Aaron's headache intensified by the time they reached his apartment building. Once Keeley parked in the underground lot, she had to wrap her arm around his waist to support him. It wasn't very effective—he was half a foot taller—but she did her best while holding the takeout containers.

"Why are you doing this?" he asked dully.

"Shh! Don't talk; it'll make your head hurt worse," Keeley replied.

"That sounds made up."

"I said shush, so shush!" she said sternly, turning his elevator key for him.

The elevator's movement felt strange with his eyes closed and his head leaning against the wall. "Ugh," he groaned. "This is the worst headache of my life." Stupid paintball.

Keeley ordered him to change into his pajamas and get into bed while she fetched an ice pack from the freezer. He complied without complaint; all he wanted was sleep.

"Are you sure the doctor said you were fine?" she asked, gently pressing the ice pack against his face as she entered his bedroom. "I don't think dizziness and headaches are normal for a black eye."

"Yes, he checked for a concussion and such. I just have to deal with it."

"Is your vision okay? Are you having any problems seeing?"

Why did she suddenly seem like a fretting housewife? It warmed him, despite adding to his confusion.

"Yes. But you didn't answer my question earlier. Why are you taking care of me?"

She paused before replying. "Because nobody else does. Everyone deserves care when they're unwell."

It wasn't the answer he expected, but he almost smiled. Of course, that's how she'd think—she was kind and loving, even toward people she disliked if they genuinely needed help.

Aaron had never told her how much he appreciated her kindness in his first life. He'd been fiercely independent then, but she still found ways to make him feel cared for.

Telling her now might not have the same impact, but he still wanted her to know. The time for keeping things to himself was over.

"Hey, Keeley?"

"Yeah?"

"You're the kindest, most caring person I've ever met. I've always appreciated that about you. I thought you should know," he said sincerely.

He opened his un-iced eye to gauge her reaction. Disbelief was written all over her face. "Seriously?"

"Seriously. You're the only person who's ever shown me genuine kindness without expecting anything in return. It was one of the first things about you that impressed me."

Keeley's expression softened, and she ran a hand through her hair. She seemed almost embarrassed. "I didn't realize you paid attention to things like that back then."

How could he not? It was how she'd slowly won his heart—her genuine kindness and willingness to share her little with him had affected him like nothing else ever had.

"I paid attention to more than you think, but I didn't know how to express it then," Aaron admitted. "But that's what initially interested me in you. I'd never met anyone like you before."

"…you're a lot softer than you let on, aren't you?" she asked, her tone unreadable, her back to him. "I think you've had enough ice; get some sleep."

"Are you leaving?"

She stopped, resting her hand on the doorframe. "No. I'll stay here until you wake up, to make sure you don't die or something."

He sighed contentedly and closed his eyes as he heard the door click shut. He hadn't been cared for like this in a long time. Keeley, as always, was his angel, even if a bit rougher around the edges now.

Keeley regretted fussing so much the moment he started talking about the past. Why did he have to get all sentimental on her? The past was dead; nothing would change it.

But to think! All these years she'd wondered why he'd bothered with her. It was because she was nice to him?! How horribly lonely and desperate for human interaction must he have been?

Her heart ached for that seventeen-year-old boy who'd never experienced regular human kindness before meeting her. He said he wasn't good at expressing things…what else hadn't he told her?

It didn't matter. She had to squash those thoughts. Aaron was no good for her.

They'd reached a strange mutual understanding—to look out for each other after all they'd been through—but that was where she drew the line. She'd only stayed because she worried his injury was more serious than it seemed. It was dangerous for people living alone to be sick without anyone checking on them.

She took her container of leftovers—still warm thanks to the Styrofoam—and headed to the TV room to see if anything decent was recorded. Aaron had recorded a wide variety of reality shows.

Her heart constricted. All were recorded after the Valentine's Day weekend fiasco, according to the timestamps. He'd kept recording things he thought she might like, even after she'd told him she never wanted to see him again.

Why? Why would he do that? Misplaced hope?

His feelings may have been more genuine than she thought. He seemed so sad when he asked if she was going to stay. Did it really matter that much to him?

Keeley had so many questions she couldn't ask if she wanted to let Aaron go. Because if she did, she could easily fall back into old patterns. She didn't want that. She wouldn't give up her dreams or dignity for him again, no matter how sad and lonely he seemed.

But oh, it hurt. He wasn't a robot; his emotions were simply buried so deep they required a lot of excavation.

She tried pushing these thoughts aside and focusing on the cooking competition show she'd turned on. All she had to do was wait for him to wake up, and her obligation to ensure his well-being would be fulfilled.