Over the next two days, she was back at the university, blowing her nose into tissues and dragging herself half-dead through the hallways. She had caught a cold — probably from that motorcycle ride in October, on a night that had already turned chilly. Her head was pounding with migraines, and she could barely concentrate in class... but she had to show up. The labs were mandatory, and skipping them would only cause problems later.

  "What a shitty day..." she mumbled to herself as she opened her locker, hoping to find more tissues inside. She really didn't want to walk all the way across campus to the shop. There was always a line, and she'd probably be late for her next lecture. Well, if she didn't find any, she'd just use some toilet paper...

  He was passing through the hallway when he saw her. Sneezing into her tissue, sniffling like a sick kitten—and not in a good sense. She looked... so small. And tired. There were dark circles under her eyes, and something in his chest tightened sharply.

  She hadn't noticed him yet. Too busy blowing her nose, her thoughts kept circling through the haze of her headache. Because of that, she hadn't caught much of the chemistry lecture and would probably have to reread everything later at home. Just searching her locker.

  "Still breathing?"

  His voice — low, teasing — cut through her fog.

  She jumped, accidentally sending the pack of tissues flying from her hand like startled birds.

  He stood there. Hands in his jacket pockets. Not smiling fully, but close. Eyes warm.

  "Took you long enough to get sick," he said softly. "I was starting to think you were immortal."

  She looked at him cautiously. "I... I'm not ten anymore..." she mumbled, crouching down to pick up the fallen tissues.

  "Mm, that's true." he watched her gather the scattered stuff, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. "You used to get sick so much when you were little. You got the stomach flu at least three times per year."

  "It was because you all were always wandering around the mall, and Charlotte kept bringing it home to me..." she said, wrinkling her nose at the memory as she stood up and looked back at him — like she was trying to gauge whether he was still angry or not.

  He raised an eyebrow, noting the way she flinched ever so slightly—almost like she was expecting him to snap. He couldn't help but shake his head faintly, some of the teasing leaving his voice. "Maybe so," he said quietly. "But it wasn't all Charlotte's fault. You were always running off, following us all over that damn mall."

  "Only when our parents let me. It wasn't that often..." she mumbled, watching him warily as she stuffed the used tissue back into her locker and sneezed.

  "Still ran like a tornado in tiny boots. " he leaned against the locker beside hers, arms crossed, voice softening. "Always showing up where you weren't expected... but never really leaving."

  She glazed him, with her runny nose, getting herself another tissue. "It wasn't that bad..." she said, lifting the warm tea she had poured into her thermos that morning as she closed her locker.

  "Keep telling yourself that," he murmured. But there was no real bite in it. His eyes flickered to the tissue in her hand, then to the thermos, his eyes narrowing slightly. "You sound like crap, by the way," he said. "You been sleeping at all? Or are you pulling all-nighters again?"

  "I sleep... just not long enough since catching this cold. I had to come — I've got labs today. Couldn't skip them," she said, blowing her nose.

  "Stupid. " he mumbled it quietly—no anger, just concern. A soft scolding, like he was talking to someone who mattered. "You should've stayed home." he took a half-step closer. "Even I know you don't fight a cold with caffeine and willpower."

  "I'm fine," she protested, looking at him with dark circles faint beneath her makeup.

  "You look like you could fall flat on your face at any second." There it was again—that sharp pang in his chest. Seeing her look so tired... "When was the last time you even ate something, sunshine?"

  "Morning... I'm not really hungry today," she said, taking a sip of her tea. She never had much of an appetite when she was sick. It was always like that.

  "So you're just ghosting yourself on tea and bad decisions?" he pushed off the lockers, stepping slightly in front of her so she couldn't just walk away. "Listen," he said, voice low but firm, "You don't get to crash your body into the ground and pretend it's fine. Not after—" he stopped. Just for a beat. "Not after everything you said the other night." his eyes held hers now—serious, intense. "You don't get to yell at me for not valuing myself... then do this to yours."

  She looked at him, her eyes widening as she tightened her grip on the thermos, completely caught off guard. Panic spiked suddenly in her chest, making her want to scream. She had thought... maybe he'd decided to just forget about it. To play it off. Like it had never happened. She had been hoping for that, actually. Almost believing it. And here he was. Her expression turned cautious.

  He watched the way she clenched the thermos. Protective, like a shield. Protective from what, exactly... he didn't know.

  "Just... promise me you'll take care of yourself," he asked, voice quiet now. Something in his heart squeezed, looking at her like this: sick, looking like on the verge of collapse... and still so damn stubborn. "No more pulling all-nighters. Not until your fever goes down. And eat something. For god's sake."

  "How do you... know I have a fever?" she asked, looking at him, more surprised now. He... didn't yelled at her. He doesn't looked... actually mad.

  "Don't need to be a doctor to notice the way you can't stop blowing your nose like you're auditioning for a role in a trumpet orchestra." his voice was deadpanned, but that hint of a smirk was almost back... almost teasing. "I can hear your sniffle from half the hallway."

