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TRANSLATION MADE BY : Randomness Unlimited. THANK YOU !

IMPORTANT NOTICE:

This chapter contains a detailed scene about self-harm. If you do self-harm, or are sensitive to the subject, I do not encourage you to read or reproduce what is written here. Self-harm is not a solution, and if you want to talk about it, I'm here for you.

Fever

At the very moment that the aspirin began to act on his brain, Mr. Cat realized that he had screwed things up.

He was sitting on the dilapidated couch in his living room, leaning against his knees and forcefully rubbing his temples, with his face buried in the palms of his hands. The very foul stench of alcohol emanated from these hands –and this foul stench said a lot about the crap he has done and said while drunk. He tried in vain to remember what had happened. A few seconds passed and he lifted his gaze, noting that the glass of water on his coffee table was surrounded by a sea of empty bottles. Definitely, drinking without moderation when you're a preteen is a bad idea, no matter how mature you are, but we're talking about Mr. Cat here, and he was one of those people who broke all the rules. To tell the truth, there was no need to explain why. We could tell anyone who protested this sad spectacle that this cat had lived through "unlivable things", that it was "a long story, too complicated to explain", or that they would "get used to seeing him like this", but no.

No. What we have here, is a preteen who drank in an uncontrolled manner, hurt those around him both intentionally and unintentionally, destroyed everything he made, found ugliness in perfect things and made them imperfect, watched sports, read the news, made bitter jokes about taxes and marriage, was quick to illegally dabble in the world of adults (since he didn't have any ID proving that he was not a minor), and showed an unconditional love of money, alcohol, curvy female bodies and all things forbidden. It would be unworthy to arouse a semblance of mercy, even if it was a joke. A cat, who before being a cat was a child, before being a child was a monster, and before being a monster was human (in the moral sense) and before being a human was a shadow - the shadow of divine mistake itself.

He got up, his back slouching and his arms hanging limply by his sides, and went to the kitchen. He picked up a knife from one of the wooden islands, and sat back down on the couch which had supported him during the uncountable hangovers he had had over the years. With an indifferent, almost severe expression, a heart which felt dead and morale so low it was underground, he let remorse wash over him for a few seconds as he kept the knife at his side and freed his hands from the black fingerless gloves which imprisoned them. He looked at them carefully for a minute and obsessed over the places where he had released his demons on the back and front of his hands, which to him were nothing but a canvas which was painted on by the brush that was his knife. As for the "drawings", they were long cuts all over his hands, from back to front, from left, from top to bottom, from memory to memory. The orange color of his fur was camouflaged by the bloodstains on his abused skin - if you could even call it skin, because it was a rigid terrain, dotted with disgusting red scars. This despicable "artwork" was painted with red blood, named "Remorse" and signed "Depression".

Nice teamwork, eh?

He picked up his "brush", dipped it in the "paint" that was his remorse, and pressed it against his skin. He made a deep cut, covering his hand with thick red liquid, making another one of his sinister "works of art". He stopped and stared at his "painting", and smiled. He smiled, as though he found it more beautiful and clean than his other scars. He smiled, as though he was congratulating his regret for what it had made him do. And so, like a painter who was taken by a sudden inspiration, or a kid possessed by the excitation of childhood, he picked up his "brush" and continued to work. He tried to make a cut which was more straight, more precise, like little kids in pre-school do when they're told to color inside the lines. And Mr. Cat was still a kid, wasn't he? He hadn't touched the pre-adolescence yet, wasn't he? So why should he be stopped from pursuing one of his favorite hobbies? Wasn't having fun an inalienable right to kids? And that's what he was doing: he was drawing, he was having fun! So leave him be!

The blade danced on his skin, sneakily piercing it with its pointed tip. The depth of the skin it penetrated went well with the pain it caused him, and that in turn went well with the memories of the previous evening. The more it pierced, the more it silenced the grieving retrospects which polluted the insalubrious waters of his conscience. It was no surprise that he felt a sudden urge to stick the knife in his skull, to silence the oh-so-bitchy record which was treacherously playing his own words over and over again in his head. But he couldn't. He needed his brain at this moment, to find more regrets to use as inspiration for his "painting".

But, while punishing himself so harshly, Mr. Cat was forgetting one important question: Who was to blame?

Let's analyse the situation.

Kaeloo had pushed him away and rejected him for the umpteenth time. She had noticed his sadness and, although her apology was not sincere, she had even taken the time to visit him in the icy cold evening - and the fact that she had done that was enough to delight him. And she'd left his house in tears. In tears. He had made her cry. And he hated seeing her cry, especially when it was his fault. After all, she wasn't that bad. It was normal for her to reject him, and for sure, he wasn't going to be able to count all the times he'd been turned down! So why had this time been different? He could have just ignored it, smiled as though nothing had happened, played with his friends until nightfall, gone home and then expressed his heartbreak with his "paintbrush" alone. As usual.

But no.

He'd been pushed away and rejected once again. He'd been sad, and made the mistake of showing it to Kaeloo, while he usually held it in for the rest of the day. Mistake number one. He hadn't opened the door for her even though he'd heard her asking to be let inside, leaving her standing outside in the freezing cold. Mistake number two. He had faced her in a dirty quickdraw, which reflected one of his worst faults - alcoholism - with twisted whiskers, red eyes, the stench of alcohol, and a bottle in his hand –and Mr. Cat knew better than anyone else what he looked like when he was drunk. Mistake number three. He'd called her a hypocrite and blamed her for all the pain she'd caused him, without even questioning himself or waking up from his torpor for a few seconds and telling himself that whatever the truth was, saying something like that to your best friend was simply not done! He hadn't even stopped to think that it was his all own fault.

