Sloth

He was sick.

Okay, so he wasn't actually sick, but they didn't know that. He had held out for nearly a week – he was quite proud – and he wasn't planning on going back to work for at least a few days.

In his defence, or so he liked to think, he'd been a good boy the first two days and had gone to work like he was supposed to. The problem was that he saw Neela everywhere and she was always talking to him and playing with that damn guitar pick he now wished he hadn't given her. Like she missed him or something. It made him feel sad and jealous and mad and like a complete idiot.

It was weird.

So, instead of confronting anything, he called in sick. He wasn't going to pretend he was good at handling matters like these, and he wasn't going to pretend like he didn't prefer the easy way out either. Instead he spent his time on the couch pretending like nothing had ever happened. And he liked it just fine, thank you very much. Sure, if Neela had been there she might have had the sense to do some grocery shopping, because being a lazy bastard isn't half as much fun when you're starving to death. Not that he cared.

He wasn't really hiding, you know. He was protecting himself, Neela and, in some domino effect type way that he kind of hated, Michael too. He figured that if he could distance himself for just long enough to get any crazy, selfish, potentially heart breaking notions out of his head, then maybe it would be like nothing had changed. He deserved a medal for all this effort of his. A freaking Nobel prize. He deserved something for not getting drunk enough to trash the apartment, call her in a hazy state and confess everything. Yes, his laziness was for the greater fucking good. And nobody was going to tell him otherwise.

He tried to concentrate on the television and shut any reflective thoughts out of his head. Flipping through the channels aimlessly he started dozing off, until suddenly the front door opened.

He craned his neck to see who had come in and nearly fell off the couch when he saw who it was. Neela. She was holding a Tupperware box and looked kind of…he couldn't quite tell. The look on her face was a cross between happy and anxious. He didn't know what to make of it.

"I come bearing soup." She said brightly.

Well, shit. There goes all that careful planning and nearly 15 minutes of convincing Kerry that he was sick. All his good intentions thrown away and replaced with chicken soup. Great. just fucking fabulous.

Putting the soup on the counter she took in her surroundings.

"Well," She said, "This place looks like crap."

"Gee, Neela, thanks." He replied and sat up straight. "What are you doing here?"

"Just wanted to see if you were alright." She kneeled by the couch and put her hand on his forehead. "You're not hot. That's good."

"Not hot?" He grinned. "And here I thought you thought I had a cute butt."

She rolled her eyes. "I'm not looking at your butt, am I?"

"You want to?" He wiggles his eyebrows.

"Hey, I'm a married woman now." She said in a mock reprimanding tone.

Yes, he really needed a reminder of that. He looked away. "Yeah."

Frowning, she changed the subject. "What're you watching?"

"Just…stuff." He motioned at the screen, which had a game show on. "You can change it if you want."

He reached over to hand it to her, but she reached over herself. Her hand reached it first and he ended up grabbing her hand instead of the actual remote.

Shit. This was exactly why the avoiding process wasn't complete yet. They weren't supposed to do this…this tensing up thing they were doing. They weren't supposed to look at each other nervously and wonder how the hell they were going to laugh this one off without looking ridiculous. They weren't supposed to jump apart and start apologizing in stuttering voices. This was why he was avoiding her. Why did she have to make it so damn difficult for him?

"Maybe I should…" She started.

"Yeah, I should try to sleep anyway." He agreed. "Thanks for the…uh…soup."

"You're welcome."

What was he supposed to do now? Hug her? Shake her hand? Kiss her? Why did everything always have to be so difficult? She was looking at him all expectantly, like he knew what to do.

"I would hug you, but…"

"Right." She nodded. "Sick. Bye." She head for the door.

He stared at the floor. "Bye."

The door slammed. He sighed. Yeah, he was definitely staying sick for a little while longer.

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