The flu
Ingrid stumbled into the flat, the door clicking shut behind her with an almost deafening finality. She blinked sluggishly at the darkened living room, the faint light from the moon casting silver streaks across the furniture. Every muscle in her body ached, her head throbbed, and her throat burned with every shallow breath. The long flight back from Norway had done her no favours, and the flu she’d been trying to will away for the past few days had fully settled into her bones.
Deep down, she was thrilled to be home. She had missed Mapi more than words could say, the endless texts and sporadic video calls never quite filling the void of her absence. Normally, she would’ve marched straight into their bedroom and woken her up just to hear her voice, to feel her warmth. But tonight, she didn’t have the energy. She shrugged off her coat haphazardly in the hallway, dragging herself to their bedroom with her bag still slung over her shoulder.
The sight of Mapi curled up on her side, sound asleep, made Ingrid’s chest ache in a way that had nothing to do with her flu. Her girlfriend looked so peaceful, her dark lashes resting against her cheeks, her brown hair spilling over the pillow. Ingrid wanted nothing more than to slip into bed, wrap Mapi in her arms, and let the sound of her soft breathing lull her to sleep.
But she was too tired to even manage that. She dropped her bag by the foot of the bed, collapsing onto the mattress fully clothed. The cool sheets did little to soothe her fevered skin, and she didn’t have even have the strength to pull the covers over herself. Within moments, she was out cold.
The next morning, Mapi stirred as the first rays of sunlight filtered through the curtains. She yawned, stretching lazily before turning over, expecting to find an empty bed. Instead, she was greeted by the sight of Ingrid sprawled across the mattress, still in her travel clothes, her dark hair sticking to her damp forehead.
“¿Qué…?” María mumbled, her brow furrowing in confusion. Why hadn’t Ingrid woken her up last night? That wasn’t like her at all.
As she shifted closer, Mapi’s confusion turned into concern. Ingrid’s usually pale skin was flushed red with fever, and her breathing was shallow and raspy. Mapi pressed the back of her hand to Ingrid’s forehead, her eyes widening at how hot her skin felt.
“Oh, mi amor,” Mapi murmured softly, brushing a strand of hair away from Ingrid’s face. She leaned in, pressing her lips to Ingrid’s forehead to gauge her temperature further. The heat was almost alarming.
“Ingrid,” Mapi said gently, shaking her shoulder. “Princesa, despiértate.”
Ingrid stirred slightly, a low groan escaping her lips. She rolled onto her back, draping one arm over her eyes to block out the light. Her other hand weakly swatted in Mapi’s direction as if to say, “Not now.”
“Ingrid,” Mapi tried again, this time leaning over her more fully. She draped her arm across Ingrid’s waist, her other hand resting on the mattress beside her head. “Mi amor, wake up. Estás muy caliente.”
Ingrid coughed hoarsely, the sound scraping against her throat as she tried to shift. Her lips twitched into the barest hint of a smile when Mapi pressed a kiss to her burning cheek. Slowly, she dropped her arm, her fever-glazed green eyes blinking up at her girlfriend.
“María,” Ingrid rasped, her voice barely audible. Her hands clumsily came up to cup Mapi’s face, her thumbs brushing against her cheeks.
Mapi smiled softly, covering Ingrid’s hands with her own. “Buenos días, Princesa,” she said gently, her voice laced with concern.
The tender moment was abruptly interrupted when Ingrid whipped her head to the side, sneezing violently. Once. Twice. Three times in rapid succession. She groaned miserably, her hand clutching her throat as she tried to clear it, only to dissolve into another coughing fit.
“Okay, ya basta,” Mapi said firmly, sitting up. “You need medicine, Ingrid.”
Ingrid groaned again, her head lolling back against the pillow. “No quiero…” she mumbled.
Mapi ignored her protests, swinging her legs over the side of the bed and grabbing hold of Ingrid’s boots. She tugged them off one at a time, tossing them aside before moving to unbutton Ingrid’s shirt. Ingrid didn’t fight her, too feverish and exhausted to do more than mumble incoherently under her breath.
“Shh, mi amor,” Mapi said as she worked. “Let me take care of you.”
Once she had Ingrid stripped completely, Mapi grabbed a lightweight pair of pyjamas from the dresser. She helped Ingrid sit up, her girlfriend leaning heavily against her as she guided her arms into the sleeves of the shirt. Ingrid’s head lolled against Mapi’s shoulder, her fever making her pliant and hazy.
“María…” Ingrid murmured, her voice barely above a whisper.
“Estoy aquí,” María replied, pressing a kiss to the side of her head. “Almost done, Princesa.”
After buttoning up the pyjama shirt and pulling the trousers over Ingrid’s long legs, Mapi helped her lie back down. She disappeared into the bathroom briefly, returning with a glass of water, some Tylenol, and the flu medicine she’d bought months ago but had yet to open.
“Come on, Ingrid,” Mapi said softly, kneeling beside the bed. “You need to take this.”
Ingrid cracked one eye open, her brows furrowing in protest. “No quiero,” she muttered again, her voice hoarse.
“Por favor, mi amor,” Mapi coaxed, holding out the pills and the glass of water. “For me?”
Ingrid sighed heavily, her resistance crumbling at the sight of Mapi’s pleading eyes. With trembling hands, she took the pills and swallowed them down with a few sips of water, wincing as the cold liquid burned her throat. The flu medicine was next, and Ingrid’s face scrunched up in disgust.
“Gracias,” Mapi said, her voice warm as she brushed her fingers through Ingrid’s hair.
She set the glass aside and climbed into bed, guiding Ingrid beneath the covers before pulling her overheated frame close. Ingrid instinctively buried her face in Mapi’s neck, her arms wrapping weakly around her waist.
Mapi held her tightly, her hand slipping beneath Ingrid’s pyjama shirt to trail soothing patterns along the bare skin of her back. Her other hand rested on the back of Ingrid’s head, her fingertips grazing her scalp in slow, rhythmic motions.
“Shh, mi amor,” María whispered, her lips brushing against Ingrid’s temple. “Descansa. I’m here.”
Ingrid let out a soft hum, her body relaxing against María’s as the fever and exhaustion pulled her further into sleep. “Missed you,” she mumbled, her voice barely audible.
“Yo también, mi amor,” María replied, her lips brushing against Ingrid’s damp hair. “Duerme. Estoy aquí.”