Chase was perishing.
Okay, he wasn't really perishing, but he didn't look good either.
Lia first noticed that he was sick when she didn't see him in the kitchen doing the sweating and protein shake routine he called as exercise. She was about to head out to work when she heard a sneeze coming from the man's bedroom. She still headed out to work, of course - she didn't want to get sick and she had convinced herself that she will probably get over it soon. He already knew not to exercise. She told herself that Chase would be fine and that by the time she was home, he would have figured things out.
Except he didn't.
He does not know how to take care of himself apparently. When she came back from work, the apartment was a mess. Crumpled tissue papers lay on the carpet, couch, TV stand, and even on kitchen counters. Anywhere but the trash can, actually. She could feel the viruses in the air and her nose was itching for her to get the fuck out of the apartment. Chase wasn't even in the living room at the time. As she put down her keys and bag to look for the man - hoping he wasn't passed out somewhere in a corner - he walked out of the bathroom and into the living room and announced himself with a sneeze. He had a towel wrapped around his neck, but his hair was dry and dishelved like she had never seen it before. His eyes looked puffy and hazy and his nose was beet red, A day-old stubble covered his jaw. What truly showed he was sick was the fact that he was wearing a shirt.
Before Lia could even say anything, he croaked out "Welcome home," in a voice that made him sound like a dying alpaca.
She definitely should not have been home. Whatever he had, she did not want to catch. Keep in mind, he's an athletic, active man; his immune system should've been off the charts. She had no chance of survival. She would literally die if she caught whatever he was suffering from.
But she stayed, and freaking helped.
Of course, she had to look out for myself too. So when she heard his nasally cracking voice welcoming her home, the first thing she did wasn't ask how he was feeling or offer to take care of him. No, she ran into her bedroom and shut the door behind her.
Temporarily...
She needed to gather a protective gear before she went back into that viral battlefield. She grabbed a mask, a pair of latex gloves, a can of Lysol disinfectant spray, and a pair of sunglasses. Yes, sunglasses because viruses are airborne and they can freaking sting your eyes!
Anyway, after a silent prayer, she turned the knob to her door and walked out. Chase was sitting on the couch, blowing his nose loudly into a tissue paper.
Lia almost turned back around.
The first thing she did was grab a trash can and place it in front of him. He apparently does not bother with cleanliness when sick.
"Throw your used tissues here!" she ordered, her voice only slightly muffled from behind her face mask. The man looked up at her with no recognition so she pointed to the trash can for emphasis.
She then did what needed to be done. She disinfected the place. She grabbed a plastic bag and picked up the used and crumpled tissue papers from around the apartment. Once she was done, she grabbed the disinfectant can and went to work, spraying every surface and also the air around them.
She also sprayed some on Chase.
Well, not intentionally.
Ahmm, maybe with a little bit of intention. It's not her fault he came behind her and tapped her on the shoulder to get her attention. Her finger was already on the can's trigger and it was just a reflex. It's not totally her fault. It's not, of course. She also didn't spray on his eyes, just his neck. It might have gotten into his mouth, but again, that's not her fault, so she ignored his coughing and went back to what she was doing.
She only felt guilty and worried when he retreated into his bedroom after that.
She wasn't trying to be mean to him, she just absolutely did not want to get sick because she knows how bad she gets when she is sick. Although she can definitely take care of herself a little better than Chase, she also gets so useless and helpless, though, it's almost crippling. And of course she would have to take a week off, not only because she can't get the children sick but also out of fear that they would ridicule her because she sounds like a fourteen years old going through puberty when she is sick.
So yeah, it took her a while to get the courage to knock on his bedroom door. The den of viruses, as far as she is concerned.
But she didn't go empty-handed. This time, her hand was not carrying a can of disinfectant, but a cup of hot chicken noodle soup. Yes, she made soup.
She turned the knob to his door when she heard a terrifying and nasally sound that may have been a 'come in', in answer to her knock.