Yes, it was his fault that Kaeloo turned him down, and nobody else was to blame.

The knife pressed a little harder against his skin.

For goodness' sake, had he taken the time to look at himself in the mirror recently? Had he taken the time to fix his thick, pointed whiskers? To hide his little pink nose, which contrasted horribly with his orange fur, under a mask? To get rid of the fat that his stomach had accumulated due to his constant consumption of alcohol and junk food? How could anyone stand to even glance at this creature that was as hideous on the outside as it was on the inside? Speaking of the inside : Grumpy, lazy, messy, antisocial, greedy, cruel, choleric, manipulative, egocentric, perverted, and pessimistic. And to put the cherry - no, cherries - on top, he had numerous psychological issues too: sadomasochism, schizophrenia, bipolar disorder, an oedipus complex, and alcoholism, to name a few.

Finally, the cut which marked the entirety of his hand was made. He looked at it with an admiration so fervent that it could have made even the most brutal of men shed a few tears.

Nothing positive was destined to come out of this cat. He begged for love, but ended up rejecting every opportunity he had to get it, for fear of getting hurt, being abandoned and having his heart broken. He had constructed a shell to protect himself from others, but he had forgotten to make an exit. Now, he was a prisoner. And he was suffocating in his shell. He saw no light and breathed no air. He was dead, buried in a tomb which he had prepared for himself, embracing the earth that was his fear and paranoia, sinking into an emotional coma from which nobody could save him. At least he used to have Kaeloo. She was the only person who was likely to dig him out of this grave, but he had pushed her away. And now he needed her because he was suffocating, but he was too ashamed to call her, and he was scared that his malaise would absorb her joie-de-vivre. He was sinking, just like the blade that was sinking into the palm of his hand, creating a gaping wound from which bright red blood gushed out. Red. Such a brilliant color should never have flowed out from the body of a being as repugnant as him. His blood should have been black like an onyx, inky like the night, dark like burnt cinders. His blood should have flowed out of his body through the cuts on his hands, taking with it the life which he didn't deserve.

But if the blood and the life left his body, what would remain?

Oh, surely these paintings and this brush, as the only remains of what was once a child who was driven to the brink of the abyss.

– Mr. Cat! screeched a panicked voice, accompanied by an aggressive knocking at the door.

It actually didn't take much to get Mr. Cat out of his little shell. He jumped, startled by the sudden noise. The screaming and the knocking grew louder.

– Mr. Cat, open the door! It's me, Stumpy!

Stumpy.

Mr. Cat's arm twitched violently due to the shock, sending the knife flying to the other side of the room so it landed under the bookshelf, and his eyes darted to the wound he had just made in the palm of his hand. He staggered to his feet, nearly tripping on the pillows which were lying on the floor, and ran to the kitchen. He opened the tap and held his hand under it, letting the water wash away the blood which was pouring out of his injuries. He couldn't help but wince at the burning sensation. He shut off the water immediately, dried his hands with a dirty rag which had been lying there for a long time, not caring about the risk of being infected, and slipped his gloves back on. Stumpy's voice was getting louder and more urgent-sounding, to the point where Mr. Cat was starting to worry about what he was going to tell him.

– Can it, hazelnut, I'm coming!

He was just about to open the flap door when a reddish-orange tornado rushed into the house. Mr. Cat turned to his friend, annoyed by his sudden intrusion and ready to yell at him, but he calmed down the moment he saw him. Stumpy was panting. His cheeks were red, his head was lowered ad he was resting his hands on his knees. It looked as though he had run all the way there in a panic.

– What happened?!

– Mr. Cat, you... have to... go... he said, taking deep breaths in between his words.

– Go ? Go where?

– To her... her house..

Mr. Cat raised an eyebrow, annoyed. His incomprehension was beginning to give way to frustration. He hated not knowing what was going on, especially when the situation seemed to be urgent. "Okay, listen here," he said, violently grabbing the squirrel by the shoulders and forcing him to look him in the eyes.

– Either you explain what's going on, or you get out of here. Who do you mean by 'her'?"

Stumpy took in a deep breath, his eyes anchored in Mr. Cat's. In his eyes, you could see sadness and worry, accompanied by a contagious fear - a very contagious fear, because just by staring into Stumpy's eyes, Mr. Cat was starting to get scared about what the squirrel was going to tell him.

– Kaeloo!

Kaeloo.

– What happened to her? asked the cat, feeling concerned.

– She's really sick! She - the doctor says she has a really bad fever! You have to come see her!

Oh. Well...

– No.

No.

He hadn't hesitated for a fraction of a second before saying that word. He said it in a calm voice, indifferent to the pain he felt due to his wounds re-opening from the pressure he was exerting on Stumpy's shoulders. Kaeloo was his friend, and of course he was very worried about her. He wanted to be at her bedside so he could see how she was doing. For goodness' sake, he would even take care of her if he had to.

