Margotte was burning.
That was the first coherent thought that penetrated the fog of her fever. She was impossibly, unbearably hot, and everything hurt in that distant, floaty way that meant her body was fighting something.
Stupid frog, she thought hazily. Stupid rain. Stupid Adrian.
Voices swirled around her. Her mother's worried tones. A physician's measured pronouncements. Something about keeping her cool, monitoring the fever, letting it run its course.
"Just a chill from the rain," the physician was saying. "Common in little ones. Keep her comfortable, plenty of fluids. Should break in a day or two."
Margotte tried to open her eyes but they felt glued shut. Her head throbbed. Her throat ached.
I had brain aneurysm and went through reincarnation just to be taken out by a common cold, she thought, and would have laughed if she could manage it.
Time became strange. She drifted in and out, caught between fever dreams and hazy wakefulness. Sometimes her mother was there, pressing cool cloths to her forehead. Sometimes the nursemaid, coaxing her to drink water.
And sometimes, though this might have been the fever, she heard Adrian's voice outside her door.
"Can I see her?"
"Absolutely not, young man." That was her mother, firm but kind. "She's quite ill, and we can't risk you catching it too."
"But I—it's my fault. The frog. The rain. I made her come outside."
"Children get sick, Adrian. It's not your fault."
"Is too." His voice was small, tight with guilt. "Always make things hard for her. This time made her sick."
A pause. Then: "She wouldn't want you to feel guilty. You know how proud Margotte is."
"I know." A longer pause. "Can you tell her I'm sorry? When she wakes up?"
"Of course, dear."
Footsteps retreating. The door closing.
Margotte tried to call out, to say she didn't blame him, that chasing frogs in the rain had been fun even if this was the consequence. But her voice wouldn't work, and the fever pulled her back under.
***
The next time she surfaced, it was dark. Night, then. The only light came from a low-burning lamp on her bedside table.
And someone was in her room.
Margotte's eyes cracked open, vision blurry. A small silhouette sat beside her bed, silver hair catching the lamplight.
"Adrian?" Her voice came out as a croak.
The silhouette jumped. "You're awake!"
"You're... not supposed to be here."
"I know." He scooted closer, his face coming into focus. His eyes were red-rimmed, worried. "Sneaked in. Everyone sleeping."
"Will get in trouble."
"Don't care." He reached out hesitantly, then pulled back. "Are you... are you okay? You look really sick."
"Just fever. Will pass." Margotte tried to sit up and failed. Everything tilted alarmingly. "Physician said so."
"I'm sorry." Adrian's voice cracked. "About the frog. About making you go in the rain. About—"
"Adrian." Margotte managed to lift one hand weakly. "Not your fault. I wanted to see frog."
"You did?"
"Yes. Was fun." She smiled, or tried to. Her face felt strange. "Was... was really fun. Best day."
"You have fever. Talking weird."
"No, listen." The fever made her tongue loose, made the walls she usually kept up crumble. "Listen. I'm happy now. This life. Even with fever. Even with you being annoying. I'm... I'm actually happy."
Adrian went very still. In the lamplight, his blue eyes were impossibly wide.
"In past life," Margotte continued, words tumbling out in her fever-addled state, "I was so tired. All the time. Every day just... pushing, proving, never enough. Never happy. Just tired and scared and trying so hard."
"Margotte—"
"But now? Now I have mama who hugs me. And Evander who's quiet and nice. And you who's annoying but also... also you held me when I fell. You held on." Her eyes felt wet. When had she started crying? "And we saw a frog. A big, stupid frog. And I laughed. I actually laughed. When did I laugh before? Can't remember. But I laugh now. All the time."
Adrian's face did something complicated. He looked shocked, worried, and something else Margotte couldn't quite identify through the fever haze.
"You were miserable," he said quietly. "Before. I knew you were competing with me, but I didn't realize... I thought you liked it. The challenge. The push."
"Did. And didn't." Margotte's eyes drifted closed. Speaking was exhausting. "Liked competing. Hated never winning. Hated that winning wasn't enough. Hated myself for caring so much."
"I was the same." Adrian's voice was barely a whisper. "Thought if I just beat you one more time, I'd feel satisfied. Never did. Just wanted to beat you again."
"Killed us both."
