Why couldn’t I stop obsessing over my guest, even when I was fucking sick? It was like my infatuation with the guy was getting worse, which I guessed wasn’t that strange considering he was constantly around me, in my house.
At least before, I’d only see him once during the day, then I could escape here, where he wasn’t everywhere I turned and where his presence wasn’t felt in every room.
He returned a few minutes later with soup and bread and I inhaled everything to both our surprise. Then I nodded off again.
The next time I woke up, it was because he was nudging me and when I managed to open my eyes he pushed a pill in my hand and let me go back to sleep after I’d taken it.
I lost track of how many times I woke up and drifted back to sleep but at some point I looked out the window to see that it was dark, and I was alone in my room.
I waited.
Waited some more.
He still didn’t come in.
I waited for what felt like hours and when I didn’t hear anything, I decided to go find him.
I steadied myself on the chest of drawers, then again on the door frame and stumbled my way into the living room. Everything was turning and my head was pounding but he wasn’t there. I checked the bathroom too. Nothing.
I found him in the spare room, curled up with a blanket over his head that was thin enough to let the glow of his phone screen show.
“What are you doing here?” I asked him.
He jumped and uncovered himself.
“You’re awake!” he said.
“Why are you in here?” I asked.
“I didn’t want to bother you,” he answered.
I dropped my head and closed my eyes. Something tickled my throat and I laughed. I laughed out loud until I got all phlegmy and hoarse and I stopped.
“Wh-why are you laughing?”
“Because we’re both so fucking stubborn,” I said and pointed to my bedroom. “Come on. It wouldn’t help if you got pneumonia too.”
Zach raised an eyebrow.
“Pretty sure I’m more likely to catch it sleeping in the same bed as you than a cold room.”
“At least sleep in the living room where it’s warm.”
“I’m fine,” he insisted.
I didn’t move. I didn’t even flinch. I simply glared at him until he got up but he didn’t go to the living room. He went into my bedroom.
When I entered I found him creating a pillow fort in the middle of the bed and I couldn’t help but smile.
“Gosh, you hate me that much?” I asked.
“No,” he said, very nonchalantly. “I hate pneumonia that much.”
I nodded.
“Then why aren’t you sleeping in the living room?”
He didn’t answer. He got into bed and glared at me.
