A/N: I can't seem to stay away from modern AUs these days. And from soppy romance novel plots. There are six more chapters of this excessively emotional, cloying, saccharine stuff written. Who wants to read them? ;)
A/N#2: Dear Guest who reviewed the previous chapter, thank you so much for your feedback! Since I can't PM you to thank you, here are hugs back to you here :)
The fever is very high, you have no energy to get up and walk to the kitchen to get a thermometer, but you doubt it's below 39 degrees. The room is swimming in front of your eyes, it is dark, the lights went out yesterday, and you see some strange purple shapes and forms squirming on the wall and on the ceiling. At some point you start crying quietly. This is the second time in your life you have been that sick. Last time you were nine, and it was in a foster home. No one took care of you then either, but at that time you felt it was for the best. Anything was tolerable as long as you were left alone. This time you keep on telling yourself that you are fine, you have your room, your bed, your bedding with yellow roses, you got out, you are your own person now, no one will harm you anymore, but the fever makes you miserable, and your pillow gets wet. Whatever made you proud of yourself before, being on your own, not depending on anyone, building your life the way you want, at this moment is making you cry louder.
Hallucinations become stronger, soon the whole world is full of some wiggling and slithering slimy shapes, and you gather enough strength to reach for your mobile on the bedside table. It takes you a few seconds to concentrate on the screen, you press random buttons, and then you realize that there is no coverage. That is the last drop, you crawl back under the blanket and cry yourself to sleep. Among other things you really have no one to call.
Several hours later, you really don't understand what time it is anymore, you think you have lost consciousness, when something cool lies on your forehead. Something fizzy is poured into your mouth, and the cold lemony liquid brings relief. You fall asleep, and in your half slumber, half delirium you think you feel someone running their fingers through your hair. You wake up several hours later, sweaty sheets sticking to your body, and find another glass of medicine by your bed. You drink it, remembering how much better you felt from it last time, and you want to go back into darkness, but your bladder has other plans.
It takes you three times longer than usual to get to the bathroom, your knees are wobbly, and you are walking holding on to the wall. You have to stop half way to catch your breath, and that is considering how tiny your flat is. When you finally get to the door and jerk it open, you realize you are staring at a stranger in boxer briefs.
He obviously has just stepped out of the shower, the mirror in the bathroom is foggy, he is rubbing his astonishing mane of long, dark hair with a towel, and he turns. Your eyes meet, and your mouth falls open.
"You shouldn't be up," he has a very nice voice, and he is keeping it down obviously for your sake.
"I need to pee," you really have nothing better to say. He bends and picks up his clothes from the floor, for a second you are staring at his muscular back, skin tanned and even, long muscles along his spine, and then he pulls up his denim.
"I'll step outside, but call me if anything. You are probably still very weak," he squeezes by you and out of the bathroom, and his hand accidentally brushes your upper arm. Even in your feverish state, his skin feels scorching.
You do your stuff, wash your hands and face, and suddenly you have an irresistible desire to take a shower. You jerk off your PJs and turn on cool water. You step under it, and then hear the stranger's voice.
"Wren, are you taking a shower?"
"Yes," you sound squeaky.
"It's not safe, you are still running a fever probably." The nippy water feels amazing on your skin though, and you feel much better. And then your knees buckle, and you start sliding down the wall. On the way you topple shampoo bottles of a shelf, and before you hit the bottom of the tub, a pair of strong hands picks you up. "What a stubborn woman!" He grumbles under his breath and pulls you out. He is so large that you feel like a child in his arms. At least you washed your hair and scrubbed yourself a bit with a loofah. He wraps you in a towel and carries you back into your room. You whine in his hands, you don't want to go back to your bed. "What?" He asks softly.
"The sheets, they are all sticky..."
"You are right, we need to wash them. OK, let me think," he gives it a thought. Then he takes you through the kitchenette, and into Thea's room. He puts you on her bed, and you realize that is where he slept last night. "I spent two night here, but I swear I'm very clean." There is a smile in his voice. "Your friend mentioned you are very concerned with cleanliness."
"I bet she used the word clean freak," you mumble. You climb under his blanket that suddenly feels so nice that you are completely unconcerned that he saw you naked and you don't even know his name. The sheets smell like soap, his cologne and what you assume is the fragrance of his skin. It's fresh and grassy.
Suddenly he grabs your ankle, and you remember that there is man in your flat whom you've never seen in your life before. But then he pulls you towards him and grabs to corner of your towel. He pulls it from under the blanket and smirks. You probably looked alarmed for a second.
"It will feel disgusting pretty soon if you leave it in there. Sleep, I'll wake you up for more medicine later."