Emery turned, surprise evident in his expressive brown eyes. He was wearing a mask of his own. "That was fifteen minutes ago. I rather thought it'd take you longer than that to get here."

Josh held his gaze. "I was in the waiting room."

The other man looked dismayed. "Still? I thought I told you to go home." His haughty tone was doing a very poor job of concealing the tumultuous look in his eyes, even before he had a coughing fit.

"You did. It's been a couple of years since you were the boss of me, though, so don't take it personally that I didn't obey."

Josh had hoped to coax a bit of laughter, a hint of a smile, out of him, but whatever information he was holding on to didn't seem to allow room for humor. A spike of icy dread went through him. What could Emery's diagnosis be that had him so devastated? The other man failed to keep his voice steady.

"They're still waiting on the lab results, but... They believe I have tuberculosis. They believe it strongly enough that they're already treating me for it." He lowered his gaze then willed it back up, to meet Josh's eyes. "And that means I may have passed it onto you." His fingers clenched around the edge of the bedsheet, knuckles going white. "I cannot... Words can't express the depth of my regret. I shouldn't have set foot in your house, Josh."

Josh's chest expanded, making him realize how hard it had been to breathe before. TB wasn't a trifle, but Emery's posture had had him picturing one terrifying scenario after another. After being best friends with Mark for so many years, he knew better than to think of TB as this terrifying entity — or even as a very contagious one. TB was manageable; TB was curable. Emery would be okay. "How are you feeling? How long before the test results come in?"

"Another day, I think. But you won't be tested for another four weeks. Your friend will explain better, I'm sure, but I... Josh, I'm so very sorry." He hung his head, focusing on an invisible point on the floor.

"Sorry for what," Josh asked, voice gentle yet thick with the weight of Emery's reaction, "being sick? That's not exactly your fault, is it?"

Once more Emery's eyes snapped up to meet his. "Didn't you hear me? You might be... You shaved me. You bathed me."

Josh pulled up a chair to be able to sit at eye-level height by the foot of the bed and smiled softly, forgetting for a moment that not only was his mouth hidden behind the mask, but also that Emery wouldn't be able to see the expression in his eyes without his glasses. "I did. And I'm not sorry I did it. For what it's worth, I don't think you infected me. But if I test positive I'll be treated, just like you. We'll both be fine, Emery."

"You're not— " Emery shook his head, incredulous. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry I went to your home. I'm sorry you've been dragged into my problems."

Josh wanted to place a friendly hand on Emery's shoulder, but the best he could do was not break eye contact. "Dragged? Hardly. I like to think I skipped and hopped merrily to them of my own free will."

Emery exhaled shakily. Josh wanted to believe some of the anguish in the other man's eyes had abated slightly. "Josh, I... I know it's hypocritical of me to even ask this of you. I know I have no right, not after I refused to let you come in with me, but... It'll be almost a month before you get tested. If I call, will you tell me? Please. I need to know if I infected you."

"If you call?" Josh zeroed in on that troublesome detail. "Do they expect you'll need to stay here that long?"

Emery shook his head slightly. "Not that long, no. If all goes according to what they expect, I'll be discharged in a few days."

"Then where," Josh asked, preparing for battle, "would you call from?"

"A shelter, I believe. I'll find a way. The treatment for this will take several months. It was explained to me that homeless people need to prove they can adhere to—"

"You're not homeless," Josh cut across him decidedly. "When we came here I said you were technically homeless, but that's just so you won't twist your brain in knots with the idea that your sister's money might pay for your treatment, instead of the other way around. That doesn't mean you don't have a home to go to."

"You can't be serious," Emery replied, eyebrows slanting in bewilderment. "I'm telling you I have an infectious disease and you're offering to play house."

"I'd already offered. Why you think I'd go back on it is beyond me."

"That was when we thought it'd take a week or two before I could find a job and stop imposing on your kindness."

"Only in your mind, Emery. I don't care how long it takes. You're welcome to be my roommate for the next ten years for all I care."