But no. He wouldn't go see her. He didn't want to see her. Well, actually, he wanted to see her, but he couldn't. Because if he even saw her shadow, he would be forced to relive all those atrocities he had said to her. He'd be able to see the painful expression on her face when she heard his cutting words and hear the sobbing that had echoed through the halls as she ran away from him. If he went to see her, he would probably end up scaring her and causing her more pain. And he didn't want to do that. He wasn't ready to see her again, and he thought she must also not want to see him either. It was best to let the situation calm down a bit.

– What do you mean, 'no'?! Do I have to remind you that she's our friend? You have to come see her! She's not feeling well at all, and plus, she –

– Don't insist on it, squirrel-face. I don't want to see her.

Now it was Stumpy's turn to be surprised and annoyed. He clenched his fists. He was about to open his mouth and yell at the cat, but unfortunately, his eyes happened to glance at the clock on the wall behind him, reminding him that there wasn't enough time for a scolding.

– Listen, I don't know what happened between you two, but this isn't the time to be acting like a kid.

This was rather ironic, since it was coming from Stumpy, of all people.

– You'll have the time to make up later. This is urgent! Skblblblbl!

He looked at Mr. Cat's face for a few minutes, but he didn't find any signs of pity or understanding.

Come on, Stumpy...

– Quack Quack and I went to her house because she hadn't come out to play. We found her lying on the floor, barely conscious, and she was... murmuring something, he said in a strangely calm tone, hoping to find the slightest sign of interest in the feline's dull eyes. She was murmuring your name.

Bam. The cat felt a violent shock pass through his body. Maybe his conscience felt it too, because he lowered his gaze to the ground, ashamed, as Stumpy watched him, intrigued.

– I'm not an expert in psychology, or at guessing games, but I know that it has something to do with you. So please, Mr. Cat... come visit her.

The rodent took in one final deep breath, no longer feeling exhausted, and lowered his eyebrows, glaring at his friend in a serious manner. Nobody had ever seen him being this serious or responsible before.

– She might need you.

And that was all it took.

It was time to put the brush away and leave the paintings to dry.

They say our bodies have strange ways of protecting themselves. Fevers have well-known symptoms: crippling tiredness, suffocating heat, constant nausea and lots of others which you'd probably want to avoid because of the discomfort they cause. However, even the old hobo who drunkenly staggers through your street at night can assure you that they are necessary - no, primordial - for our survival. Without it, your body would be like an injured deer exposed to hungry wolves (the wolves in this case are germs which cause infections, which are sometimes incurable). People have always compared a fever to a war between our body's defenses and the invaders who were threatening it. It exposed the weak points of our metabolism to the eyes of those around us, transforming the body's juvenile form into an overwhelming and pitiful mass.

But fevers also had another aspect, a second name: sadness. It is brief and unpleasant, yet it is necessary to preserve a good health. A real mental fever, which makes you nearly unrecognizable and pushes you to show the vulnerability which is tormenting you. That's what sadness is: the power to turn a sober man into a drunkard not knowing what to say, a drunk man into a sober man who recognizes his vulnerability, a child into a mature adult, and an adult into a capricious child in need of attention.

We could say that Kaeloo and Mr. Cat had caught two very different kinds of fever.

If it wasn't for her erratic breathing, you may have thought she was dead. Her dreary appearance made her bed, with its white sheets, look more like a coffin than a bed. Her arms were lying at her sides, her legs were stuck together, her cheeks were red and her green skin was now sickly pale. Kaeloo was trapped in a discomfort which she didn't know how to free herself from. She wanted to move her little webbed feet, or at least her eyeballs, but it felt like too much effort. It was as though the hyperactivity she exhibited signs of every day had abandoned her body. In addition, she was having a terrible headache, which made her feel like someone was beating a war drum with a baton made of marble inside her skull. This was affecting her vision as well - even though the only thing she was looking at was the plain white ceiling of her bedroom, she was seeing other colors as well. And even though her species didn't have ears, she kept hearing an oh-so-unpleasant high-pitched noise which really didn't help her headache. Mother Nature was very, very cruel to certain individuals. Even in magical countries where suffering was not supposed to exist, fever had found a way to afflict sick organisms with discomfort and pain.

– Quack...?

With some difficulty, Kaeloo opened her eyes to look at her friend, who was at the moment sitting on the bed, next to her, looking worried and sad. It was rare to see Quack Quack express any form of emotion. His face nearly always had a neutral, almost stupid looking expression on it, but he occasionally expressed emotions such as sadness or annoyance. He was carrying a red first-aid kit and wearing a black stethoscope around his neck - or was it white? Kaeloo did not know, because she was no longer able to tell colors apart.

« Qu.. » she wanted to say his name, but loudly coughed and whimpered in pain instead. He immediately went to get her a spoon of cough syrup. Despite his expertise in science, the duck wasn't that great with medicine, though he did possess some basic knowledge of it which proved beneficial to his friends in difficult times like these. Despite the headache making it rather difficult to think about anything, Kaeloo thought to herself that she was lucky to have a friend like Quack Quack. He put a cool, comforting hand behind her head as she drank the contents of the spoon. The sweet syrup revived her vocal cords and refreshed her throat, which until that point had felt exceedingly dry. Unable to verbally express her gratitude, she thanked him by blinking her eyes. The amphibian put her head back on the pillow, which was burning hot because of her body heat, and her breathing resumed, more strongly.

