That’s what I told myself, at least.
I stopped in front of his door, my spine straight, and knocked. Hard.
Nothing.
I knocked again. Waited. Still nothing.
A lump rose in my throat. Leaning closer to the door, I strained to listen for signs of life inside. For any sound that would tell me he was still here.
Silence.
Anger flashed through me again and I felt the frustrating burn of tears. Damn him. He had no right to leave without telling me. The next time I saw him, I was going to—
The door opened.
The first thing I noticed was Corban’s lack of glasses. His hair was a mess—even more than usual—and his t-shirt and sweats were rumpled, like he’d just gotten out of bed. But it was his face that made my breath catch. His eyes were heavy, ringed by dark circles, and his skin was deathly pale.
“Oh my god, what happened to you?”
“Stop.” He lifted a hand, palm facing out, and his voice was rough. “Don’t come closer.”
“Why?”
“I don’t want to get you sick.”
He looked unsteady on his feet, like he was about to fall over.
“You need to get back in bed.”
Ignoring his weak protests, I stepped into his room and put my arm around him. He shuffled toward the closest bed, his feet barely leaving the floor. His skin was hot—I could feel the feverish heat coming off him.
“When did this happen? You seemed fine yesterday.”
He collapsed onto the bed and closed his eyes. “Last night. I felt a little off after… you know. Fell asleep in my room. Woke up a few hours later feeling like I got hit by a bus.”
I put my things down, then touched his forehead and face with the back of my hand. “Fever. What are your other symptoms?”
“Everything hurts and I want to die.”
“Any vomiting?”
“No.”
“Diarrhea?”
He cracked an eye open. “God, Hazel. Really?”
“I need to know if you’re in danger of dehydration.”
“No. You shouldn’t be in here. Whatever this is, you don’t want it. Trust me.”
“Corban, we exchanged copious amounts of bodily fluids less than twenty-four hours ago. If this is a viral infection, I’ve already been exposed.”
He just groaned and closed his eyes.
I looked at him for a moment, lying on his side, his legs bent. His face was flushed with fever, his skin sallow. He was disheveled and miserable.
And utterly adorable.
I ran my fingers through his hair, a gesture that was overly familiar, considering we were barely even friends. But we’d also slept together twice, so I decided my urge to physically comfort him wasn’t out of place.
“Have you had any water?”
He didn’t open his eyes. “Some.”
“What about food?”
“No.”
“Do you want anything?”
“Death. Sleep. I don’t know.”
“Okay,” I murmured, smoothing his hair one last time. “I’ll be right back.”
I found his room key sitting on the bedside table, so I tucked it in my pocket, grabbed my purse, and went downstairs to the shop in the lobby for supplies. There I found bottled water, microwavable soups, and ibuprofen to bring down his fever. I brought everything back to his room and roused him enough to sip some water.
He was still hot and clammy, so I soaked a washcloth in cool water. At first, I stood by the bed, holding it to his forehead. But I had to lean over at an odd angle, so finally I got on the bed with him.
“You should go back to the conference,” he muttered.
“Don’t worry about me. I will.”
I pressed the washcloth to his neck and gently stroked his back. It seemed to help him relax. The tension in his forehead eased and his breathing slowed. Even after the washcloth had warmed from his body heat, I stayed next to him, touching him softly. Rubbing slow circles across his back and idly threading my fingers through his hair.
After a while, he seemed to have fallen asleep. I glanced at the clock next to the bed. I’d missed the second session, but if I left now, I could listen to the lunch lecture.
But Corban might be hungry when he woke up. If he wanted some of the soup I’d bought, it would be easier for him if I was here to heat it up.
It wouldn’t hurt if I stayed. There was an extra pillow right here. This way I’d be close if Corban got worse.
I glanced at the door, wondering what I was doing. This didn’t make sense, and I knew it. Why would I stay? It wasn’t strictly necessary, and given the nature of our relationship, it was probably out of place. But even though I couldn’t explain why, I didn’t want him to be alone. I felt compelled to stay.
Leaving my glasses on the bedside table, I settled in next to him. After a moment, I glanced around the room—not that anyone was around to see—and scooted closer.
Closer.
A little bit closer.
Until I was right up against his back and could feel him breathing.
Just a precaution in case his condition turned significantly worse, of course. Not because my body craved closeness with his.
He was still feverish but sleeping peacefully. I’d just stay for a little while. With my body tucked against him, I relaxed and waited while Corban slept.
21
Corban
“Mathematics is not about numbers, equations, computations, or algorithms: it is about understanding.” ~ William Paul Thurston
The first time I woke up, Hazel was there. I didn’t know what time it was, but daylight peeked through a small gap in the curtains. She was curled up next to me, her hands tucked beneath the pillow, her eyes closed. My head was too fuzzy and my body hurt too much to contemplate what it meant. All I knew was that I was glad she was here.
I relaxed and went back to sleep.
The second time I woke up, she was sitting in bed next to me, reading by the light of a lamp. I was dimly aware of her touching my face and smoothing back my hair. She gave me a few sips of water and offered me soup. But I wasn’t ready for food.
But unlike the previous night, when whatever shitty virus I’d caught had kept me up, tossing and turning, my body was calm. Relaxed. I drank some more water and went back to sleep.
It helped knowing she was there.
The third time my eyes opened, I could tell my fever had broken. I didn’t feel good, exactly, but the haze in my brain had lifted and I was no longer hot and clammy. Light once again peeked through a crack in the curtains. It was probably morning.
I sat up and swung my legs over the edge of the bed, then rubbed my hands up and down my face. I was weak and sore, but it seemed like the worst was over. What a crappy time to get sick. Not that there was ever a good time, but alone in a hotel thousands of miles from home was particularly bad.
Except, I hadn’t been alone. Hazel must have been here all day yesterday. She’d missed the first day of the conference to take care of me.
That realization made my chest feel tight. Not only had she come looking for me, she’d stayed.
I put on my glasses and checked my phone. I had a text from her, asking me to let her know when I woke up. I replied that I was up and feeling better. Less than a minute later, there was a knock at my door.