A/N: Thank you all so much for the wonderful, wonderful reviews. I feel very, very loved. It's made me feel tons better after all the stuff I've been going through.

For those of you who love hummus and have really weak stomachs, heed caution when reading this chapter.

This chapter also jumps around a lot, so I apologize.

I do not own Advil. Advil…owns Advil?

Forewarning – The F bomb is dropped in this chapter. Just wanted to give a heads up.

Chapter 7

Lightning swore she would never eat hummus again.

Which hardly made sense, because it had been nearly two days since had downed the stuff back at The Lindblum. Yet she had spent most of the first lights of her Friday kneeling in front of the toilet with the taste of chickpeas, garlic and bile repeatedly filling her mouth. She dared not let her eyes wonder, lest she see the mess and cause her stomach to heave once again. The smell alone was acrid enough. Lightning gagged, and without even bothering to look, groped for the handle and flushed away her sickness.

What was most regrettable about the situation was the fact Lightning had found the hummus to be quite delicious—that is, before her body decided to vomit the contents of her stomach at four-thirty this morning. A soft moan escaped the woman's lips and her head bucked forward, spitting and gagging in a dry heave.

"So help me, I will get Rydgea to take that stuff off the menu." Lightning stumbled back into the other room. Her toes curled deep into the carpet, anchoring each uneven step. It took every ounce of her energy just to crawl back into her bed. Of course, the most likely culprit of her sudden illness was that moronic kid that had sneezed on her at work Wednesday night. Thankfully, she had today off. Missing work meant missing money in her paycheck—something she couldn't afford now.

Lightning hated being sick. It was something that didn't happen very often, partially due to her superior immune system. The other part was her being a stickler for good hand washing. But being sick left her vulnerable and weak.

And Lightning Farron was not weak.

Yet that is precisely how she felt—weak, utterly pathetic. She rolled onto her bed, pulled the comforter over herself, and groaned. A dull pain had settled in the small of her back, spreading into her shoulders and arms. Was that from work? She had never really noticed the pain before. Whatever the cause, it was wreaking havoc on her nerve endings. The pain may have been dull, but it never ceased to be tormenting her. It was as if a hot metal rod had been inserted into the base of her spine, sitting there for hours. A fleeting thought passed through her clouded mind: take some pain killers. She dismissed it, however, considering her chances of being able to keep the pills long enough in her stomach to be effective were slim.

Back pain, headache, nausea, and of course, the fever, which was probably the worst. Lightning shivered under the covers. A thin layer of sweat began to work itself to the surface of her skin. She let out another moan, rolled onto her side and drew her knees into her chest. Her throat still burned, raw from up heaving bile and acid so many times. Everything hurt. It hurt to stand, it hurt to move; it hurt to just lie there, wallowing in sick misery.

I should…call someone…

No. She could not rely on anyone to take care of her. Every fiber of her being simply refused to succumb to her weakness; she would pull through. Yes, Lightning would be better by tomorrow. She would be up, running about, waiting tables and searching for a real job—

If only she could move her arm close enough to her nightstand to pop an Advil.

Then again, that was provided she didn't throw it up.

Lightning kicked off her covers, rolled off the bed and crawled back to the bathroom. She gripped either side of the toilet seat, her mouth filling with hot saliva.

And prayed to the porcelain god.

She could have sworn her stomach was empty. It astounded her that there was still anything left in her stomach. Lightning imagined that with the next bout of sickness, she would see a lung or a spleen floating there, suspended in toilet water. There was no strength left in her body and so she slumped to her right, colliding with her bathroom floor, pieces of hair obscuring her view of the moulding on the cabinet. She didn't care particularly; the view was terrible from down here, but the tiles felt cold and good against her burning cheeks.

Minutes passed.

Lightning's eyes fluttered shut.

Minutes turned to hours.

A sudden stabbing pain in the back of her neck aroused Lightning from her floor-nap. She uttered a cry, sitting upright but was met halfway by the edge of her cabinet. Cursing, she recoiled and struggled herself up to a stance, turning towards the door.

Before exiting, she caught her reflection in the mirror. Her hair was a complete stringy mess. Additionally, the floor had given her a parting gift by imprinting a grid pattern onto her right cheek. Lightning grunted, and returned to her bedroom.

