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Pressure. Every inch of Lucia’s face was under some kind of pressure. Her sinuses were clogged, her eyes were teary and itchy, and her brain felt like it had just been attacked by a swarm of wasps. She sleeplessly suffered, tossing away her sheets to save her from simmering in her own sweat; Even then, she tugged at her loose pajamas. Anything at all touching her skin just felt irritable. Her favourite violet top was sandpaper against her clammy chest, her loose pajama bottoms felt as if they were constricting her bloodflow.
Her mother, endlessly worried about her well-being, had generously waited on her every need. The glass of water on her bedside table never went without ice, and she felt like she'd eaten a hundred bowls of chicken noodle soup. Neither of them knew what brought this on. Lucia, despite her previous medical history, had a surprisingly robust immune system.
Her door opened again. She instinctively closed her eyes, as light agitated her headache. It was likely her mother again, here to change her water or give her another bowl of soup. She sat up slightly, since she’d usually want to make sure she didn’t choke.
“...Lucia?” Came a pleasantly familiar, slightly raspy voice. Her eyes snapped open, and after a second of painful adjustment, she clearly saw her visitor’s silhouette in her doorway.
“Derrick? Wh--” She paused to cough, she hadn’t spoken since this morning. “What… are you doing here…?”
“Your, uh, mom said you weren’t feeling good, and asked me to come cheer you up a little.” Lucia wasn’t entirely sure how to feel about that. “I’m not really sure what I can do, but we can, like, talk if it makes you feel better.” Lucia was absolutely sure how to feel about that.
“So what is it?”
“I’ve never had it before, no-one in my family has, Mom’s guessing it’s a food thing.”
“Do you think it might’ve been that ramen joint we hit last week? I thought I saw rat traps in the kitchen.”
“Wasn’t that a few weeks ago? Maybe…” Lucia couldn’t keep her eyes off him for some reason. The conversation seemed to fade away as she studied every little detail she could make out in the intense darkness of her room. Even with the low light, she could make out his hand very clearly, which lit… something… within her.
“...sorry, can i--” She hesitated for a mildly long second. “Can I... can we hold hands?” She wasn’t even sure Derrick heard her considering she practically whispered it.
Before she could even try to brush it off or pretend it never happened, she was taken by the hand, and her heartrate skyrocketed. She was suddenly very glad she kept the lights low, because it seemed all the blood in her body was rushing to her cheeks. Her eyes locked onto the point of contact, and it was then she felt it.
Warmth. A different warmth than the one in her face. Spreading from their interlocked fingers was a comforting sensation, running along her palm and up her arm. The sick, clammy feeling that had plagued her almost seemed to melt away from his touch. Without even thinking, she placed her other hand on top of his, and found the same feeling; It only became more prevalent when Derrick followed suit, leaving all four hands in the same hold.
The room was dim, yet their eyes seemingly found each-other. The strange sensation wasn’t just in her arms anymore, it was resonating through her soul. When she looked into his eyes, the aches and congestion she felt became misty and unconcentrated. It was as if he was healing her, in some strange, spiritual way.
Her breath became rapid, her fingers jittery. Her arms, once again moving by themselves, pulled him in closer. At first, Derrick had resisted slightly, probably averse to falling ill himself. But before she could wrench herself off the bed, he yielded, and allowed her face to close in much further than comfortable. They stared very deeply, their breaths mingling and their grips loosening.
It was Derrick who made the next unexpected move, shifting himself awkwardly onto the bed before breaking off the handhold. Lucia was only cold for a second, however, as Derrick wriggled his arms around her and drew her into a large, comfortable hug. Lucia’s heart – surprisingly – did not explode at this development, and she let her arms fall naturally around him, her fingers barely able to touch on the other side.
They laid like that for a while. Time became no object as they embraced each-other. Lucia felt the world was better like this; her old, crusty bed almost seemed like a cloud, her sickness a distant memory. Subconsciously, her limbs had squirmed their way around his body. She felt almost an instinctual urge, telling her to grab hold of him and never let go…
…Eventually, though, she woke up. Lucia must have drifted off at some point, because she woke up with her face pressed into a pillow. Immediately she shot up and set to look for Derrick, before realizing that her sickness had all but vanished. Her nose was runny, but otherwise she was in top form. Was it just a dream? Some sickness-induced madness?
On her bedside table was another bowl of soup and glass of water. She was quite frankly relived to see the bowl filled with tomato soup instead of chicken noodle, she’d be surprised if she could ever eat chicken again after today. And, beside the bowl was a handwritten note, written in notably sloppy handwriting, Derrick’s trademark.
“Hey Lucia, sorry to have left without saying anything, but you seemed really comfy in bed like that. I hope this soup makes you feel a little better. --Derrick”
She clutched the note hard to her chest and her eyes started to burn. Tears of severe happiness forced their way from her tear ducts and made their way down her face. All she could think about was Derrick, and how lucky she was to have him. She loved him from the bottom of her heart, and was so glad that she found him.
…And then she smelled the soup, and realized how hungry she was. How long had she been out? She was starving.