Noah started measuring time in hospital visits.
Morning light through thin curtains.
The nurse who hummed off-key.
The sound of Evan's breathing, steadier now, less afraid.
He told himself it was responsibility.
He told himself it was duty.
He told himself a lot of lies.
Evan was sitting up when Noah arrived that evening, knees drawn close, staring at the city like it was a story he wasn't sure he was allowed to finish reading.
"You look better," Noah said.
Evan tilted his head. "You say that like you're trying to convince yourself."
Noah exhaled. "Maybe I am."
He placed coffee on the table. Evan's favorite. He hadn't remembered learning that.
Which bothered him.
"You didn't have to come again," Evan said quietly.
Noah shrugged. "You'll miss my charming personality."
A small smile. Tired, but real.
Silence settled between them—not awkward, not heavy. Soft.
Dangerous.
Evan spoke first. "Kai brought flowers."
Noah stiffened before he could stop himself.
"Did he."
"Yeah. Rhea picked them." Evan paused. "They argue like an old married couple."
Noah forced a neutral sound. "They always did."
But something inside him twisted.
Uninvited.
Unreasonable.
Stupid.
He hated it.
He watched Evan drink his coffee too fast and burn his tongue and pretend he didn't.
"You're bad at taking care of yourself," Noah muttered.
Evan smiled faintly. "You noticed."
"I notice things. It's my job."
"That's not why you notice me."
The words landed gently.
Still, they shook him.
Noah stood abruptly. Walked to the window. Put distance between his heart and his mouth.
The city below was loud. Alive. Careless.
"I shouldn't," he said.
Evan didn't ask what.
Noah ran a hand through his hair. "You're connected to a serial case. You confess to murders you don't commit. You collapse like the world is ending inside you."
He turned back.
"I should be afraid of you."
Evan nodded slowly. "I know."
"I should stay professional."
Another nod.
"I should leave."
Evan's hands clenched in the blanket.
Noah didn't move.
His voice dropped. "But when I thought you were dying… I couldn't breathe."
Silence broke open.
Evan's eyes shimmered. "Noah…"
"I don't know when it happened," Noah whispered. "I don't know how."
He stepped closer.
"But you exist, and something in me refuses to unlearn that."
Evan looked away, like the feeling hurt to hold.
"I'm not safe," he said.
Noah answered softly, fiercely:
"Neither am I."
They stood there—two broken truths facing each other.
No promises.
No touches.
Just the terrifying knowledge that some connections don't ask permission.
That night, Noah stayed until Evan fell asleep.
And long after, when the machines were the only witnesses, Noah finally named the thing in his chest.
Love.
And it terrified him more than any killer ever could.