9-Zoey 101- adulthood Logan and Zoey

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by Ameliashepherdwife

by Ameliashepherdwife

Logan's fever crept in like a stealthy intruder, wrapping its fiery tendrils around his throat. The room blurred as he blinked awake, disoriented. The sheets clung to his clammy skin, and every swallow felt like swallowing shards of glass.

Zoey, his partner since their pacific coast days, stirred beside him. Her hair was tousled, and her eyes held concern. "Logan," she whispered, her voice a soothing balm. "You're burning up."

He tried to speak, but his throat rebelled. Instead, he croaked, "Strep, maybe."

Zoey sat up, her expression determined. "Stay put. I'll get you some water and pain relievers."

As she padded to the kitchen, Logan watched her—the way her silhouette moved gracefully, the way her fingers brushed against the countertop. They'd come a long way from Pacific Coast Academy, but some things remained unchanged. Like the way Zoey cared, fiercely and unconditionally.

She returned with a glass of water and a bottle of ibuprofen. "Here," she said, helping him sit up. "Swallow these."

Logan obeyed, wincing as the pills scraped down his raw throat. "Thanks," he mumbled.

Zoey perched on the edge of the bed, concern etching lines on her forehead. "You need rest. I'll call the doctor."

"No." Logan reached for her hand. "Stay. Please."

She hesitated, then nodded. "Okay. But if it gets worse—"

"—then you can call the doctor," he finished. "I promise."

Zoey smoothed his hair, her touch gentle. "Remember when we were kids? You'd fake being sick to get out of class."

Logan chuckled, despite the pain. "Yeah. But this isn't a stunt. I feel like crap."

She leaned in, her lips brushing his forehead. "You're not alone, Logan. We're in this together."

And so, they cocooned themselves in blankets, Zoey reading aloud from an old Zoey 101 script—the one where they'd kissed under the moonlight. Logan closed his eyes, listening to her voice, feeling the fever ebb and flow.

Hours passed. Zoey dozed off, her head resting on his shoulder. Logan's throat still burned, but somehow, it hurt less. Maybe it was the nostalgia—the memories of simpler times, of laughter and secrets shared in dorm rooms.

When he woke again, Zoey was still there, her hand in his. "How are you feeling?" she asked, her eyes soft.

"Better," he rasped. "Thanks to you."

She grinned. "I'm your personal nurse. It's in the job description."

Logan tugged her closer. "Zoey, I—"

"—love you," she finished. "I know."

He blinked. "You do?"

She kissed his forehead. "Always have. Always will."

And in that feverish haze, Logan realized that sometimes, love was the best medicine. Zoey's presence, her whispered promises—they healed more than any antibiotic ever could.