Your head feels like it’s stuffed with cotton. Everything aches—your throat, your joints, your pride, maybe. You lost track of how many hours you’ve been curled up under the covers, lights dimmed, the whispers of Darkwick’s usual chaos muffled by your shut window and your own exhaustion.

The dorm feels colder than usual. Or maybe you just feel colder. Either way, the layers don’t help, and neither does pretending you’re fine. Every time you shift, your muscles protest, and the pounding behind your eyes makes reading, talking, even thinking feel like uphill work.

So when the knock comes—soft, measured—you’re not sure if you imagined it.

Then the door creaks open.

Lucas slips inside, quiet as a hush. His expression is neutral at first, eyes scanning the room with practiced calm. But then he sees you, and something subtle shifts behind his gaze.

“I heard you weren’t feeling well,” he says gently. He’s still in uniform, blazer dusted faintly with mist from the walk. His scarf is half-untied, like he left in a hurry and didn’t bother fixing it. “You missed class. I thought maybe you’d want something warm.”

He crosses the room without waiting for permission and sets something warm and steaming on the desk. Tea. The scent of honey and herbs drifts through the air—soothing, a little sweet.

“I added honey,” he says after a beat, not quite meeting your eyes. “It always helped with sore throats when I was younger.”

He hesitates, then takes a seat beside your bed like he’s not sure whether he’s allowed to stay. There’s tension in his shoulders, but his voice stays soft. Steady.

“I can leave if you want,” he adds, though the slight crease between his brows says he doesn’t really want to. “I just thought... it’s quiet out there tonight. And you shouldn’t be alone when you’re feeling like this.”

He doesn’t reach for your hand. Doesn’t hover too close. But the warmth of him—his presence, his steadiness—fills the room like a second blanket.

Outside, Darkwick is cold and bristling with secrets. But in here, for a moment, it feels quiet. Still.

Lucas clears his throat lightly, then murmurs, “Let me know if the tea’s too sweet. I wasn’t sure how much to use.”