Matt
I wake up one bright April morning to my phone buzzing. With a groan, I roll over and find it's only five minutes till my alarm goes off. My annoyance fades and I fumble in the morning light to find my phone. A text from Mallory is what I find.
Won't be at work today. Woke up with a fever and a sore throat, going to crawl back into bed and pretend I don't have any responsibilities.
"Poor thing," I say aloud, running a hand through my hair and remembering that she'd looked a little out of it yesterday.
Hope you feel better soon. Get some rest. <3
I toss my phone back on my nightstand and roll out of bed when my alarm rings. When I get out of the shower, I find Mallory has texted me a simple 'Thanks' and, presumably, gone back to bed.
It feels weird to not see her car in the parking lot when I pull in, or hear her laugh when I enter the studio. The place seems duller, somehow, without her there.
So when we call the day quits, I find myself leaning against the front of my car, fiddling with my keys. One shines more than the rest, the bright silver of a key never used before. My stomach flutters when I look at it—exchanging apartment keys with your girlfriend was, after all, a massive step in a relationship. One that we'd just taken last week.
Hoping she'll appreciate the gesture, I make up my mind.
~~~
The key fits the lock effortlessly, though I'm balancing a bag full of takeout and a bottle of ginger ale. I step inside Mal's apartment and shut the door as quietly as I can, then toe off my shoes and leave them by the door. With luck, it'll be enough to keep my footsteps from waking her.
I stow the soda in the fridge and set about making room for the four cartons of soup I'd brought from Benny's. I hadn't known which kind she'd like, so I'd hedged my bets and gotten several, hoping at least one would strike her fancy.
With that all settled, I scribble her a note to let her know I'd been here, retrieve a glass of water and a packet of crackers, and pad down the hallway to her room.
Her door is ajar and the late afternoon light filters through the gap. I nudge the door open wider as quietly as I can, but kick myself when Mallory's blonde head immediately pokes out of the covers.
"Did I wake you?"
She shakes her head but says nothing. I take a few tentative steps in, setting the crackers and water on her nightstand. She stares at my offering for a moment, before looking back to me.
"I brought soup," I offer, feeling awkward and jamming my hands in my pockets. "Wasn't sure what kind you'd want, so I got a few. They're in the fridge whenever you want some."
A smile comes over her pale face and I take it as a 'thank you.' What I'm not expecting is for it to quickly disappear and for her to say, "You can leave now."
Crap. I'd crossed a line, pushed too hard, done something she'd found unacceptable—
"Don't want you getting this," she continues, her voice so harsh it makes my own throat ache in sympathy. "It's awful."
I sigh in relief. She wasn't kicking me out because I'd offended her. "Been with you all week, Mal. If I'm going to get it, I've got it already."
"Point taken."
I take a few cautious steps toward the bed, taking the fact that she scoots over as an invitation to sit. She seems to curl around me as soon as I do, and I put a hand to her forehead, feeling an unnatural warmth as I do. "You've still got a fever," I note. "Have you been drinking water?"
"Some."
"Have some more."
She sits up and presses the cool glass to her forehead for a moment before taking a drink. "Thanks," she says, then leans back against her headboard and huffs. "I'm bored and miserable."
"I can try to fix one of those,"I offer. "Movie?"
"You're not busy?"
"I'd make time even if I was."
Mallory opens her mouth, as if to protest, then shuts it again and nods. "Be there in a minute."
I shut the door on my way out,wandering into the living room and taking a seat on her couch. And I do love her couch, I think to myself. It's sleek and modern without being stark, long enough for both of us to stretch out on, and all round incredibly comfortable.
I hear her cough from the other room and can't help sliding my gaze toward her bedroom door. Taking care of her when she's sick; there's another big step to put alongside exchanging keys. Next thing I know I'll be going grocery shopping with her, I think with a laugh.
It feels like, after years of waiting in a holding pattern, we're hurtling toward inevitability. As the thought comes to me, I wonder, exactly, what that inevitability is.
My reverie is interrupted by her reappearance. I offer her a smile that she slowly approaches, and when she makes her way over she grabs the throw that's tossed over the back of the couch, wraps it around herself, and curls against me.
"You hungry?" I ask, before she can get too comfortable. She shakes her head and presses closer. I smile again, press my lips to her forehead, and start searching for something to watch.
Mallory's breathing begins to even out within the first twenty minutes of the movie, and I'm fairly certain she's completely asleep withing thirty. I'm surprisingly content to be her body pillow, and in fact tuck her a little tighter to me.
The movie turns into white noise in the background, and I find my eyes drifting closed. While I'm aware enough that I'm not completely asleep, I do drop into a doze until the end credits roll and the silence becomes somewhere near deafening.
I feel Mal begin to stir a few minutes later. I skim my hand over her waist when she opens her eyes, sighs, and stretches. "Feel any better?"
"No," she says miserably. "Feel worse, if anything."
I hum sympathetically, though there's a part of me that's beginning to worry. I've known her for years—she's the type to work through the worst of colds, not sit in bed and do nothing. The fact that this one has her so wiped out concerns me. "You should go back to bed," I tell her. "You might feel better in the morning."
She nods, then says quietly, "You should go home."
I can't help but grimace. "You sure?" I sweep her hair from her face and watch as her eyes flutter closed again. "I'm not awfully fond of the idea of leaving you alone right now."
All of a sudden, she curls around me, like that fateful night at Whitney and Stephen's Christmas party. "No. In fact, I'm quite sure the only place I want you is right here."
Love and desire begin to war with something else inside me, something that feels like a dark combination of the two. "Right here is a good place to be," I murmur, pushing the internal battle aside for the moment. "Besides, I'm sure your couch is plenty comfortable to sleep on."
