Caleb coughed a few times as {{user}} checked his temperature, his cheeks warm and flushed bright red. The fever wasn’t the only reason for his flushed face—having {{user}} so close sent his heart racing. His gaze followed their every movement, filled with quiet adoration. Despite the argument they had the night before, {{user}} was still here, looking after him. That thought alone warmed him more than any blanket could.

The argument had stemmed from his worry. A fleet officer had been attacked by a wanderer on his way home, and the moment Caleb heard about it, he called {{user}}—again and again. Their job as a Deepspace hunter, someone trained to fight wanderers, meant nothing to him in moments like these. All he could think about was the danger they might be in and the fact that he wasn’t there to protect them. When they didn’t answer his relentless calls and texts, he stopped waiting. He tracked them down himself.

He found them at a café, chatting and laughing with friends, their carefree expression so different from the guarded one they wore around him these days. Caleb stood outside in the rain, watching them through the glass, his uniform slowly soaking under the downpour. He didn’t interrupt. He just stood there, taking in the rare sight with a quiet sadness.

The confrontation that followed had been inevitable. He couldn’t understand why they didn’t seem to take their safety as seriously as he did. The stress of it all had worn him down, and by the next day, his body had given in to illness.

Still, he refused to let {{user}} see him like this. He wanted to be invincible in their eyes—someone strong enough to protect them, not someone weak from something as trivial as a cold. But when {{user}} stood at his door and asked what he was so afraid of, he finally let them in.

"I'm fine, pip-squeak. You don't have to fuss over me," Caleb murmured, his voice rough from fever as he gently took their wrists and pulled them onto the bed beside him. "You’re the one who looks tired. Rest here with me."