I wasn't eavesdropping.
Okay, maybe I was. A little.
But when your teacher—your mysterious, frustratingly unreadable, makes-your-heart-stutter-for-no-reason teacher—says "I'll handle it, just stall them," on the phone in a voice sharper than anything she's used in class… you don't not listen.
She was pacing near the door. Back turned. Voice low, clipped. Professional in a way that didn't match chalk dust and electromagnetism lectures.
And I caught enough.
"Tell them I'll get the contract reviewed tonight. No, I don't care. Push the investor call till Monday. Just stall."
Investor? Contract?
What kind of physics teacher has investors?
My stomach twisted, and not just from the suspicion. I hadn't eaten since breakfast. The granola bar in my bag felt like a brick, and even thinking about it made my stomach roll. My head was foggy. Everything sounded like it was underwater—voices echoing, footsteps distant.
And my body… wasn't cooperating.
The five-minute break was ending. Students were trickling back in, slumping into chairs with groans and complaints about electromagnetism. I didn't move. Couldn't, really.
Daphne turned, her gaze sweeping the room like she always did—sharp, watchful. Her eyes landed on me, and for a second I thought she was going to call me out for zoning out.
But I barely registered the look before the floor tilted sideways.
The last thing I remembered was the scrape of her sneakers against the floor, the rush of her moving toward me, and her voice—sharp, closer now, slicing through the fog in my head.
"Lucian?"
Her hand on my shoulder was the last thing I felt before the lights around me dimmed to nothing.
---
When I came to, it was under the harsh glow of fluorescent lights.
That sterile hospital smell. Cool sheets. Beeping machines somewhere nearby.
My head ached. My throat felt like sandpaper. My hoodie clung to me, heavy with sweat.
I barely turned my head before a voice cut through the static.
"You're awake."
Her voice again.
Softer now. Calmer. But still edged with something she probably didn't mean to show.
I blinked a few times, and there she was—sitting beside the bed, arms crossed like a shield, face unreadable… but her eyes? God, her eyes were screaming. A storm trapped behind them.
I tried to sit up, but she stopped me with a hand pressed flat against my chest.
"No sudden moves," she said, her palm warm even through the fabric. "You fainted. Fever's high. You've been out for a while."
"Where—" My voice cracked. God, I sounded like I'd swallowed glass. "Where is everyone?"
"Gone. Class ended. I found you slumped over your desk." Her jaw clenched. "You scared the hell out of me."
That was… a first.
Nobody really said that to me. That they were scared for me.
"I called your mother," she added, softer now, eyes flicking away. "She's not in the country. Korea, right?"
I nodded.
"She asked me to look after you." Daphne stood, brushing imaginary dust from her jeans like she needed to move, needed something to do with her hands. "And I'm going to."
I blinked up at her, my mind still swimming in fever and confusion.
"You're what?"
"I'm taking you home."
A half-laugh, half-choke escaped me. "Your home?"
She didn't blink. Didn't hesitate.
"Yes. Mine. You need rest. I'm not leaving you to rot in some hospital room alone."
I stared at her.
And for the first time in hours, maybe the whole damn semester, I forgot about the fever. Forgot about contracts, investors, mystery phone calls.
Because she'd just offered me something terrifying.
Care.
And I didn't know what the hell to do with it.