Eight fifty-three…damn, how long was I out? She attempted to recall the time of which she passed out in her bathroom. Lightning sat down on the edge of her mattress and snatched up a bottle of ibuprofen. She popped the first pill in and swallowed. The next one put up a fight, and she choked, spitting it up into her hand. Half of the coating had melted off, exposing the white, bitter chalk of the medicine. Her tongue darted between her lips, scraping the roof of her mouth, trying to rid itself of the unpleasant aftertaste.

"Fuck this." She set the half chewed up pill onto her nightstand, and wiped the residue off on her pants. With a thump, she fell back onto her bed and wrapped herself inside of her blankets. It wasn't much longer before she drifted back to sleep.

XXXXXXXX

"Hello?"

"Hi, Serah? This is Hope Esthiem calling."

"Oh, Hope! How are you?"

"I'm fine. It's, uh, well. I was wondering. I mean, I'm calling because—you see, Lightning never showed up today. I tried calling her a couple of times. I mean, it's only been thirty minutes, maybe I'm over reacting—"

Click.

"H-hello? Serah?"

XXXXXXX

The phone was ringing.

Lightning swallowed. Hunger pains clawed at her stomach, forcing a headache back into her head. Without comprising her cocoon of blankets, she rotated to her right, reached an arm out and felt around for the phone. Once the smooth, plastic surface came into contact she picked up the device and pushed the talk button.

"Hello?" There was a muffled response on the other end. It took Lightning several moments to register that she was holding the phone upside down. The woman frowned, rotated the phone in her hand and grudgingly wiggled out of her covers.

"Hello Claire?"

It was Serah. "Yeah, I'm here." Lightning heard Serah sigh into the receiver. The noise elicited a cringe on Lightning's end, sounding more like a roaring windstorm than a sigh. She wondered if her sister had sensed her recoil, because her voice softened.

"Claire, do you have any idea what time it is?"

Lightning's head continued to throb. "Um," she leaned forward, looking at her clock. "Shit—it's already six!"

"Yes, it is." She could picture the little frown forming on Serah's face. "Is everything alright? Hope tried calling you several times."

That's right, today was Friday. Lightning sighed, pinching her temples. "Sorry, I forgot." Hope didn't have her home phone number, and her cell phone was in her purse…which was in the living room. "I'm fine."

"Claire," she said in a warning tone. Lightning heard her shuffle about, moving the phone from one shoulder to another.

"What are you doing?"

"Tell me what's wrong first," Serah instructed. Lightning sighed. There was no point in arguing with her sister. It would only prolong their conversation and by extension, the ebbing pain in her torso that screamed for food.

"I'm sick."

"Oh my goodness, are you okay? Do you have a fever? Have you been drinking plenty of fluids? What's wrong?"

"Serah."

"—did you call the doctor? Because I can do that for you—"

"—Serah!" Lightning huffed, waiting until the other part of the line grew quiet. "I told you I'm fine. It's probably just the flu. I've been sleeping most of the day anyways." She eased back on to her bed. "Now what are you doing?"

"Last minute packing—Snow has a business meeting out in California, and the company offered to fly the whole family out at no expense. But I'm going to let him know that he has to go without me—"

"No!" Lightning shouted into the receiver. "Don't cancel your plans because of me. I told you. I'm fine."

"I don't feel comfortable leaving you alone."

"Serah," Lightning's voice dropped an octave, taking on a grave tone. "I am a grown woman. I think I can handle a virus." No need to mention that she passed out on the bathroom floor. Or that she couldn't keep any food down. Lightning licked her lips. Her entire mouth was bone dry, and stale. "Could you just do me a favor?"

"Anything."

"Call Hope for me? Tell him something came up unexpectedly."

"Of course, sis. Please take care of yourself."

"I will." Lightning hung up the phone and shrunk back under her covers.

I should probably eat something…or at least get some water.

XXXXXXX

"Hope. It's me, Serah."

The young man was seated outside of Brunoise, a bag of groceries and equipment occupying the space next to him. His fingers which pressed the cell phone against his ear stung from the bitter cold of November. After abruptly ending their conversation earlier by hanging up on him, Hope's level of worry had extended far beyond the usual amount that was considered to be healthy. He adjusted his grip on his phone. "Is everything okay?"

"Yes and no," Serah replied. Hope stood and immediately started pacing.

"What is it? She…she isn't…" What if Light was in an accident? Could she have lost her job? Hope began chewing on his nails.

Serah sighed. "She has the flu."

