chapter fourteen

"OKAY BUT I THINK he might actually be dead, Nat. I'm talking ninety, ninety-five percent sure here."

"Vika-"

"No, but I'm serious this time," I insist, leaning over the unconscious man and scanning his face for any hint of movement. There's nothing. I frown. "Nat, listen, he hasn't moved at all."

A tired sigh spills from the other end of the line. "You said that the last five times you called, and every time he's ended up moving. He's alive, just sleeping. People don't usually break into interpretive dance numbers when they're sleeping, if that's what you're waiting for."

I shift in my spot perched on the edge of the bed, close enough to get a good look, but enough distance that I won't disturb his sleep/death, the answer to whether he ends up moving in the next five minutes or not.

And the soup is only mildly helping.

I take another spoonful. "This time I'm serious-serious. I was the last person he saw before he fell unconscious. What if I'm too hot? What if it's my hotness that killed him?"

"Serious-serious."

I snort. "Okay, that was a joke, but really, I'm worried. He hasn't been moving. I'm genuinely concerned for his well-being here." I hold a breath as I peer over him again, only to be met with the same stoic, basically-dead expression.

The lack of frown on his face is the most upsetting thing, honestly.

"Is he breathing?" Nat asks, but the drawl in her voice already knows the answer.

I pause. The quiet is broken by soft, slight breaths. "... Yes," I answer, begrudgingly.

"Then he's fine. Didn't Mark say when he came by that this isn't really that rare? Noel overworked himself and has a small fever now. That's why he passed out. He needs to sleep it off," Nat reassures me for the umpteenth time, but I can't stop worrying at my bottom lip.

"Fine, fine, I'll believe you. Know that you'll be footing my therapy bill when he dies on my watch."

Nat laughs. "I promise. And Mark made some soup for him when he wakes up, right? So, it'll be fine. Unless- you aren't eating Noel's death-bed soup, are you, Vika?"

"... No."

Nat heaves a sigh, but it's betrayed by the lilt of a chuckle, and I can practically see her rolling her eyes from miles away. "Just make sure there's some left for the sick man when he wakes up, alright? You have a job now, you can't be stealing from the sickly."

"Can do!" I chirp, spooning up another mouthful of broth. "Still don't understand why I'm the one that has to nurse him back to health. I mean, I feel like I'm the most unqualified person in the current circle to do that. I've had to replace Nikki's fish like three different times."

"Well, Mark has to stay at the office for a project because of his awful boss, and I have to entertain Mark's sister for this pre-bridal shower-whatever. Unless, do you want to switch with me?"

The thought of Mark's sister, Cecilia, and her offensively nasal voice that still haunts the corners of my darkest nightmares causes me to pull a face. It doesn't help that not getting the maid of honour position over Nat's longest and closest friend apparently means Cecilia's entitled to a mountain of passive aggressive comments, so I have to suppress a gag at the thought of spending more than five minutes with her.

"I think I was born to be a nurse, honestly."

Nat snorts. "That's what I thought."

Muffled in the background, I can hear something surprisingly insincere form around a, "Who's that? Is that Vika? Tell her I said hi and that I wish she could've come," and my face immediately drops.

"Tell Cecilia to suck my dick."

"Vika says hi back!" Nat supplies instead, her voice uncharacteristically bright and cheery. I fight back a laugh. There's a pause, and a small groan trickles from the other end. "That offer still stands, by the way. Feel free to save me from this- yes, I'll be right in! Don't mind me!"

"Oh, what was that? I think Noel's moving! Oh man, gotta go! See you later! Have fun!"

Nat laughs as I click off the phone, and once again I'm surrounded by a thick silence in the room. I carefully place the soup on the floor, then lean over Noel's resting figure. His lips are parted. The small rise and fall of his chest reveals some kind of sentience, but I can't soothe the gnawing worry that's been eating away at me since he'd dropped almost-dead in the doorway.

Despite everyone's casual attitude, I can't convince myself that I shouldn't be anxious. Especially when I'd slapped him once, maybe twice if cameras were watching, and I'd gotten no response at all.

Was that weird of me? That instantaneous fainting makes me the smallest bit alarmed for his safety?

With my breath hitched in my throat, I gingerly place the back of my hand against his forehead. It's warm to the touch. A frown tugs on the edges of my mouth, the burning of his skin only further spurring my concern.

