Chapter 10
It had been raining for days. I peered out the window, waiting for the familiar rumble of Laxus's car pulling up into my driveway and watching the droplets of rain tap on the window.
I honestly can't believe I look forward to the twenty-minute car rides to work. And yet, although it practically mirrors our tight friendship of high school, I can't bring myself to tell him how I felt. Or feel. Who knows now?
I call him. Text him. Leave a few messages. My fingers trace innocent shapes on the window, but it turns to incessant, impatient tapping. I become nervous, and finally out of desperation, I text him again.
LAXUS. WHERE ARE YOU.
LAXUS. TEXT BACK YOU FUCKING DIPSHIT.
LAXUS.
My phone rings.
"Luce?" His voice is tired, quiet and cracking.
"You're sick, aren't you," I accuse him.
"Yeah. Sorry, I'm coming now-"
"Goddamnit, shut up. Stay at your house. I'll see you later."
I hang up abruptly and text Mira.
Yo, I'm calling in sick today.
What a co-winky-dink, so did Laxus. Are you guys going to be busy?
Mira, what the hell.
Don't forget protection.
Mira, I swear to god.
You're on the pill, right?
Mira, shut the fuck up. The point is I'm not going to be at work today.
Have fun! Practice safe sex, okay?
MIRA.
Hole in one though, Mira. I am going to visit Laxus. But it's only to pay back a few favors.
Flashback
I cough raggedly, and stop in the hallway, holding the wall for support as I lean over, hacking.
"That's it," Laxus booms from behind me, "I've heard enough, you're going home."
"No, I have an essay for Lang today, and you know how hard those are to ma-" I cough again and my vision turns a bit fuzzy.
"Luce, I'm dropping you off at home right now."
"Laxus, please."
"Nope." He picks me up, and I sink comfortably into his chest involuntarily while he slings my backpack over his shoulder.
"I already told Makarov. You're going to do that essay whenever you come back, which is something I'll be deciding." He taps his chin thoughtfully.
"Better yet, I'll drop you off at Mira's. She's back from college and I'm sure she wouldn't mind the company until I can come back to pick you up."
"Nooo." My voice is desperate now. Not the She-Devil.
I shovel cold and cough medications into my purse and heat up the leftover chicken soup from last night. You're so lucky I can't really sic Mira on you.
As I hobble towards the front door, I hesitate. I should drive. The garage door rolls open at the press of a button and I chuck my bag and crutches into the second row of my Jetta. Let's roll, bitches.
I back out of the driveway slowly, testing my twisted ankle. It's stiff, but it should be fine.
Stopping at a red light, I finally check my phone, which had been dinging non-stop.
LUCY YOU BETTER NOT BE DRIVING OVER HERE.
I SWEAR TO GOD. I WILL.
I WILL.
I DON'T KNOW.
BUT DON'T DRIVE.
Ha. Too fucking late for that, Laxy.
WHAT THE HELL LUCE.
He throws open his front door as he I line my car up with the curb in front of his house.
"Stalker much, Laxus?"
"Why'd you drive? You know both your legs are screwed up."
"Thanks for reminding me, friend. Help out a cripple, will you?"
"You brought that upon yourself," he huffs, grabbing the bags from the second row as I snatch up my crutches.
"If you didn't get sick, I wouldn't have felt the urge to pay you back for leaving me at Mira's house instead of letting me write that goddamn essay."
"So girls do hold grudges."
"THAT'S BESIDES THE POINT, LAXUS. JUST GET YOUR LIGHTNING COVERED ASS BACK INTO YOUR HOUSE BEFORE YOU DIE OR SOMETHING."
"My wha-?" He glances down, "Oh, these? Freed got them for me for my birthday. Don't you like them?" He asks, gesturing to his pajama pants.
"Laxus, hurry the fuck up and get out of the doorway before I die of pneumonia or something."
