Later that morning, the school library was unusually still, the hum of the air conditioning the only thing keeping the space from falling into complete silence.
Rain and Julian were sitting at one of the back tables, far from the others. A tall stack of books stood untouched between them.
Julian had his arms folded on the desk, head resting heavily on them. He hadn't spoken much since they arrived, and he looked like he could pass out at any moment.
Rain tilted his head and leaned closer, frowning. "You good?"
Julian gave a small nod without lifting his head.
"You don't look good," Rain muttered, and before Julian could protest, Rain reached out and placed the back of his hand against Julian's forehead. His eyes widened instantly.
"Whoa. You're burning up, dude." Rain pulled his hand back as if it had touched an open flame.
Julian barely reacted. "Just a little fever. It'll go away."
"No wonder why you don't have energy to make fun of me today," Rain said, narrowing his eyes playfully. "You should've skipped class today."
"I've got stuff to pass." Julian pushed himself up weakly, his eyes glazed. "The documentary and the script."
Rain blinked. "Wait—you're already done?"
"Yeah." Julian winced as he leaned back against the chair. "Didn't sleep. But… thanks to someone who helped me out."
At that, Rain perked up, practically vibrating in his seat as he leaned in. "Who? Who helped you? Was it—"
Julian shoved him away weakly. "Shut up."
"Fine, fine," Rain whined, crossing his arms in mock offense. "I'll find it out myself. I'll walk you back to your dorm later, okay? You look like one of those dying flowers in my mom's garden. If I let you go alone, you'll probably faint and be found by campus security."
Julian sighed deeply, his head dropping again. "You're so dramatic."
Rain reached out and gently placed a hand behind Julian's head, guiding it to rest against his shoulder. "Aww, my friend looks like my sick cat again."
"Fuck you," Julian muttered, voice muffled by Rain's hoodie.
Rain laughed. "You want me to call Thomas to walk with you instead?" he teased.
Julian immediately sat up and shoved him, fluster
"What the hell, Rain?"
"Joking! Just joking!" Rain held up both hands in surrender. "Relax."
Just then, Rain's phone buzzed with an alarm. He glanced at the screen and groaned. "We've got five minutes before class. Let's go, zombie."
Their class was as uneventful as always—except for Julian, whose head was pounding so badly it made the words on the whiteboard blur together. He tried to keep his eyes on the front of the room, but he couldn't focus. Every sound seemed louder, every light too bright.
Meanwhile, Rain had laid his open textbook in front of him, pretending to read while actually napping behind it—his attempt to keep up appearances for the professor. Julian didn't blame him. He wished he could nap, too.
When the bell finally rang to end the session, Rain jolted upright like a startled cat.
"Class dismissed!" their professor barked, and students shuffled to gather their things.
Rain looked at Julian, who hadn't moved.
"Come on," Rain said, grabbing his friend's arm gently. "Let's get you out of here."
Julian stood, legs unsteady beneath him, and leaned into Rain for support without complaint.
Outside, the sun was unforgiving.
It beat down over them with a heat too sharp for Julian's already-overworked body. The sidewalk shimmered faintly, and everything smelled like hot pavement and blooming grass.
Rain placed a steadying hand on Julian's back. "You're sweating a lot," he murmured. "You sure you're okay?"
Julian didn't answer. His gaze was on the concrete, footsteps heavy and sluggish. His breathing had gone shallow, and his head lolled slightly forward with each step.
"Hey," Rain said, tightening his grip. "We're almost there. Just a few more blocks, yeah?"
Julian nodded faintly. But to Rain, it felt less like affirmation and more like a body too tired to shake its head.
They passed under the dappled shade of a large tree, and for a moment, Julian paused and leaned against the bark, as if he couldn't take the heat any longer.
"You really should've stayed in bed today," Rain said softly, looking at him with a mix of worry and exasperation.
The walk back to the dorm was slow and quiet.
Julian leaned more heavily into Rain the closer they got. His face had gone pale, the slight pink of fever clinging to his cheeks. Rain muttered reassurances under his breath, but his arm never left Julian's back.
When they reached the dorm building, Rain helped him up the stairs, one slow step at a time.
By the time they reached Julian and Thomas's room, Rain knocked once with his foot, already half-carrying Julian.
The door opened a few seconds later.
Thomas stood there, dressed casually, damp hair hinting he'd just come from a shower. His eyes moved instantly to Julian—how slumped he looked, how Rain was holding him up. His expression shifted. Barely. But enough for Rain to notice.
"He's burning," Rain said without preamble, steering Julian through the door. "And completely out of it. I told him not to go to class, but of course, he didn't listen."
Julian tried to mumble something in protest, but his voice cracked, and he coughed instead.
Thomas stepped aside as Rain guided Julian to the bed.
Rain gently helped Julian onto his bed, guiding him down with slow care. Julian sat with a dazed breath, then lowered himself until his back met the mattress.
Rain hovered above him, steadying the motion, and then pulled the blanket up over Julian's body.
Julian was already asleep—his breath soft, barely audible, face flushed with fever.
Rain dropped onto the chair beside the bed, fanning himself with one hand as he let out a dramatic sigh. "Do you have cold water? It's like hell outside. I think I'm about to pass out."
Thomas, who had been leaning silently against his own desk, replied flatly, "Kitchen."
Rain trudged out without another word.
Thomas moved the moment he was alone. He went to his closet and pulled out a fresh towel, then made his way into the kitchen. He filled a small basin with cold water from the sink, dipping the cloth in and wringing it out with steady hands.
When he returned, he sat carefully on the edge of Julian's bed.
The room had gone still, save for the subtle rustling of the wet cloth as Thomas soaked it again. His hand reached forward, brushing strands of hair away from Julian's forehead with the tips of his fingers. The skin beneath his touch radiated heat—unnatural and worrying.
He began dabbing the cloth gently over Julian's forehead and cheeks, careful not to wake him. Every movement was deliberate, quiet. He worked in silence, like someone performing a sacred ritual.
From the kitchen doorway, Rain appeared again with a glass of water in hand, pausing as he caught sight of the scene before him.
He watched Thomas in silence.
The way Thomas leaned in slightly, brows drawn together in concentration. The way his fingers lingered at Julian's temple a moment too long. There was a quiet kind of intimacy in his movements—nothing overt. But it was there.
Rain raised a brow, his usual teasing smile fading into something unreadable.
"I should go," Rain said softly. "I've got a project to finish anyway. Thanks in advance."
Thomas didn't look up. "Yeah."
Rain lingered for a second, eyes narrowing like he wanted to say something else—but he didn't. He turned and slipped out, letting the door click softly shut behind him.
And then, there was silence.
The air felt heavier in his absence.
Thomas's hand stopped mid-motion. The damp cloth now resting still against Julian's temple. His gaze remained fixed on Julian's sleeping face.
The fever had flushed color into Julian's cheeks. His usually animated face was soft in rest, lips parted just enough for breath to slip through. His eyebrows—so often drawn with sarcasm or mischief—were relaxed now. Vulnerable. He looked smaller somehow, curled into the blanket like he needed protection from something Thomas couldn't name.
Thomas reached out again, hand hovering over Julian's hair.
But he didn't touch.
His fingers curled back. Then, quietly, he set the cloth aside and just sat there beside him, watching. The space between them quiet, fragile, and impossibly loud all at once.