It's strange seeing him more helpless than I ever have before, a stark contrast to his usual cool and composed self. A part of me wonders if overworking himself is the reason he hasn't been around the condo.

I can't decide if I want to slap him upside the head or tuck him in.

As I move to pull away, movement passes over his features, and I freeze. His lashes flutter open, and he draws a deep breath, dazed brown eyes reaching mine. "Vika?" he murmurs, brows pinched in confusion.

I retract my hand, curling it into a fist with wide eyes. "Sorry, I didn't mean- I'll go. Rest up. You should be sleeping."

He seizes a grip on my wrist and pulls my hand back. His eyes are hooded, still lingering in the dimension between sleep and awake, but they're earnest in the way that warms something in my chest.

"Stay?" he asks, his voice soft and painfully vulnerable.

I blink, only air passing through my mouth when it parts for an answer. Then his eyes are drifting close and he's gently snoring once again before I can give him any reply.

The hold he has on me relaxes, arms falling back to his sides, but I'm still paralyzed. There's a beat of silence where I'm unsure if even breathing is okay. Shock is thick like cement in all my veins, but it slowly melts away as I look down to Noel's sleeping face.

When I'm almost absolutely sure that Noel hasn't been abducted by even weirder aliens than his usual species, a small sigh escapes my lips, and I slowly withdraw my hand. The sound of his voice, small and unsure, is still echoing in my mind.

I take an uneasy glance to the door, to the laptop I'd brought in, and then to Noel once again. The logical part of my brain reasons that fever speak is like vodka on the tongue, but the precarious swirl of emotion in my throat disagrees, and I sigh again.

"Looks like it's a Project Runway marathon type of night," I say to no one in particular.

I settle myself with my back against the bed, a fleece blanket wrapped around me. There's a good twenty minutes of me trying to battle between my budding concern for his life and the selfish voice of disappointment, how this wasn't playing out the way that I'd originally planned the night to go. Both of these thoughts are weighing on my shoulders like globe-shaped boulders, so I concentrate on my laptop screen instead, learning the riveting difference between red and blood orange.

I'm not sure when the afternoon light surrenders to the softness of twilight, or before night ends up devouring the sky, but then I'm rubbing the sleep out of my eyes with a yawn, head lolling back and legs falling asleep sporadically, and I'm out.

When my senses finally return, there's an irritating trickle of light peeking through the blinds. Unfortunately for me, it's landing straight on my face and demanding my full attention. My eyelids are heavy, straining against any effort of consciousness, especially with the softness that's reaching up to cup my cheek, but eventually I yield to the light.

I stretch, and when I finally blink awake, it dawns on me that while I'm still in Mark's room, I'm definitely not on Mark's hardwood floors. A goose-feathered pillow and plush duvet are soft underneath me, and I'm all alone.

Panic bursts in my chest. I shoot up into a sitting position, whipping my gaze around the room.

"Noel?" I call out tentatively.

Footsteps respond to my question, and suddenly Noel's standing in the doorway, taking a sip of the soup held in his hands. His dark hair is mussed, but the red tinge seems to have faded from his cheeks.

He's seemed to have found his glasses that I'd gingerly placed on the end table, miraculously unharmed by his fall. As my gaze drags along him for a quick wellness check, I have to do a double-take.

"Sweatpants?"

His gaze drops to light gray sweatpants and bare feet, his mouth twitching. "They're Mark's? I do wear other clothes than dress shirts, if that's what you're asking," he says, flat stare meeting my disbelief as he pushes his glasses up. "Contrary to your constant assertions, I'm not actually a robot."

I frown. "Looks like the damage was worse than I thought. And it's aliens, not robots, get it right Noel."

Despite the drawl of my voice, and the scoff from Noel that follows, I can't help the soothing waves of relief that are coursing through me at the sight of him standing on his own two feet, seemingly okay, not dead at least. It's a far-cry from the man who'd held my wrist and asked me to stay, but it's oceans closer to the Noel I know.

"Sleep okay?" he asks, and I'm slightly taken aback by how sincere it sounds.

"I'd recommend you dying somewhere a lot comfier next time. May I suggest a cloud, or a bouncy castle? Noel Guard Duty is some pretty heavy duty stuff." I roll my shoulders, a lion-like yawn spilling from my lips as I stretch. I can only imagine the mascara smudges under my eyes. "I accept payments only in cash. And as we already know, my time isn't cheap."

He pauses, eyes widening. "Oh. Um, how much should I give you?"