"She's not, you know in the hospital or anything—"

"—No, no, of course not," the woman almost laughed. Hope suddenly felt lighter, like something had been pressing down on him up until that moment. Admittedly, he had grown concerned for Light's well-being. "I know it's probably nothing, but I worry about her. She has the tendency to work herself to death, even when she's sick. Never bothers to rest or relax. And I would check on her, but unfortunately Snow and I are out of town for the week. We're driving to the airport right now, as a matter of fact."

Hope frowned. Light could have at least called. Perhaps she simply had been so sick that she could not even pick up the phone? Maybe that's why Serah was so worried. Hope wondered if she could actually get that sick, sick enough to not be able to move. He tried to envision Light under a mound of comforters, watching reruns on her TV and eating chicken noodle soup—the image would not form.

"Hope? Are you still there?"

"Yeah." Hope grated his teeth. The cooking lessons had been his only plans this evening, and now that there wasn't anything to do...

"Sorry about the confusion. Goodbye—"

"—wait!" Hope interjected. He was met with several disapproving gazes from strangers who happened to pass at the precise moment of his outburst. Hope ignored them. "D-do you want me to check on her? I can do that for you."

"Would you really? Oh Hope, that's so sweet of you. If it's not too much trouble?"

"Not at all. I wasn't doing anything else tonight."

"Thank you so much," Serah chimed into the phone. "I gave her address to you, didn't I? Do you need gas money? I can give some to you when you get back—"

"Serah, no it's fine. Not a problem at all. I'll call you later to update."

"I really appreciate this Hope," said Serah. "Rosie, no, don't climb over the seat! Snow, get a hold of your daughter—yes your daughter. Would it kill you to take a little responsibility?"

"I should probably let you go now."

"No sweetie, that is not a toy—oh, sorry Hope! Chat later."

The line went dead and Hope pocketed his cell phone, returned to the bench and collected his things. This is going to be incredibly weird…what was I thinking? He sighed and shook his head. Hope tried to assure himself that he was just being a good person, checking in on his student because she was too sick to take care of herself. Yet the idea of seeing her, no matter what the circumstances, excited Hope. There was a hop in his step as he made his way over to the bus stop. He sat down, frequently glancing over his shoulder, eyes searching for no one in particular. It was an unusual tick, a nervous habit he could never seem to rid himself from. So he twitched out of anticipation, making any onlooker believe he had some sort of health condition.

The bus rolled into the station with a hiss, doors opening. Hope flung himself off the bench and rushed towards the doors, heart racing. It had hurt him; those thirty minutes of waiting back in the kitchen, listing to the mundane ticking of the wall clock. Every time the hand of that clock moved, a little pinprick of pain pressed against his chest. He thought he had been ditched, like she had decided that she was sick and tired of seeing him. When he was with Light, he felt better. It was probably the most illogical idea Hope had though in a long while, but he didn't care.

He needed to see her.

XXXXXXX

"Tch. Of all the times to be reminded to do grocery shopping…"

Lightning closed the last cabinet, shaking her head. She reached for her cup and downed the last few drops of water, making it her forth glass within the hour. Despite this, her mouth remained painfully dry. With glass in hand, she shuffled over to the sink and ran the tap for another refill.

After an extensive search, Lightning had discovered a grand total of five food items: mayonnaise, ketchup, butter, molded bread (which had been buried far, far back in the recesses of her cabinet and was more mold than bread when she discovered it), and a container of cottage cheese. Since Lightning wasn't particularly eager to make a buttered ketchup mayo soup, she retrieved the small container of dairy product and set it down on her counter.

A knock at the door stopped her in mid-pull on the drawer that held spoons. Lightning clenched her water tightly and reluctantly headed out of her kitchen, towards the living room and finally the front door. Several more knocks sounded as she maneuvered through her apartment.

Serah, that'd better not be you knocking… She hiked up the blanket around her shoulders, so the ends lifted from the floor to just hovering above her ankles. The last thing she needed was Serah playing Mom for Lightning. A third round of knocking battered her front door and this time it was followed by a voice.

"Open up, please? It's kinda cold out here."

Lightning watched the glass slip in slow motion from her surprised fingers and shatter against the floor tile of her doorway. A shower of glass and water littered the space in every direction from the impact. Her mind was empty. She stared, lips parted, eyes widened, at the door.

Hope.

"Did something just break? A-are you okay? Light?" Hope's voice, muffled from the barrier between them, invaded her apartment. Lightning drew in a sharp breath and stared down at her feet. They were bare.

