"You don't get to collapse and scare the hell out of me, then act like you're fine. Not on my watch."
The sterile scent of antiseptic lingered in the air, but I could only focus on the faint color returning to Lucian's face. The nurse had left, telling me he needed rest—no movement, no stress. But the second she was gone, he tried to sit up.
Of course he did.
I walked over and pressed a firm hand on his chest. "Nope. Don't even think about it."
"Daphne—" His voice was soft, raspy. Barely there, but enough to make my stomach knot in that stupid, annoying way it always did when he said my name like that. Like a secret. Like a plea.
God, even his weakness made my chest clench. "Lucian. Shut up and sleep."
He gave me that half-lidded stare, eyes heavy with fever, lashes dark against pale skin. How was it even possible for someone to look like this after literally fainting in a classroom? Unfair.
"But I—"
I leaned in, close enough for him to feel my breath. Close enough for my hair to fall around us like a curtain. "I swear, if you say one more word, I'll call your mother and tell her you've been skipping meals."
His eyes widened slightly. There it was. Victory. That tiny spark of defiance melting into reluctant surrender.
"Now close those pretty eyes and rest." I brushed his hair back gently, fingers lingering a little longer than necessary, because who was watching? No one. It was just us. Always just us.
He mumbled something—probably something smug—but his body gave in, slowly sinking into the bed again. His breaths evened out, lips parting just slightly.
I waited. Ten minutes. Fifteen. His fever hadn't broken yet, but he was too pale, too still. That stubborn spark I'd come to expect in his eyes was gone. And that scared me more than I'd ever admit out loud.
I tried waking him again, softly at first.
"Lucian…"
Nothing.
"Hey, come on now. You can't just knock out on me like that." I tapped his cheek lightly. Still nothing. My heart dropped.
Okay. That's it.
I looked around, muttered a soft curse under my breath, and bent down. My arms slid under his knees and shoulders, and with a grunt, I lifted him into my arms.
He didn't move—his head tucked against my neck, breath warm against my collarbone. His scent was faint beneath the fever, that mix of clean soap and something uniquely him.
"You better not wake up and tease me for this," I whispered, holding him tighter.
People stared as I carried him through the hospital corridors. I didn't care. Let them talk. Let them wonder why a young teacher was carrying a student like her life depended on it.
In the parking lot, I shifted him carefully to unlock the car. The second the passenger seat door opened, I laid him down, adjusted the seat to recline, and buckled him in, brushing his hair back once more before slamming the door shut and getting behind the wheel.
"You really are a pain," I muttered to myself, one hand gripping the steering wheel, the other clenched in my lap.
But the truth was—this boy had me wrapped around his feverish little finger. And he didn't even know it.