Blue’s eye twitched.

His hands were clenched so tight at his sides, his knuckles had gone bone-white. The vein in his forehead pulsed in silent fury as he stood in the middle of the hallway just outside Red’s room at the Indigo Plateau.

Ethan, who had until five seconds ago thought this would be a casual visit, took a full step back. Hands up. Defensive.

"S-So like—uh, to be fair, no one really knew he was sick until I walked in and, y’know, saw the—uh—fever blankets. And the—um—vomit bowl.”

Blue’s voice was low, measured, and terrifying.

“You’re telling me my best friend—Red—the guy who climbs mountains in blizzards for fun—has been sick for who-knows-how-long, and just… what? Kept it to himself? Didn’t tell anyone? Locked his own door and suffered through it ALONE?!”

Ethan swallowed. “Well… yeah.”

Blue slowly turned to the door. One hand came up. He knocked once. Then again. Harder.

No answer.

Then—

“Red!” Blue called, voice sharp with command. “Open up.”

Nothing.

Blue’s eyes narrowed. “I swear, if you don’t open this door right now, I will kick it down—”

Click.

The door opened about three inches.

A single bloodshot eye peered out from behind it.

Red stood there, pale and clammy, wrapped in a mountain of mismatched blankets. His hair was a mess. His usually sharp eyes were glassy, ringed with exhaustion. He swayed slightly where he stood.

“…Hi,” Ethan offered weakly.

Red blinked. Then coughed so violently it echoed down the hallway. Blue pushed the door open all the way with a hand to Red’s forehead.

“You’re burning up.”

Red looked away.

Blue exhaled sharply and put a steadying hand on his shoulder. “You idiot. You absolute stubborn, self-sacrificing idiot. Why didn’t you tell anyone?”

Red didn’t answer. But he didn’t resist when Blue guided him back toward the bed.

The room was dark, stuffy, and warm with sick heat. The wastebasket beside the bed was full of tissues. A half-eaten bowl of instant noodles sat forgotten on the nightstand.

Blue sighed and sat Red down carefully. Then turned to Ethan. “Go get wet towels. Ice pack. Fever meds. Anything warm that isn’t soup. Now.”

Ethan saluted and bolted.

Blue turned back to Red, crouching down to eye level. He touched his forehead again.

“Fever’s gotta be at least 102. You’ve had this how long?”

Red weakly held up three fingers.

“…Days?”

Red nodded.

Blue dragged a hand through his hair.

“I should strangle you. But I won’t. Because you’re already miserable."

Red looked away again.

But this time, as Blue tucked a blanket more securely around him, Red leaned—just slightly—into the touch.

And that was answer enough.