It seemed to her, in these few seconds which silently passed, that calmness was the only way to get rid of her headache.

– KAELOO!

… But If silence was a deity, Stumpy would be the devil.

– Look who I brought with me!

Huh? Who could he have possibly brought? The bunny twins were on vacation, and Olaf wasn't the type of person who would visit to see how she was doing. The only person left was...

– Come on, Mr. Cat, don't be scared!

Good grief.

Suddenly, Kaeloo had a coughing fit which prevented her from breathing, and Quack Quack rushed to get her some more cough syrup. Stumpy ran to her, worried, leaving his dear guest at the door. The "dear guest" in question was watching his friends - to be exact, his friend, if she still considered him so - with dull, gloomy eyes and a heavy heart. He realized the negative effect his presence was having on the frog, and having decided never to come back to her house, he prepared to turn back and leave, but Stumpy noticed this and stopped him by grabbing onto his arm. He turned towards him, prepared to insult him and accuse him of causing them more pain than they were already in, but he stopped when he looked in the cat's eyes and saw that same glow of interest which had been there when he told him that Kaeloo needed him. Nevertheless, he continued to look at Mr. Cat with such authority that it was almost reminiscent of a child being scolded by a parent.

Stumpy as a parent and Mr. Cat as a child? This exchange of roles didn't just turn the tables, it broke them to pieces.

For the first time in his life, Mr. Cat resigned himself to what Stumpy was telling him.

The cat coughed slightly, giving a timid indication of his presence. He freed himself from his friend's grasp and, guided by the latter's intrigued expression, went to the frog's bed. Once he was by her side, he turned away, unable to stand the sight of his best friend in such agony. His wandering gaze met Quack Quack's, and he could see compassion and support in those big blue eyes. The ambiance of the room was truly paradoxical: on one hand, it was tense, as though all the beings present there, both living and non-living, were waiting for something, a sign, a word, a gesture, something that would reduce the tension in the atmosphere. On the other, more imperceptible hand, the ambiance was looser. However, it wasn't relaxed, because it was revealing the true nature of some of the people present there : Despite Stumpy's fascination with violence and destruction like you would see in a video game, he was still a very sensitive child, and seeing his friend like this was quite disheartening for him. As for Quack Quack, he proved that he could really focus on things other than yogurt, which in itself was a feat.

Then there was Mr. Cat, cold, abrupt and stubborn. These adjectives - or faults - made him responsible for the tense atmosphere.

– Get well soon, he managed to choke out.

We had known better in terms of the beginning of the conversation, but that didn't make his attempt a failure. Stumpy and Quack Quack took in a deep breath, closed their eyes and exhaled, both of them feeling visibly calmer. It was as if they'd been carrying heavy loads during the silence, and they had finally been able to put them down.

Kaeloo didn't say anything. The words which she wanted to say were probably too much of a burden for her vocal cords. Anyway, she thanked the cat with an imperceptible nod of her head. But this nod was not enough; despite the fact that it was enough to show her gratitude, the two friends felt a sense of incompletion. It was as though the room needed a more important gesture than a nod to get rid of the tension. The cat and the frog needed to talk, and to look each other in the eyes with the indiscretion and ease which they always had! Mr. Cat should have been cracking jokes about Kaeloo's current state in order to hide his worry, and Kaeloo should have been angrily glaring at him to hide her gratitude. That's what they always did. They needed to have a verbal discussion.

But how?

You didn't need to be a soothsayer to see our lovebirds' unease. Stumpy's perplexed face suggested that he had noticed it. Don't assume that Stumpy was unaware of their feelings for each other. In fact, he may have been the first person in Smileyland to have noticed the complexity of their relationship, even though guessing games weren't his forte. It's just that he didn't know how to get them together. He had tried to set them up on a date once, but it had gone horribly wrong, and he had decided that it was better to let them figure it out on their own.

But here, the situation seemed more serious and complex than the usual deal where Mr. Cat would injure Quack Quack and then get beaten up by Bad Kaeloo. So, before trying to fix whatever it was, Stumpy would need to know the nature of their problem... and let's just say that his underdeveloped brain couldn't find information that was viable or credible enough. He would need help, and the first person who came to mind was Quack Quack. Evidently, he couldn't ask anyone else for help - Eugly because she didn't really know about the Kaeloo/Mr. Cat affair, Olaf because he wasn't their friend (in the moral sense), and Pretty for obvious reasons. But to solve this mystery, they needed to investigate their friends' behavior during the hours leading to this moment. Therefore, it was impossible to solve the problem at the moment.

But they had to do something! For goodness' sake, look at them, the way they were avoiding eye contact, biting their lips and sitting back to back! It was heartbreaking, no, shameful, to see these two best friends (or more) avoiding each other.

Suddenly, Stumpy discreetly approached Quack Quack, stood on his tiptoes and whispered something in the duck's non-existent ear. Mr. Cat was lost in thought and didn't notice them, and Kaeloo didn't notice either, because she was in another feverish delirium. Quack Quack seemed skeptical, but Stumpy hardened his expression with each word that was spoken. When their opinionated debate ended, Stumpy got back down on his feet, and Quack Quack started to put the medicines away in his first-aid kit. The sounds made by the vials of medicine attracted Kaeloo and Mr. Cat's attention, and they turned their heads. The former raised an eyebrow and opened her mouth, but before she could say anything, Quack Quack cut her off with a "Quack."