Damn it. Her mouth opened and closed three times before it finally decided to speak. "I'm…fine; broke a glass…I don't have any shoes on." Lightning's mind buzzed like an angry hive of bees that had just been provoked. Why was Hope at her front door, asking permission to be let into her home? Breathe. Think. All proverbial fingers seemed to point back to one person.

Serah. Lightning felt a surge of fury well up inside her. It made perfect sense. Serah was gone, so she asked someone to take her place, to take her role of "mother" while she was away.

Lightning did not take well to that idea.

"I know this is…weird. Me being here and whatnot, I actually kind of called your sister, and she told me you were sick, so I sort of opted to come over and check on you," Hope's voice trailed off as he drew close to the end of his sentence. "I'll just leave—or, if you don't mind, I can help you clean up the glass first and then leave."

There was a long silence before Lightning sighed. "Door's unlocked." She watched as the knob turned, defeated. It had been a relatively quick decision to allow him in, namely based on two assumptions: firstly, that Hope had come here of his own accord. Secondly, the chances that Hope came to her doorstep without food was about the equivalence of Lightning acting kindly towards snow for a length that exceeded five minutes.

Those sorts of things just never happened.

XXXXXXXX

The second thing that Hope noticed about Lightning's apartment was its severe lack of décor. All the walls were painted a dull beige color, completely naked and void of any photos or paintings. Only a pink bowl sitting on a nearby ledge drew any attention. There was a happy little cartoon penguin panted on it, waving a flipper to whomever happened to glance at it. And it probably got a lot of glances—the thing was dreadfully out of place in the woman's living room.

He noticed all these things secondly, because his first foot inside the door resounded with a loud crunch. Hope's eyes immediately cast downwards and he retracted his step—shards of glass were scattered everywhere across the foyer.

"Wow, you weren't kidding when you said you broke a glass." He looked up, meeting Light's gaze for the first time since his arrival: piecey bits of pink hair framed her pale face; limp tendrils hanging over the bulky blanket that looked like it had been stolen from the top of her bedspread. It wrapped around her shoulders and arms, encasing her entire body down to mid-calf. For all Hope knew, she could have been wearing nothing underneath it. A blush forced its way into Hope's cheeks and he shook his head. Light wouldn't open the door in just a blanket. Regardless, he had never seen her look so…vulnerable.

"Can you close the door? It's getting cold," she requested in a nonchalant voice. He bowed his head in apology, side stepping large chunks of glass and pulled the door close behind him.

"Sorry. Can I set this down in the kitchen?" He raised the bag in his left hand, indicating to it. Lightning nodded, a hand emerging from the pastel yellow comforter to run through her messy locks. Hope approached the kitchen, every step mindful of glass shards, and set his items down before turning back to her. "Where's your broom?"

"The long cabinet, next to the fridge," she pointed with the same hand that had just untangled from her hair. Hope made his way towards the cabinet. "My slippers are next to the couch. I'll help you clean it up."

He nodded. Light wore slippers. It just seemed very un-Light like to him. He had only known her for about a little less than a month, not nearly enough time to know someone well, but there were certain things, certain behaviors that Hope could only assume Lightning did and Lightning did not do. Wearing slippers was one of the things that Lightning did not do, or so his mind had unconsciously told him until now.

The slippers were plain and brown. No animals, no fuzzy hot pink fur—Hope would have surely laughed aloud if he had found something like that. Moving the broom to his left hand, he picked up the slippers in his right, rounding about the couch to the edge of the carpet and handed them to her. She accepted them with a curt nod, taking one in each hand and while balancing on her right foot, lifted her left leg. Light wobbled and struggled to meet her foot with the slipper.

"Careful," Hope took a step forward, catching her arm to restore balance. "Here, just lean on me for support. It'll be easier." Of course, there was an easier way to do things—he could scoop Light into his arms and carry her over to a spot with no glass. The very thought sent a shiver down his spine and another blush crept into his cheeks. By the time he forced the thought out of his mind, she had already let go of his arm and was walking back to the kitchen. Hope had the sudden urge to smack his forehead with the broom handle.

Instead, he knelt down and began sweeping. It was somewhat awkward; with the broom handle extending several feet above his head, his hand clutching the very base as he pushed bits of glass into the dust pan. The water on the floor was not helping either: every sweep left little wet streaks of miniscule glass shards in its wake.

"I was kind of expecting you to find the dust pan in there."

