Chapter Text
Wilted petals littered the sill of the window, now a faded brown contrary to its previous white form. Clear signs of neglect now reminding you it had been a week since the incident. The dry brittleness crumbling in the grasp of your hand as you throw away the withered bouquet.
You make a mental note to grab a fresh bouquet before your next visit.
A clamor of stifled coughs coming from behind interjects your thinking, quickly redirecting you to the bedridden women in the center of the room. A guided hand rests on the back of her, leaning her upwards to ease the fit of coughs.
“Here,” You say, handing her a glass of water that she took eagerly, swallowing it down with just a few gulps. She thanks you wordlessly, handing you a now empty glass.
“I’m okay,” She consoles, letting out a few restrained coughs. She hoped you wouldn’t look at her with such worrying eyes. You only sigh at her feeble attempt to relieve your worry, dampening a rag to put on her forehead.
“How’s work been?” She asks, quick to advert the attention off of her, as you put slight pressure on her forehead to make sure the rag would stick.
“Same as always. Although I have to pick starting positions for the upcoming game.” You answer, sitting back to rest when you are satisfied with the rag’s position.
“Hopefully they don’t throw a fit this time.” She jokes, a pale pink replacing her pale cheekbones as she laughs. You scoff at her remark, “Yeah I know right.”
“Have you called mom yet?” You question, already knowing the answer by how she avoids your gaze when you ask. “She’s gonna be worried, you know.”
“I know, but I just don’t want her to bug her right now, especially now with her divorce and all.” She reasons, laying down to stare at the ceiling. “It’s not like me being sick is new or anything.”
“No, but you had just started getting better before you collapsed again.”
Despite her being a few years older, you were far wiser and mature than she could ever be. She admired how your words always carried reassurance and truth.
“You’re right. I’ll call her in a bit.” She sighs, not wanting to argue with you. She knew you were right.
-
Each night was colder than the last. A frigid shiver nipped at numb fingertips as you tried to adjust your scarf. Only a measly street lamp illuminated your pathway into the night. A path you’ve taken once too many times.
The sound of a jingle acknowledges your presence as you push against the frosty handle of the door, a dim light painting the variety of items in a warm hue. A quiet corner store that welcomed your company more than most. It was small, with only a few regulars during the day, and almost none at night. Which was arguably the best time to come for you. It was much more peaceful.
A faint murmur of chatter can be heard from the aisle you’re in. It seems as though someone had the same idea as you. You pay it no mind, slowly browsing through the flower section. White lilies were your sister’s favorite. You didn’t understand it, but she talked about them with such refined eloquence, you just learned to agree with her. Grabbing an assortment of white lilies and baby’s breath, you reach for a flower sleeve to put it in. In the corner of your eye, you catch a brief glimpse of the customer on your right. Wrapped in a long black coat as well as a loosely fit scarf matching their hat, and noticeably tall. You wondered if they were purchasing flowers for their lover at this time of night.
You walked to the front, placing the bouquet on the counter like you had so many times before, already knowing the exact price as you reached for your wallet. You wonder if the cashier has started to recognize you. Maybe pity you.
As the employee mindlessly counts change, you can’t help but notice the figure from before. This time just an arms length away, pretending to be interested in what seems to be a small book in their hand. But not just any hand. A hand tattooed with a familiar crown and thorns. Taking a peek of a glance at the figure’s face, you finally put the pieces together.
He had also fallen victim to the cold, a rosy haze adorning his face in the low light. You realize you haven’t seen him in regular clothes before. Just the usual jersey kit during practices or games. He certainly had a cultivated style you had to admit. You don’t know whether to acknowledge him or not, or if he’d even recognize you for that matter. You guys never talked. Just the necessary amount when evaluating players or team lineups. Nothing more, nothing less. You don’t mind though, he was most snobbish when on the field, so it’s not like you were dying to talk to him.
“Your change.” The employee states, knocking you out of your daze. Quickly shoving the change in your pocket, you grab the bouquet and rush out the door.
The breeze was even colder than before.
-
That night your mind stubbornly remained active. The walls witnessing your toss and turns of exhaust. You can only hope this won't affect you as much as you think. It is not until the early hours of dawn that your mind gives up.
As expected, work is grueling as always. Long hours of watching tedious drills run through over and over and even longer paperwork. Even though you weren’t the one undergoing it, it still left you breathless. You suppose it’s better than attending conference meetings listening to money grubbing officials pretend they care about their players.
Absolutely brainless.
Sweat began to bead at the back of your neck, plastering your hair to your skin. You hadn’t noticed at all until you started to feel strangely hot. Unzipping your jacket and setting it beside you quickly before returning to your previous stance. Damp sweat made its presence known again, this time on your forehead. Letting out staggering breaths, with clenched fists to your sides. A loud static began to override your hearing, unable to properly hear the approaching figure. All you can make out is the feeling of a steady arm around you before you blank into darkness.
“Shit.” He murmurs, slinging his arms under your legs and back so effortlessly. You looked like you had seen a ghost with how pale you were. He was unsure of why, until he had felt you. You were warm, unusually warm. Practically running a fever. He didn’t think you’d be so careless to come to work while sick, considering how reserved and mature you acted. Though, you looked fine when he saw you last night. Maybe it was the cold that had gotten you sick, he reasons.
He made his way through empty hallways, passing by other sectors occupied by other players training. Turning a corner into another room, setting you down gently on the firm bed. Definitely not used for its actual purpose, judging by how tough it was. He almost feels bad for leaving you to sleep on it. You looked peaceful sleeping, like this was your first time having a proper rest in a while. The discoloration under your eyes gave it away immediately. He doesn’t know why but he feels compelled to stay.
Just for a bit. Just until the nurse comes back.
-
A static white ceiling greets you out of your sleepy haze, your muscles slowly aching from the rough mattress. A nurse had her back to you, rummaging through different medicines in a box. You don’t have the energy to alert her that you have woken up, instead just quietly observing the room until she turns around.
“Oh you’re up!” She said, with surprise, “How are you feeling? You’ve got quite the fever.”
Fever? Since when? You raise a hand to your forehead in disbelief. Much to your demise, she was right. She senses your confusion and doesn’t bother to wait for your questions.
“You passed out from exhaustion, inducing a fever of your own.” She answers, handing you a vial of medicine, “Please take these for a few days until you start to feel better.” You twist the vial in your hand, trying to recollect your thoughts.
“How'd I get here?” You ask softly, still trying to make sense of the situation. She turns to put back the box of meds back in the cabinet above. “Ah, some player carried you here. I couldn’t quite see his jersey, but he was blonde with blue ends.”
“It’s alright, thank you anyway.” You announce, getting up quickly so as to not overstay your visit. She utters a feeble “stay home” as you walk out to leave. You don’t know whether you should feel grateful or embarrassed.
Nonetheless, it was still nice of him.
You didn’t think he knew what it meant to be nice.