After the two of you brought James back into his room, Thomas excused himself to go work on his project. You managed to peel James' blanket burrito off of him and replace it with a fresh one you found.

"I feel like shit."

"I know, Jem. Did you take the fucking uh... Advil?"

Your friend sniffed. Whether it was in contempt or from illness, you did not know.

"Yeah mom, I did."

"Okay, then drink this."

James craned his head from his resting position on the mattress, and wrinkled his nose at the cup you presented to him. "What the hell is that?"

"Pickle juice."

"Absolutely not..."

"You said you were nauseous, dude. It helps!"

"I'm gonna get so much acid reflux I'm going to corrode."

"I'm always two steps ahead, Jem." You grinned, and triumphantly pulled a powdery tablet from your pocket with one overly ceremonious swoop of your arm.

"LSD?"

"This doesn't even remotely- no, it's a Tums to negate the acid!"

"Your genius astounds me."

-

You sat by your friend's bedside. He seemed to be asleep, and you swung your legs restlessly.

He looks stable enough...

The blades of the fan above you flickered on the ceiling, and you closed your eyes briefly to feel its breeze sweep your face. Your hand came up to tug at the collar of your shirt, and you pried your eyelids open again. It felt uncomfortable to be so comfortable in somebody else's home. Your eyes swept the room.
You can tell he's an academic just from his living space, huh?

Your gaze stopped when it landed on a large wooden crate on the floor, beside a homely desk of oak wood, whose soft warmth contrasted sharply with the rich mahogany of the box.

It didn't look like it belonged, and your curious nature got the best of you as you smoothed off your clothing and stood to investigate. Just for a peek, you told yourself, and found the crate filled to the brim with neatly arranged books.

Some were simple with well loved leatherbound covers, and some were intricate and beautiful, with satiny ribbons draping delicately, and flashing, winding patterns etched on the spines, like gold veins wrapping around the contents hidden in the hundreds of pages. The topics ranged from biology, to philosophy, to Greek and Latin.

Whoever delivered this seemed to know Madison well, and had you not guessed already, a crinkled magenta sticky note etched with a familiar loopy cursive told you exactly who that was.

Literary cargo, straight from France. Enjoy, nerd.

TJ

You smiled to yourself begrudgingly. That's...cute.

You stood again and strolled casually back to your chair by the bed, and pulled out your phone.

Angie: Y/N

Angie: Where are you

Angie: do I have to file a missing persons report

You: hey hey

Angie: WHERE HAVE YOU BEEN

You: I TOLD YOU I WAS GOING TO BRING SOME MEDICINE FOR MADISON

Angie: THAT WAS OVER AN HOUR AGO

You: I HAD TO TAKE CARE OF HIM

You: dont get your knickers in a twist my liege

You: Ill be home eventually

Angie: very reassuring

Angie: when

You were about to respond when you received a different notification.

Jeffersnot: can you pretty please help me with this paper

-

You: honestly idk LMAOOAO i need to help this asshole with his project

Angie: oh my godddd

Angie: ok lmk when you're coming back or im coming in there myself

You: i trust you with my back angie

Angie: you have no choice

-

You: i didnt sign up for tutoring either

Jeffersnot: PLS

You: gimme a sec

-

You found Thomas Jefferson sprawled sitting on the floor leaned against the side of his bed, absentmindedly tugging at the springy ends of his hair, seemingly enthralled with his computer, his brow furrowed in focus.

Thomas Jefferson in the same room as you, not smiling or saying anything.

It was a rare sight, so you let your eyes trace the planes of his face for just a fraction of a second longer than usual before speaking up.

"Hey. Why are you on the floor?"

He snapped up to look at you, and he shot you his signature smile. "Well, you'd be surprised how big of an effect even just a little movement and change of environment have on people..."

You snorted, your eyes flickering skittishly. "How about we move to James's room then?"

He chuckled. "What, you don't want to be alone with me?"

Your skin prickled with sudden unease, and your following laugh was a little strained, and his teasing expression faltered slightly. "Yeah, yeah, I'll be waiting."

He watched as you left briskly, wondering what went wrong. Why was your guard always up? All he did was- Oh.

Yeah, he thought to himself. That must've sounded weird.

"Shit." He cursed himself as he gathered his things. The last thing he ever wanted to do was to make you uncomfortable in his own house...

-

When Thomas joined you, you were trying not to panic. Your nerves had calmed themselves a little when you looked over to James, still sleeping peacefully, but... with the two of you there, probably not for long. "Sorry, man." You whispered. "Better safe than sorry."

Stupid, stupid and paranoid. Why were you so nervous all of a sudden? You'd dealt with situations like this coming to fruition before, so...

No. This was someone you trusted and appreciated, to some extent... you spent so much time with him, you enjoyed his company, you had the same friends...

You squeezed your fists.

Please, please, please don't try anything. Don't do anything bad.

I can't lose this, you realized with horror. Everything and everyone here is a possibility of all I've ever wanted. I can't stand another loss.

You don't care, another part of you shot. It's better if you don't anyways. You've known each other for like 2 weeks. You think too much.

You sucked a breath in and pushed both of those sides away. You just had to calm down and help Thomas with his project, and then you could go home. Nothing would happen.

"Thomas Jefferson cares about what others think more and is softer than he'd like to admit. He secretly resents the too-carefree lifestyle he led as a younger teenager, and often doesn't think enough before he acts. He cries easily at emotional movies and stories and is a complete lightweight."

He was just some guy. The people you trusted with your life believed he was good, he could be awfully sweet at times... he wouldn't try anything. Sometimes you wished you could switch your brain off temporarily and just live as it was.
"Hey, sweetheart. Sorry I took so long."

You smiled up at him weakly. " 'S fine. So what did you need help with?"