  She held his gaze as a faint, embarrassed blush crept onto her face. "I—I am not sneezing that loud...!" she protested, self-conscious.

  "Louder than you think." he crossed his arms, fighting back a real smile now—the kind that actually reached his eyes. "Next time," he said, softer, "Text me before you decide to march into campus like a soldier going to war with a cold."

  "Text you...? Why...?" she asked, still holding on her thermos.

  "Because." he paused, like the word caught in his throat. Then, adding quiter: "Because I'll bring you soup. Or pick up your labs. Or at least stop you from passing out in the hallway." his eyes held hers—serious again, but warm beneath the surface.

  "Not because Charlotte asked me to."

  "Because I want to."

  She watched him, caught off guard, as he walked past her with that half-smile.

  "Don't stare like that. You'll get more cold."

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  He tossed the words over his shoulder as he walked ahead—just enough space between them to pretend he wasn't watching her every step from the corner of his eye.

  "See you after class, Adelynn."

  Adelynn...? She blinked, mumbling the name under her breath. He... He had never called her that before. Sunshine, little sister, squirrel — things like that... She shifted on her feet, then quickly turned toward her next class. Weird... but it was probably just the cold.

  He walked away, hands in his pockets, trying to ignore the sudden warmth in his chest. Trying not to smile like an idiot, like a teenager with first love. He was just looking out for her.

  That's all it was... right?

  ...Right.

  Later that day, she was at home — still living at her parents' house since she hadn't moved out yet — taking full advantage of the privilege of warm dinners and familiar comfort. Curled under the duvet in her bed, she tried to keep herself warm. The trip to the university had made her illness a little worse. She lay there, tossing from side to side, when she suddenly heard a rumble downstairs near the front door. Her mom's excited voice followed a moment later. She opened her eye reluctantly, curious. Was it her latest online order... or had someone come over? She couldn't quite tell, but the noise grew a little louder — and then came a knock on her door.

  "Come in..." she mumbled, pushing herself up slightly, dressed in warm, fluffy pajamas.

  He pushed the door open, standing in the doorway. He looked like his usual self—dark jeans, worn jacket, a tiny bit messy hair... But there was something different in his expression, in the gentle glint of his eyes. In the way he carried a small paper bag in his hand.

  "You look warm and comfortable," he said, closing the door behind him quietly. Something in his voice made her heart rate flutter, despite the stuffed-nose and the flushed cheeks.

  She stared at him, opening her eyes wildly, blink. Completely stunned. As at her face pulled not as much of fever, but embarrassed blush.

  "What... what are you doing here...?!" she asked, watching him warily, suddenly very aware of her disheveled appearance. It wasn't like he hadn't seen her like this before, but now she was older. It had been different when she was twelve...!

  He smiled faintly at her surprise—she looked adorable, all caught off guard. Sniffling, messy hair, wearing that ridiculous fluffy pyjama that she was used to always wear when she was sick. This time, a pink one in some colorful cartoon characters. "What does it look like I'm doing here?" he said, raising the bag in his hand. "I told you I'd bring you food." He added, watching her so soft. All the usual fire gone, replaced by this strange kind of... shyness.

  "You...! You said it theoritically...! You never said you were actually coming...!" she protested, still ashamed. Looking at him with full of emotions glaze.

  "Did I?" he came closer, reaching the bed, placing the bag onto the duvet. A smile tugged at his mouth—she was sweet when she was flustered like this. So different than her usual confident self. "Must have slipped my mind." his voice was low, teasing. He sat on the edge of her mattress, crossing his legs.

  She straightened slightly, suddenly aware of how casually he'd made himself comfortable on her bed — painfully aware. "What... what is this?" she asked, unable to hide the curiosity in her voice as she glanced at the bag.

  He unzipped the fastening, reaching inside.

  "What does it look like?" he said lightly, pulling out a takeaway container. He set it between them on the duvet, opening the lid. The steam and the smell rose into the air between them. It was a chicken noodle soup. "Soup," he continued, glancing sideways—her messy hair, flushed cheeks, that ridiculous pyjama. "And medicine. I picked up a whole pharmacy, actually."

  "I'm not... dying yet," she said, wrinkling her nose at him — though she couldn't help noticing the soup smelled good. Her heart skipped just a little.

  "No, but you're sniffling like a dying Martian." He reached into the bag again and pulled out tissues, painkillers, throat lozenges, even a small jar of honey, lining them up beside the soup like he was setting up an altar.

  "And you're eating this," he added, "or I'm telling your mom you forced yourself to sit through labs while running a fever."

  She shot him a look — the same one she used to give whenever he threatened to report her to her parents. She hadn't listened to Charlotte or her friends much when she was a kid. But... what kind of threat was that?

  "Just... just give me that." she said, pulling her hands a bit ahead, surrendered. Want to take the bowl.

