The apartment door clicked shut behind me, muffling the sound of rain. The warmth inside pressed too close, too heavy. Outside, the storm cracked against the windows. Inside… I was the one falling apart.
Lucian stirred faintly in my arms.
His breath hitched, hot and uneven. His fingers twitched against my shoulder, but his eyes didn't open.
I should've felt relief.
All I felt was the weight of something I wasn't supposed to be holding.
I carried him past my bedroom. Past the kitchen. Down the hallway to the door I hadn't opened in months.
The guest room.
I shifted him slightly and nudged it open with my foot. The door creaked, the sound sharp in the quiet — like even it was warning me not to do this.
But it was the only place left.
The room was untouched. Sheets perfectly folded. Air cold and indifferent. It felt safe. Too safe.
I laid him down, pulling my hands away slower than I should've. For a second, I didn't move.
He looked… different like this.
Too quiet. Too pale. Like the smart-mouthed, restless kid from my classroom had been replaced by someone breakable.
I knelt beside him, fingers brushing the damp fabric clinging to his skin.
"This has to come off," I muttered under my breath. No pet names. No softness. Just facts.
My hands worked quickly, tugging the shirt over his head. His skin was burning, sweat-slick, and radiating heat like an open flame.
I tossed the fabric aside, turned to the bathroom, and let cold water run over my hands until the sting chased some of the heat from my chest.
When I came back, I grabbed a clean towel, soaked it, and pressed it to his neck, then his chest. My hand hesitated for half a second longer than it should have.
Focus.
I laid another cool cloth across his chest, then one on his forehead. His lashes flickered. Jaw tensed. And something in my gut twisted.
I exhaled.
"Sleep," I said. Not a request. Not a plea. Just a command to the air.
My fingers brushed his hair once — out of necessity, not affection.
Then I stood.
I should've walked out.
I didn't.
I lingered in the doorway, back against the wall, one hand still on the knob. The room felt too quiet. My pulse, too loud.
I looked at him again.
He didn't belong here. In my space. In my head. In this mess I'd spent years keeping clean.
But now… he was here.
And I couldn't ignore it.
The guest room wasn't safe anymore.
Neither was I.
---
The light outside the window had shifted to something softer, gentler. Morning had bled into afternoon without asking for permission.
I set my phone down on the kitchen counter. Ignored the dozen work notifications lighting up the screen. None of it mattered right now.
I made a mental list of everything he could possibly need. Fever reducers. Water. Fresh towels. Something light to eat. It felt ridiculous, how automatic it was — like muscle memory from a life I didn't even live.
The porridge simmered on the stove while I cracked eggs into a pan. Toast browned in the corner. I cut up apples and bananas like I'd done a hundred times growing up when my brothers were sick, without thinking twice about it.
I didn't look at the clock.
Didn't check my emails.
I just cooked.
When the tray was ready, I set it aside and grabbed my phone again, thumbing through my contacts. My thumb hovered over one name.
Kalpo.
She picked up on the second ring.
"Finally," her voice teased, but then softened when she heard my silence. "Hey… what's wrong?"
I sighed, leaning against the counter. "I need you to come over."
A pause. "Is it him?"
"Yeah."
"How bad?"
"He's still out. Fever's high. I don't wanna leave him alone, but I've already missed my morning meetings. I… can't cancel everything."
"Say no more. I'm on my way."
I felt my chest loosen a little.
Before I could even hang up, I shot a text to Ayaan.
"Need you at my place. Emergency. Don't be an idiot about it."
He replied in two seconds flat.
"Skipping class. Be there in 10."
I swear, for once I was grateful for his stubborn, nosy attitude.
I went back to the guest room.
He hadn't moved.
Same flushed cheeks, lips parted in shallow breaths. I changed the towel on his forehead again, ran my fingers through his hair once more — a habit I was starting to hate myself for — and checked his pulse. It was steady, thank god.
I left the food on the nightstand, left a fresh bottle of water, and stepped back.
Not far enough.
I never was.
By the time Kalpo arrived, she came barreling through the door like she owned the place. Still in sweatpants and an oversized hoodie, hair up in a messy clip.
She took one look at me and rolled her eyes. "You look like hell."
"I didn't ask for commentary."
She grinned and stepped inside, dropping her bag. "Go handle whatever you need to handle. I got this."
"Thank you," I murmured.
Then Ayaan showed up, as dramatic as expected.
"Whoa, you weren't kidding." He glanced toward the guest room. "Kid looks wrecked."
I arched a brow. "If you so much as tease him when he wakes up, I'll kill you."
He held up his hands. "I'm an angel."
"Liar."
I made coffee for both of them, set out what I could, and gave them a run-down of what to watch for. Kalpo promised to text if anything changed. Ayaan, for once, kept his mouth shut and just nodded.
I grabbed my coat.
And before I left, I let myself glance at the guest room door.
Just one glance.
Then I was gone.