Chase was laying on top of the covers, on his stomach, face buried into the pillow. Not the ideal sleeping position for someone with blocked nasal passages. She came closer to him and leaned down a bit, genuinely concerned that the sick idiot wasn't breathing.
The man lifted his head up and turned his hot body to face her. He then extended his right arm, holding his palm up as if to stop her from coming any closer.
"What?" she asked him, the cup of soup was still in her hands.
"Are you here to spray me some more?" he asked, his voice telling clearly that he has a flu. "And why are you here without your hazmat suit?"
Yes, Lia had taken off her mask, sunglasses, and gloves when she walked into his room. She was feeling guilty for spraying him with the disinfectant spray.
"I brought you soup," she told him and placed the cup on his bedside-table.
"Does this have Lysol? You know it doesn't cure the flu, right?"
"Ha-ha-ha. It was very funny," she said with a little humor.
"You sprayed me with it earlier," he said as he got up and propped his back against the bed's headboard.
Chase wasn't going to let this go.
"Fine! I am sorry. It's my fault for worrying about you." she turned around to storm out of the man's room, but he held her wrist to keep her in place.
She looked down at his hand, his virus-laced hand, holding her wrist to prevent her from moving before she looked back at his face. He had a very serious expression when he said, "I dreamed about your butt,"
"W-What??" she was convinced he was high as a kite because of the flu.
"Your butt," he repeated a little louder, as if her hearing was the problem. "It was so nice and soft... and cool."
I really had to ask. "C-cool?" "Yeah," he looked at her with hazy but steady eyes, "As in cold," he answered. If he wasn't sick, she would have thought he was a stoner.
"Oh my gosh! You're losing your damn mind! You're dying!" Lia said and shook her hand out of the man's grip, "How sick are you?" her hand reflexively reached to touch his forehead, but he stopped her. He grabbed the hand she had extended and used it to yank her closer to him. Her face nearly fell into his chest, but instead, she sat on the bed next to him.
While looking at me straight in the eyes, he said..."The only way to tell someone's temperature is through one's lips." he then pointed at his forehead; he is implying that she should put her lips on his forehead. That would not happen.
"Nope, I am done here," she said and got up, once again loosening out of his hold on her wrist. "Eat the soup, it doesn't have Lysol."
Chase eyed the cup of soup on his bedside-table suspiciously before reaching out to grab it. Once convinced that the soup Lia had made wasn't going to waste, she turned her back and was on her way to the door when he spoke.
"Thank you for the soup, baby." That wasn't the first pet name he used for her, but it doesn't mean she is used to any of this. He is her roommate, after all. Her very hot roommate.
When she looked back to glare at the man, he quickly added, "You didn't have to put it in a mug, though, I wouldn't have asked you to spoon-feed me. Although I have to say, I don't mind being taken care of by you," he reached out with his free hand and held hers again.
How was she not supposed to blush?
And of course, he was lost in observing my blushing face and spilled some of the piping hot soup on the front of his shirt. Like an idiot.
She doesn't know who reacted first between them, but once the cup of soup was safely back on the bedside table, they were both scrambling to take his shirt off. She obviously stopped once she realized what she was doing. The idiot, apparently forgetting he had just burned himself, resumed smirking at her.
He crumpled up his virus and soup-covered shirt and handed it to her. Lia was apparently his laundry slave.
"I am going to leave before I get sick too, and just so you know if I do end up getting sick..." she paused to point at him and look as menacing as possible, "I will kill you."
Chase only grinned at her.
"Don't worry, babe. I'll take care of you."
Babe??
Lia can't keep up.
"If you need anything important, call me," she muttered before she got off his bed with a deeper blush. She needed to get out of that room and not only because of the flu she might catch.
As she was nearing the door, he called out again in his deep sick voice, "Lia?"
She let out a sigh, "What now?" He stared at her with an expression that she could not fully make out, before uttering these ridiculous words... "I would like to touch your cool butt one day."
He was definitely high.
"Good night! Try not to die!" she yelled out loud before she slammed his bedroom door shut behind her.
It was time to spray her own face with disinfectant.
She could not get sick under his care.
*****