Me: Alfred, don't forget there's a world meeting today.
I had sent him a text expecting an almost immediate reply from the American. He hadn't responded, so I assumed he was still sleeping. Well, it wouldn't be my fault if he comes walking in late.
We're halfway through the meeting now. Or, we had a break now at any rate. I check my phone to see if he texted me back, since he isn't here.
Nothing.
So, I send him another message.
Me: Alfred, you're late. You need to get over here.
I go back to the meeting after that.
It was as normal as it could be without Alfred. Francis started the argument this time by bringing up my eyebrows again. We fought while the others did whatever it is they do while we fight. Then Ludwig got the meeting under control and we actually got somewhere since Alfred wasn't there.
I call Alfred while I walk to my car, since he hasn't answered any of my texts. He doesn't answer, so I try again. He doesn't answer and I start to worry. He normally answers after the second time you call, if not the first. I call again to only be lead to voicemail.
Something must be wrong.
I get in my car and drive down to his house.
I knock on his door when I arrive an hour later. There's no answer, so I open the door with the spare key he gave me.
"Hello? Alfred?" I call as I walk inside the dark house.
The only response is a sneeze from the living room.
I go in there and find Alfred sleeping on the sofa. He looks sick: his skin is pale and he looks a bit green, he has dark circles under his eyes, and he just looks terrible.
I go over and place the back of my hand on his forehead. He has a fever. I go run a cloth under cold water, and then come back and place it on his forehead. I then go make some tea and come back with a cup of it. I sit down across from the sofa and wait for him to wake up.
As I watch him sleep, I start to notice things about him that I haven't before. Little, simple things. Like the way his chest rises and falls as he breaths. How nice his wheat colored hair looks. How his fingers twitch a bit every now and then in his sleep.
I realize I'm leaning over him. When did this happen? I start to move back, but Alfred grabs my arm. I try to pull it away, but he won't let go.
"Let go of me." I push his shoulder, trying to get my arm back.
He wakes up after a minute. He looks up at me and squints a bit, unable to see without his glasses. He doesn't let go of my arm.
"Let go of me wanker." I tell him, pulling on my arm again.
"British dude? What ya doin' here?" he asks me, not letting go of my arm. He sounds a bit congested.
"You weren't at the meeting and you wouldn't answer your phone. Now let go of my arm." I decide to ignore his grammar for the time being.
He lets go of my arm with a smile. "You were worried about me. But I'm fine."
I look at him for a moment. "Have you had anything to eat?"
"Naw. Jus' sittin' makes me feel dizzy. I don't think I can make it to the kitchen."
"Well, I'll just get you something." His eyes widen a bit in horror. "Don't worry. I'll just get you some soup from your cabinet." He visibly relaxes.
I get up and go to his kitchen. I look around in his pantry until I find some soup. I don't know why people have the same reaction when I tell them I'll cook. I'm a great cook.
I make him the soup, which doesn't take long, and come back into the living room. I place the soup on the coffee table. Alfred fell asleep, so I shake his shoulder. He wakes up and I slowly help him sit up. I give him the soup and sit across from him again. He slowly eats the soup in silence. He must really feel out of it to be so quiet.
When he finishes, I help him lie back down and put the wet cloth back on his forehead to help keep the fever down. He falls asleep after a few minutes. Seeing as its night, I let myself fall asleep an hour after he does.
Sometime during the night, I wake up hearing Alfred clumsily coming down the hall.
"Alfred?"
"What?" He sounds hoarse. He sits across from me on the sofa.
"Are you feeling better?"
"No."
"Why are you up?"
"Got sick."
"Here, lay down." I get the cloth back on his forehead. He takes my hand. His is cold, and a bit clammy.
"Thanks for staying with me Iggy. You didn't have to, you know that, right?"
"Of course I needed to stay." I say, smiling a bit. "I need to make sure you're alright."
He gently squeezes my hand. He starts to say something, but sleep over comes him again. I smile and ruffle his hair a bit. I try to let go of his hand, but I just hold it for a minute or so before letting go and sleeping in the chair across from him