As quickly as I can, I gather a few things for Antoine, including some ibuprofen, a glass of cool water, and a small metal bowl filled with tepid water and a sponge sitting in it. He's burning up, and I remember when I was little, when I got sick, my mum would sometimes gently dab water on my face to cool it down. Usually it was cool water, because I've never had very high fevers, but he's absolutely burning up. I don't know if anything colder than lukewarm water would be good for him at this point. I don't know. I'm not a doctor, but I also don't want to harm Antoine, so that's what I'm doing. I know how good it felt, so I'll just do that for him. Hopefully it'll help, right? The whole time I'm preparing these things, my hands are shaking, and my body feels unstable, but not because I'm sick too or anything. No. It's because I felt how warm he is. I saw how sick he is. How unstable he is. And I'm scared. I don't know what I'm going to do when Gabe comes home, but I'm thinking I'll have to seek help from him. I'm also nervous though because my greatest enemy, Antoine f***ing Griezmann, is laying in my bedroom, in my own bed, extremely sick, and it's my job to take care of him. On top of all of that, for some reason, I don't feel contempt for him, which in of itself is uncomfortable, because I'm so used to spending so much energy on simply hating him. In fact, I feel nothing near bad emotions for him. I'm even catching myself feeling good things for him. Looking at him and seeing a sad boy who is more than what he seems. Looking at him and seeing a handsome young man who deserves more. Looking at him and seeing someone I want to know. Someone I want to become close with.
And that's just not normal. I'm not used to that. Any of that. So that's way I'm shaking, so confused and nervous, as I open the door to my bedroom, balancing all these things in my hands as I use my back to shut the door behind me.
I see him laying there, and now he has my blanket all the way up to his chin. I put all the stuff down on the floor quickly, asking, "Are you cold?"
"No... Yeah. Sort of... Kinda. I'm getting chills and shivers, but I feel really sweaty, so I don't know what to do," his voice is weak, and it sounds distressed.
"Alright, Antoine. I'm going to get you a fan to blow on your face, and some pillows to make you nice and comfy... When I come back, I'll get you the ibuprofen and your water. Sound good?"
"M-hm..." he says softly, snuggling into the blanket further.
An intrusive thought enters my mind, and I flinch at it. Antoine looks kind of cute snuggled up like that in my blankets. My whole body goes stiff that a thought like that would just naturally enter my head, without my control.
Antoine's eyes flutter open, looking me over, and his darker eyelashes cover his eyes like little curtains, and I only realise now how nice those eyelashes look as they half cover those bright blue eyes. The contrast pleases me, an artist.
Another thought I accidentally let enter, without having any time to stop myself from thinking it, comes: Antoine looks like a work of art.
I flinch again, and am about to turn around and get out of that room to get the fan and pillows, unsure of why I'm seeing Antoine in such a way.
As I'm about to leave, though, Antoine's voice says, "What's that all about?"
I turn back to meet his blue eyes. God, they're piercing. The contrast of his eyelashes and brows that are darker next to his light blue eyes... I love it. I simply love the way he looks. Like, jeez, if God is real, he sure spent extra time when he shaped and painted Antoine Griezmann, to create just the perfect product in the end.
Oh no, I just called Antoine perfect.
My f***ing head!
"W- What was what all about?" I finally ask back.
"You keep flinching. You seem stiff. You keep tugging at your hair and shifting. Even now, you can meet my eyes. Is something wrong?" I can't tell if he's teasing me or genuinely concerned, probably because of the groggy sickness tracing along his voice.
He's so observative. Even in his sickness, he's able to catch that. I already know Antoine can be smart. I already know he's a very intelligent guy. Boy. Young man. Whatever you want to call him. But for some reason, just now, for the first time, that intelligence impresses me.
Shut up, Reese!
"Oh, no, nothing is wrong."
"Is my presence making you uncomfortable? Because I can go ho-"
"Antoine, shut up. You made it clear to me last night that you don't belong at home. You belong better right there where you are, laying in my bed, getting the rest and comfort you need to get better. Hopefully this sickness doesn't last long, right, but if it does, you're still going to get better faster if you heal up here than at your home. So just relax. Everything is fine with me. I've just got other things on my mind, that aren't even your business anyway." I don't know how all these words keep flowing out of my mouth. Before, I almost never dared to spoke to Antoine, and if I did, it was to tell him off. Now I've been, multiple times, talking to him normally, and even saying things that show I care.
That's the thing that is new.
I care about him.
More than I probably should.
Because it's like I leaped from hating his guts as an enemy, and all the sudden, to being so fond of him, as a crush.
Where'd the friend stage go in the last twenty-four hours?
