It was the rattling of the front door handle that jolted me awake, cutting through the thick haze of fever and exhaustion.
When I’d came home from work earlier, my only priority had been to snuggle up in my duvet and ride out the germs that were taking over my body.
Now as I pushed myself upright, every muscle ached and my head pounded. My throat felt raw, my nose completely blocked, and for a moment, I just sat there, dazed, as my sluggish mind struggled to process what I’d just heard.
There it was again…
The distinct sound of hinges whining and the front door creaking open.
My heart lurched in my chest, instinct kicking in before reason could. I reached blindly under my bed, fingers curling around the familiar worn handle of the baseball bat I never got rid of… just in case.
I swung my legs out of bed, my vision swimming, and padded toward the top of the stairs, bat raised. My breath came ragged through my blocked nose, every inch of me aching, but I tightened my grip, ready to swing if I had to.
Then I saw her.
Agatha, stood in the front hall, one brow arched, her wavy brunette hair spilling over her shoulders, a bag of groceries tucked under her arm, and the key I’d given her held up between two fingers.
She met my fevered stare and smirked.
“I’d say it’s good to see you, but considering you look like a ghost with a grudge, I might take that back.”
My grip on the baseball bat loosened as relief flooded me, leaving me lightheaded. I exhaled, half in exhaustion, half in exasperation.
“Jesus, Agatha, you nearly scared the life out of me!”
She hummed, slipping the key into her coat pocket as she nudged the door shut with her hip.
“You really thought someone was breaking in? In this weather?”
She gestured toward the window, where rain poured against the glass.
I blinked blearily. I hadn’t even noticed.
I started down the stairs, the wood creaking beneath my feet as Agatha moved forward, reaching for me, but stopping short.
“Christ, you look awful.”
I didn’t even have the energy to be offended.
“You’re not supposed to be here,” I rasped, swaying slightly.
Agatha sighed, rolling her eyes before grabbing my arm, steadying me with a firm grip.
“You weren’t answering your phone, and knowing you, I figured you were either unconscious, dead, or too stubborn to admit you needed help.” She raised a manicured brow. “Seems like a mix of all three.”
I grumbled something unintelligible, too tired to argue.
Agatha huffed, shaking her head before pressing the back of her hand to my forehead.
“Ugh. Y/N you’re burning up. You’re useless like this.”
I managed a weak glare. “I was sleeping.”
She just tutted at me. “Yeah, well, now you’re awake. And since I’m already here, you’re going to let me take care of you.”
It wasn’t a request.
She didn’t wait for my protest, just looped an arm around my waist and started guiding me back up the stairs. I felt too exhausted to fight her, so I let her half-drag me towards my room, the warmth of her body steady against my own.
“Why do you even have a bat?” she muttered, side-eyeing it as I let it clatter to the floor.
I sniffed weakly. “Old habits from when I lived in New York.”
Agatha scoffed. “You live in the suburbs now. What, are you worried about feral raccoons?”
I wanted to say something snarky back, but I didn’t answer, instead, I leaned against her as the fever threatened to pull me under again. I heard her sigh, but she didn’t complain, she just kept me upright until we reach my bedroom.
She sat me on the bed, then disappeared into the en-suite, a moment later returning with a damp face cloth.
“You didn’t have to come,” I mumble. “I don’t want you getting sick too”.
Agatha rolled her eyes but didn’t pull away, dabbing the cool cloth against my forehead with surprising gentleness.
“Please,” she said dryly. “You think this is enough to take me down? I’ve survived worse.”
And I was under no illusion she most definitely had…
I huffed a weak laugh, though it immediately turned into a dry cough. Agatha sighed, shaking her head as she set the cloth aside.
“You sound disgusting.”
I shot her a tired glare. “Wow. Who said romance was dead?”
She smirked, as she brushed a strand of damp hair away from my face. “You knew what you signed up for.”
