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“Trevor…”
Mati sniffled. Her voice was barely a whisper as she was stuck in bed with a cold that would take anyone out instantly. Maybe there were some downsides to clubbing after all.
“Trevor!”
Mati coughed until her chest hurt. Trevor appeared at the doorway, lingering there rather than trying to help or console Mati. There wasn't much he could do anyways.
“Will you make me some soup?”
Mati didn't care that it was nearly one hundred degrees. Chicken noodle soup cured the soul.
After some clanging and the best effort Trevor could manage, he procured not a bowl, but a coffee mug of soup. It made Mati smile.
“Thank you.”
“Get better soon, please?” Trevor gave her puppy dog eyes.
“What would you do without me?” Mati smiled.
Days later, when Mati finally crawled out of the hole of sickness she had been left to, she found Trevor sitting alone at the table and joined him.
“What…what is that?” Mati pointed.
“Can a man have some soda?”
“In a bowl?”
“It was the last clean dish, what's the problem?”
“Trevor, that's a little psychopathic. Eating soup from a cup is fine, but soda from a bowl? You absolute madman.”
Clearly unfazed by her words, Trevor slurped the last of the liquid all while looking Mati in the eyes.
“That's nothing new, darling.”