  He smirked, handing the soup to her, along with a spoon. She looked so annoyed, so indignant... like a damn grumpy cat. He had to fight the sudden urge to reach out and ruffle her messy hair, just to see that glare get even more intense. She took the soup, her fingers accidentally brushed against his hand. Her skin was still so warm. Her eyes flicked up to his for a split second before darting away again. He felt something tighten in his chest.

  "Eat," he said firmly. "Before it gets cold."

  "Yes..." she nodded obediently, starting to eat slowly, blowing gently on the spoon to cool the soup for her throat.

  "Good girl," he murmured, almost like... an instinct. He couldn't help it. That stubborn little frown, the way she kept avoiding his eyes, her hair, all messed up like that, and the stupid pyjama. "And I'm serious about the medicine," he added, a bit firmer, pushing the pills toward her. "Take them."

  "I already took them. My mother is panicking just like you... She threw the whole first-aid kit at me after I started sneezing around her," she said, wrinkling her nose.

  He leaned back slightly, arms resting behind him, one leg stretched out. His eyes stayed on her though, watching the way she blew gently on the spoon, how carefully she ate.

  "Good," he said quietly. "Means I don't have to force you."

  She glanced up at him over the rim of the bowl. He was getting awfully comfortable, wasn't he? The soup was... tasty. A little spicy, but she liked it despite her dry throat. "And how exactly would you do that...?" she asked, unable to resist picking a fight.

  He raised an eyebrow, a smirk tugging at the edge of his mouth. She could never let it go, even when she was sick as a dog. There it was again, that defiant glint in those eyes, that stubborn tilt to her chin.

  "Oh, I could think of ways. Like..."

  He paused just long enough to be annoying.

  "...holding your nose and pouring it straight down your throat."

  He smirked at her, leaning just slightly closer, like he was already plotting it.

  She stiffened as his words sank in, her imagination betraying her immediately. A quick shiver followed, and she regretted the question at once, eyeing him warily. She didn't even know what she'd expected...

  A perfectly valid method.

  He held her gaze, that slow, dangerous smirk still playing on his lips. His voice dropped—low, teasing, just shy of crossing the line.

  "Or I could just wait till you're too tired to fight me." A beat. "You always fall asleep halfway through your own lectures anyway."

  And then—like he'd said too much—he looked away, clearing his throat and reaching for the medicine again.

  "Take another dose in two hours," he muttered, "or I'm telling Charlotte you're ignoring doctor's orders."

  "You... texted her?" she asked, freezing for a second the moment the name crossed her mind, lowering her spoon.

  He nodded, not looking at her, pretending to focus on the medicine.

  "Had to make sure someone knew you were still alive after almost collapsing on campus."

  "I... I see..." She nodded, taking a bit of soup again, after puffing, taking it to her mouths. So he actually did it. After her lecture. "Good..." she added quietly, unable to stop the wave of disappointment that washed over her. Something settled heavily across her shoulders and down her back — and it wasn't just the exhaustion from pushing herself too hard with a fever. Well... In the end, she was still second. They had been friends first... and well. Her and Theo were probably... barerly friends at all. More like... A parent keeping an eye on a kid. Wasn't it?

  He glanced up at her suddenly, as if he noticed the sudden change in her mood. She seemed... quiet. The usual spark in her eyes dimmed slightly. He looked away again, feeling a pang in his chest.

  "You should get some rest," he mumbled, pushing the pills toward her again - a clear dismissal now. "You need to sleep this off. Your body is literally yelling at you."

  "Yeah... I will." She nodded, taking them and easing herself back down. "Thank you for the soup... and the meds. You didn't have to."

  "You're welcome, Adelynn." he said it softly—her name again, so quiet and warm in the dim light of her bedroom. He stood up slowly, zipped his jacket halfway. "And eat the rest tomorrow," he added, "or I'm coming back."

  "I will. There's no need to check on me," she said, just lying, letting him go.

  He stopped, his hand on the door. One last look back at her, tucked into her bed, her hair spread on the pillow. She looked so damn small and tired like this. He had to force himself to look away again.

  "Goodnight, sunshine," he said quietly.

  "Goodnight, Theo," she whispered, hearing him finally step out the door. She lay there in the quiet of her room, listening to the slow ticking of the clock.

  Of course... of course he had finally texted Charlotte. What had she expected? That he would just... forget about her if she pushed hard enough...? Her fingers clenched in bedsheet. What was she even so sad about? She had known all along he wouldn't notice her anyway. Even now. She was still just a helpless child. She knew that. So why did it feel... like her heart was breaking all over again? Why did she feel so frustrated? Like all of this was just another failure. Like she'd lost something she had never even been competing for. Had she? "Stupid sunshine..." she mumbled to herself, a tear gathering in her eye. She was just emotional because she was sick, wasn't she? Stupid virus. Or whatever. She sank back into the pillows, squeezing her eyes shut, hoping the tight ache in her chest would somehow disappear if she just went to sleep.