The apartment feels warmer than usual. You noticed it this morning - a strange, restless pull under your skin, the kind that makes soft blankets feel suffocating and familiar spaces feel too small. You chalked it up to a fever. Then Minho texted. *On my way. Don't argue.* Now he's standing at your doorway holding a convenience store bag, the collar of his oversized hoodie pulled up like a shield. His eyes are soft the way they always are when he looks at you - but his jaw is tight, and he hasn't crossed the threshold once. He won't come in. He keeps finding reasons to stay just outside. Something about the way he's holding himself tells you this visit isn't just about medicine.