Thomas sat on the floor with his laptop, a careful, respectful distance from you, crossing one leg over the other that was splayed in front of him. He chewed on his lip thoughtfully, "Hmm. Uh..."

You snorted. "Wow, tell me more."

He squinted at the screen and cracked a grin. "Shut up."

"For starters, what do you have down?"

"..."

"You don't have anything down, do you."

He sighs. "Look..."

You can't help but giggle. Maybe it was the stress, the lack of sleep... or the relief, that everything seemed to be okay so far. Thomas looked on tiredly, amused.

"I'm glad someone enjoys my endless suffering."

"Okay, sorry, sorry. W- Didn't Washington basically give us a straight up tutorial for the first half?"

Thomas clicked his tongue to the root of his mouth. "You see, darlin', I'd know the answer to that question if I'd..."

"Paid attention?"

"...yeah."

"What were you doing anyway to miss, like, the most crucial part of the lesson?"

He flashed you a blinding grin. "I don't know, maybe looking at a certain drop-dead gorgeous classmate that sits a few rows up behind me..."

"Oh, shut up."

Thomas laughed.

"Okay, I guess I can send you mine first, and then we can go from there..."

As the two of you worked, Thomas's mind couldn't help but wander as you explained the intricacies of your own paper to him.

"I wrote too much." You said. "Don't be like me."

He thought back to when a few minutes earlier, James had woken up, and you'd rushed to get him water... and a pair of earplugs. You seemed aloof and stiff in your manners of showing it, but you cared. You clearly did care, and Thomas could see conflict swirling in your eyes because of it.

What happened that made just the idea of caring for others uncomfortable for you?

Thomas wondered about that a lot.

"Hey." His eyes snapped up to you, leaning over to poke at his shoulder. He felt your breath by his ear. "Pay attention, champ. I'm not repeating myself. Learn from your mistakes."

He chuckled a little, dazed from the proximity. When did you get so close? "Yes ma'am, carry on."

He watched as you talked, waving your hand around occasionally. The artificial fluorescence of the computer screen reflected on your eyes and bluntly masked what was in them. It was only then that Thomas realized how much darker it was getting.

"Thomas?" How did you often seem to catch every little thing about him?

"Thomas." Was this the first time he'd heard you say his name under regular conditions? He'd never realized how good it'd feel.

He sprang out of his trance with a start as your finger came in contact to bump the tip of his nose. "Hey. Jesus Christ, you need a break?"

His eyes seemed to have a bit of trouble refocusing. "Sorry, doll."

You sighed. "I'm serious. If you need an extension just email him, and if you need a break take a break. I don't want to take care of two stupid sick people."

An extension would be nice... but if he stopped working, would you leave then? He found it strange how averse he felt at the idea of that.

He snapped back to reality with a smoother smile. "A break would be great, darlin'. Say, what do you want for dinner?"

-

Surprisingly, after having eaten his fill, Thomas seemed to suddenly gain a work ethic. He listened attentively to what you said and worked diligently. When you came back from setting the emptied takeout boxes into the overflowing recycling bin, he smiled smugly and beckoned you over, turning the screen to you. You sat down right beside him. When you leaned over to take the device to look over his paper, your arms pressed flush against each other.

Neither of you attempted to move away.

How silly, you thought. Isn't it how funny paranoia works?

One moment you were pacing the room and biting your nails over the possible dangers he posed... and then the next moment, after a bit of banter and sweet talk, you were cuddled up beside him.

Thomas watched through half-lidded eyes as you appraised his work, happier than he would've liked to admit that you seemed at ease.

"Now I'm no expert, but I think, that this isn't half bad so far."

"See?"

"Save the gloating, big guy. I don't know if 'opposed' is supposed to have that many 'p's..."

He cursed and snatched the laptop back. Your subtle, warm laughter made his head fuzzy, and he hoped you didn't notice the embarrassing number of attempts it took him to fix that single spelling error.

"Carry on, Jefferson. Also, have you heard of this program called Grammarly-"

"Oh be quiet, sweetheart. ONE mistake, okay?" He shook his head in mock exasperation. "And what happened to 'Thomas', huh?"

"Like the Tank Engine..."

As Thomas continued working, the room grew dimmer. He noticed you squinting from the harshness of the display screen, and adjusted the brightness accordingly. You tucked your knees underneath your chin, subconsciously leaning into him for warmth. "Mm. Thanks."

He swallowed thickly. "...Don't mention it."

Why are you still here? Do you like spending time with me? Is it more than that? He wondered, but he didn't dare say it out loud, in fear of scaring you off.

Save for untucking your legs and crossing your arms, you didn't move much. A faraway part of his brain thought that that was strange. Weren't you always moving in some way? You always seemed restless and skittish, in a way. In class, Thomas didn't even have to turn around towards you anymore to picture you tapping your fingers on your arm or bouncing your leg.

A keen observation, really, and if he hadn't been engrossed in his assignment, he would've also noticed your eyes fighting to stay awake and your little remarks about his work dwindling into silence.

Thomas felt every muscle in his body tense when your head dropped to the side to land on his shoulder. He swore he stayed completely frozen for a good minute before he let out a breath, and tried to finish off his paper.

Thomas found you very distracting. Even when you weren't doing anything... maybe even especially when you weren't doing anything. His mind was clouded with a flurry of thoughts brought by the subtle sweetness of your shampoo, and his fingers suddenly felt clumsy and heavy on his keyboard.

You mumbled something and shifted, your body curling, and your fingers instinctively grasping at the fabric of his shirt for something to hold onto, before coming to settle on his bicep. Thomas's breath hitched raggedly in his throat.

He decided enough was enough, typed up a hasty conclusion, and swung his laptop closed with a click.