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“When did you last sleep?”
Steven spared him only a brief glance before looking back at the screen. “I’m fine. Got to finish this.”
Wallace eyed him, noting the sickly grey colour of his skin and the way his hands shook as he typed, and perched on the desk next to him. “Right. Does your dad know you’re sick?”
“I’m not sick.”
“Steven,” said Wallace flatly. “You have a fever. I’m guessing you’ve got a migraine?” Steven’s lips tightened, but he said nothing and Wallace continued, “Do you really think staring at a computer screen is helping?”
Steven stilled for a moment, then sighed and let his head fall into his hands. “This project is already overdue. I only took over a month ago, Wallace, I can’t fail already.”
“Steven,” Wallace began, then fell silent. He took a moment to order his thoughts, then rested his hand on Steven’s shoulder. “Steven. I know you being part of Devon is important to your father, but he would never want this. You keep going like this, and you’re going to work yourself into a hospital bed.”
“That doesn’t matter.”
Wallace felt like he had been punched in the gut. Steven had to be more out of it than he thought if he was saying something like that.
“Of course it matters,” he forced out. “Steven, you matter.”
That earned him a blank look that was concerning enough before Steven started swaying where he sat. Wallace barely had time to stand before Steven’s eyes rolled back in his head. His body went limp, and Wallace barely caught him before his head hit the floor. He held Steven against his chest, heart pounding, and screamed for help.