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As I rub my eyes, Elio’s face comes into view more clearly. His perfectly-tousled hair looks like he’s been running his fingers through it, his jaw is locked tightly, eyes filled with worry.
It’s the first time he’s touched me, but it was so brief and I was half asleep for it.
Great.
“Hi,” I whisper, my voice hoarse from sleep.
“Hi,” he whispers back softly. “I know I’m not allowed in your room, but I needed to come check on you.”
“I’m fine, don’t worry about it,” I say, willing more confidence into my voice. I sound and feel like shit. There’s no use in hiding it.
He grimaces as if I slapped him. “Don’t worry about it? You’re my friend, and friends worry about each other.”
Over the course of the last few weeks, I’ve really started to hate that word—friends. It’s a constant reminder of all that we will ever be.
“How was class?” I ask, groggily sitting up.
He pulls out a stack of paper from behind him and places it in front of me. “See for yourself.”
I take the papers, surprised to see that he actually took notes for me. He’s never written anything down in the five weeks we’ve been at school. To top it off? He used my highlighter-coded system—green for new information, yellow for definitions, pink for random but possibly important things, and orange for items that go together.
I shake my head, utterly confused. “You never take notes.”
“I did for you,” his dark green eyes pierce mine with an unknown emotion glimmering in their depths.
My heart threatens to hammer out of my chest. It may not seem like your typical romantic gesture, but to a nerd like me? It’s everything.
“Thank you for doing that,” I tell him, doing my best to smile and have it reach my eyes, but it fails due to how awful I feel.
“What hurts?” he asks, his tone switching from soft to concerned.
“Everything,” I huff. “My head is throbbing. My body aches all over. I feel warm and my stomach is upset.”
His jaw tightens as his eyes run over my body, even though half of it is underneath my blanket. “Stay here, I’ll make you some soup.”
My instinct is to argue, to say that I can get myself better, but I find myself wanting someone to take care of me for once. “Okay,” I say, lying back down and taking the comforter off because I’m sweating.
Elio’s still seated on my bed, his eyes widening when they zero in on my lower half. I look down to see that I’m only in cheeky, satin panties. Fuck, I forgot.
I can barely focus on that because the motion sets off my stomach, causing me to bolt off the bed and stumble my way to the washroom. I fall to my knees, gripping the toilet rim as I throw up again.
Before I think about pulling my hair back, Elio’s hands are there, holding it up for me while the other rubs my back soothingly. His touch makes my already warm body blaze even more.
Once I’m done, I lean back on my heels, putting my hands over my face in frustration and embarrassment. Elio lets go of my hair, the sink turning on moments after. He returns to me, prying my hand off my face, gently wiping my mouth and chin with a wet cloth.
I’m careful not to breathe with my mouth to avoid him smelling my sick breath. He stands, throws the cloth in the hamper, then crouches back down, his arms going under my shoulders, lifting me off the ground and into his arms like a baby.
“Elio, what are you doing?” I ask, murmuring against his chest and inhaling his spiced wood scent. I feel so small in his arms, loving the way I fit against him.
“Taking care of you. You nearly fell on your way in here. I’m not risking you falling on the way back,” he explains, setting me down carefully on my bed.
“Take these and rest,” he orders while placing two capsules in my hand and passing me a glass of water from my nightstand.
I swallow them, hoping they will get rid of everything that’s wrong with me.
Elio leaves toward my bathroom once more, then comes back with a wet towel. He sits on my bedside again and gently places the cold towel on my sweaty forehead.
“I’m going to make you some soup. Call me if you need something. Don’t get up.”
