When Time Ran Crooked

56 hours, 19 minutes, and 34 seconds Until

The tile was cool underneath me. It was like lying on a thin sheet of ice— cold, white, like the world. Feeling so vulnerable beneath me, like it could shatter at any second, and the freezing water could pollute my body with a cold that could never be thawed.

"Am I dying?" I murmured.

"No," Claude answered, quickly. He had propped himself against the wall, his long legs lining my curled body. His hands were knotted in my hair, his warm fingers tracing the curve of my spine, trying to penetrate the ice that was my skin. "Most likely, it's the flu. Although, all that champagne you drank certainly didn't help. Plus, there's always a chance that it could be some sort of food poisoning-"

"The Mac 'n' Cheese grilled cheese sandwiches?"I demanded, sitting upright. Almost immediately, I knew that had been a bad idea. Multicolored stars burst before my eyes like a fireworks display, my stomach moaning in complaint. Claude's hands worked quickly to get me back lying down. "They betrayed me?"

"Most likely, no. If it was those, I would've gotten food poisoning as well," Claude reasoned.

"Good. I don't think I could've handled that sort of betrayal," I told him.

Claude laughed softly, like the cackling of a flame. "No, I don't think you could either."

He was so warm. He was like a freshly stoked fire at the best, dotted with the innocent white fluff of marshmallows being roasted on a summer's night. He was my newly made bed, sheets fresh from the dryer. Claude was the sun.

"Claude?"

"Yes?"

"Do you think I'll die if I fall asleep?" I questioned.

"No," he told me. "Do you want me to carry you into bed?"

"No, I'd probably break you."

"I'm really quite stronger than I look, thank you very much," he insisted. "I can carry you."

"What if I throw up again?" I asked.

"I'll get you a bowl."

"What if I'm comfortable here?" I inquired.

"Then I'll be worried by your psychopathic ability to lie," he reasoned.

I sighed, surrendering to him. "Fine, mortal, you may take me to bed."

Claude decided to ignore my comment (probably since he couldn't deny his morality (and if he could, then I needed to call Buffy) and it made him sad to dwell on it). He knelt next to me and I rolled over onto my back.

I grinned at him. "Yo."

His eyes were too blue to not be Photoshop-ed (if that's a verb). Claude didn't even bother trying to hide his rolling eyes from me as one of his arms slipped underneath my knees and the other curled up underneath my shoulders. As he pulled me up off of the floor, I wrapped my arms around his neck.

Already, I could see his knees buckling.

My eyebrows rose. "You okay?"

"Fine," he huffed.

It took many slow, dragging steps (accompanied by enough huffing and puffing to blow down the Three Little Piggies' houses), bur eventually Claude got me to my bed. While he went to fetch me a bowl, I rearranged myself under the blanket.

"Goodnight," I murmured, as my eyes fluttered shut.

*

"Anna."

I blinked, slowly. Between my eyelashes, I could see the room stained in various shades of black, white, and gray. Moonbeams stretched across my sheets, growing in width until the steady moonlight encompassed by bed. The very air felt cool, as if my breath would turn into a ghost upon escaping my lips. I pulled on my blankets, tugging them over my shoulders. That was better . . .