Page 30 of Immune

I pause in the doorway for only a second, long enough for something to reach through time and space and poke a bruise I’ve been doing very well to pretend isn’t even there. Maine’s roof used to have stars scattered over his ceiling and walls. At least, for a while it did. But they weren’t the cool glow-in-the-dark ones. Oh, no. Dad painted them just as badly as he cooked, decorating one weekend after Maine decided he wanted to be an astronaut. A dream that lasted an excruciating nine days before he gave up that endeavor. The stars Dad painted looked morelike suspicious blobs, and I can still hear Mom laughing so hard she cried. Maine loved them, though. With his whole chest, he loved those weird blobs.

My throat suddenly tightens, and I almost choke on the emotion that washes over me. Kaito stops behind me but doesn’t utter a word. He doesn't ask questions, doesn’t attempt to step around me to catch a better peek at the live wound I’m standing in. He simply waits, which kind of feels worse.

Gritting my teeth, I force myself into action, clearing the room before turning back to him. He’s leaning slightly against the hallway wall, not much, but enough that I can see how much he’s struggling.

Eyes narrowing on the Alpha, I mutter, “You look like shit.”

He peers at me from beneath dark lashes, lips twitching tiredly as he says, “Poetry just spills out of you.”

I ignore the humorous attempt, eyeing the bandage wrapped around his middle, and point out, “You’re bleeding through your bandage.”

Kaito nods. “Sadly, that didn’t escape my notice.”

“Did you notice before or after you decided jumping badly over rooftops was your new hobby?” I wonder, trying and failing to battle the worry that’s sneaking into my chest.

He pauses as if he’s thinking about the answer before finally settling on, “I think it was during. Yeah. Definitely during.”

“Oh, yeah, because that’s comforting,” I retort.

Kaito gives me the faintest smile, but it does nothing to alleviate the growing anxiety that has appeared. There’s sweat at his temple now, his complexion growing ashy and gray under his skin, and I don’t like it one bit. Because unconscious Alphas are fucking heavy, not because I give a shit. Obviously.

Pointing at the larger bedroom, I command, “Move it. In there, now.”

He hesitates for a moment before he asks, “You sure?”

“Am I sure?” I parrot, frowning in confusion.

With a single nod, he explains, “You’ve made it pretty clear you don’t want me too close. So are you sure?”

The impact his words have on me is akin to throwing a brick through a window, the force of it almost winding me. Not because he’s wrong, but because he breathes them like they actually matter. Like my comfort is a genuine concern rather than an obstacle.

Suddenly, the hallway grows a little too quiet, and I hate it instantly.

“You can sit on the bed,” I eventually mumble. “If you behave, that is.”

His lips twitch. “I can do that.”

“I will shoot you if you make me regret this,” I warn, wanting, nay, needing, to highlight the magnitude of my willingness to snuff him off this earth if he so much as moves wrong.

“I believe you,” he assures, nodding like the bobblehead he’s become. “I’d prefer you didn’t, but I definitely believe you.”

“Then maybe you should try bleeding less suspiciously,” I argue, rolling my eyes as I watch him closely as he passes by me and steps into the room.

“That one might be a little harder to do,” he says, pausing in the threshold of the room.

“Try,” I demand, following after him with my gun still drawn. After all, personal growth is amazing, but not being murdered is far better. I haven’t survived this long by trusting strangers who appear friendly and nice.

After checking the closet, under the bed, and behind the curtains, I finally lower the gun by about half an inch. Not fully,because I’m not actually as stupid as I’ve started to think I might be.

Kaito sits on the edge of the mattress exactly where I gesture for him to sit, hands visible and posture loose despite the pain doing its best to turn his shoulders rigid. I can practically see the tension worm its way through his body despite his efforts to relax. He looks much too big for the room. Too alive, too warm, too everything.

Dragging my backpack awkwardly along the floor by its only remaining good strap, I head to the far corner that has the best view of both the door and window, sinking down with my back to the wall.

“We stay until morning,” I say, dragging my backpack closer.

Kaito’s eyebrows lift suddenly as he blurts, “We?”

I freeze, then frown, then freeze again when I realize what dumbassery just left my mouth. Fuck me dead. Why? Why did I say that? Jesus, weep a river and drown me in it.