His eyes light up like I just handed him keys to the city. “My place is close. Ten minutes tops. We could order in, or I could cook. Or just, you know, exist in the same apartment and mutually ignore each other for a while.”
I arch an eyebrow. “You’re going to cook?”
“Depends on whether you have to go back to the office afterwards… I could make a mean turkey sandwich,” he says, “and if not, I could make ribs, mac and cheese and give you some great dick afterwards.”
“Both options sound tempting, but let’s stick with option one,” I say, taking Aaron’s arm because I want to. We step out into the drizzle, and his umbrella opens with a magician’s flourish. By the time we reach the garage, my mood has completely shifted. I’m still riding the adrenaline from court, but now I feel a subtle anticipation I haven’t allowed myself to experience in a long time.
We get into his car, and he drives with a calm confidence, as though he has nothing to prove. The ten-minute drive is mostly quiet, yet it feels comfortable. “Remember this song?” He turns up the volume, and the beginning of ‘Breaking Free’ fromHigh School Musicalfills the car. I can’t help but laugh.
“Oh my God, are you serious right now?” I laugh, covering my face with my hands. “High School Musical? That’s what you’re playing?”
Aaron grins, tapping his fingers against the steering wheel in rhythm. “Don’t act like you don’t remember every word. We watched it together that weekend when you were sick. You were so full of cold medicine and still nailed all of Gabriella’s parts.”
“I was delirious with fever,” I protest, but I’m already humming along. The memory surfaces and floods back in vivid detail.
**Twelve Years Ago**
Senior year, after winter break, I’d been battling a nasty cold for three days but refused to miss my first study group. By evening, I was a walking disaster—nose raw from tissues, eyes watery, and a fever that made the dorm hallway tilt like a funhouse mirror.
I knock on Aaron’s suite door, sniffling pathetically, backpack hanging off one shoulder. When he opens it, his smile immediately transforms into concern.
“Minji? Jesus, you look terrible.” He reaches out to touch my forehead, and I lean into his palm instinctively. “You’re burning up. Why aren’t you in bed?”
“Study group,” I mutter, voice nasal and scratchy. “Economics.”
He ushers me inside, shaking his head. “You should’ve stayed in your room. You need rest, not calculus.”
“Economics,” I correct him, dropping my backpack with a thud. “And I wanted to be with you.”
Aaron’s expression softens. “Come here, you disaster.” He pulls me into his room, tossing textbooks aside to make room for me on the bed. “I’m making you tea, and you’re going to lie down.”
“Will you lie with me?” I pout as he wraps his comforter around my shoulders.
“Of course,” he says, disappearing into the kitchen. Aaron returns from the kitchen with a steaming mug. “Drink this,” he commands, pressing it into my hands. “It’s chamomile with honey and lemon.”
I wrinkle my nose but accept it anyway. “Smells like my grandmother’s closet.”
“That’s how you know it works.” He sits beside me on the bed, his weight creating a dip that pulls me slightly toward him. “I can’t believe you dragged yourself across campus with a fever just for a study group.”
“Worth it,” I mumble, taking a sip and wincing at the temperature. “Besides, my roommate has her boyfriend over. They’re… loud.”
Aaron laughs, the sound vibrating through the mattress. “So I’m your refuge from sex noises?”
“You’re my refuge, period.” The words slip out before my fever-addled brain can censor them. I blame the cold medicine.
His expression shifts, something soft and surprised crossing his face before he covers it with a teasing smile. “Well, I’m honored. Though I’d be more honored if you took better care of yourself.”
I set the mug down on his nightstand and curl deeper into his comforter. “I’m taking care of myself right now. This is self-care.”
“Showing up at my door looking like death warmed over is self-care?”
“Being with you is.” I close my eyes, letting my head fall against his shoulder. “You’re warm. And you don’t judge me when I’m gross.”
“You’re not gross,” he says, his arm slipping around my shoulders. “Just human.”
“A gross human.”
“A cute, gross human,” he corrects, and I feel his lips press briefly against my forehead. “Still feverish. Let me get you some Tylenol.”
