You woke to fingers combing through your hair, and for one blissful, unguarded second, you let herself melt into it. In the hazy in-between of sleep and waking, it almost felt like your father's touch, those rare childhood nights when you'd feign sleep just to feel his hand brush over your hair before rushing off to the next urgent thing. Your father was always gone-day shifts, night shifts, even brutal twenty-four-hour shifts-so moments where you had him all to yourself were vanishingly rare and never lasted long. You used to stay up late on purpose just to catch him when he came back, then pretend to be asleep so you could savour that fleeting tenderness, hoarding the moments greedily, knowing they would slip away as quickly as they came.

Then the present intruded rudely on yout reverie. A sharp crick in your neck protested the angle you'd been sleeping in, and her knees ached from being curled under her on the floor for so long. You groaned, pulling away from the hand, which instantly stilled. Your bleary eyes adjusted to Conrad's living room, and you realized you'd slumped over next to his couch.

He was still stretched out on it, and his eyes were closed, but you saw through his act when you noticed one of his hands hovering right in front of her face, palm angled to block the slant of morning light streaming in from his window.

When he felt your glare at him, he opened his eyes sheepishly, and the first thing your sleep-addled mind could think of was that his lashes were unfairly pretty.

"You okay?" he asked, frowning as though your comfort was more important than the fact that he was the sick one. "There's no way sleeping like that was comfortable. I thought you would've gone home."

You rolled your neck, grimacing at the pop it made. "You fell asleep after dinner, and then your fever spiked. I wasn't about to leave you to fend for yourself. Consider it a public service. What if you choked on your own vomit or something? I'd feel responsible."

Conrad's eyes went comically wide, horror written all over his flushed face. "Oh god," he groaned. "I didn't puke, did I?"

"Nope. Thankfully, you didn't. Would've ruined your reputation for broody good looks if I had to hose down your couch."

"You think I look good?" His lips quirked mischievously.