Hope looked up from sweeping. Light hovered above him with a significantly shorter brush in hand. She had ditched her blanket, revealing a t-shirt and sweatpants clad body. A smirk was plastered on her face. She bent down next to him, taking the larger slivers of glass between her fingers and depositing them into the dustpan. "So, what's in the bag?"

"A surprise," he replied, re-sweeping an area where the water had finally dried up. He glanced up briefly to catch a deadpan stare coming from Light. Hope chuckled softly. "Fortunately for you, the dishes I wanted to do today involved rice and bananas."

"So?"

Hope raised an eyebrow. "So—BRAT?" He looked up again, only to be met with confusion. "You know, BRAT? Bread, rice, apple sauce, toast?" Light shook her head. Hope folded back on his haunches and tilted his head. "You mean your mom never gave you that stuff while you were sick?"

"I never really got sick a lot as a kid. Plus, the times I did get sick, only Serah was there to take care of me. My dad died shortly after Serah was born, and my mom passed when I was fifteen. She was always so busy working she never really had time to take care of us." Lightning explained and examined the piece of glass she had just picked up. "Huh, didn't mean to tell the whole sob story."

"No, no that's fine—I'm sorry to hear about your parents."

Light shrugged. "It's no big deal. You get used to it after a while." She lifted her brush but paused for a moment. "There was this one time I got sick when I was nine. Serah was six, and the only food she could find in the house was butterscotch pudding. But, you know, I couldn't keep it down."

"Dairy is probably the worst thing for your stomach when you're nauseated," he informed the woman.

"I hope she knows that the next time my niece gets a stomach bug," Light stood, and took her tray back to the kitchen. "So is that what your Mom used to do? Feed you…what was it? BRA?"

Hope laughed. "BRAT. Speaking of, you can help yourself to a banana if you like." With one final sweep, he joined Light in the kitchen, eyes darting around the space for a trash can. As he looked, his heart sank: the kitchen was bare, like the living room, and cramped. There was a fine layer of dust settled over the stovetop, and he counted a total of two knives in the knife rack, one of which he recognized as his own. "Correct me if I'm wrong, but I'm going to make a wild guess that you don't cook very often."

"No need for corrections," she said between bites of a banana. "The only thing I had available to eat before you came here was some cottage cheese." Light snorted. "Good thing you showed up, actually, else I'd be upchucking that stuff as we speak."

"Happy to be of service," he replied with a shy smile. "Though, in honesty, there is an actual surprise in my bag so, if you don't mind—" He gestured towards the living room. "Sit over there for awhile, okay? I'll put on the rice."

She glared at him for a moment, one side of her cheeks full of banana. Hope choked back a laugh, just long enough for Light to sigh and exit the kitchen, before a widespread grin overtook his features. He rubbed his hands together, and delved into the nearest pantry in search for a pot.

"You know," he called out. "When you cook rice, you should always leave the lid on. Never peak at it or anything, because it lets all the steam escape." Hope grew embarrassed when there wasn't a response. In fact, a long silence settled in as he continued to prepare the rice.

"So your mom still takes care of you when you're sick?"

Hope's mood took a sudden shift downward. "Mom…died—when I was fourteen." He set the pot of water on the stove to boil, and ripped open the top to the bag of rice. "I guess we have something in common…moms passing away when we were in high school."

Hope thought he heard Lightning mumble "I'm sorry" but dismissed it. Instead, he heard a more clear voice ask, "And your dad?"

"I'd prefer not to talk about it." The tension grew so thick in the next couple of seconds; Hope could have picked up his knife and cut it. He placed the lid on the rice and retrieved his 'surprise' from the bag, padding over behind the couch.

"Tah-dah." He simultaneously dangled the object in question in front of Light's face. She took it from him, flipping it over in her hands, a rare, genuine smile coming and going with a blink of an eye. "I brought it today so I could lend it to you during class. So I figured we—I mean you. Uh. That is, if you don't mind me staying."

"Sit down, Hope," she chuckled. He rubbed the back of his neck, and preoccupied the spot next to her. "Iron Chef, the original—that's how you pick up all the ladies, right?"

Hope brushed off her sarcastic jab at his pride with a laugh. "Yes, it's my signature move. All my secrets have been revealed." He held out a hand. "I'll put it in." Light handed the case to him, her hand brushing against his. It felt unusually hot. "If you don't mind me asking, when's the last time you've taken your temperature?"

"I haven't." She let go of the case, which fell into his lap and drew her legs up onto the couch, engulfing them in the yellow blanket. "Why did you come here, anyways? I figured Serah put you up to it at first…"

"So what if she had? Would you have slammed the door in my face?"

