The familiar scent of Deimon's worn leather jacket and the creak of the old floorboards brought Kate back slowly. Disoriented, she blinked against the harsh light filtering through the dusty blinds of their apartment. Her head throbbed, and nausea washed over her.
A choked moan escaped her lips, and Deimon, perched beside her on a threadbare armchair, appeared in front of her in a blur. His face, usually adorned with a playful smirk, was etched with worry. Relief flooded his features as her eyes fluttered open.
"Kate! You're awake!" His voice, normally teasing, was urgent. He gently cupped her face, his touch cool against her feverish skin. Concern flickered in his blue eyes, clear and deep as the summer sky after a storm. She felt ashamed for causing him such fear.
"Hey," she croaked,
