What's he Hiding

Rickie checked the thermometer once more, then sighed. “I’m going to give you something for the fever and for your stomach. But I’ll need you to rest. You can’t afford to overexert yourself right now.”

Azriel barely registered the words. His mind was spinning, his body pulled in two directions at once. He needed to stay calm, needed to control it. Rickie was only trying to help. But the wolf inside him was restless, pushing against the thin veil of his human form.

Rickie handed him the medicine, then turned to grab some water. He paused, noticing Azriel’s hand pressed against his stomach. “Does your stomach hurt?”

Azriel nodded slightly, his face tight with discomfort. He didn’t want to explain. He couldn’t explain.

Rickie’s brow furrowed. “Is it more than just the fever? Stomach ulcers or something?”

Azriel hesitated, then sighed. "Yeah, something like that. Bad eating habits."

Rickie didn’t press further, but he could tell there was more to the story. Instead, he reached for the stomach medicine, swapping it out for the antipyretics. "This one’s easier on your stomach. Take it," he instructed, handing Azriel the new pill.

Azriel nodded and took it without comment. But then Rickie did something unexpected something that made his heart skip a beat.

“Take off your clothes. I need to cool you down.”

Azriel blinked, caught off guard. His mind raced. He wasn’t sure if he could manage that there were things Rickie didn’t know. But Rickie, oblivious, simply gestured at him again.

“Take them off, or you’ll overheat. The fever won’t break if you stay like this.”

Azriel’s stomach churned. He hesitated, looking at Rickie, unsure of how to respond. Then, realizing there was no choice, he shifted, rolling up his sleeves.

Rickie went to wash his hands and returned with a small dish of alcohol. He began rubbing it over Azriel’s limbs, his touch clinical, unhurried. Azriel’s skin burned under the cool sensation, and his body shuddered involuntarily, fighting the overwhelming urge to tear free from the bonds of human form.

As Rickie worked, he noticed the scars on Azriel’s knees two faint surgical marks. They weren’t from a simple accident.

“What happened to your knee?” Rickie asked, rubbing the alcohol into his skin.

Azriel stiffened, but kept his voice steady. "A small car accident. I had surgery to repair the damage."

“A car accident? When?” Rickie asked, glancing up with a mix of curiosity and concern.

“Four years ago,” Azriel answered, his voice low. He didn’t look at Rickie as he spoke.

Rickie nodded, though his gaze lingered on the scars a moment longer than necessary. He seemed to be pondering something, but didn’t press the matter further.

As Rickie continued, Azriel’s temperature slowly began to drop. The fever wasn’t gone, but at least it had softened. After nearly twenty minutes, Rickie stood up, satisfied.

“Rest now,” he said, packing away the alcohol and other supplies. “I’ll leave the door unlocked if you need anything.”

Azriel nodded, his eyes already half-closed from exhaustion. “You should get some rest too,” he murmured.

Rickie gave him a final, lingering glance before closing the door behind him. Alone, Azriel let out a long breath, the wolf inside him restless but subdued for now.

As the night deepened, he finally allowed himself to rest, knowing that the full moon would rise soon enough, bringing with it more than just fever and chills.

When Rickie left, he made sure to take the two bottles of shower gel and shampoo products that Azriel had only recently discovered were missing. A bemused smile tugged at Rickie's lips. He had never expected to be so meticulous about another person’s things. He changed the locks on the door of his house, and for a moment, he paused, reflecting on how much he had done for the man. It wasn’t like him.

The bottle of alcohol in his hand felt strangely out of place. He glanced at the bathroom, where the water he’d left running earlier was now cold. Another sigh escaped his lips. He couldn’t believe how much attention he’d given to the details his patient's fever, the right medication, the state of the house and yet, here he was, obsessing over someone else's comfort.

With a shake of his head, Rickie refilled the bath and added some bath lotion. He watched as big, fluffy bubbles began to rise, filling the tub. As the warm water engulfed him, he sank deeper into the tub, letting out a quiet sigh.

But as he closed his eyes, strange images began to float into his mind. The numbers on the sphygmomanometer flashed before his eyes. Two scars on a man’s knees. A face bloody and distorted clung to his thoughts. It was a familiar image, but from where? He frowned, trying to push it away.

Rickie opened his eyes quickly and smacked his face with his palm. What’s wrong with me? His mind was racing, jumping from one thought to another. Why couldn’t he relax? Why couldn’t he just enjoy a bath for once?

He stood up, drained the water, and turned the faucet off. The scent of lavender lingered in the air as he stepped out, toweling off and putting on a fresh pair of pajamas. The softness of the bed welcomed him, and he collapsed into it, trying to force himself to relax.

"It’s beautiful," he murmured to no one in particular. The moment of calm felt short-lived. His thoughts lingered on the list of medications he needed to review for the next day’s rounds.

Once he finished his mental checklist, a weight that had been pressing on his chest slowly lifted. The peace was brief, but at least it was there.

That night, a storm arrived. The rain fell in heavy sheets, and thunder rumbled in the distance. Rickie woke with a start, his heart pounding. For a moment, he was disoriented, unsure of where he was. It took a second before he remembered his own home.

But then his thoughts turned to the man next door. The one who had been ill, feverish. Was his condition getting worse? Had the fever returned? The worry gnawed at him.

Unable to shake the thoughts, Rickie turned over in bed, tossing and turning. His mind replayed the scene from earlier that day: the man’s pale face, the quiet tension in his body. Rickie wasn’t one to worry about his patients so obsessively. But there was something about this one that felt different, something that tugged at him.

Finally, Rickie couldn't take it any longer. His professional instincts kicked in, driving him out of bed and into the hallway. As a doctor, it was impossible to ignore the nagging feeling that something might be wrong.

He walked softly down the hallway and gently opened the door to the man’s room. The space was dark, lit only by the occasional flash of lightning. The rain pounded against the window, but the room was otherwise quiet. Rickie adjusted to the darkness, his eyes scanning the bed. The man lay still, nearly in the same position Rickie had left him in, but there was a slight frown on his face.

Rickie hesitated for a moment before reaching out, placing his hand on the man’s forehead. It was warm still a little too hot, but not dangerously so. A low-grade fever. Nothing to panic over. Still, it was enough to keep Rickie from relaxing.

He pulled his hand back and quietly closed the door behind him, moving back to his own room.

Once back in his bed, Rickie found it even harder to sleep. His mind continued to circle around the man. What if the fever worsened? What if he didn’t notice something subtle, something he missed during the examination? He’s fine, Rickie reminded himself. Stop overthinking it.

But even as he told himself that, sleep didn’t come easily. He lay awake, listening to the storm outside, letting the sound of the rain against the window provide a kind of background hum.

Eventually, exhaustion won out, and Rickie drifted into a fitful sleep.