**Chapter 97** “If you’re unwell, you should really just stay home and rest.” With those words, Avery turned on her heel, reaching for a glass to pour herself some water. “I feel much better today,” Elliot replied, removing the scarf wrapped tightly around his neck. “That’s what you claimed yesterday too,” she said, taking a sip from her glass before setting it down. As she moved toward the living room, her gaze fell upon a collection of gift boxes strewn on the floor. “What are all these for?” she inquired, a hint of curiosity lacing her voice. “It wouldn’t be right to show up empty-handed,” he said after a brief moment of contemplation, attempting to effortlessly pivot the conversation, “I just learned that you went home last night.” “Is that all? You came here simply to inform me of that?” Avery approached the sofa, settling down, her almond-shaped eyes locking onto his thin, weary face, their distance still lingering like an invisible wall—more than a meter apart. “Chelsea and I—” Avery cut him off sharply, “I don’t want to hear about it. I have no interest in understanding the nature of your relationship with her.” Elliot registered the chill in her expression, and a sensation of helplessness began to creep in. “Are you planning to discuss Charlie and me next?” she shot back, her tone resolute. “Elliot, even if I find myself deceived by him, that’s my burden to bear alone. I won’t drag you into this, nor will I seek your assistance. So please, don’t bring it up again.” Avery’s fiery spirit flared like a rebellious child; the more he warned her, the more determined she seemed to defy him. Elliot’s lips curled into a thin line, exhaustion shadowing his features as he absorbed her words in silence. Feeling a twinge of hunger, Avery rose from her seat and headed to the kitchen, where the sight of breakfast her mother prepared filled her with warmth. Grabbing a bun, she retreated to her perch on the sofa, eating with gusto, all the while aware of Elliot’s gaze fixed on her, his eyes bright with unspoken thoughts. “What else do you have to say?” she asked, wiping her mouth. Once she finished, she scrutinized him again. “If that’s all, you can go home now.” “I want to stay for lunch,” Elliot replied, his expression pleading. Caught off guard, Avery hesitated, unsure how to refuse him. It was merely a meal, and she didn’t want to come off as petty. “Fine, you can stay for lunch! But I have somewhere to go!” she declared, rising from the sofa with the intent to change and leave. “Avery, are you planning to abandon your home for good?” Elliot followed her, urgency in his voice as he stood at the threshold of her bedroom. “This is my home,” she replied matter-of-factly. “Did my mother say something to you last night?” he probed, concern threading through his voice. “No.” Avery didn’t want to dredge up any further complications. He needed to focus on his recovery, not troubles she wished to keep at bay. “Our issues are ours alone. I don’t believe we’re a compatible pair.” “What does ‘compatible’ even mean?” Elliot stepped into the cramped bedroom, shutting the door behind him. The space barely exceeded ten square meters, dominated by a bed and a wardrobe, leaving little room for anything but tension. “For me, compatibility means comfort with the other person,” Avery replied, her voice steadier as she raised her gaze to meet his. “But you, Elliot, make me incredibly uncomfortable.” Her words slammed into him like a physical blow, igniting anger beneath the surface. “Did Charlie make you feel comfortable?” Elliot’s voice strained as he asked, teeth clenched. “Did he really?” “Regardless of who makes me feel comfortable, it’s certainly not you!” Avery retorted, feeling him draw closer. Frustrated, she thrust her palm against his chest, pushing him back. “Don't be so shameless! Just because you’re a patient doesn’t mean I won’t stand up for myself!” Suddenly, Elliot unzipped his jacket. Without a second thought, he shed his coat, draping it over the clothes rail. The gray V-neck T-shirt he wore beneath hugged his body, accentuating his defined Adam’s apple; beads of sweat shimmered on his neck in the warm air. “Why are you stripping? You’re going to catch a cold again!” she protested, reaching for his coat in a bid to coax him into putting it back on. But before she could react, he scooped her up and threw her onto the bed with unexpected force. --- The tension in the air crackled, leaving both of them breathless, suspended in a moment that promised something much deeper than their bickering could ever uncover.