Coming Up For Air | ✓

26 | stuck like glue

Stella's faintly convinced she's dying.

Or maybe not dying—exactly.

But there's no question: they're going to miss their date.

She's going to miss her one and only proper date with Jake before getting on an airplane to move across the country, and it's all her fault.

Or well, maybe it's not entirely her fault.

Stupid, stupid germs.

Head throbbing, every sore bone in her tense body strains underneath her weight as she carefully walks down the staircase. Her hand clutches the wooden railing as she moves at snail pace. Yet, black spots soon blur before her eyes, turning her vision hazy.

No. No. Nope. Bad idea.

Breath ragged, disappointment curling at the pit of her stomach, she falls into a seat atop one of the wooden steps. Letting her head fall into her palm, she pinches the bridge of her snotty nose as she tries to force a circle of air through. Her lungs, her heart, her ribs—everything—aches in loud protest at the effort.

With a sigh, she runs her fingers through her tousled hair—already messy from Jake's hands in it the night before—sensing her chest tighten with her every shallow breath.

She rubs her palms over her goose bumped skin, overcome by a chill just as Jake comes around the corner of the kitchen space, cups of steaming tea in hand—dressed in his pink sweater, mouth half-caught in a smile. "Hey. I thought we agreed you'd stay in bed?"

Stella groans as she flushes with warmth, even as she still desperately rubs at her arms; it seems she's running cold and warm at once. Then, meeting Jake's gaze, she lifts her shoulder in a lazy shrug. "Bed got boring."

Faint amusement tugs at Jake's lips as he shakes his head, setting the two cups on one of the shelves of the wide bookcase. Walking over to her, he gently cups his hands around her elbows to help her to her feet. "Come on."

Stella winces as her head gives a painful throw, leaning back against Jake's palm where it lingers on the small of her back as she relishes in the flickering moment of not having to be solely responsible of keeping herself upright as he guides her to the couch.

Falling into a cross legged seat, she hugs one of the decorative pillows to her chest, letting out another hoarse, snotty groan. "I'm sick."

Sympathy lines Jake' soft smile. "I know."

Stella raises her hand to the side of her head in an attempt to soothe the ache pressing down on her skull. "We were supposed to go on our date today."

"I know."

"What time is it?"

Jake places a box of Kleenex tissues next to her, fingers absentmindedly brushing over her shoulder. "Just past 10."

Stella grabs a Kleenex, thumbing at the paper. "Turn around,"

A smile stretches across Jake's features but he complies to her wish, crossing the room to the bookcase to fetch the two cups of tea as she blows her nose.

Stella grimaces at the sound before crumpling the paper up into a ball, letting it fall to her side as she lets out yet another long, moaning groan. "I never get sick."

"I know," The cushions shift underneath her as Jake sits down at the other end of the couch, handing her one of the tea cups. "You told me—a few times."

Stella shrugs, gently cupping the mug, the ceramic warm against her palms as she gazes down at the liquid swimming around it. Her lips twitch up, the steam hitting her cheeks. "Is that chamomile?"