"What?"
"I asked for some sugar." With a tilt of his head, he comes off so innocent.
"W-why mine? I mean, go get from the store or something." She urges to tear out her brain, for she glimpsed a startling scene of the gone by. Her aunt once said: 'If a guy asks for some sugar, it means he wishes a kiss from the girl he's fond of.'
"It has to be yours of course." He smiles, he 'precisely' fair-mindedly needs sugar.
Neva unclear of his intentions squints her eyes.
"Angel it's cold outside, won't you let me in?" Piteous man, rubs his hand—gazing through the chilly atmosphere.
"No, and my name's not angel!" She glares at him. If glares could hole, his head would have been a web, sun beams passing through them.
He connects the eyes, "Any other could call you Neva, but Angel's only reserved for me."
He yet again, earns a piercing glare. She exhales deeply, needing to sane herself for she wishes not to ablaze her cool. Her sweet peace disrupted by the Mystery man.
Suddenly the poor guy sneezes, he rubs his reddish nose with the index finger. Neva sighs, she feels sympathy for the sad thing.
"Come in." Neva turns around, having him in at last. Her heart a pink fluffy, soft cotton candy. The happy man smiles, trailing behind Neva.
Inside of the warm home, Neva trudges so as to near her kitchen. She holds open a cabinet—grabbing a jar of sugar. She continues to open another cabinet, getting a container.
"There are other neighbours you could ask from. Why me?" Neva raises a query, loud enough for the man standing on the kitchen door, his left shoulder leaning on the side jamb, eyes shadowing her frame—with arms crossed over sturdy chest.
"They're stranger to me, but you're not. Plus I'm cold and you're kind." He calmly proclaims.
Neva pauses pouring sugar on the container. 'What's with the layered meaning?'
She looks over her shoulder, finding her gaze on him he smiles sweetly.
'Guy with a sugary smile... asked for some sweet sugar, wouldn't I need it rather... I with a bitter life? How ironic!'
She holds open a cabinet—placing down her jar of sugar. She approaches him with the sugar brimmed container.
"Here," she holds out it for him.
Straightening his posture, he appreciates her kind gesture. "Thank you." He takes the container from her, his hand brushing lightly with hers.
Neva flinches, faintly. Where had he been? His hands were like ice.
Her gaze trails up for a glimpse of his face. Now that she had a better look of him, he looked sick kind of pale.
"See you later Angel." He drowns her thoughts. Smiling at her, he heads towards the door.
She contemplates if she should ask, then again he's just a stranger, an annoying one at that. She won't bother.
Her steps hurried, she approaches him and just as he's about to twist the door knob open, she seizes the hem of his thin hooded jacket. "Wait!"
Confused, he glances at her over his shoulder. "Hmm?"
She says nothing and turns him around to face her. She places her palm on his forehead so as to check his temperature.
He was burning! She goes on placing her fingers to check the brisk pulse on his neck. He probably has a fever. Mystery man has his heart beating abnormally fast, and one wouldn't know if it's the girl who's the reason—or the fever. Stunned, he stands still at her sudden actions.
She spares him no other second—dragging him back to her living room.
"Sit." She commands, he with no query seats himself on the couch.
"You have fever." She declares, crossing her arms. "Do I?" He examines his pulse on his wrist.
"What do you think?!" Neva asks, sarcasm dripping from her tone. "I do have a fever," in a small voice he utters, the realization paints the innocent and pure eyes of his.
Neva sighs at his pitiful and moronic state.
'Dumb like a donkey!' She keeps the scold, close to her mind.
"Sit here and don't move." She gestures a warn with her stern gaze. She walks inside of her room. A haste moment after, she comes back with the first aid kit. She hands him a thermometer.
"Put it in your mouth."
He obediently does as she says, placing it under the tongue and closing the mouth.
Some time later, the thermometer beeps. Neva seated on the couch asks him to hand it to her. He does so, and it reads 100.4°F.
"It's not that high but still not good, I'll bring some water." She walks inside the kitchen and shortly after brings back a glass of warm water.
Neva hands him the glass, and he quietly grabs it from her. She gets some tablets from the first aid kit, tearing the rapper—she places the medicines on his palm.
He looks up at her eyes, his heart warmed up. At all times, his eyes were aweing her motions... He quickly injests the medicines.
"Were you not aware of your fever?" She places herself on the other end of the couch.
"No," the donkey scratches his head.
"You really are of different breed." She declares, so casually cruel.
"Is it not good?" He foolishly asks. Neva eyes him a tad bit, and shrugs, "Dunno!"
"Thankyou Neva." He voices sincerely. Perhaps he was really sick, his heart refuses to slow down the beatings.
"I haven't told you my name have I?"
She keeps her lips closed. Of course he didn't, but she already knew—as if she'll let him know.
"It's Rhett, and I more genuinely than ever desire to be your lover." His glittery eyes smiles. And the pursuer pursues her still.
"No! You go and take some rest. I'm giving these tablets for free, do take them and don't trouble me anymore!" She retorts back 'a little lot' harshly, failing to spare her words a second thought.
His sparkling eyes dims. Rhett's expression falls, heart of his pinched bitterly.
"No need, I've troubled you enough. Thank you. Goodnight Neva." Pitiful Rhett hardly manages to gather his words, and himself together. He rises to his feet—seldom glancing at Neva or the medicines taken out for him on the table.