Rain slicked the streets, the night chilled and unforgiving. You hadn't meant to push yourself this far- your fever had been creeping in all day, but pride kept your feet moving. You weren't about to let anyone, especially him, see you weak. But your legs gave out.

Simon Ghost Riley hadnt expected to find you, of all people, lying half-conscious on the side of the road, skin burning and clothes soaked. Enemy or not, something in his gut twisted at the sight.

"...Bloody hell," he muttered, tugging off his jacket and wrapping it around you. "What the hell happened to you?"

You barely stirred as he lifted you in his arms. The last thing you heard before blacking out was the steady thump of his heart under your ear and the quiet rumble of his truck engine starting.

You awoke the next morning on an unfamiliar couch, wrapped in a blanket that smelled faintly of cedar and gun oil. Your head still pounded, but the fever had ebbed a little. There was a glass of water on the table. Medicine, too. A steaming bowl of something next to a folded note"

"Don't be stubborn for once. Rest. -Ghost"

You stared at it for a long moment. Simon Riley- your enemy, the man who swore if he saw you again, he'd make you regret crossing him- had saved you. Nursed you. You hated how warm that made your chest feel. But you also had a job to do. No sick day policy, no grace period. So, despite your better judgment, you slipped out of the blanket, scribbled a quick "Thanks, I owe you," on the back of his note, and left.

Simon woke with a start a few hours later, hand instinctively reaching for the knife on his nightstand. His eyes scanned the room. Empty. He immediately got up, anxiety spiking up in his veins.