I blink and give a very lady-like snort. He shifts uncomfortably, refusing to meet my gaze. A tinge of pink that has nothing to do with a fever crosses his cheeks.

It's ridiculous that I have to remind myself that I probably shouldn't jump the man who was almost dead less than twelve hours ago.

"Jesus Christ, a thank you will suffice, Noel. We'll talk numbers later." I beam.

"You didn't have to stay the entire time. I didn't mean to- it happens all the time. Big presentation. Lack of sleep." He takes another sip of his soup and averts his eyes. "Sorry if I scared you."

"Sorry? Is that your very bad way of saying thank you? Listen, it's easy. Say it with me. Thank you. You're the best, Vika. I'm writing you into my will right now, Vika. Now repeat that back to me."

The endearing and fumbling shame has evaporated now, his usual dry look of discontent returning with full force as he rolls his eyes at me. "There's some leftover soup in the kitchen, if you feel inclined. Watching garbage TV must really take a toll on you."

I'm convinced he really did turn into a different person for a second back there, when he'd tugged so weakly on my wrist. He looks too pleased with himself to ever be that vulnerable.

"First of all, Project Runway is an art form. Second of all, I changed my mind. You can repay me by feeding me soup in bed. I'm waiting. You owe me. I'm talking spoon-fed here." I fold my arms over my chest and shift to get more comfortable in my seat, grinning.

The corner of Noel's mouth ticks upward. "I'll leave a hundred on the counter. Next to the soup. Which you will be getting yourself."

Before I can say anything, he and his pretentiously cocked brow have disappeared from the doorway and down the hall. A few aborted, half-human noises leave my mouth.

"Come on, Noel! I deserve compensation! Hand feeding me isn't too much to ask! Noel! Noel? .... Were you serious about that hundred dollars, though?"

When I don't get any response in return, I heave a sigh and drag myself from the comforts of Mark's bed to the shower. As I'd expected, a quick glance in the mirror reveals chaotic bedhead and raccoon eyes. A quick flash of Noel from the other night crosses my mind, whispering promises into my ear that made my knees weak, and then immediately dissolves.

I'm wholly convinced that this is all Nikki's voodoo juju and I'm never going to get laid again. All because I killed a couple of her goldfish.

That hundred dollars better be an actual thing.

When I've finally cleaned myself up to semi-presentable standards, I try to convince myself not all hope is lost as I swipe a few coats of mascara, and find Noel lounging in the living room. There's a computer on his lap instead of Cleo and an empty bowl of soup left on the coffee table. He doesn't hear me until I dump myself on the couch next to him.

"There was no money in the kitchen, by the way. I nursed you back to health, and this is the thanks I get? Lies? Deception?"

He shoots me a measured look. "I thought we were over trying to extort me for money."

"But I actually earned it this time! You were all like, Vika, don't leave me, I'm so weak, I need you to nurse me back to health. You even grabbed my wrist like a little puppy or something. It was adorable," I tell him, smirking as I shift closer.

His eyes widen "I did not."

"After you even tried to have sex with me. I had to fight you off me, like damn, I didn't know you were that into me, Noel. If you wanted some, you could've just asked nicely."

Okay, maybe the voodoo juju is just the regular kind of karma, but Noel's horrified face might be one of the funniest things I've ever seen in my entire life.

His mouth is gaping. "I did not."

It's 0.2 seconds before I'm crumbling into laughter and waving him off, barely getting a word out, actually snorting like a pig at one point. "Okay, I'm sorry. The second part wasn't true. I did nurse you back to health, and you did ask me to stay by your side, but I promise it was a very G-rated ordeal. But you were seriously concerned there for a second, oh my. I'm sorry to generate that nightmare fuel for you."

I'm still laughing when Noel pauses, pinching his brows and sizing me up. "Vika-"

"Yes, I did snort like a pig. Listen, my body makes noises sometimes, and we all gotta live with it."

"I'm not disturbed by touching you, I'm disturbed by doing it half asleep. Vika, if I'm going to touch you, I want to remember it."

The end of my sentence dies on my lips, and suddenly I'm being consumed by Noel's dark gaze, overwhelming me all at once. If those words had been said by anyone else, I'm sure I would've laughed in their faces, but I can barely catch my breath now. I wonder if fevers are contagious as a flush crawls up my neck.

"Then touch me."

I swallow, hard, and meet his gaze.

And then he does.