I suppose you could say life's been settling into something approaching normal over these past two weeks since my little freakout over Riku's tattoo. I've been going to school and putting up with the smartass comments about being some gayboy's gigolo. I know Riku's just this side of flamingly gay, but the guy's decent enough not to try something stupid, like molesting me in my sleep. Hell, I seriously think he doesn't even know he swings that way. But he's got these little hints-- I guess you could call them hints, anyway-- that make it almost painfully obvious. He doesn't have the stereotypical lisp, though his accent comes out when he's riled. I find myself constantly needling him, just to hear it. For some reason, it makes me want to smile, like it's almost endearing.

The guy knows how to dress, too. Even though he picked out half of my current new wardrobe, I still feel like I can't compare to him. He's just got style, the way he carries himself or how he does even the smallest things with this uncanny grace. Two days ago, we were sitting at the breakfast table. I was watching the small TV Riku kept on the far end of the table so he could see the news, though I had it tuned to the usual Saturday morning cartoons this time. He was reading the paper and drinking his mocha latte, and I kept finding myself glancing over at him every time he sipped from his favorite glass coffee mug. He'd brushed his hair before he'd even come out of his room, so it was as immaculate as he always seemed to be at any time of day. One lock hung down his cheek, the sun coming through the blinds tinting the silver with a honey-gold gleam, and I couldn't look away until he noticed me staring. He didn't give me any weird looks or say anything. He just smiled, and that's when I shook myself out of my daze and fixated on the TV. Even now, I can't figure out why I was staring. I live with the guy and I see him every day, but I keep watching him when I get the chance.

But more than anything, he's amazingly sensitive and caring. I had two other seizures about a week ago, one right after the other. I begged Riku not to take me to the hospital, even though I knew I should go. He did take me, but he brought me home after twenty-four hours, since he and the doctors knew there really wasn't anything they could do for me. All they did was increase my medication and restrict me to the apartment for two days to make sure I rested. I was just so tired and frustrated, I almost cried when we got home. At least I stopped myself from shedding a single tear, but I collapsed on the couch and just shook for a good fifteen minutes. I almost didn't realize Riku was hugging me. It was one of those unsure hugs, the kind you give to somebody you want to comfort, but you're expecting them to explode at you any second. I just didn't want to explode then. It felt too good to be held, as long as I didn't think too much about it. I started to, once, and my shaking got worse and I felt absolutely sick.

The sad thing is, I know why. Once I think about him holding me, I think about being held like that whenever I needed or wanted it. Then reality kicks in, and I remember why it's not safe for me to be held, to let my guard down. I'm being ground between two huge stones, one my fear of being hurt, and the other my fear of being alone.

Just thinking about it makes my chest feel tight, the way it does right before I have a seizure. I take a few slow, deep breaths, choking down the well of dull pain that's become my constant companion, and damn near jump out of my skin when I feel a hand on my shoulder. When did Riku get home?

"You were thinking so hard, I was afraid I'd see smoke." He offers a tired smile and laughs when I stick out my tongue at him.

"I know better than to smoke in here. How was class?"

Riku sits beside me on the couch, shrugging. "It's nice when you can disagree with a professor and be right, but when they just nod their heads and agree with whatever you say because of who you are, it's disheartening. But at least I'm honestly working to the best of my ability, and that's all that matters to me."

"Least I don't have to worry about walking weird when somebody sticks their nose up my ass. Never happens." I get up, stretching, and make a face when my stomach growls. Geez, start feeding it regularly and it gets all pushy on you.

"How about Italian tonight? Nothing fancy, just good food." He sneezes once, quietly, and pulls out a tissue from his pocket to blow his nose in almost complete silence.

Great, another meal out that I'll feel I owe him for. Not that I want to spend time cooking when I'm hungry as hell. "Sure, why not. Guess I should change, though."

Riku looks down at my shirt of the day: "You all suck because you're all the same." The look on his face is priceless; he's clearly wondering just how many of these I own. "Um... that might be a good idea...."

I'm not surprised at that. Kinda shocked that I don't feel like arguing with him, though. I go and change my shirt for something that's plain black. I have to admit, my new clothes aren't so bad. But I can't let myself get used to it. I can't be Riku's pet forever. It's not like I'll be around long enough for him to get attached, I hope. I look at myself in the mirror in "my" room, turning to the side and pressing a hand to my stomach, to mold the shirt against what body I have.

I want to cry.

I can tune out the sight of myself naked or half-dressed, because I know that I'm the only one seeing it. But this... this is what everybody else sees, what Riku sees, and there's no hiding what I am: a walking corpse, a dying child. The urge to put my fist into the mirror is overwhelming, but it will only bring Riku running, wanting to know why I did it, and I'm not ready for those walls to come down yet. God knows I hope for death before I let them down. Besides, I could break every mirror in the world, and it wouldn't change a thing, especially not the hate I feel for my own body.

I'll never understand where I get the strength to hold my neutral expression in place, but I do. Riku never suspects a thing when I come out of my room, going to get my windbreaker out of the closet. He grabs his own coat without a word, but he's smiling when he leads me out of the penthouse and into the elevator.

Once again, Riku's picked out a great little place, and I get reacquainted with my love of garlic. We both order pasta with grilled chicken... mine is bowties and alfredo sauce, Riku has angel hair in an asiago cream sauce. They even bring us some kind of sparkling white cider, since we can't drink wine. Riku eats with the same delicacy he uses in everything he does; I just shovel it in to quiet my thundering stomach. Still, between bites I manage to glance at his face. He looks absolutely exhausted, and I wonder how I could've missed it before. There's dark circles under his eyes, faint but noticeable in the candlelight, and he just looks a lot less upbeat than usual.

