Santi leaned down slowly and—God—he kissed Nico's wrist.
Just a light touch. A soft graze with his lips like it was sacred.
That was it.
But it was enough to make Kyan's grip slip.
Clatter.
The antibiotics dropped to the floor with a sharp sound.
Santi turned immediately, eyes wide—then narrowed when he saw Kyan standing frozen by the door like he'd been caught spying.
"What are you doing here?" Santi asked, voice calm but sharp like a blade wrapped in silk.
Kyan opened his mouth to say something—but before any words could escape, Nico's eyes fluttered open.
Darkly.
He didn't speak.
He just smirked.
And then, like the cocky bastard he was, he shifted closer to Santi, his fingers lazily tracing a line down the side of Santi's neck possessively.
"You've been taking care of me so well," he murmured, voice hoarse but thick with heat.
Kyan's chest burned.
He hated how it made him feel.
He hated even more that Nico knew exactly what he was doing.
