87

87

She finished what she was doing, folding the last of her laundry before arranging her bed. The room was dimly lit by a single bedside lamp, and the evening air carried the faint scent of lavender from her sheets. It had become a daily routine by now. They would call her—sometimes one by one, sometimes all at once—complaining about each other, their arguments, their stupid fights. And she would listen. Always listen. Always be the one to bring peace.

She never let their bickering get to her. She would calm them, remind them not to fight, not to lose themselves in pride. “He’s your brother. Just let it go,” she’d say. Or, “You guys are all you’ve got. You can’t afford to fall apart.”

Sometimes she even joked, “Am I your mother now?” And they’d laugh, awkwardly but fondly. So when she heard them fussing again earlier, she hadn’t taken it seriously. She simply finished tidying up, then reached for her pillow.

The hallway was quiet. Dark. Only a faint glow from the night bulbs guided her steps. She walked barefoot down the hall, her pillow tucked under her arm, and stopped first at Jaxon’s room.

She twisted the doorknob gently.

Locked.

That meant he was already asleep. He had started locking his door again lately, maybe because of the fever he’d been recovering from. Maybe he didn’t want anyone seeing him vulnerable. Either way, she didn’t knock. She respected that.

With a sigh, she turned away and padded softly to Jack’s door. She opened it slowly.

The sight that met her made her lips twitch in a small, amused smile.

Jack was sprawled on his bed, shirtless as usual, one leg flung over the edge while the other dangled lazily off the other side. His blanket was crumpled somewhere near his feet, barely covering him. He snored softly, his chest rising and falling in a rhythm she’d come to associate with the most chaotic yet carefree soul among them.

She leaned on the doorframe, shaking her head. “Oh my goodness, Jack…” she whispered, rolling her eyes.

Her expression softened as she stepped inside. “When are you going to stop all of this? If you keep eating like that, you’ll end up with pepper faeces and a stomachache,” she murmured under her breath, smiling despite herself.

She moved carefully, as if she were approaching a sleeping child. She reached for the blanket—really just a thin, patterned sheet—and pulled it up gently to cover his torso. His skin was warm beneath her fingers. He didn’t stir. She gave one last glance at his face, noting the strands of hair sticking to his forehead. Then, quietly, she slipped out of the room and closed the door behind her.

Next, she walked down to Rick’s room.

His door was slightly ajar.

She nudged it open and peeked inside. Rick was lying on his side, already half-asleep, wearing a grey T-shirt. Of course he was. Rick never went shirtless. Never even walked around with his collar loose. His life had always been rigid—structured. Disciplined. But tonight, something about him looked softer, more relaxed.

Beside him on the bed lay a chemistry test book, its pages bent slightly from where he had likely dozed off while reading. The sight made her smile.

She stepped in gently, picked up the book and folded it closed, setting it neatly on his desk. “Always the bookworm,” she whispered with a fond smirk. “You should really go back to playing baseball again.”

Her tone was teasing, but laced with something deeper—something nostalgic. She stood there for a second longer, watching the steady rise and fall of his chest, then quietly backed out of the room.

The hall was colder now. Maybe the night had deepened, or maybe it was just the silence pressing in. But she wasn’t done yet.

Pillow still clutched to her chest, she turned and made her way back to Jaxon’s door.

She paused.

Hesitated.

Something inside her twisted. This wasn’t about checking in anymore. This was different.

Her knuckles hovered over the door, but she didn’t knock. She turned the knob again. This time, it clicked.

Unlocked.

She gently pushed the door open.

The room smelled faintly of eucalyptus and something warm—like fabric softener and heat. Jaxon was lying on his bed, not asleep like she’d expected. His back was against the headboard, one leg bent, the other stretched out. The light from his phone screen cast a faint glow across his face, highlighting his strong jawline and the soft shadows under his eyes.

His eyes lifted when he heard the door.

They widened.

He blinked once, clearly surprised. “Andrea?”

She stood in the doorway awkwardly, clutching her pillow tighter against her chest like a shield. Her cheeks warmed under his gaze, but she held his eyes with quiet determination.

“I didn’t know you were still awake,” she said softly.

Jaxon’s brow furrowed a little. “Have you been standing there long? I probably didn’t hear.”

She shook her head. “No, I just came in.”

He looked confused, his phone now forgotten on the bed beside him. His eyes dropped to the pillow she was holding. Then lifted again, slowly meeting hers.

“Can we sleep together tonight?” she asked, voice barely above a whisper. “Maybe I’ll be able to take care of you.”

For a second, Jaxon just stared at her. His lips parted slightly, but no words came out.

His eyes softened. Then, all at once, his entire face brightened. A real smile. The kind that lit up his whole expression and reached his eyes.

He sat up straighter, legs unfolding beneath him. “Of course,” he said, his voice surprisingly light. “What am I here for?”