After all, checking on him wasn’t my job anymore.
I turned a corner, my sneakers soft on linoleum. The corridor looked as lackluster as I felt—graying walls washed in tired light, kind of empty.
Then—a cough. Quiet and ragged, as if painfully scraping its way out. I frowned.
Resident workroom? That’s what it had sounded like. I moved forward on quiet soles and peered through the half-open door.
Finn.
He was slumped on the far couch, eyes closed and head braced on one arm. His other hand pressed down on his throat.Even so, another cough stuttered out, and I watched his face contort with it. Oh, Jesus.
I stepped inside before I could remember all the reasons not to. “Hey. What’s going on with you?”
His lids fluttered open, pupils slow to adjust. He blinked at me, expression foggy, cheeks flushed with fever. Damp hair clung to his temples. “I’m fine,” he croaked, sitting up too fast. “Just tired.”
Sure. And I was a rainbow-shitting unicorn.
“Tired,” I repeated, flat and unimpressed.
His smile wobbled around the edges. “Twenty-four-hour shift, right? It’s baked into the process. Test of character and all.”
“You’re sick.” I started toward him, and he watched me through glassy eyes, squinting as if trying to decide if I was just a trick of his dizzy mind. It broke something small and fragile in my chest.
“Jesse?”
“Yeah,” I said, softer than I should have. “Come on, sweetheart.”Shit. Okay, move along.“You’re sweating, you’re the same color as the walls, and you can barely even focus on me. You are not fine.”
“It’s just a stupid cold.” He started to push himself upright—too fast, stumbling on shaky legs. I caught him. He was shivering faintly in my arms, burning up, his face hot where our cheeks touched, just briefly.
“Jesus, Finn.” I forced myself to move back half a step, steadying him. “You need to go home.Now.”
“Don’t make it a thing,” he said, words gritty like sandpaper. “Please? I’m good to finish. I can sleep it off tomorrow.”
I could feel the fever rolling off him, breath rasping in his throat. Yeah, we’d all been there—showing up when weshouldn’t have, swept up in a work culture with little tolerance for people falling sick. Oh, the irony.
“Not under my watch.” My voice was gentle, too gentle, and I didn’t even care. “I’m calling in coverage. Because you? You’re going home.”
He winced. “No, seriously. I can make it. I don’t want to be?—”
“Weak?” I interrupted. “A drama queen? The guy who taps out?” I held his gaze. “Yeah, trust me—been there, thought that. And it’s all bullshit. You’re sick, that’s all.”
This time, he didn’t argue.
I prompted him back onto the couch, then went to the nurses’ station and told them to call in Finn’s replacement. “I thought he didn’t look too good,” the night charge nurse said. “But he insisted he was fine.”
“Are you surprised?” I asked, and she shook her head.
“No. Not the first one, sure won’t be the last.”
When I got back, Finn was upright but staring into space, looking so miserable that I wanted toshake himfor not taking better care of himself, then bundle him up in blankets and feed him tea.
Out of the question.
“I can walk.” His protest was weak as I helped him up, but he didn’t shrug me off when my hand lingered for another second or two. I let go once we moved down the hallway, his steps quietly shuffling, head down.
The elevator arrived with a ding. I let him enter first and followed, leaning into the corner opposite from him. His forehead shone under the harsh light, lips pressed together. He swayed when we set into motion.
“You’re not going to faint on me, right?” I’d meant for it to come out lightly, but concern bled into my tone.