I did. I knew exactly who Agatha was… the sharp edges, the wicked sarcasm, the exasperated eye rolls she pretended were all she had to offer. But I also knew this side of her, the one not everyone got to see. The one that showed up, late on a random wednesday night with groceries, who let herself into my house, and who put up with my fevered nonsense without hesitation
She stood up abruptly. “You need fluids and some paracetamol.”
“I need sleep,” I mumbled, already sinking back down onto the mattress.
“Yeah, well, I don’t care.”
I barely registered the sound of Agatha heading back downstairs, the fever dragging me back towards unconsciousness.
I could hear the faint rustle of the grocery bag downstairs and the clink of something against the kitchen counter.
Agatha moved through my house with an ease that still surprised me sometimes. Even though we didn’t live together, she’d made herself at home in ways I’d never expected. She knew where I kept the glasses, what drawer held the medicine, which cabinet held the tea she pretends she doesn’t like but always drinks whenever she’s here.
I closed my eyes, intending to rest just for a second, but the fever fog made time slippery. It felt like only a moment before Agatha was back, standing over me with a sports drink, a strip of paracetamol, and the unmistakable air of someone who would force-feed me if necessary.
“Alright, sit up.”
“Can’t.” I groaned in protest.
Agatha let out a long-suffering sigh before she set the bottle down and reached for me. With far too little effort, she hauled me up, steadying me with a hand against my back.
“You're so dramatic.”
“You woke me up for this.”
“Yeah, because I like you alive.” She rolled her eyes. “Now open up.”
She handed me two pills, then twisted the cap off the drink and held it out to me. I took both without complaint, sipping slowly, the cold liquid easing some of the rawness in my throat.
Agatha watched me, arms crossed, brow slightly furrowed. It was subtle, but I knew her well enough to see it, the worry she wouldn’t admit to.
I lowered the drink, leaning my head back against the pillows.
“You really didn’t have to come all the way here,” I rasped.
She tutted, pressing the back of her hand to my forehead again.
“And let you die alone in this sad little house?” She scoffed. “Not a chance.”
I smirked weakly. “Wow. You do care.”
She clicked her tongue. “Don’t start rumours.” But I saw the small smile that tugged at the corner of her lips, and felt the way her fingers lingered against my flushed skin.
She stood up, brushing imaginary dust from her jeans.
“Alright, you’re drugged up, hydrated, and slightly less pathetic. I’d say my work here is done.”
I blinked up at her. “You’re leaving?”
Agatha tilted her head, considering me with those sharp blue eyes, a glint of mischief flickering across them.
“Nope,” she said casually, as if the thought of leaving had never seriously crossed her mind.
She grabbed the throw blanket from the bottom of the bed, and draped it over her shoulders like a cape before settling down on the bed next to me.
"You don’t have to stay,” I murmured, my eyelids already growing heavy again.
She shot me a look, her brow raised. “You really think I’d leave you like this?”
I swallowed, my throat still raw. “You hate sick people.”
“I hate needy sick people,” she corrected, shifting to get comfortable. “You’re tolerable.”
I smirked weakly. “Gee, thanks.”
I watched her for a moment, the dim glow from the bedside lamp casting soft shadows over her face. She looked comfortable, like she belonged here, like this wasn’t just some late night rescue mission but something normal, something expected.
Maybe, in a way, it was.
I shifted slightly, but before I could even think about adjusting the duvet, Agatha was already moving. She reached over, pulling the covers higher over me. It was a simple gesture, but it made something warm settle deep in my chest.
“You’ll probably gonna catch this, you know,” I murmured, my voice getting croaker.
Agatha scoffed, rolling onto her side to face me. “Please. I don’t get sick.”
I raised a skeptical brow.
She smirked, reaching out to brush a stray strand of hair behind my ear. “But if I do, I’ll make sure you suffer twice as much when you take care of me.”
I let out a breathy laugh, weak but genuine. “Sounds about right.”
