By Thursday, Noah had developed a plan so childish it might actually work.

He cleaned an insulated bottle, hid it beneath his desk, and spent dinner behaving with exaggerated innocence. Adrian noticed. Adrian noticed everything.

"Why are you smiling?" he asked as they walked back from the dining hall.

Noah widened his eyes. "Am I not allowed to experience joy?"

"Not like that."

"Like what?"

"Like you have committed a minor crime."

Noah pushed open the residence hall door. "Maybe I'm happy to see you."

Adrian stopped beneath the awning.

Rain silvered the dark hair at his temples. For one unguarded second, his expression looked almost vulnerable.

Then Marcus shoved past them with two pizza boxes and said, "If this is where you finally kiss, move left. You're blocking dinner."

Adrian went inside.

Noah followed, wishing Marcus would occasionally allow a moment to die with dignity.

At ten, Adrian appeared beside Noah's desk with the blue ceramic mug.

Steam curled over the rim. Cinnamon floated on the surface in a delicate brown spiral.

"You did the art thing," Noah said.

"What art thing?"

"The cinnamon. It's a little heart."

Adrian looked down. The shape could have been a heart if a person was generous, or a damaged kidney if they were not.

"Accident," he said.

"Of course."

Noah accepted the mug. Their fingers touched, and Adrian released it too quickly.

"Drink before it cools."

"Yes, Captain."

"Don't call me that."

"You love it."

"I tolerate it from my crew."

"And from me?"

Adrian looked at him. "I tolerate more from you than anyone."

He returned to his room before Noah could decide whether that was romantic or insulting.

Noah waited until the door closed. Then he poured the milk into the bottle, leaving a thin film in the mug. He pressed his mouth to the rim for evidence and carried the empty cup to the kitchenette.

Adrian emerged as Noah set it beside the sink.

His gaze moved from Noah's face to the mug. "Finished?"

"Every drop."

"How does your mouth feel?"

"Still attached."

Adrian picked up the mug. His thumb brushed over the place where Noah's mouth had been. The gesture was small enough to deny and intimate enough to steal Noah's breath.

"Try the guard tonight," Adrian said.

"What guard?"

Adrian's hand tightened around the handle. "Nothing. Lock your window. The temperature will drop."

He carried the mug away.

Noah stared after him. Guard. The word joined the growing collection of evidence.

He worked on a paper until midnight, then turned off the lamp and arranged himself beneath the covers. His plan had been to pretend to sleep. In practice, he became aware of every physical process involved in sleeping and could not reproduce any of them naturally.

He breathed too slowly, then too fast. His eyelids twitched. His nose itched with the urgency of a medical emergency.

At 1:43 a.m., Marcus began snoring through the wall.

At 1:58, pipes knocked somewhere in the building.

At 2:07, Noah heard Adrian's door open.

His heart hammered.

Bare footsteps crossed the suite. They paused outside Noah's room.

The handle turned.

Noah kept his eyes closed as Adrian entered. The floor gave one quiet creak, then another. The mattress shifted near Noah's hip.

A hand settled on his shoulder.

"Noah."

He did not answer.

Adrian's thumb moved once through the fabric of his T-shirt. Not a caress exactly. A test.

"Noah, open your eyes."

Noah's heart lurched. He remained still.

"You're awake."

The certainty in Adrian's voice ruined the performance.

Noah opened his eyes.

Moonlight cut across Adrian's face. He wore a black T-shirt and gray sweatpants, his hair disordered from sleep. He did not look guilty or surprised. He looked tired.

"How did you know?" Noah whispered.

"When you actually sleep, your left foot moves."

"That is disturbingly specific."

"You also breathe through your mouth."

"I do not."

"You do."

Noah pushed himself upright and switched on the bedside lamp. Adrian blinked in the sudden light but did not retreat.

"Why are you in my room?"

"You didn't drink the milk."

Cold passed through Noah. "So it does have something in it."

"Milk. Honey. Cinnamon."

"Then how did you know?"

"You lie badly." Adrian nodded toward the desk. "The bottle is visible in the reflection from your laptop screen."

Noah glanced over. The silver base of the bottle gleamed beneath the desk.

"That feels like cheating."

"You asked a question."

"Fine. New question. Why do I wake up injured after milk nights, and why are you standing over my bed at two in the morning?"

Adrian's jaw tightened. He reached into his pocket and took out a clear plastic case. Inside lay a soft dental guard, its surface deeply scored.

He placed it in Noah's palm.

"This is yours."

Noah turned it over. "I've never seen it."

"I ordered it after the second time you bit your cheek."

"The second time when?"

Adrian sat on the edge of the mattress, leaving deliberate space between them.

"You've been sleepwalking."

Noah laughed once. The sound came out thin. "No, I haven't."

"Six times in the last month."

"You're making that up."

"The first time, I found you in the kitchenette with a butter knife. You said you were looking for a paintbrush. The second time, you walked into the coffee table. The third time, you bit the inside of your mouth hard enough to bleed."

Noah's fingers closed around the case.

"And the other three?"

Adrian looked away.

For the first time all night, he seemed uncertain.

"Adrian."

"You came into my room."

Silence filled the narrow space between them.

Noah heard the radiator click on.

"What did I do?"

Adrian's eyes returned to his. "You climbed into my bed."