The sound of puking from the next room makes me want to blow chunks, as well. Hell, it's even worse than when I was the one sick and on my knees before the porcelain goddess. At least I, the cool Soul Eater Evans, had enough dignity to close the door and keep my oral evacuations to myself and out of earshot. Not so with my meister. She'd rather the door remain ajar so she can share the experience with the rest of the household. I regret having that burger for lunch. I also regret that I may soon be seeing it again.

I try to focus on playing my video game in peace. Easier said than done. The occasional moan and groan from the W.C. acts as a constant reminder that I have a less-than-healthy female roommate bowled over in agony not twenty feet away. I'd offered to help any way I could, but she'd insisted it would be okay. I'm a big girl, she said with a crooked smile. I can handle being sick.

I'm a gentleman, damn it! What am I supposed to do? Just sit here and listen to her suffering all night long? She's not just my partner and my meister. She's my best friend in the god damn world, and I can't handle hearing her in this uncomfortable state. I'm the one who made her sick in the first place. It was my bug that she caught. I know she doesn't blame me, seeing as how I caught it from Black Star not even a week prior. Damn ninja never washes his grubby hands. But still, this is too much!

I make my way to the bathroom. Despite the sight she's made of herself, I can't help but blush. Damn chicks. I don't get it. Does she always sleep in her underwear? At least she's wearing a tank top, but those pink panties are way too distracting. Why is it she drops all modesty when she's hurling her innards into the john, but any other time I catch a glimpse of her unmentionables my head meets the spine of her latest hardback novel? I swear to God, girls make no sense whatsoever. I've got to get my mind out of the gutter, even though Maka's head is way further in than that.

Good. She's done throwing up for the moment. She looks extremely pathetic with her head on the toilet like that. Like hell I'd ever say it out loud, though. What, is she just going to leave it like that? She must be really out of it. Fine, I'll flush it myself.

The sound of the toilet flushing must have gotten her attention, because she looks up at me with the most dismal expression, eyes glazed over and half asleep, skin white and eerily pale. I can't think of anything else to do. What would her mom do right now? I guess I could try it….

"You all right?"

I feel her forehead. Yep, she's still got a fever. Not that it's any big surprise. I reach over to the sink and grab the thermometer. I reset it and she weakly opens her mouth so that I can put it under her tongue. After a few seconds it beeps and I take note of the reading. I'm surprised that it's actually gone up since the last time. 103.1 degrees Fahrenheit. Not good.

"Maka, I think we should get you to the hospital. You're fever's gone up. It's too high."

I show her the numbers. She faintly shakes her head and moans in protest. I try my best to dislodge her from the toilet, but she won't budge. She's gripping the bowl with all her strength, no matter how pathetic it is at the moment. I'm not going to force her to move. That would only make things worse. But damn it, woman! What the hell? I knew she was stubborn, but can't she just let me have my way this one time?

"Maka, we really have to go. This isn't good at all. Your fever is too high."

"No…Soul…I'll be fine."

"No you won't, stupid! You're sick! You need to get over your pride and let me take care of you!"

"Please…I just wanna sleep…"

I don't know what to do. She can barely move, and there's no way to get her to the hospital on my bike. She couldn't make the trip. Should I call an ambulance? No, that would take too much time. Think, Soul. How can you lower her fever? Wait…would that work?

I hurry to the tub and get the water running to a cool enough temperature. Is that too cold? No, it should be okay. How am I going to do this? Should I just…undress her? She'd never let me live it down. My head or any other vitals would never be safe again. I'd be Maka-chopped into oblivion the second she got better. No, better to do this with clothing on and my balls still intact…

I lift her from the floor and anticipate the movement of lowering her into the tub.

"Maka, this is going to be a little cold. Just bear with me, all right?"

