Age is just a number, after all. (Morten Harket x Reader)

Age is just a number, after all. (Chapter 22)

Words couldn't describe the inner turmoil that you experienced in the days after Mr. Harket had re-appeared in your life.
He had shot back into your life like a flaming arrow, setting everything ablaze that had started slowly growing back.

You felt like you had finally healed in some way, and maybe it would have been better had he never returned.
Heck, he was way older than you anyways. It never would have worked. You had always told yourself this.
Now that temptation struck again, it was impossible for you to deny: something deep inside of you craved him.
He was like a dream you had continued to dream night after night, unreal and all to yourself - nobody had known about it, and nobody ever should. Not even your best friend.
The dreamer inside of you screamed for you to hold onto him, the realist inside of you however told you to let him go and never think of him again.

Oh, the countless wild plans you had made up in your head in sheer despair. Run away with him, let him take you with him to Norway. Make your family believe you had disappeared and just start a new life with him somewhere else.
It gave you nasty headaches, sleepless nights, all of it.
In return, you tried to avoid responding to his texts. It pained you to be so cold, and yet you felt that everything else would be unsincere. You truly felt trapped.

At a certain point, you just wanted to disappear. Torn between two worlds, not knowing how to possibly link them - or even how to make them touch for just a second.

But little did you know, you wouldn't have to take matters into your own hands all that much.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Illness struck you like a slap to the face. One day you had felt slightly under the weather, and the next day you suddenly had a fever and needed to leave work early because you were incapable of working.

As you lay in bed shaking violently and painfully coughing here and there, your mother looked at you worriedly. Your fever had risen to the point where you basically had to be taken care of. Your limbs ached with your every move - it was an adventure in and of itself to even reach the bathroom.

The beeping sound of the thermometer stung your ear, and you opened your eyes for a second. Your mother sat on the rim of your bed, looking at the small screen of the electric thermometer, furrowing her brows.

"Seems like we got your fever down by one degree at least. It's roughly at 39°C. Maybe you can take some more medication for it later", she said.

You nodded weakly. This was a nightmare. The last time you had been this ill was way back when you'd been 11, maybe.
Your throat itched and you coughed, which in turn made you feel like your lungs were incredibly sore. It stung and burned at your insides, and you immediately regretted ever having coughed in the first place.
The painful experience was followed by another row of heavy shivers.

Your mother looked at you with sorrow in her eyes. She had told you once how much she worried when you or your little sister had gotten sick.

Does Mr. Harket feel this way when Jakob is ill, too?, you wondered.

In your weakened state, you rarely even looked at your phone or answered to your messages. This led to many texts remaining unanswered, and unread.

The nights were merciless, too. Coughs kept you awake. Your body craved sleep and rest so much, yet you weren't able to get much of it.

Meals were small. You couldn't eat much, and the things you managed to get down the best were soups, stews and other semi-liquid foods.

All in all, your life was a small mess at this point.
The doctor had said it was merely a common flu. A strong one, maybe, but nothing out of the ordinary. Most of the time, they'd last about a week or two.