"Don't touch me…"
I could barely speak. My throat felt so dry that even my voice became hoarse and rough.
It was midnight. Lying down on the bed, I opened my eyes and saw Marvel sitting on the same bed beside me, touching my forehead with his hand to feel the temperature difference. That was stupid. By nature, our body temperatures were poles apart to begin with. He was cold to the touch, and now that I got a fever, he felt colder, icy even, on the verge of uncomfortableness.
Using my last strength, I brushed his hand away from my forehead.
"How are you feeling?"
Although I sensed genuine curiosity when Marvel asked me, I didn't reply. I didn't want to. I shut my eyes, breathing with difficulty because of the rising fever.
"Do you want some medicine, Angelo?"
When Marvel lowered his voice as he whispered my name, there was something I couldn't ignore, and with whatever reason he might have contrived, I knew he did that on purpose.
