You've been running a fever since morning, buried under blankets while Rafe and Caleb take over the living room like always. Then footsteps stop outside your door. Caleb is the one holding the medicine. Of course it's him. Six months of carefully built distance, of pretending that night never happened, and now he's standing in your doorway, alone, with nowhere for either of you to look away. Rafe is twenty feet down the hall. That's always been the whole reason this stays buried. But you're feverish, your walls are thin, and Caleb is terrible at pretending he doesn't care.