What did this "Quack" mean? Alas, we don't really understand duckling language, but he probably meant something like "Don't worry," or "My job is done." What else could he possibly want to say to his friend's tired face? He looked one last time at the squirrel, who had crossed his arms and turned his back, ready to leave. He joined him quickly, and when the door slammed, Mr. Cat finally realized that they had left... and consequently, he was all alone with Kaeloo in a closed room.

Those bastards.

But that wasn't the problem. Sure, they were bastards, but his friends still had the intelligence to save themselves from an embarrassing situation by leaving him there alone.

The first alarm sounded in Mr. Cat's brain as the silence came back, and if at this instant a palpable incarnation of silence had appeared, Mr. Cat would have wiped it off the face of the planet with his weapons. The alarm gave out an instruction that was just as crazy as it was radical: " Run. Run far away from this room, join the others, put as much distance between the two of you as you can, and don't stay with her." But nobody (except, apparently, Stumpy and Quack Quack) would execute that order. Why not? Because Mr. Cat had more neurons than the ones which were yelling at him to run away, and these other neurons showed him how absurd this idea was: run away from his sick friend's room, what better way to take care of her and not make her feel like a burden? If he was alone, Mr. Cat would have banged his head against the wall, because his brain seemed to be incapable of coming up with any productive thoughts in this very serious moment. The only solution he could see was to stay with Kaeloo.

Good heavens. The muscles of his legs were starting to feel the effects of stress biting them and injecting them with a dreadful venom. Also, the blood loss from his self-ha - sorry, "painting", was contributing to his weakness. Soon, Mr. Cat started to scan the room, looking for a chair he could sit on –for goodness' sake, he was supposed to take care of the sick, not be sick!

And then, he heard a light tapping sound, so light that if it wasn't for the silence he wouldn't have been able to hear it. The sound was coming from behind him, and there was nobody else with him except Kaeloo. He gulped, momentarily forgetting his fatigue, and slowly turned his head. He stopped once the bed came into his field of vision, because he didn't want to see the frog's face. He didn't like seeing his friend in such a state, because it overwhelmed him with a sense of guilt so strong that he could burst into tears.

Her sickly pale hand was tapping on the mattress, lightly, in a fatigued gesture, and... oh, golly. She was calling him!

His breathing became harsh and difficult. Each breath he took in was accompanied by a sickly feeling which mixed itself in his mouth, reduced his vocal cords to ashes, went down his throat like a fireball, and finished its journey by giving him a horrible stomach ache. He couldn't ignore her, even though he wanted to. She needed his help for some reason, probably to get up, or to drink her medicine, or something like that.

The tapping continued, now louder. It definitely attracted his attention. He resigned himself : he was incapable of ignoring his conscience and his stress any more than he was now. So he took a deep breath, turned all the way around and looked at his friend's bed.

Immediately, sadness spread across his face. He noticed the speed at which her condition had deteriorated since his arrival: she was sweating so badly that her pillow was soaked, making a round puddle around her head. The water was deserting her burning body, and her skin was turning pale, so pale that it was almost the same color as her sheets.

Mr. Cat didn't hesitate for a second before joining her.

Because even if he still wanted to stay away from her, that didn't mean even for a moment that he wasn't worried about her. If you wanted proof, all you had to do was look at his face and see the emotions on it that he hadn't bothered to hide: worry, sadness, frustration, forgiveness, and other things which only a sincere heart could feel. You might think he was naïve, because he was worried about a girl who wouldn't stop rejecting him. You might think he was an impostor, because he was sad about what she was going through even though just the previous day he had spat out all those hateful words to her. You might think he was a jerk, because even if he was worried about her, he pretended he wasn't by keeping his distance.

You might think he was whatever you wanted him to be, because he loved her, and love always silences reasoning.

She made the effort to turn her reddened face towards him and open her eyes to look at him. They say you never understand the value of what you have until it's gone, and that was correct. If a similar situation had come up at a time when they hadn't been fighting, she would have just vaguely stared at the sly smile that was playing on his lips, and that was it. But now that he was standing next to her, so close yet so far, he had never seemed so good looking to her. She wanted to talk to him, about anything and everything, about their games, about the news, about Quack Quack, or even about the daisies which had bloomed that week, and she wanted to call him by his name in order to get his attention, but she no longer had the right to speak to him. She wanted to joke around with him and give him a friendly slap on the back (even if that would cost her what little energy she had left), she wanted to laugh and hold on to his arm, but she no longer had the right to touch him. She wanted to love him like she had always loved him, but she couldn't do that anymore.

And for the first time ever, despite her weakened condition, she understood why Mr. Cat loved breaking the rules so much. The forbidden had a painfully sweet taste.

– Do you...

Both of their hearts leaped.

– Do you want me to change your pillow ?

Kaeloo thanked the sickness for putting a chronically tired expression on her face, because without it, there was no way she could put on a natural looking face after hearing the serious voice which was addressing her. The comparison between the embarrassed tone he was using now and the one he had used yesterday was visceral in her head, but she forced herself to forget it. She nodded her head and Mr. Cat passed an arm under her body to reach the free pillow next to her. However, he paused when he realized that his arm was too short to reach the damn pillow, and the only way to get it was to lie down on top of the frog.

