Paint the town blue

Chapter XXIX

Charles's POV

After our little quarrel with Max, I really felt uneasy and my fever totally wasn't just from my hot fantasies. That day I woke up in the evening, but I didn't have any strength to get up from the couch, and all my clothes were soaked in sweat and stick disgustingly to my body. My head felt like it was filled with cotton wool, and my eyes hurt even from the dim light of the night lamp. I was lying down, throwing off the blanket and pulling up my T-shirt just to feel a little bit more of the coldness.

Soon the door to the room opened and Max looked in. He smiled, noticing that I was already awake, but when he saw my wet clothes and hair sticking to my forehead, he immediately rushed to me. He pressed his lips to my forehead and immediately pulled away.

"God, Charlie, you're burning!"

"Yes? I hadn't noticed."

"I'll...I'll figure something out now."

I saw him start to panic, so I took his hand until he moved away from the couch. He was a little surprised, and I just asked him to bring me some water. Max nodded and quickly left the room, and I lay back down again and covered my eyes with my hand. I don't wanna get sick now, not now. Hell no.

The house was quiet, so I managed to hear Max calling someone again. He was babbling again and could barely connect the thought, but apparently his interlocutor was used to such calls from his side. Max told him about my condition and asked him for advice and what I should take. Then I didn't listen to the conversation anymore, because of my efforts to eavesdrop on the conversation, my head hurt more.

After a while, Max returned and brought with him a bottle of water, a first-aid kit that I already knew, and clean, and what's most important - dry clothes. I looked at him wearily, and he poured water into a glass, sat down next to me and helped me drink. It was strange to feel so helpless, but there was nothing to be done in my position.

Drinking water seemed to make me feel a little better, so I exhaled with relief. Max told me to undress, and even though I didn't have enough strength, I still decided not to argue with him, especially because lying in wet and sweat-smelling clothes was so much fun for me.

I took off my T-shirt quite easily and replaced it with a clean one, and most importantly, a dry one, but I had to tinker with my pants. Not only were they wet, but the cast on my leg prevented them from being removed. Max, seeing that this wasn't so easy for me, decided to help me - he grabbed the pants by the elastic band and pulled them down, carefully pushing my injured leg out of the pant leg.

"Like in the good old days, right?"

"Only then I didn't help you get dressed."

"But you were great at getting rid of my clothes."

I smiled a little, and Max seemed a little embarrassed, because even in the dimness of the room I noticed his slightly flushed cheeks and how for a moment he hesitated with how to put my leg through the leg of dry trousers. But he quickly pulled himself together and soon I was lying in clean clothes and covered with another blanket that Max had dragged from the room opposite. Did he give me his blanket? And how will he sleep now?

I wanted to ask him this question, but he seemed to read my mind and said that there was another blanket in the house, just in case. For some reason, I wished that this third blanket didn't exist and Max would spend the night under the same blanket with me - he is warm and I feel calmer when he's next to me. It's funny that I feel safe next to a man who killed four people and injured me twice. Apparently, I definitely have some problems with my head.

I decided to make myself comfortable, but Max stopped me.

"Wait, take the pills first, and then go back to sleep."