JAY'S POV —
The fever. DOES. NOT. GO. DOWN.
I check again. And again. And AGAIN.
"ARE YOU KIDDING ME?!" I whisper-yell at absolutely no one, pacing beside the bed like a lunatic while Mr. Chaos Incarnate lies there looking like a tragic, overheated Greek god who just had to collapse in my room out of all 80 people in this hotel.
I grab my phone. Search. Scroll. Panic.Any way to get this human radiator to cool down.
Cold compression over the entire body lowers the body temperature.
"…Fantastic more touching him...Just Fantastic."
I turn slowly toward him.
"…I hate my life."
He's sprawled across my bed, shirt half-open, skin flushed, hair messy, lips slightly parted—and I STOP.
Freeze.
Blink.
Look away.
Look back.
"…No. Nope. We are NOT acknowledging this," I mutter, aggressively unbuttoning the rest of his shirt like I'm mad at the fabric, not the fact that his body looks—
"ILLEGAL !!!!!ABSOLUTELY ILLEGAL TO HAVE ABS!!YOU CAN'T HAVE ABS ASSHOLE!!!," I hiss under my breath.
Because WHAT IS THIS??
Abs?? Defined?? Like sharper than before?? WHO GAVE HIM PERMISSION TO UPGRADE???
But damn me he looked fine....no Jay Jay remember you HATE him so stop imaging stuff you shouldn't imagine.....
"This is a MEDICAL situation Jay," I remind myself loudly, grabbing the towel and dunking it into ice water like I'm trying to drown my thoughts along with it.
I wring it out.
Turn back.
Take a breath and press it against his chest.
He inhales sharply.
I freeze.
"Oh don't YOU react NOW—" I whisper, eyes wide, as I drag the cold cloth slowly across his skin, over the heat, over the tension, trying to focus like a sane human being.
Except I am NOT sane.
Because my brain—traitor, criminal, absolute menace—decides THIS is the perfect time to replay what just happened earlier.
That. "method."
That. kiss-that-wasn't-a-kiss.
"STOP IT YOU PERFECT LITTLE SLUTTY BRAIN!!!!!," I snap under my breath, scrubbing the towel a little harder than necessary across his shoulder.
He shifts slightly.
A low sound escapes him.
And I—
PAUSE.
"…unbelievable," I breathe, staring at him like he personally planned this.
"YOU are unconscious. YOU do not get to make THIS worse so stop reacting!!!"
I move the cloth again, slower now, across his collarbone, down his arm, trying—failing—to ignore the way his body reacts even in sleep, the way his breathing steadies under my touch.
And that makes it worse because it's working.
Because he's calming down.
Because HE'S TRUSTING THIS—
NO. STOP.
I dunk the towel again. Hard. Splashing water everywhere.
"Focus, Jay. He is SICK. He is NOT—" I cut myself off, glaring at him.
…annoyingly attractive.
Silence.
Thunder crashes outside like the universe just laughed at me.
I press the cloth against his chest again—gentler this time—and his hand moves.
Just a little.Brushing my wrist and OH MY GOD—
I yank my hand back like I've been electrocuted.
"Nope! ABSOLUTELY NOT!" I stand up instantly, pointing at him like he can hear me.
"We are DONE. You're healing. That's enough. No more… touching. Interaction. EXISTING in my personal space—no more abs touching...."
He shifts again.
Breathing calmer now.
Fever… slightly down.
I stop.
Look at him.
And exhale.
"…fine," I mutter, softer this time, grabbing the blanket and pulling it over him carefully despite myself. "You're welcome but remember I only did this because you are only a human..."
The storm outside is still raging—wind screaming, rain slamming, thunder shaking the glass—but inside?
It's quieter now.
Too quiet.
And suddenly—
I'm exhausted.
Like it hits all at once.
I look at the couch.
Then at the bed.
Then back at the couch.
"…the couch looks uncomfortable."
The bed looks worse.
Because HE is on it.
I grab a pillow anyway, walk to the farthest edge possible, and climb onto the bed like I'm entering enemy territory, keeping a solid galaxy of distance between us.
I turn my back to him instantly.
"This means NOTHING," I declare to the pillow. "You are just… a patient. A VERY annoying patient."
Silence.
Then—
I feel it.
The warmth.
Not overwhelming anymore. Not burning.
Just… there.
Steady.
Alive.
And I hate—hate—how that's the thing that makes my shoulders finally relax.
"Stupid storm," I mumble, eyes already closing. "Stupid hotel. Stupid… Keifer…"
My voice fades.
The thunder softens.
And despite everything—despite the chaos, the anger, the absolute disaster of a night—
I fall asleep.
On the same bed.
As the one person I swore I'd never let this close again and my traitor brain—AGAIN—decides to speak.
He looked at you like that earlier.
He said he doesn't believe you love someone else and you still—
"SHUT UP," I whisper into the pillow.
Because I don't want to think about how close he is.
Don't want to think about how easily I could just turn—
Don't want to think about what would happen if he wasn't unconscious.
Don't want to think about how that almost-kiss—
I hate him.I hate him....I always told myself I hate him for what I did but my heart tonight said otherwise...
You stupid stupid heart just sleep you dumbhead with no brain....
"Not happening," I mutter firmly.
But my shoulders relax anyway.
My breathing slows and despite everything—
Despite the chaos, the tension, the absolute disaster of a night..I fell asleep.
On the same bed.
With the one man who still manages to ruin my peace…
Even when he's not awake to try...