Light sighed. "Just because I prefer to take full responsibility of myself doesn't necessarily mean that I am inhospitable." She craned her neck. "But yes, I probably would have."

"Oh," Hope shifted awkwardly in his seat.

"So. Why did you come here?"

When prompted with the question a second time, Hope drew a blank. It didn't seem like a smart idea to tell her that he had a sudden urge to see her, which was the truth, and worrying also seemed to infringe on…what? Why did he care so much about his explanation? He turned to her. She was watching him quietly, waiting, reading his movements so she already knew what he was going to say before he said it. But some part of Hope wanted to see that kind of unexpected reaction, and so he went with his first option.

"I wanted to see you," he admitted. It was perfect, her reaction—the mask of passiveness came off and revealed parted lips and widened eyes. There might have even been a subtle blush on her cheeks, but it was too faint for Hope to detect. He savored what little of the moment he could before toning down the very forward nature of his comment. "I mean, I'm used to seeing you every Friday, and it's been a while since I've hung out with a friend. So I figured I'd drop by." Light seemed to relax after his next statement, which had been spoken evenly and without falter. Hope relaxed as well. It had sounded quite idiotic, but he had sincerely meant every word. Even the follow up part, he honestly did consider Light to be his friend.

"The thermometer is in the left drawer in the bathroom," said Light, refusing to look him in the eye after the previous exchange.

"So you're going to let me do my job now?" he teased.

"Shut up."

Hope chuckled, and returned shortly with the thermometer. She swiped the object out of his grasp before he even had a chance to sit back down. It was a nonverbal threat that the teasing had to stop. He popped the DVD in returned to the couch, glancing from the remote to remote on the coffee table before Light pointed out the right one.

A minute into the previews, the thermometer started to beep. She drew the instrument from between her lips, studying the little screen on the side. Hope leaned over to read as well and touched shoulders with Light, a little surge of excitement flowing through him.

"A little over a hundred," she said and recapped the thermometer, setting it down on the coffee table. "You know, you could have just skipped this part."

"Right, sorry." His thumb shifted on the remote, bringing up the main menu of the DVD. Light yawned besides him. "Hey, stay awake for the first episode at least."

"I'm not tired," she frowned. "I slept the entire day." She folded her arms across her chest. "Can you get the Advil off my nightstand? And a glass of water too, while you're at it."

"I thought you prefer to be responsible for yourself?" he joked.

Lightning replied with a smirk, "You're here. Might as use you as much as I can."

Hope made a second trip back into Light's room, returning with pills and water. She popped on into her mouth while Hope pressed play. T

"Is that the chairman?" Lightning leaned forward in her seat. "What the hell is he wearing?"

"Just to clarify, that's a different chairman than the one now," said Hope.

"I know that."

"Oh, well, Chairman Kaga was known for his flamboyant outfits."

"This is season one, right?" Light asked.

"No, I picked one of the later seasons because Morimoto was the third Japanese Iron Chef."

"This…is even more ridiculous than the American version," Hope laughed. "Yes, the dubbed in English voices is the piece de resistance."

The night grew later. Light left her half eaten bowl of rice on the table. They went through an entire disk and switched to a new one, still tossing around comments every now and then. He wanted to believe Light was sincerely enjoying herself, that his humble visit with a bag food and Iron Chef DVDs was actually causing him to see little hints of smiles and laughter from her. Light put on a great, invincible front every time he saw her but this was a side he rarely had the chance to see. It made her all the more human, and Hope enjoyed every moment of it.

Slowly, over the duration of each episode, he inched a little nearer to her. She didn't seem to notice or mind—by the third episode of the second disk, their thighs were brushing. Hope tried swallowing, but a lump formed in his throat. Light's head began bobbing up and down, drifting in and out of sleep. He hadn't bothered to check the time in a while, but it must have been late. The TV became background noise. Hope closed his eyes. They shot open, feeling a weight on his shoulder.

"Light?" he turned his head only to receive a face full of pink hair. With half lidded eyes, he looked down past her hair. Long eyelashes entangled themselves, heavy breaths, not quite snores, escaped her lips. Light had fallen asleep. His heart pounded in his chest. "I…should probably get going." But he didn't want to wake her. She looked so peaceful, so beautiful…and Hope didn't have the energy to get up. So he sat there, studying her features, until sleep claimed him.