Fever

Instant Noodles

He knocked, waiting for any sign of a reply before he went into the flat with his spare keys. A strained voice answered, "it's open".

Phoenix, Miles thought to himself as he went in, what an idiot; leaving his flat door open when he's in such a vulnerable...

His thoughts were cut short by the sight he encountered when he turned the corner from the kitchen. Jeans, t-shirts, cups, hot water bottles and an all manner of bowls containing instant noodles were strewn across Phoenix's bedroom floor. Miles' gaze travelled across the room the large double bed where, under a heap of blankets and a white plush duvet, lay Phoenix; pink sweater pulled over his face, shivering.

The scent of instant noodles, the weight of fever in the air and the sight of his best friend all hit Miles at once. Phoenix sometimes proved physically weak yes, but never had Miles seen him as unguarded or as unorganised as this in all the years he had known him.

"Wright!", he barked which only brought him a futile whimper in return.

That confirmed Miles' theory -- if Phoenix didn't respond to Miles snapping at him, Phoenix was either dead or close to it.

He shed his jacket on the floor and rushed over to the chair beside Phoenix's bed, opening his briefcase as he sat down.

"Phoenix", he continued with a softer tone and used his first name, establishing he was in a good mood, "I've never seen you like this...but you'll pull through, trust me...look I have this here..."

 Miles pulled out a thermometer from the depths of his briefcase and waved it in the air. Phoenix made no effort to look; he kept his face firmly hidden under his sweater.

Miles sighed but continued to make on-topic conversation, "well you know what they say - starve a fever...of course, it would be better if they listed statistics from the research they did on that last year...", his grumblings were faded away by Phoenix's muffled giggling.

Relief soaked into Miles' pores and for one of those rare moments, which happened increasingly when Phoenix was around, he smiled.

 "Now, will you let me take your temperature with this?" he continued as he leaned in to pull Phoenix's sweater back. The giggles ceased and Phoenix nodded, letting his arms flop onto the duvet with a defeated sigh. Miles flicked his own fringe out of his eye and gently pulled the sweater down from his friend's head, revealing a sheet-white, bleary eyed Phoenix, staring aimlessly at Miles. His gaze softened slightly as he looked upon the helpless Phoenix.

 "Well, well Wright, let me just take your temperature..." He put his hand under Phoenix's head to lift him up slightly and as he did so Miles could feel a clammy, cold sweat had coated the back of Phoenix's neck. Miles usually got a little squeamish about these kinds of things but there was something not-quite-so-disgusting about it being Phoenix. Ah, it's because we've been friends for so long, Miles thought to himself as he pushed the thermometer between Phoenix's lips and watched attentively as the small red line rose. It kept rising.

 "P-Phoenix! You're so hot!" Miles raised his eyebrows as he stared incredulously at the thermometer. He looked from Phoenix to the temperature...squinted and then looked back at Phoenix, attempting to remove his hand from the back of his head but the fatigued student had seemed to settle there – and so Miles' hand did too.