Lie down on top of her... lie down on top of the frog...

The brain has its own reasoning that reason ignores, because despite the pure unease that he felt, and the urgency of the situation, the thought of himself, lying on top of Kaeloo, stomach to stomach, made him blush and slightly smile.

You bastard, this isn't the moment...

Yep, definitely not the moment.

He got up immediately, and taking troubled steps, he went around the bed. Kaeloo seemed to have understood the cause of his sudden embarrassment, because her cheeks were suddenly starting to get redder than usual. But it was impossible to tell embarrassment from a symptom of her illness, and Kaeloo mentally thanked the fever for having saved her from several embarrassing situations that day. Mr. Cat grabbed the pillow forcefully, as though it were a stress ball, and then stopped again for a few seconds. He would have to touch her - briefly, to support her head, but that didn't change the fact that -

Stop!

He sighed, frustrated with himself. If he kept wasting time thinking of stupid, childish things like this, he would lose both Kaeloo and his own mental health. He passed his hand quickly under her head, feeling her sweat on his bare fingers with some satiety, and quickly replaced the pillow. His movements were hurried and rather rough, making Kaeloo whimper a little. As soon as he did that, he heard a quiet, contented sigh, and his heart started to tingle. The fact that he had helped her to get comfortable made him feel somewhat happy, even though their relationship was strained at the moment. Mr. Cat usually wasn't the kind of person who would help people if he was on bad terms with them. On the contrary, he would try to find a sadistic way to increase their suffering. That's what he would have done if the patient was someone like Pretty or Olaf. But this was Kaeloo, his best friend, the one who knew him better than anyone else, the one who was nicer to him than anyone else had ever been. He couldn't just leave her like that. Even though she had hurt him, and she was one of the main causes of his post-depression, she was also one of the few reasons he wanted to keep living.

And just that one thing, the realization of how much she meant to him, convinced Mr. Cat that they would make up. Yes, there was no doubt about it. Things had always been that way, and they would be that way as long as they lived in the same place, reproducing the same scheme of friendship. Taken by a sudden sense of serenity, he walked around her bed and sat near her feet, not bothering to ask her for permission. She didn't reply. She had probably noticed his tiredness and clumsy steps. He bent over, leaned against his knees, put his cold hands against his face and admired the sun in all its splendor. The beige tiles shone due to the sunbeams which penetrated the poorly closed curtains, and there was no sign of dirt or dust anywhere. She must have found the time to clean every evening, which was something Mr. Cat never did – then, the irrepressible image of Kaeloo wearing a pink apron and humming while sweeping the floor entered his mind, and he suppressed a sigh of boredom. He tried to imagine what her daily routine would be like. He didn't bother to wonder why he kept thinking of her; he knew that it was just because of the irrevocable need to flee from the tense atmosphere.

She probably got up early, did warm-up exercises with enthusiasm, ate breakfast, came to find someone to play with and then...

Mr. Cat raised an eyebrow. Maybe he didn't know her as well as he claimed to - her routine couldn't possibly be that repetitive, could it? Even if Kaeloo was one of the most talkative and expressive people ever, nobody knew anything about her private life or her origins. Every time she was asked to reveal something about her past, she narrated a different version of it. It was true that the inhabitants of Smileyland weren't very fond of this type of information. They just greeted each other, played for a while in the environment they were accustomed to and then went back home, sometimes bearing injuries from extreme violence. Planned outings, talking around a campfire and other things like that which involved communication were never their strong point. The only information they really knew about each other had been accidentally revealed during one of their games, and was usually forgotten by the time everyone went home at the end of the day. It wasn't as though private life was considered sacred in Smileyland. The residents had already asked each other indiscreet questions, but that was done for the sole purpose of humiliating the person who was being interrogated.

Everything was perfectly stoic, silent and immobile. Even the medication leaflet which was on top of the nightstand didn't move in the wind. It was as though the calm, which was dominating the place, was a religious formality.

[LISTEN TO : Coldplay – The Scientist]

– I...

Mr. Cat jumped, his derriere moving about a centimeter in the air. He turned his head towards her to encourage to keep speaking, though he didn't look at her.

– Sometimes, I tell myself that it isn't worth trying anymore, she said, her voice tarnished by sickness.

He frowned and lowered his head a bit more.

– I tell myself that I have to accept who I am. That it's too late to fix anything, and anyway, you all know what I'm like... you're my friends. I can't hide anything from you, after all.

It was difficult to find out what she was talking about with such depth and emotion, but Mr. Cat knew that it had something to do with the... fight they had earlier.

There was a moment of silence.

– I know what I am.

Oh, thought Mr. Cat, who was itching to know what she meant.

– I just don't like it when people tell me about it, that's all. After all, nobody likes to hear that they're the opposite of what they claim to be, do they?

Nobody likes to hear that they're the opposite of what they claim to be.

Maybe she didn't realize it, but not only did this describe her situation, it also described his. Those words that she had said reflected the cat's personality: pretending to be selfish, monstrous and manipulative, but in reality sensitive and vulnerable. He wouldn't admit it if you told him, though; he'd deny it in a manner that was both cruel and piteous. The same applied to everyone in Smileyland, really. They all wore masks to hide their real personalities –but now is not the time for us to discuss these complex matters.

Anyway, wasn't she accusing him implicitly by saying that she didn't need to be reminded of who she really was?