She squeaks and jumps a little when her sweaty, clammy body meets with the cool water of the bath. She's too weak to do much, though, so I'm relieved when she quickly relaxes and just lets herself soak. I grab the cup from the sink. I might as well help where I can. I scoop water into it and pour it on her shoulders. She doesn't seem to mind, so I repeat the process, pouring water from head to toe a few times. I only pause long enough to soak up a washrag and place it on her forehead, and then I resume my attentions with the cup.

After about ten minutes I take her temperature again. 101.3 degrees Fahrenheit. Better. Much better. She's becoming a little more alert now, so I pull the stopper and let the water run out until the tub is empty. I grab her fluffy blue towel from the rack above the toilet and wrap it around her soaking form. Trying to dry her off with wet clothes on seems rather pointless, so I stoop to pick her up bridal style and carry her to her room.

She's shivering a little when I lay her on the bed, so I think it's best to get her into something dry as quickly as possible. Okay, Soul, how are you going to do this? Think. There's got to be a way to get her out of those wet clothes without putting your life at risk by seeing something you shouldn't. Not that I would mind…hey, focus! Focus!

Going with the less-than-obvious solution, I rush to my bedroom and grab the biggest, longest T-shirt I can find from the bottom drawer of my dresser. Returning to her room, I throw her comforter over her body and cringe at what I'm about to say next.

"Maka, will you help me take your clothes off?"

Surprisingly, nothing makes contact with my head, and I am miraculously still alive as she pulls her arms out of her wet tank top and attempts to pull it over her head without jostling the comforter too low. I assist in pulling it over her head, and I'm able to help her widdle out of her panties by ensuring that only my hands make it underneath the thick blanket. I try to ignore the fact that my hands are dangerously close to certain parts of her anatomy, but the need to make her comfortable remains at the forefront of my mind, so any such distractions are minimal.

I throw the wet clothes into the hamper across the room and roll up my big T-shirt enough that she can work her arms and head through the appropriate holes with very little effort. Again, we attempt at this maneuver so that the comforter remains a modest barrier between us throughout the entire process. Only my hands make their way beneath the blanket, and I'm able to help her pull the shirt down the length of her body until she's completely covered.

"Do you want some clean undies?" I blush slightly at this question, and so does she, but a slight nod answers my inquiry. Without looking and with my head turned, I quickly open the top drawer of her dresser, reach in for the first appropriate article, and shut the drawer again with a loud crack. Reaching once again under the comforter, I'm able to help her get her feet in until she can do the rest and work them up her own legs. With a little sigh of relief that my entire being remains unharmed, I tell her to sit up a bit so that I can towel dry her hair. The last thing she needs after this ordeal is to catch pneumonia and end up in the hospital anyway.

She's surprised when I bend to pick her up again, but I silence any protest with a quick explanation.

"Your bed is pretty wet now. I don't want you getting any sicker than you already are. You'll sleep in my room tonight. I'll take the couch and dry your sheets."

She doesn't complain when I place her in my bed and cover her up again so that she doesn't get cold. I return to her room and strip the bed of wet sheets and comforter and throw them in the dryer for twenty minutes. Next is the kitchen, where I fix her a glass of ice water and grab the trash can to take back into my room…just in case.

"Ice water to keep yourself hydrated," I tell her. "Sucking on the ice should help your fever, too. Just don't drink it too fast. I'll be on the couch if you need me. Just yell."

My attempt to turn and leave is halted when I feel a small tug at my wrist. Confused, I turn around to face the bed only to witness her flushing face looking up at me. It takes a moment, but the ability to speak coherently finally returns to her.

"Actually…I'm getting a little cold now. Would you stay with me…please? Just for a while?"

All the 'cool' melts right out of me at that statement. What is it about this girl? The combination of those innocent words and the sight of her in my bed, begging me to join her, with that wonderfully pathetic expression on her face…is just too much for any sane guy to handle. Seriously, how am I supposed to refuse when she says stuff like that? It's not fair.

I hope the grin on my face doesn't appear too overtly coy.

"Sure, Maka. I'll stay with you. Can you scoot over?"