” I froze. It was a man’s voice—slurred, low, and familiar. He sounded drunk. My stomach dropped.

“I said, who’s there?” I demanded again, my tone more assertive this time. I needed to be sure.

“Itsh me… Atlas…”

My heart pounded like a drum in my chest. Atlas? Again? My mind swirled in confusion. We had just gone through that whirlwind of a day—barely twenty-four hours ago—and yet here he was, showing up unannounced in the middle of the night.

“Pleashe open this door…” he slurred again after a few seconds.

From the sound of his voice, he was completely wasted. What if he tries to drive home in that state? I couldn’t bear the thought of something happening to him, so, after a shaky inhale, I turned the lock and slowly opened the door.

“Atlas!” I gasped as his full weight collapsed onto me. The stench of alcohol clung to him.

“What took you sho long?” he mumbled, clinging to me for support.

“Atlas, you need to stand. You’re too heavy—I can’t carry you like this,” I pleaded as I tried to stabilize him. But he was so large, his frame practically dwarfing mine. It was a struggle just to keep us both upright.

Thankfully, he seemed to register what I said. He staggered to his feet and draped an arm over my shoulder. “I’m shorry for bothering you,” he murmured, as I half-led, half-dragged him toward the sofa.

I didn’t respond. There was no point—he was clearly too far gone to comprehend anything. I focused instead on getting him to the couch in one piece. As soon as we reached it, he collapsed heavily onto the cushions, his body limp. I nearly fell with him, the weight finally lifting from me like a boulder rolling off my back. My shirt clung to me with sweat.

Shaking my head, I went back to shut the door. When I returned, I could already hear his gentle snoring. He was completely out. I sighed, exasperated. Why is he here again? His long legs dangled off the edge of the sofa—he was too tall to fit comfortably.

I stepped closer and gently removed his shoes and socks. Then I lifted his legs up onto the couch, careful not to wake him.

“Uhmm…” he groaned softly, adjusting his position as he lay on his back. Even unconscious, his sheer presence filled the space.

I fetched an extra blanket and pillow from the closet and returned to cover him up. As I did, my hand brushed against his neck—and I pulled back in surprise. He was burning up. He has a fever!

Why didn’t I notice this earlier? My worry spiked. I rushed to the bathroom to get a basin of warm water and a towel. Kneeling beside him, I began to gently wipe his face and neck, frowning at the beads of sweat soaking through his shirt.

His polo was drenched. He couldn’t sleep like this. He’d get even worse.

After some internal debate, I grabbed one of my oversized shirts from my drawer. With trembling fingers, I began to undo the buttons of his polo shirt. Oh god, what am I doing? I could barely breathe.

As the shirt came undone, his chest was revealed to me—and my jaw nearly dropped. Even lying down, his muscles were clearly defined. I swallowed hard. Why is he so ridiculously fit?

My cheeks burned. I shook my head violently, trying to snap myself out of it. Focus, Zia. He’s sick, for god’s sake. This is not the time. I gingerly removed his wet polo and quickly wiped down his chest and back. The heat radiating off his skin made me worry even more.

Once he was clean, I slipped the oversized shirt over his head and adjusted the blanket around him. He sighed softly, settling into a deeper sleep. I sat beside him for a while, gently dabbing his forehead with the damp towel. I was determined to bring down his fever.

Eventually, exhaustion claimed me too. I leaned my head back, eyes fluttering shut.

When I awoke, I was back in my bed. What? I sat up groggily. Why am I here? The last thing I remembered was watching over Atlas in the living room.

I blinked and froze. Something heavy was draped across my stomach. Slowly, I lifted the blanket—and saw a large arm wrapped around me.

Relax, Zia. Relax.

I turned slowly, heart racing.

Atlas.

His face was inches from mine, still asleep, his breathing even. How…? How did we end up in my room—like this?

I tried to slip out from under his arm, but instead, he pulled me closer.

“Let’s sleep some more, babe…” he murmured, eyes still closed.

My breath hitched. His chest was pressed against my back. His face brushed my cheek.

“I-I need to go…” I said weakly, unsure if I meant the bed or something bigger.

“I’ll call your boss later. Stay with me, please.” His voice was like a child’s, soft and pleading. My heart melted despite my confusion.

I couldn’t fight it. I let my eyes close again.

The next time I opened them, I was alone in bed. I sat up. Where’s Atlas? Did he leave?

My stomach growled. When I checked the time, it was already noon. No wonder I was starving. I washed my face and stepped out of the bedroom.

And stopped dead in my tracks.

Atlas was in the kitchen—setting the table.

He was still here.

I didn’t know why, but a strange sense of relief washed over me.

He looked up and smiled when he saw me. My heart skipped. “You’re awake now,” he said, walking over and taking my hand, guiding me to the table.

“I know you’re hungry, so let’s eat.” He pulled out a chair for me like a proper gentleman.

“I just ordered these. I hope you don’t mind. Next time, I’ll cook for you. Promise,” he said with a soft smile.

“I don’t mind…” I replied, still dazed, eyeing the delicious spread on the table.

“Here, try this,” he said, spooning some food onto my plate.

I stared at him blankly as he grinned, waiting for me to eat. What the hell is going on?

Then he scooped more rice and viand. “Here—say ah.”

Like an i***t, I opened my mouth. He fed me.

“How is it?” he asked excitedly.

“It’s… good,” I said shyly. He looked so happy, it was like he’d won a prize.

“I’m glad you liked it.” He reached for another spoonful, clearly ready to feed me again.

“No, no—I can do it myself,” I said quickly. In my panic, I ate too fast and choked a bit.

He leapt up in an instant and handed me a glass of water. “You okay?” he asked, his eyes full of concern.

“Yes, I’m fine,” I said, trying to catch my breath.

“I know you’re hungry, but you have to eat slowly, babe.”

Babe. There it was again. Like it was the most natural thing.

“What is he doing to me?” I muttered internally. I was spiraling.

Finally, I asked the question I’d been holding back all morning. “Aren’t you going to leave?”

He looked completely unfazed. “I’m on leave today,” he replied between bites.

Seriously? He’s not even planning to go home?!

“But… still, you’re not supposed to be here!” I snapped, unable to hide my frustration. He finally paused, set down his fork, and took a sip of water before responding.

“I plan to stay here.”

I nearly fell off my seat.