You blinked blearily as you began to awaken, letting yourself become accustomed to consciousness again. After a moment, your memories rushed back to you; you were forced to stifle a groan. What an idiot you had been, working yourself to the point of being sick enough to pass out. And on the street, no less.

With a start you sat upright. You had passed out on the freaking sidewalk, but you most certainly were not on the sidewalk now. The warmth and comfort of your own bed enveloped you, pillows fluffed beneath your head. Your hair were dry, as were your clothes. Which, you realized, were not clothes but pajamas. You swallowed a blush and pulled back the blankets.

Before you moved you put a hand to your forehead, testing to see if you were still feverish. It was warm, but nothing extreme. You felt better, as well. You searched the room for your clock and were shocked to find that it was close to six p.m. You had slept for nearly a day.

You would have to call the office first thing in the morning if you didn't go it. Your boss was kind but her certainly wouldn't be thrilled about you missing work without warning. At least the goddamn project was done. Maybe you would take a vacation day.

You carefully swung your feet over the edge of the bed, letting the soles rest on the cool floor for a moment before standing. There was a pause as you made sure you were indeed fine, and seeing that there was no dizziness to speak of, you went out into the hallway.

You hardly made it far; as you peaked you head into the kitchen and living room, Leo jumped off of the couch and nearly ran to you, pulling you into his arms. He squeezed you against him, eyes shut, and you hugged him back, nestling you head on his shoulder. Neither of you needed to say anything. You knew exactly how he felt from the smallest tremble in his hands, from the desperation in his grip.

“Thank you for bringing me back yesterday,” you finally whispered. “I don't know what I would have done without you, really. You've been helping me so much--”

Leo pushed you away, head turned aside. “It wasn't me,” Leo whispered, voice thick with emotion. “I wasn't the one who brought you back.”

You blinked in surprise. “It- it wasn't?” You hardly remembered, but you were sure that it had been Leo you saw when you were beneath that streetlight.

“No.” His brow was furrowed, and he refused to make eye contact. “It wasn't. I hadn't... recharged in a few days. You were sick, and I wanted to stay around you. But then you were coming back late and...”

He trailed off. His distress was nearly palpable, making the air around you heavy. “Leo,” you whispered, and reached out and grabbed his hand to cradle it in yours. Finally, he looked at you. There was pain in his eyes; you felt like your heart was going to burst, beating and beating.

You took his hand, slowly, and lifted it to your chest, pressing it over your heart. “Do you feel that?” You whispered, searching his face for a response. “I'm fine, just fine, right here. I'm sorry I scared you.”

He didn't say anything, simply looked at the place where he was so close to touching your heart but couldn't quite make it. Finally, he sighed, and let his hand slide away.

“It's okay, it's not your fault. But I bet you're hungry, hmm?” He gave you a small smile, but it seemed a bit hollow. Before you could say anything, he went past you into the kitchen and began to process food.

You ate what you were offered-- you realized pretty quickly that you were absolutely ravenous-- but Leo seemed a bit far away, and it worried you. You gathered the plates together and headed to the sink, quite aware of what happened the last time you had done the dishes.

“Hey Leo,” you called, drawing him over from where he was devouring another book at the table, next to where you had been sitting only moments ago. “Do you know who it was who brought me back?”

You hated asking the question; he had seemed so upset before. But you couldn't just not know who had carried your unconscious form down a block and up two flights of stairs. Actually, how had they known where your apartment was?”

He took the wet dishes from your hands and dried them, putting them away one by one. He was silent for a moment, seeming contemplative, but finally answered as you turned off the water. “He gave me a card,” he said quietly, “and asked that you call when you were feeling better. He said to call him N, for whatever reason. He lives in apartment 630 of this building, apparently.” He seemed a little less upset than before, for which you were thankful, so you turned your attention to the information Leo had so kindly provided. You actually knew the person Leo was talking about, Cha Hakyeon, from an even when you had moved in. The bottom of one of your boxes had opened while you went up the stair and N came up to just in time to keep your books from scattering all across the floor. You had talked a few times since, but hardly; you were surprised he remembered your apartment number.

“What are you thinking about?”

You turned to Leo in surprise, broken away from your thoughts. You were drying your hands on the towel laying next to the sink, only you had been doing so for the past few minutes and your hands were well dried already.

“Ah...” You dropped the towel. “Just, I think I know who it is. Where is the card?”

Leo nodded and went into the living room. He came back a moment later, card held in both hands as though it was something very precious-- or very dangerous. You took it from him and scanned it quickly. Water droplets had made the ink smear, but you were right, it was the N you were thinking of.

“It is...” you murmured. “I should probably go thank him...”

Leo watched you, eyes dark.