"Are you okay?"

He starts, clearly not expecting me to talk when there's food around. Yeah, he's definitely not at a hundred percent. "Huh? Oh... I'm fine, really."

I stab my fork into a piece of chicken and pop it in my mouth, talking as I chew just to irk him. He doesn't even notice my lapse in manners. Okay, strike my previous observation... he's not anywhere near a hundred percent. He's somewhere in the negatives. "Bullshit. You look like lukewarm hell."

"It's just a sniffle, really. Nothing to fret over." Then he grabs for another tissue as he sneezes again.

"Yeah, right. That's a cold, trust me."

"It is not." Another sneeze, and now his eyes are watering a little from it. Nice try, Riku.

And the argument ends there, at least until we're on our way home with leftovers. Then I needle him some more, and he vehemently denies any illness between increasingly bad sneezing fits. How he held it back when we were in the apartment, I'll never know. I guess going out in the cold to walk to the restaurant did him in. I put the food in the fridge and nudge him into his room, ignoring his protests that it's certainly not a cold.

The next morning, we find out he's right. He's got the flu.

I'm still amazed at how dignified Riku can be when he's still in pajamas, his hair tousled and his eyes watering, his nose red and his voice croaky from congestion. He sounds terrible, his accent muddled and almost funny to hear when he protests having to call out sick from his classes. I'm surprised I don't mind when I find myself calling out of my own classes so I can keep an eye on him. The only time I end up leaving the apartment is around lunchtime, when I go out to pick up medicine and two big containers of Teresa's chicken and egg noodle soup. She'll spoil him, I just know it. But Riku definitely appreciates it, especially after he tries his first taste of that soup.

Most of the day, Riku is asleep, finally giving in to the fatigue I know he's been feeling. He passes out on the couch while we're watching TV, hugging his pillow as he lays half on his side, half on his stomach. I can't help thinking about him while he sleeps, how he's got a good heart and a nice personality, the kind of guy every girl wants to bring home to meet her parents. He deserves solid friends and a great relationship, not some screwed-up roommate who looks like a strong breeze will blow him apart. I feel like the only blemish in this whole pristine place, which is why I dug my heels in about moving in here, and just the thought of it depresses me.

Damn you, Riku. I could always block it out before you showed up. All I had to do was struggle through life, pretending I was preparing for a future I'll never have, and keep everybody on the outside. And you had to go and fuck it up. You make me think about everything I can't do, the things I'll never get to see or experience, and it makes me hate whoever chose to put me on this earth.

And then I look at you, sleeping there, and I just want you to feel better. Only one of us should be sick in a world that's going right, and it's not you.

I don't even have the heart to wake Riku up when it's time for me to go to bed. I end up curling on the floor beside the couch, listening to him breathe and sometimes cough. I barely sleep, because I'm waiting for each and every breath like I'm afraid he won't take the next one. By the time morning rolls around, I know I'm missing school again. Riku still looks like hell, and he looks almost delirious from the fever. I can't leave him, but I'm also afraid to call a doctor. There's my paralyzing fear of doctors and hospitals again. So I ply him with liquids to keep him from dehydrating, then get some soft foods in him later in the afternoon, when I think he can handle it. Still, I'm surprised when he starts to look better by that evening, definitely well enough to sit up, bundled in blankets, and talk while we share dinner.

"You look a lot better."

Riku coughs and smiles, sipping at his mug of soup. "I feel a little better. Thankfully, these things never keep me down for long, but it'll take me a week or so to get back up to speed."

"For the flu, that's pretty good. You're lucky."

"I've always healed fast. Guess it's just good genes." He sets down the mug and pulls the blankets closer. "If I'm feeling up to it on Saturday, I need to go Christmas shopping. So I certainly hope I'm not all muddled when the weekend rolls around. Oh, that reminds me...."

I'm finding I don't quite like the little grin he's suddenly wearing, the one that says he's about to drop some kind of bombshell on me that he thinks I'll like. I'm not too happy at the mention of Christmas shopping, since I won't be doing any such thing, broke as I am. "Uh oh. Should I be worried?"

"There's a big party on the twenty-third... it's a Christmas party thrown by my father." Riku rolls his eyes. "Of course, he won't be there, but it's so his American business representatives can rub elbows with potential investors. Dreadfully boring affair, but the food is excellent and there's a live band...."

Oh shit. I know where this is going. "... it's black tie, isn't it?"

Riku nods, sending my heart squashing my stomach down into my feet. "I'd be so very glad if you'd accompany me. At least then, you won't be stuck in here alone, and I'll have someone to talk to. I know it sounds selfish, but I'll owe you one, really."

I open my mouth to protest, ready to point out my lack of refinement, my intense distaste for the wealthy, and my hatred of those ridiculous penguin suits I know we'll have to wear. It must be that Riku's eyes look even more pitiful when he's sick, or I'm feeling way too guilty over mooching off him, but I find myself snapping my mouth shut again to nod once in silence. Riku looks thrilled, enough for me to hold up both hands in a warding gesture.

"You hug me and I'll drown you in your soup."

Riku laughs until he chokes, and I slap him on the back to clear his throat.

"Idiot."

... I really wish he'd stop smiling at me. I'm starting to like it too much.

TBC