– You know, I took a whole evening to accept what I heard yesterday, she said, putting on a fake smile painted with nostalgia and looking into the distance. Actually, I still haven't accepted it yet. When I think about it now, I realize that it was stupid to get so sick just because of something I already knew about. I know that I... that I'm...

She puffed her cheeks and blew out, while Mr. Cat remained alert, wanting to hear what she had to say.

– That I am the way I am, she said loosely. I've dedicated my whole life to making a good image of myself. Kind, cute, innocent, pure... and... everything I put all that effort into just collapsed yesterday. It hurts. It really hurts, Mr. Cat. You can see that in my present state. But... but that's not what hurt me the most...

She bit her bottom lip furiously, before continuing in a strangled voice.

– It's... realizing that you don't have value for someone anymore. By hiding my second personality, I... I just wanted to... she choked back a sob. I've lost a lot of people that way, so... I just wanted... to keep you close to me... but all I did was distance you. I don't want... I don't want to lose my friends... but I think I've already lost one.

– You haven't lost anyone!

He yelled with such urgency and need that he involuntarily stood up on his feet. Unfortunately, the brutality with which he had gotten up caused him to feel like he had been hit on the head by a thunderclap, so he wavered for a few seconds before finding a slightly less majestic balance. The gazes of the two friends met momentarily. There was a certain contrast between what their eyes were expressing. Both of them showed tiredness and sadness, but Kaeloo's showed an old nostalgia and a nascent tarnishing while Mr. Cat's showed two concrete emotions which were possibly the only ones he had never bothered to hide: shock and disappointment.

He took a few steps towards her bedside, dominating because of his height and good health, and repeated himself in a calmer tone.

– You haven't... lost anyone. I...

He cleared his throat, and for a fraction of a second, he wondered what he was supposed to say. Emotional conversations were never his passion or his forte, but... the confessions of the frog were worth it. Both of them seemed to be pretty bad with words when it came to talking about feelings, so why not give it a shot?

– We... we both said some pretty horrible things to each other. In the end - I mean - I've lived through much worse, and I guess you have too... it's just that this time, I..."

He? How was he supposed to justify the anger he had shown, the words he had said and the tears he had caused her to shed?

– I couldn't take it anymore, he said, with a sigh that seemed to regroup all the tension which he'd been holding inside. I... I suppose that we all have the right to - you know, a little rest, to recover from the events of a day, and... I didn't rest correctly, maybe, so...

His words weren't making any goddamn sense. They were incoherent, mixing up different subjects - well, they were expressing something which was somewhat intelligible, but still evading the main subject. For goodness' sake, that wasn't what he was supposed to be saying! Wasn't he hurting himself earlier because of the remorse he felt? And now that he had the irrevocable opportunity to get rid of the remorse and replace it with something better, now that they were alone and free to have a private discussion, he hadn't apologized? And he was blaming it on his tiredness?!

When we said that nothing positive was destined to come out from this -

– When I said what I thought about you, at the moment I was... drunk and tired, so... it - it would have been better if you had never listened to me, Kaeloo, he said in a voice that was slowly starting to fade, calling her by her real name as proof of his sincerity.

– But I heard you. That's the problem, she said in a reproachful voice, turning her head to look out of the window.

Mr. Cat spread his arms out and waved them wildly. « Yeah, I know! That's why I'm – », he was cut off by her.

– But I'm not mad at you. I'm not going to get mad at you. I suppose I've already disappointed you enough. If that's what you think of me, I presume I can't change anything. If you hadn't said it yesterday, you would have said it some other day. In any case, it would... it would still be my fault. I hurt you by rejecting you. I shouldn't have done that.

– No, don't say – ...

– I'm sorry, Mr. Cat.

It felt like a stab to the heart.

Because even if he knew at the bottom of his heart that it was her fault, that she was the one who had rejected him, and caused him to hurt himself, think poorly about himself and fall into alcoholism, he couldn't bring himself to accept the fact that she was apologizing to him. The mere thought of the fact that it was his fault she was sick filled him with an incredible guilt. She was lying there, all pale and fragile, to give him the same apology she had given him yesterday. Only now, he was perfectly sober (or not, because sadness made sober people drunk), and she wasn't sober, she was under the influence of the fever (or maybe she was sober, because sadness turned drunk and sick people into sober ones who knew their own vulnerabilities). It was like a bad joke played by karma. There was probably a deity up there laughing at them, amused by their pain.

The cat started to bite his bottom lip furiously, as though the pressure in the room had settled in his mind and body. You're not going to crack now, are you? He felt the heartbreak rising progressively through his body. It tormented his stomach, left a lump in his throat, stung his nose and rose up to his eyes, going in the opposite direction than the stress had gone earlier. Here and now? He closed his fists, causing his knuckles to whiten. His claws instinctively came out, piercing through his gloves and painfully attaching themselves to his scars. Really? His body began to shake, as though his legs could no longer support his sadness. Stop it right now, loser.

– Mr. Cat...

Kaeloo giggled a bit. Mr. Cat suddenly raised his head, and his eyes bulged in surprise. Kaeloo laughed more and more, until her laughter got as loud as her fevered vocal cords could stand. She started to cough violently, causing the cat to turn towards her, feeling torn between surprise and worry, but she didn't care. She just kept on laughing. He had no idea what to do. Get mad, because this really wasn't the time to be laughing? Be humiliated, because she was probably laughing at the state he was in? Join her, so that he could find out what was so funny?

