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“Bye, Dave.” I give him a weak wave over Ryan’s shoulder, reminding myself to bring him a coffee soon for being the sweet little angel he always is.
In our apartment, Ryan sheds my jacket by the front door, hanging it on the rack next to his keys. He continues across the living room, headed for his bedroom door.
“My room, please.”
“No.”
“Ryan, I’m still mad at you.”
“Okay, you can be mad at me all you want while you sleep in my bed.”
I have absolutely no fight left in me, which really is a shame. It’s one of my favorite things to do, volley back and forth with him.
Through the threshold of Ryan’s room, he carries me to the mattress, laying me on the side opposite his. His bed is big and luxurious, and I sink into it, both in pain and reprieve.
A clammy sweat lingers on my forehead as he begins untying my shoes. “This is how I know you’re really sick. You didn’t even wear heels today.”
I nod quickly. “That should’ve been my sign.”
He places my embroidered sneakers on the ground, grabbing a pair of his sweatpants from his dresser. Guiding my feet through, he slides the pants up my legs before folding them down a few times around my waist.
“Do you mind if I get you out of this dress?”
I shrug. “It’s nothing you haven’t seen before.”
Typically, I’d add some humor in my tone, but my feelings are hurt over last night and I’m too tired to try to hide that.
Ryan exhales as if the words punched him in the gut. He lifts my dress up and over my head, before pulling off his own t-shirt, leaving himself bare-chested. He slips his worn tee over my body, enveloping me in his warmth and scent.
“Do you want your bra off?”
A smile spreads across my closed lips. “Well, if those aren’t the six sexiest words in the English language strung together.”
I open one lid to peek at him. He’s shaking his head at me, but that kissable mouth is tugged up on each side. “I think that fever of yours is going to your head.”
“I don’t have a fever.”
“Actually, you do. You’re burning up and I’m fairly certain you have some kind of flu.”
Without hesitation, Ryan slips his hand under my back and unclasps my bra with a single motion, sliding it out from under the shirt. I watch his backside as he hangs my dress in his closet, draping my bra over the hanger, and before he returns to me, he places my shoes neatly by the door.
My little clean freak.
He pulls the comforter up to my chin. “Try to get some sleep. I’m going to make you something to eat.” Brushing my hair away from my face, he places a soft kiss on my damp forehead.
“Ryan,” I call out, stopping him in the doorway. “Why are you doing this?”
“Because I like taking care of people. You, especially.” He closes the door behind him.
Alone in his room for the first time ever, I allow my eyes to wander, taking in my surroundings. There are no photos in here, no color. Only the large window showing off downtown Chicago. His room is minimal, just as the rest of his apartment was until I moved in. It’s as if he’s passing through, though he’s lived here for four-plus years already.
It’s sad when you consider it. You’d think he’d want to set down some roots. To come home and have it feel like home.
My fever must be causing hallucinations because I could swear there’s a pop of green on his dresser. I recognize it from the terracotta pot I replanted it in. A succulent plant sits in plain view, and I can’t help but smile from the small sign of life in his otherwise lonely room.
With a grin on my lips, a fever running through my veins, and his clothes on my body, I fall asleep looking at the tiny pop of color he stole from our living room.
Sometime later, after I’ve eaten some of Ryan’s homemade vegetable soup, with a sweat lingering on my forehead and chills running rampant over my skin, I find the strength for a shower.
