29. I just wanted to be your friend.
It was past 2 a.m. when I finally turned off my laptop. The house was quiet, save for the occasional rustle of leaves against the window. I was heading toward my bed, halfway through unbuttoning my shirt, when I heard the softest thud outside my door.
Then a shuffle.
Then a short silence.
I stilled for a moment, but when I didn't hear anything else, I resumed with my task of removing my shirt.
I had just pulled it down my shoulders and tossed it on the couch when I heard the loud click of my door opening.
My door creaked open slowly, and in stumbled a figure I knew far too well. It was less of a normal entrance and more of a collapse in slow motion.
Messy hair, an oversized t-shirt that barely hit mid-thigh, and bare legs that looked far too pale against the shadows.
I felt a surge of familiar irritation. Her audacity was boundless. She had made a habit of waltzing into my bedroom unannounced.
"Aurelia," I said, my voice like a serrated blade. "I know boundaries is a four-syllable word, but surely you can grasp the concept of a closed door."
She didn't snap back. She didn't offer a witty retort or a sharp-tongued insult. Instead, she blinked at me, her eyes glassy and unfocused, as if she were trying to remember who I was.
"Zayden?" She whispered, as if she was unsure whether I was real or just a hallucination. Her voice was thin, stripped of its usual confidence.
I stepped toward her, my irritation instantly morphing into a cold, sharp dread. "What are you doing in my room?"
She wobbled. Her entire body swayed like a leaf in the wind, and I noticed the deep, unnatural crimson flushing her cheeks. A fine sheen of sweat coated her forehead, making her skin glow under the dim lights.
She tried to point back toward the hallway, her arm swinging in a lazy, uncoordinated arc. "I... I was looking for the thing. The pain-killy thing. Parsa... para... thingy."
My eyebrows met at the centre again. "Paracetamol?"
"Yesss," she stretched out the word. "My head is killing me."
I noticed the way her feet stumbled, unable to stay grounded.
She was on the verge of collapsing to the ground.
I reached her in three long strides just as she swayed again and fell right into my arms.
I was about to accuse her of drinking when I felt the heat radiating from her body. "Shit," I cursed under my breath, pulling her flush against my bare chest to steady her. Her body was so hot as if someone had lit her up on fire. "You're burning up."
Instead of pulling away, she did the last thing I expected. She leaned into me. She buried her face in the crook of my neck, her hot breath fanning over my skin, and let out a long, shaky whimper of relief.
"You smell nice," she mumbled against my collarbone. Her lips brushed my skin in a soft, unintended contact that sent a jolt of electricity straight to my gut. "Like midnight and... arrogance."
"Flattering." I muttered, trying not to react to the feel of her warm body curling against mine.
She tilted her head back, her hands sliding up my chest to grip my bare shoulders. Her palms were scorching, branding my skin. She looked up at me with wide, hazy eyes, a slow, delirious grin spreading over her face. "Nice shoulders... very strong. Like they're made of marble."
Her thumbs traced the line of my deltoids, and I had to physically remind myself to breathe. She was unwell. She was delirious. And she was currently holding onto me as if I were the only thing keeping her on this planet.
She's barely in her senses.
"You need to leave." I uttered shakily, clutching onto her frail body as she held onto me for support. The words sounded more like a desperate plea than a command.
I needed her to leave. This was dangerous. Her body in my arms, the scent of vanilla surrounding my senses... all of it was a test I could barely pass.
She pouted, her lower lip trembling as her eyes filled up with disappointment. "That's so mean... give me the pain-killy thingy... and then I'll go. Maybe."
She swayed once more in my arms, eyelids drooping yet again.
I slid one arm under her knees and the other behind her back, lifting her in one swift motion. She didn't protest; she just looped her arms around my neck, tucking her head under my chin.
Every nerve in my body was screaming.
I walked to the bed and laid her down, but she didn't let go immediately. Her fingers lingered on the nape of my neck, a slow, dragging friction that made my jaw ache with the effort of holding back.
"I'll get you the medicine." I declared, voice strained, before walking to the bathroom.
Splashing cold water on my face, I stared at my reflection. She's sick. She's the girl you've spent years ignoring. Put some sense into your head. You can't touch her. You can't have her. You can't be feeling this way.
When I returned with the medicine box, I found her laying on her back, pressing one of my pillows to her face.
I almost ran up to her, peeling the pillow out of her hands before frowning down at her. "Are you trying to smother yourself?"
She blinked, tilting her head as if she couldn't register my words, before a grin spread over her face again. "The pillow smells like you. Minus the arrogance part which makes it almost comforting."
I rolled my eyes, ignoring the feeling bubbling in my chest. "I sleep on it, Sinclair. Logic dictates it would smell like me."