"Yeah."
They sat in silence. Margotte could feel the fever pulsing through her, making everything soft and distant.
"I'm glad you're different now," Adrian said finally. "You smile more. Real smiles. Not the fake ones when you scored high on exams."
"I'm trying. To be different. To live, not just achieve."
"Me too." A pause. "Are you really happy? Even when I'm annoying?"
"Especially when you're annoying." Margotte forced her eyes open to look at him. "Because annoying means alive. Means caring. Means we're both here, both real, both got second chance."
Adrian's expression crumpled. Before Margotte could process what was happening, his small hand reached out and gripped hers. His palm was sweaty with nervousness, his fingers trembling slightly.
"I'm really, really glad you're here," he said, voice thick. "In this world. This life. With me."
"Me too," Margotte whispered. "Even though you're the worst."
"You're worse."
"Impossible."
"Definitely possible."
They fell into their familiar pattern of bickering, but it was gentler now. Softer. The sharp edges worn down by honesty and fever and darkness.
Margotte's eyes grew heavy. The fever was pulling her back down, but for once she wasn't fighting it. She was safe. Adrian was here. Everything was...
"Don't let go," she mumbled.
"I won't." Adrian's grip tightened. "Promise. Just like on the stairs."
"Good. Because if you do, I'll... I'll hit you with so many books..."
"I know. I know you will."
Margotte meant to say more. Meant to thank him for coming, for caring, for being her constant across two lifetimes. Meant to tell him that despite everything, despite the competition and the annoyance and the constant bickering, she was grateful.
But the fever and exhaustion claimed her, pulling her into deep, healing sleep.
Adrian stayed.
He meant to stay just a few minutes. Just until he was sure she was really sleeping, really okay. But the chair was surprisingly comfortable, and his own exhaustion from sneaking through dark hallways caught up with him.
His head drooped. His eyes closed. His hand stayed locked with Margotte's.
And that's how Lady Rosalind found them when she came to check on her daughter in the early morning hours.
Two toddlers, one fevered and one exhausted, sleeping in chairs beside the sickbed. Hands clasped between them. Both faces peaceful in a way they rarely were when awake.
Rosalind stood in the doorway for a long moment, her hand pressed to her chest.
She should wake Adrian. Should send him back to his own home before his parents worried. Should scold him for sneaking in when Margotte was contagious.
But looking at them… at the way her daughter's face had relaxed, the way Adrian's thumb occasionally brushed against Margotte's palm even in sleep, she couldn't bring herself to disturb them.
Instead, she fetched a blanket and draped it over Adrian's small shoulders. Checked Margotte's forehead (cooler now, the fever breaking), and adjusted her covers.
"Whatever you two were in your previous lives," Rosalind whispered, not understanding her own words but feeling their truth, "I'm glad you found each other again."
She left the lamp burning low and closed the door quietly behind her.
In the pre-dawn darkness, two souls who had died from pushing too hard slept peacefully, hands clasped. A promise made without words: this time would be different. This time they'd protect each other.
This time, they'd live.
***
When Margotte woke fully, sunlight was streaming through her windows. Her fever had broken, leaving her weak but clear-headed. Her hand felt warm.
She looked down.
Adrian was still there, head pillowed on his arms on the edge of her bed, silver hair a mess, one hand still holding hers.
Margotte's first instinct was to pull away. To wake him with a sharp word about breaking rules and risking illness.
But she didn't.
Instead, she watched him sleep for a moment. Remembered his words from the night before though some were already fuzzy, the emotion remained crystal clear.
I'm really, really glad you're here.
"Me too," she whispered to his sleeping form. "You're still the worst, though."
Adrian's lips twitched in his sleep, almost like he'd heard her and was smiling.
Outside, a bird sang. The morning continued. Life went on in its small, precious, moment-by-moment way.
And Margotte, weak from fever but strong in certainty, knew she'd made the right choice.
This life, messy and illogical and full of Adrian Valemont being annoying… was exactly where she wanted to be.
Even if he was going to get them both in terrible trouble when their mothers found him here. Especially because of that, maybe.
She squeezed his hand gently, just once, before closing her eyes again.
Thank you, she thought. For being here.
She didn't say it aloud.
Some things didn't need words.
The hand-holding said enough.