The hysteria bled over more than anything else, and Kavinsky knelt there on the floor, trying to keep his breathing slow and level as he tried to puzzle out what it was that Newt was feeling, was going through, that Kavinsky was not understanding here.

Infectious and gone meant something, though. Kavinsky's heart skipped in his chest. No. No, it was too early for this--or too late in the month--and there was no reason for such a volatile reaction anyway. Newt had never reacted so poorly, that Kavinsky knew. Had never claimed risk of spread.

"Sugar--Newt, you're. You're fine. Okay? I promise."