– Huh? he said, because hell, he didn't understand anything at the moment.

– You're so... so tense, she said, trying to raise an arm to wipe a tear from her eye. She calmed down. You don't have to forgive me today, Mr. Cat. I can –

This time, he was the one who cut her off mid-sentence.

– I'm not talking about forgiveness, froggy, he said, more drily than he meant to. I have nothing to do with your apologies, because they don't answer my questions. I told you that I...

He paused, his mouth open, and his eyes met Kaeloo's. She seemed anguished, yet intrigued to find out the end of the sentence.

That I love you? No, he would never say that.

– That I... in short, I clearly showed you how I feel... about... about you, and you still haven't answered me, he said, blushing miraculously. He raised his hands a little. So... I'm not going to give you the famous 'take your time' or 'I'll wait for an answer', because I don't want to wait any longer, especially after... yesterday. You just need to understand, tadpole. This can't go on... I need an answer.

Kaeloo looked down, apparently feeling pensive. Minutes passed. She tried to think of a good answer. Mr. Cat puffed his cheeks and blew out, no longer able to hide his anxiety. What was he waiting for? A yes? Evidently, she was not going to answer him right now. So, he urged with a sigh :

– At least, tell me if what I said about myself yesterday was wrong.

So that was it.

She suddenly raised her head to look at him, shocked. Her jovial expression disappeared just as quickly as it had appeared, giving way to a concerned, almost nostalgic pout. Mr. Cat sighed, hating himself for saying that... but now that she had told him everything in her heart with candor, and they had started to talk about their feelings... it was best to continue, wasn't it?

Say it.

– That you consider me to be a lesser being, and that I... he paused, unable to remember what else he had said. He had been drunk at the time, and now he was embarrassed; both of these factors had caused him to forget it all.

– Let me help you, said a weak voice.

He frowned, not understanding, but before he could say anything, she started.

– The... tough guy of the gang, a punching bag, a pain in the... rear, she said, trying to replace the swear words he had used so she wouldn't have to repeat them herself.

Mr. Cat's jaw dropped. Had he really said all that? It was incredible, the amount of bullshit one could say in a few seconds, but the frog had remembered everything he told her. He sighed. It would be impossible to make her forget.

– Yes, he said, slouching a little.

– Well, no. I've never thought of you that way. I wanted to tell you yesterday, but... well... you didn't really give me a chance, she blushed. So I'm telling you now.

She tried to make both of their gazes meet. Mr. Cat felt a mite of unease upon seeing the sadness and regret in his friend's eyes. They both took in a deep breath, prepared to deal with the repercussions that the words they said next would have. Whatever it was, they had reached the climax of these late revelations. He was finally going to find out what he meant to her, if his worries had been stupid, if his attempts had not been in vain, and if the wounds under his gloves deserved some medicine and bandages, just like his heart deserved a little love and affection. She was going to find out what he would do when she told him :

– I-

Just as Kaeloo was about to finish her sentence, she and Mr. Cat heard a conversation going on outside. She stopped in the middle of her explanation, and they both started to concentrate on the voices they were hearing.

– I'm telling you, man... don't worry, this is a great idea! said a childish voice, which they recognized immediately.

– Stumpy?! they cried.

A few minutes later, the door opened, and the two friends entered the room. Stumpy, whose hand had been on the door handle the whole time, moved over to allow Quack Quack to enter the room. As Quack Quack rapidly moved to Kaeloo's bedside, he looked at Mr. Cat, who, to his surprise, responded immediately to his visual contact. They continued to stare at each other, looking perfectly tense, and Stumpy winked at Mr. Cat mysteriously. The latter responded with a grumpy, tired frown. It was then that he noticed that weird feeling which was animating him. It was as if he was back to being the person he usually was, and he hadn't been "himself" while talking with Kaeloo. As if his usual self had run away with Stumpy and Quack Quack, and come back with them.

He made a mental note to revise what he had told Kaeloo while he hadn't been "himself".

– So, Mr. Cat, how did it go? asked Stumpy, leaning on his friend's shoulder.

The cat violently pushed him away and glared at him.

– Nutcracker, you're a total –

– know, I know, I can be such a genius sometimes! he said vainly. He then burst into one of his crazy laughs, the kind which you (unfortunately) know all too well.

Mr. Cat was too tired to even try to understand him. It was nearly impossible to understand Stumpy unless you were as crazy as he was, anyway. The little rodent was always coming up with some weird scheme or the other, and dragging his friends into it... but that was what made Stumpy Stumpy. It was what fueled their friendship.

Accompanied by his friends, Mr. Cat left about half an hour later, wishing Kaeloo with another "Get well soon". Those were the same words he had said earlier, but this time they were spoken with all the emotions he had felt while talking with her : a little stress, a little compassion, and a little bit of everything that made up their friendship.

The end of the day didn't signify the end of the problem, and neither did the smiles and conversations. Kaeloo still hadn't answered Mr. Cat's question, and Mr. Cat hadn't told her whether or not he had forgiven her. It would have been better if they had, though, because fever wasn't the only thing which was manifesting its evil presence in Smileyland.

There was something else too. Maybe, just maybe, it was the one with the black robe who carries a scythe.