I shifted against her, the feel of her body next to mine, giving me more comfort and relief than any cold or flu medication ever could.
Her fingers moved up to my hair, nails grazing lightly against my scalp in a slow, soothing motion. A shiver ran down my spine, but not from the fever this time.
I let out a sigh, my body instinctively melting further into her warmth. The exhaustion that had been weighing me down all night didn’t feel as heavy anymore, not with her here, not with her touch settling me in a way nothing else could.
“You’re like a cat,” Agatha mused, her voice low, amused. “Curling up against me like I’m your personal heater.”
I hummed against her shoulder, too tired to argue. “You’re warm.”
“Of course I am.” I could hear the smirk in her voice. “I run on pure spite.”
I managed a weak chuckle, and her fingers stilled in my hair for just a second before she continued, her movements slower, more deliberate this time.
A comfortable silence settled between us. Agatha didn’t speak, didn’t tease, just kept running her fingers through my hair, her nails tracing soothing circles against my scalp. It was such a small thing, but it made me feel safe in a way I hadn’t realised I needed.
My fevered mind drifted, the warmth of her, the gentle touch, lulling me into something close to sleep.
“You’re not staying all night, are you?” I mumbled, my voice barely above a whisper.
Agatha shifted slightly, just enough to pull the blankets up higher over both of us.
“I’m not going anywhere, hon,” she murmured, her breath warm against my temple. “Someone needs to keep watch for those feral raccoons of yours,” she teased.
I didn’t have the energy to keep up with her sarcasm. Instead, I just let my body relax, my head sinking into the pillow. Agatha reached over, her fingers finding mine under the blankets, her grip steady and warm.
“Sleep,” she murmured, softer now.
And this time, with her beside me, I did.
***
I jolted awake, my breath ragged, my body now drenched in a cold sweat. My fever-riddled mind still clung to the edges of the dream that had swallowed me whole; flashes of distorted faces, whispered voices that melted away the second I opened my eyes. My pulse pounded in my ears, and for a split second, I wasn’t sure where I was.
Then the soft glow of the bedside lamp flickered on, and a familiar voice, low and steady, cut through the haze.
“Easy, hon,” Agatha murmured, her fingers already brushing the damp hair away from my forehead. “It was just a fever dream. You’re alright.”
I blinked at her, trying to steady myself, to push past the disorientation. She was sitting up beside me, her expression unreadable, but her touch was gentle.
It wasn’t until my eyes adjusted to the light that I noticed…
Gone were her dark jeans and simple green jumper. Instead, she wore one of my old college T-shirts, the fabric loose and worn over her body. I blinked again, sluggish.
“Are you wearing my T-shirt?”
Agatha arched a brow, but the corner of her mouth twitched.
“Your fever must really be frying your brain if that’s what you’re focusing on.”
I huffed out a breath, my body too drained to manage a proper retort.
“Just… wasn’t expecting it,” I mumbled, my voice rough from sleep and the soreness of my throat.
I let my head fall back against the pillow, my body still aching like a bitch. But the fever haze was lifting slightly, and with it, my awareness of just how long she must have been here.
“…Have you had any sleep?” I rasped.
Agatha scoffed. “Not much, thanks to you.”
I frowned, guilt creeping in. “You should’ve gone home.”
She gave me a pointed look. “Right. And let you drown in your own sweat, probably forgetting to take your meds? Sure, great plan.”
I sighed, but there was no fight left in me. Instead, I let my gaze linger on her, the way she looked so comfortable in my space. The way her sharp blue eyes softened just slightly as she watched me, as if she were still trying to convince herself I was okay.
“…You look good in my shirt,” I muttered, my fevered brain too sluggish to filter the thought before it slipped out.
Agatha blinked, then let out a low chuckle, shaking her head.
“Unbelievable. You’re half-dead and still trying to flirt.”