She giggled softly, a gentle and melodious sound that had no place in my bedroom, before propping herself up, barely sitting straight. "Can I sleep on you?"
My eyes almost popped out of their sockets.
Clearing my throat, I set the medicine box on my nightstand and pulled it open, taking out paracetamol.
Pouring a glass of water, I offered the tablet to her.
She didn't reach for it. She just stared at my hand as if it were a complex mathematical equation.
"Aurelia," I said firmly, getting her attention. "Here, take it."
She tilted her head to the side as if I was speaking a foreign language.
I inhaled deeply before tapping her lower lip with my thumb. "Open up," I said, my voice low and slightly commanding. "Swallow this."
She obeyed, her lips grazing the tip of my thumb as she took the pill from my palm. I handed her the water, watching the column of her throat move as she swallowed.
"Good girl." I murmured, the words slipping out before I could stop them.
She just settled her head on the pillow, gaze unfocused.
I reached out, smoothing the damp hair away from her face, my fingers lingering on the heated skin of her temple.
"Me sleep now." She whispered.
I checked her temperature again. If it didn't drop soon, I was taking her to the ER, whether she liked it or not. I pulled the heavy duvet over her, tucking it around her shoulders to stop the shivering that had started to set in.
I turned to go, but a small, hot hand shot out from under the covers and clamped around my wrist.
"Nooo," she whined, her eyes squeezed shut. "It's cold. Don't leave. I don't like it when you're not here."
That made me halt. Not just me, but also my heart. Something in my chest ached and felt heavy. Like someone had placed a ton of metal bricks on my chest.
I looked back at her.
She looked nothing like the bold and dangerous Aurelia that sauntered around my house like a diva with the longest tongue and the greatest determination known to mankind.
She looked innocent... and sick. And I realised I didn't like seeing her that way one bit.
My eyes trailed over her hand still tightly wrapped around my wrist even as her eyes were closed.
I waited a few minutes, just standing there, staring at her pretty, perturbed face.
Then I slipped my wrist out of her hold, hearing her utter a small whimper.
I went to the bathroom, fetched a bowl of ice water and a cloth, and returned to her side. I spent the next hour wringing out the cloth and placing it on her forehead, watching her features relax each time the cold hit her skin.
"That feels nice." She muttered after a while, her eyes still closed.
"I thought you were asleep." I said quietly.
"Mm..." She shifted, her hand finding my wrist again, her grip tightening. "You're mad at me. You're always mad at me."
I watched the way the moonlight hit the curve of her cheek. "I'm not mad, Aurelia."
"You always look mad." She said in an adorable voice that almost made me melt into a puddle.
"That's just my face, Sinclair." I replied quietly, fighting back a smile at how cute and silly she sounded.
She reminded me of the Aurelia from our childhood.
The sweet, innocent version of her. The version I always neglected.
She gave a sleepy smile. "It's a nice face... I like it better when you're smirking."
I blinked down at her. "You're delirious."
"Only a little." She looked up at me with big, tired eyes. "Why did you always ignore me? I just wanted to be your friend."
My chest tightened at the vulnerability in her voice, and for the first time I felt bad for being the asshole that I was.
Her tone made it seem like my rude and uncaring attitude had deeply wounded her.
I didn't answer her question.
I didn't have an answer.
She tugged on my hand until I scooted closer to her. Then she suddenly lifted her head and rested it on my thigh, her hand still holding onto mine.
I stiffened.
"Don't go." She urged softly.
"I wasn't going." My tone matched hers.
"Promise?"
The vulnerability in her words hit harder than it should have. I stared at her. Flushed cheeks, chapped lips, the innocence on her face. This version of her, unguarded and gentle, made my cold heart ache.
She shifted again, sliding closer beneath the blanket.
I didn't say anything. I just reached down and brushed her damp, sweaty hair away from her forehead.
She closed her eyes, her breathing slowing.
"You're warm." She mumbled.
I swallowed hard, guilt and something unnamable knotting in my throat. "Get some sleep, Sinclair."
"Hmm..." she murmured. "Goodnight, Zayden..."
"Goodnight, Aurelia." I said gently, running my free hand through her hair.
I stared down at her, at the girl I claimed to not give a damn about. I wanted to lean down. I wanted to press my lips to her forehead, to her temple, to those chapped, feverish lips. I wanted to tell her that I was a stupid asshole to have ignored and hurt someone as pure-hearted as her.
But I didn't. I just sat there in the dark, my hand buried in her hair, watching her breathe.
Her grip on my hand didn't loosen. And even though some part of me told me to get up and move to the couch, a greater part of me straight up refused to leave her alone.
Because somehow, staying there beside her felt like the most right thing to do.