Angel Face

Hot Or Cold?

NOT EDITED AND PROOF-READ

XL

"Eva?" He croaked as he cracked his eyes open. "It's me." I whispered softly, giving him a weak smile. He slowly pushed himself off the desk, looking around a little disoriented. If the situation was different I would've laughed at how one of the sheet of paper was stuck to his cheek while he looked around like a lost kid.

He stopped and followed my movement with his eyes as I stood up and reached out before pulling the paper off his cheek. "Let's get you to bed." I offered softly wrapping my fingers around his upper arm. He looked up at me confused then back at his desk. "No." He slowly unwrapped my fingers off his arm. "I've got work to do."

"Yes, you will." I spoke sternly, earning a bored look from him. "You're sick--" I went to add but was cut off by him scoffing. "That's not the first time, I heard that." He added before rearranging the papers so as to go back to work. Ignored his weird words because let's face it, half of the time I don't understand what he is saying. And instead snatched the bundle of papers from him.

"Eva." He looked at me with horror, as if I took his favorite toy. "Give that back." He rasped out with a frown, seemingly having trouble talking. "I'll give it back if you listen to me." I bargained. "I am listening to you." He sassed, looking frustrated and worn out with every passing breath. "Duncan, I really need you to stop thinking about work right now. Can you do that for me?"

"Fine." He grumbled almost immediately. He with great effort and trouble pushed himself to his feet. But almost lost his footing when he let go of his support. "My legs feel numb." He mused as he rocked from one feet to another. "Okay, hold on to me." I offered, going to help him as he wrapped an arm around my shoulder.

It was tougher than I thought, when he kept tripping over his feet. It was like he had trouble deciding which way he was headed. After almost three near falling over and twice slipping and tripping on the stairs. We finally reached his bedroom, where he toppled on to the bed then dragged himself more into the bed and in the right positio before crawling under the covers.

His head disappeared under the covers as he tightly wrapped the the cover around him like a cocoon. It was so tight that it made me worry, that it might suffocate him to death. "Duncan, not so tight." I clawed on the sheet, trying to locate his head. But I just wasn't able to find it. "Where is the damn head?" Grumbling in frustation, I clawed and felt around.

Suddenly a head of light brown hair and a pair of glass green blue eyes popped out of the grey sheets. "Which head?" Out of all the times, he found this one the most appropriate to have a dirty mind. "Seriously, did you have to do that right now?"

"Well you are the one who decided to feel up a sick man." He again disappeared under the covers, but this time he kept it loose enough. "Duncan, why are you covering your head with the sheet?"

"It's cold. I feel cold."

What? Wasn't he sweating a couple of minutes ago? Okay, this is not fever. It's more like heat flashes, but I thought it was experienced by women, who are undergoing menopause. "Duncan?" I called but again, he wasn't responding. I picked up the top of the sheets to uncover his head. I frowned when I saw his eyes were closed. Did he fall asleep again? Brudhing it off, I touched his hand and it was cold. He really was cold. He subconsciously pulled the sheets closer, snuggling into them.

I rushed to his walk-in closet and grabbed extra blankets from the linen closet in there. Walking back out, I spread the blanket over him, to warm him up. Once I was convinced he was comfortable enough, I took my phone and scrolled down the contacts to Dr Renard's. The doctor who we went to when the graveyard incident happend. He had told us that we could contact him whenever we needed him and this looks like a good time.