I gave her a weak smirk. “What can I say, I can’t help it”.
Agatha rolled her eyes, but there was the smallest dusting of pink high on her cheekbones.
She sighed dramatically, shifting closer before pressing the back of her hand to my forehead again.
“Alright, Casanova, let’s worry about getting you feeling better before you start making declarations of love, yeah?”
“You know I do love you,” I murmured, my voice rough, barely above a whisper.
Agatha’s fingers stilled against my forehead. For a second, she didn’t say anything, and I cracked my eyes open, fighting through the exhaustion just to see her reaction.
She was watching me, her blue eyes unreadable, but something in her expression had softened… just a fraction, just enough for me to see it.
Then, like clockwork, she scoffed. “Yeah, well, you’re delirious, so I’m not sure that counts.”
I let out a weak chuckle, though it barely carried any strength.
“You know I mean it.”
She didn’t roll her eyes this time. She didn’t deflect. Instead, she exhaled slowly, then leaned in just enough to press a kiss to my forehead. It was quick, barely more than a brush of her lips, but the warmth of it lingered.
“I know,” she murmured. “I love you too”.
The words settled over me, warm and steady, like she wasn’t just saying them because I was sick, like she meant them in the way she always did things—with certainty, with intention.
A weak, lopsided smile tugged at my lips. “You do?”
My voice was rough, barely above a whisper, but I couldn’t help myself.
Agatha rolled her eyes, but her hand moved against my cheek, her thumb brushing along my skin.
“Obviously.”
I let out a breathy laugh, though it barely had any strength behind it. “Took you long enough.”
She huffed, shaking her head, but there was no real exasperation in it. It was just her. Just us.
“Don’t get used to it,” she teased, but her voice was quieter now, softer.
I could feel sleep creeping in again, my body still aching, but the fever didn’t feel as heavy anymore. Not with her here. Not with the warmth of her beside me, her hand still cradling my face like I was something precious.
“Too late,” I murmured weakly, exhaustion pulling at me, but the lingering unease from the fever dream still clung to my skin. I didn’t want to close my eyes just yet. I didn’t want to get lost again in the murky delirium of my fever.
“Just talk to me,” I rasped, my throat raw. “Anything. Please.”
Agatha exhaled, her thumb absently brushing along the back of my hand where it now rested against her stomach. The fabric of my old T-shirt balled in my hand.
“Talk to you, huh?” she murmured, amusement laced in her voice, though there was no real mockery behind it. “What, should I read you a bedtime story?”
I let out a weak chuckle, my voice still hoarse. “Something like that.”
She hummed, thoughtful, her fingers absentmindedly tracing light patterns against my arm.
“Alright, let’s see… Once upon a time, there was a stubborn idiot who refused to rest when they were sick...”
I groaned. “Agatha”.
She scoffed, but I could hear the amusement beneath it. There was a pause, then, after a beat, she started speaking—soft, easy, like she didn’t even have to think about it.
She told me about the drive over, about how she nearly cussed out some guy who cut her off. She grumbled about the overpriced cold medicine she’d bought, complained about the sad excuse for groceries I had in the house, muttering about how she should’ve just brought soup instead of trusting that I had anything edible in my fridge.
I let her voice wash over me, familiar and steady, settling me more than anything else could.
At some point, her fingers drifted back up into my hair, nails scratching lightly against my scalp. My body still felt heavy, but my chest felt lighter now, the shadows of my earlier dream fading with every word she spoke.
My eyelids grew heavier, my breathing evening out. I tried to fight it, to hold onto the moment just a little longer, but sleep pulled at me relentlessly.
Agatha must have noticed because she slowed her words, her voice dropping even softer.
“Finally giving in?” she murmured.
I barely had the energy to nod.
Her fingers trailed gently through my hair one last time before settling against my cheek.
“I’m still here, hon,” she said, so quiet I almost didn’t hear it. “Go to sleep.”
And this time, I did.