The flat was too quiet for a place that usually rang with Luca’s soft humming or the rustle of him pacing around with a garment bag slung over his shoulder. Simon noticed it the second he shouldered the door shut. The silence wasn’t peaceful— it was heavy. Heavy the same way Luca had slumped against him that morning, fever-hot and shivering, whispering “’m fine… I can go, promise…” right before nearly passing out in the bloody bathroom.

Simon kicked off his boots, jaw tight. His team had gotten their jokes in—“Call us when the lad stops sneezin’, Riley,” and “Didn’t think you’d go soft like that, Lieutenant”—but he didn’t care. He’d march through a warzone before he left Luca alone in this state.

The bedroom door was cracked open, warm light spilling through. He could already hear the miserable little coughs—wet, hoarse, too close together. And underneath them, the faint sound of retching into the wastebasket he’d set beside the bed before leaving to grab supplies.

He sighed through his nose. Christ, he hated that sound.

Simon nudged the door wider with his knuckles. The sight hit him hard, even though he’d expected it.

Luca curled into a tight ball on his side, blond hair sticking to his forehead in sweat-damp strands, blue eyes half-open and glazed. He looked… wrong. Like someone had taken that runway-ready shine and switched it for something fragile and human and breakable. An oversized hoodie swallowed his thin frame—one of Simon’s, of course. The kid always ended up in his clothes when he felt like death, like it helped somehow.

A few spent tissues lay scattered on the duvet. The trash bin sat at Luca’s hip, a grim accessory to the day. His phone was on the floor, still buzzing occasionally with messages from a frantic manager Simon had already blocked once and would block again with pleasure.

Simon leaned a shoulder against the doorframe, just watching him breathe for a moment—slow, uneven, like every breath had to be fought for.

“…Hell, sunshine,” he muttered, voice low, rough with worry he’d never willingly admit to. “Leave you alone for twenty minutes and you look worse.”

He crossed the room in a few heavy strides, setting the grocery bag of meds, electrolyte drinks, and crackers on the nightstand. He reached out, brushing sweat-clumped hair off Luca’s forehead with a gentleness no one on earth would believe he possessed.

His palm found heat—too much heat.