Warning: RWB spoilers ahead.
Some say the best love stories often take time.
Emery Chernychevsky has had a crush on Cameron Brooks since he can remember. Watching him date different girls all throughout high school was nothing if not pure torture...
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Getting banned from the mall and catching a cold on the same day did not appear to bode well for Emery.
The night was starless, probably. He could barely see through the window from the bed where he lay like a helpless vegetable, too tired to move a muscle. Apparently, spending half a day in the mall was too much for his body to handle, and there was no one but his Sokka plushie to help him through it, but that's probably because he told everyone to stay out of his room lest he'll "unleash the power of Satan."
He gets real moody when he's sick. He's not that proud of it.
That was the case until a sudden knock on the door abruptly woke Emery just as he was about to doze off. The redhead whined, roughly mending his squeezed brain together to form words. "It's open," he ended up saying.
Ian walked in, the mixed scents of moisturizers and face wash from his nightly skincare routine filling the room as he closed the door behind him. "Hey, you."
"You look like my mom in that robe," Emery stated blankly with this horrible, nasal voice that made him sound like a clogged pipe.
"Thank you." Ian smiled, curtseying a little just to spite his best friend. "For your information, your mother is a gorgeous woman."
Emery pinched his nose bridge in an attempt to alleviate his headache. "What's up with the hair mask?"
"Oh, Bryce and I got bored so we stole some of Blake's stuff from our room," Ian answered, gliding towards the side of Em's bed. "Are you sick?"
Emery shrugged in response before sinking further into the sheets.
"You fell asleep after we got back from the mall. Just wanted to make sure you're okay," Ian told him, eyeing Emery up and down, who stared back at the brunet with a scowl as if he already knew what Ian was gonna say. "You look horrible, by the way. Ew, you're dripping."
Emery remained glaring at his best friend, body rigid like a chocolate bar with only his head poking out of the comforter. "Thank you, Ian."
"Fever?"
"No. Just cold."
"Hmm."
Ian took his sweet time looking around until his eyes darted on Emery's new plushie, the blue of toy Sokka's clothes standing out among the beige that overpowered the bed and everything else inside the room.
"Where'd you get this?" he asked, leaning over to grab the stuffed toy.
"Mall arcade. Cameron got it for me," Emery said, beating Ian into saying something before the brunet could open his smart mouth. "Don't get ideas."
Ian seemed amused by that. "You know, earlier Blake called Lucas over to fix the broken hammock," he said. "He asked about you, as usual."
"I didn't know he fixes stuff," Emery said, ignoring the part about what he thought he didn't have to know. "What'd you tell him?"