"It's cool, we'll just call Mira, and she can come nurse the pair of us back-"
"You will do no such thing. Never, ever, again." I shudder at the lingering memory.
He shuts the door with his foot and I follow him into the kitchen.
"Do you want dry clothes?"
"That'd be greatly appreciated." Shivering, I squeeze the rainwater out of my soaked t-shirt.
"Go shower or something, I'll leave a few things outside for you."
"Thanks."
"The bathroom's down the hall, the door on the right. Use one of the white towels from the closet next to it."
"'Kay."
I pulled the towel around my body, my hair dripping all over the tiled floor. The air is steamy and warm as I step out of the draining tub on one leg, draining the one covered in a cast of water.
Clothes. Where are these clothes. Why are they so far away.
Slipping a single hand outside the refuge of the sauna-like bathroom, I grope for them, but his hand shoves them into my own.
"Here." Laxus's voice is gruff and hoarse.
"Go back and rest, you idiot.
"Whatever."
"Wait one fucking moment. Is this my shirt?"
He laughs.
"Yeah, you left it at my house that one time we had a water fight."
"I've been looking for that shirt for years."
"Whatever."
The shirt has shrunk. Or my chest has gotten bigger. His pants sit low on my hips, loose and comfortable. I tighten the strings, roll the waist up and glance at my reflection. The shirt barely touches the top of the pants and fits me like a second skin and my golden, damp locks are tied into a messy bun. Side note: When you finally master the messy bun that's suppose to look effortless but it really isn't.
I open the door cautiously, leaving my wet jeans and shirt to dry on the rack before scampering towards the kitchen.
"Hey, Lucy. How do you heat up-" He turns around, his mouth agape at my appearance, his face flushing a bit.
"How many times did you roll up my pants?" Laxus wonders aloud, covering up his blush effectively and he spins back around, his attention once again, on the chicken soup.
"I'm not that short!" I protest, "You're just overly large."
"Ha." He shakes his head, moving to stand beside me, his frame towering over me.
"You're definitely just puny."
"You know what? The national average is approximately five foot three, and I'm five seven. You're just a frickin' monster."
"So I've been told," he mutters, his voice lowering, sounding suspiciously like 'in bed, too'.
"Laxus, I'm pretty sure you're about to burn already prepared soup. I legit, just heated that up before I got here. It was in a godforsaken Thermos."
"Really? I thought that was one of those disposable container thingies."
"I should've known," I murmur, face palming myself, "Your apartment does scream bachelor man cave."
"What's that suppose to mean?" He replies, staring sourly at me.
"I mean, there's only a six-pack, string cheese, and some moldy bread in your fridge. A half-eaten, stale box of Ritz crackers in your over-sized pantry, and no dishes in your cabinet or sink whatsoever, so I'm lead to believe you cannot cook, refuse to buy silverware or wash dishes, and are lazy as hell."
"False, true, true, true."
"Scratch that, I meant cook without burning the house down."
"Oh."
"Go lie down, grab some of the DayQuil from my bag and I'll get this soup for you, you dumbass."
"Yes, mom."
"So what you're telling me is, you have a minor cold and decide to use this as an excuse to skip work and catch up on Game of Thrones?"
"Yes?"
"Idiot. I thought you were dying or something."
We sit on the couch together, his well-muscled arm wrapped around my shoulder, finishing the last episode of the season.
"A person named Lucy Heartfilia once told me to never make assumptions."
"Never, ever throw my own words back at me, for one day you will find a mysterious substance in your food and-"
He claps his free hand over my mouth.
"You'd never do that. You like me too much."
I lick his hand and he screeches.
"Never make assumptions, Laxus."
"Right."
god where is this even going.
thanks for sticking with me guys. sorry this was completely unedited, so if you do find any mistakes, i do apologize profusely.
basically i was trying to make this one of those super cliche scenes where person a is sick and person b comes to their rescue, but i dont know anymore.
if you have any suggestions, feel free to leave me a message or review!
zephy out.