She peers up at me. "You're planning on sleeping on the couch?"
"Well. I mean..." The simple question, so innocent at its core and yet filled with something far deeper, makes my stomach twist. "You're sick, I'm not sleeping in your bed." Not that we hadn't shared a room before, but sleeping in her bed in her apartment seems far too soon, far too intimate... far too tempting, even if she was sick. I shove that thought away for later, too. "If you really want me to stay, that is."
"Yeah, I do."
The weight of her request crashes down on me all at once. "All right, yeah, I'll stay." I nudge her off me and get to my feet. "Just let me head back to my apartment, get some clothes and things."
"You sure?" Mallory asks.
I can't help but smile at her. "Yeah. Half an hour, I'll be back, all right?"
~~~
Twenty-eight minutes later, I find myself unlocking the door to a dim and quiet apartment. When I turn on the main light, I find a pile of blankets and pillows has appeared on the couch. A thin line of yellow shines through under the door to Mallory's bedroom, letting me know that she hasn't gone to sleep yet.
I drop my bag at the foot of the couch and knock on Mal's door, pushing it open when I hear her invite me. "I'm back," I say, poking my head in.
She sets down the book she was reading and shakes her head. "Thank you, Captain Obvious."
"Hey, that's Captain Literally to you." She giggles, the first real laugh I've heard out of her all day, and it brings a smile to my face. "Get some sleep, all right? I'll probably watch some TV, so come bother me if it's too loud."
She nods, but as I turn to go, says,"Matt?"
"Yeah?"
"Thanks," she says quietly. "For staying. It's been a long time since I've... since I've had someone take care of me."
I shrug, trying to act nonchalant. "Hey, in sickness and in health, right?" My breath stills in my chest as I hear my own words and I lean against the door frame, pretending I hadn't just used a line from a wedding vow to justify my actions. Whoops.
"Right." She doesn't seem alarmed by this fact and I'm almost surprised. "Night then."
"Night. Feel better. Love you." I let out an entire lungful of air and scrub a hand through my hair when I shut her door behind me. Too soon, I tell myself, making my way back to the couch. Too soon to be making declarations like that, even if they were half joking. Maybe even too soon to inquire if we were heading in a direction where such promises might be exchanged in the future.
And later? says a small voice in my head. What about a year from now?
"In a year," I say to myself quietly, "I'll make any promises she'll let me keep."
~~~
My phone goes off at the usual time in the morning and I wake disoriented. It only takes a moment to remember where I am, and why. With a yawn and a sigh I toss the covers away. If last night was any indication, I'd be shocked if Mallory was planning on going to work today, but as tempting as it was to take a day off myself, the responsible side of me told me to get ready for the day.
I'm torn between eating or showering first, but the bathroom is so close to Mallory's bedroom I'm afraid I'll wake her if I chose the latter, so it's the former that wins out.
As it was, I need not have worried, because I'm in the middle of cooking some eggs when a pair of arms wrap around my waist. "That looks amazing," Mallory says, resting her chin on my shoulder.
"Someone's feeling better," I tease, leaning my head against hers.
"Better is a relative term," she says dryly. "But my throat doesn't hurt and I think I'm at least somewhat human again, so yes, I feel better. And I'm starving."
"That," I say, pressing my lips to her temple, "I can fix."
I marvel at how right it feels to sit and eat breakfast with her, to talk to her while I ready myself for the day. I tamp down the part of me that says I could get used to this, reminding myself that no matter how long I'd been in love with her, we'd only been together for a few short months. Too soon, I tell myself again.
No matter how easy this morning feels, how right, a glance at the time tells me I need to get moving if I'm going to make it to work today. With a sigh, I pull myself away and hop in the shower.
Voices come through over the sound of the water and I wonder if Mal turned on the TV. That would be the logical explanation, at least—it seems awfully early in the morning to have a visitor.
As it turns out, my first instinct was wrong. I emerge from the bathroom—wearing fresh jeans and a clean t-shirt that I'd picked up from my apartment last night, though still barefoot—scrubbing a towel through my hair. "Mal, where do you keep your—"
The words die on my lips when I see her standing at the front door, body coiled like a spring. One hand holds the door open a few feet and the other is clenched at her side. Whoever's standing on the other side has got her rattled, though I can't see who it is.
"Get out," I hear her hiss, and the towel in my hand falls to the floor in a heap when I get a glimpse of who's standing there.
Luke.
He sneers at the sight of me. "So is that why you never wanted me to stay over? Crowd control?"
"Take a good long look at that couch, Luke, because that's where I slept last night," I retort. An intensely male need to mark what's mine comes over me and I wrap an arm around Mal's waist.
"You make her mad, then?" he scoffs.
"I thought I told you to get out," Mallory says, crossing her arms and sending Luke a glare that would definitely have him on the ground, if looks could kill. "If you come here again I'll get a restraining order."
His face twists into an ugly scowl. "Fine, if that's how you're going to be. Was just trying to help." He fixes his gaze on me and smirks. "See you around, Pretty Boy."
Mallory slams the door with much more force than necessary, then pushes away from my grasp. "What a lousy, miserable, messed up excuse for a human being. Trying to help, what does he even mean?"
I tuck my hands in my pockets, letting her rant and trying to cool the quiet rage that's building inside me. "Mal," I say when she stops for a breath. "He's just trying to make you mad. Might be trying to get you to lash out at him. Just breathe for a minute, all right?"
She follows my advice, pressing her palms to her eyes. "I know. He's just... he likes to play mind games." Her eyes are pleading when she looks up at me. "Please... please be careful."
"I'm always careful," I assure her.
"I know. But I just have this awful feeling he might try to hurt you to get back at me."