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“Hello? Nick?”
I woke up with a start to someone’s urgent voice from the kitchen, and I instantly felt awful. My body ached, my head throbbed, and I undeniably had some sort of ailment that hindered my ability even to think clearly. As I begrudgingly sat up and glanced at the clock, I realized I'd overslept. Wonderful.
“Who is it?” I asked. My body shook with a horrid cough, and my head spun.
“It's me, Old Sport. Are you alright?” It was Gatsby. He must have heard the coughing. It all felt like such a dream, almost as if I were drunk- except I felt awful.
Wait… Gatsby?
Why was Gatsby here? How'd he even get into my house?
“How'd you…?”
“Your car was still in the driveway. You're usually gone by now, and I got… worried.” Gatsby admitted with a sigh. “You really shouldn't keep ground level windows open. Can I come in?”
“I guess?”
He strolled into my room, clad in one of his brightly colored suits. Today's suit was pink- his favorite. The moment he saw me, however, he froze.
“...You look awful, Old Sport.” He nearly whispered, his voice full of horrified concern.
“I'm fine. I have to get ready, I'm late for work.”
“Work?! Like that?” He asked, hurrying over to me. “No!”
“I have to go, Gatsby. I have no paid sick days. Can we talk later?” I fought back another cough, for I knew it'd make him worry more. But before I could go anywhere, he'd pushed me back onto the bed, his hand on my forehead.
“You're burning up.” Gatsby gasped quietly, taking his hand back.
“I'm fine.” I insisted.
“No, you're not.” He frowned, walking away. “I'm taking your temperature.” He sifted through my belongings and grabbed a thermometer from my cabinet. He took it to my lips, where I refused to take it.
“No, you're not.” I swatted his hand away.
“Put it in your mouth and let me take your temperature. NOW.”
“...Fine.” I sighed, grabbing it and putting it in my mouth begrudgingly.
“Thank you.” He smiled. A few agonizing moments passed before I decided this wasn't worth being late over, and I began to get up.
“This is stupid. I really need to get ready.” I rolled my eyes, raising my hand to take the thermometer out. But Gatsby held my hand down, keeping the thermometer there. He gently took it out to read it, shaking his head.
“100.1… Yep. You're staying home today.” Gatsby announced, tossing the thermometer dramatically onto the bed. “Sit down.”
“Gatsby, I could lose my job…” I whined feebly as he pushed me back down onto my bed. “I can't just not go to work.”
“If you do, I'll help you out until you can find another one. If you choose to find another, that is.” He responded matter-of-factly. He gently coaxed me into lying down fully, draping a blanket over me. “You're resting.”
“Why do you have to care about me?” I groaned, pulling another blanket over my shoulders.
“I don't know, Old Sport. Just get some sleep, okay?” Gatsby sighed, sitting next to me. “I'll make you some food, and I'll talk to your boss.”
“Okay…”