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Josh woke up to the familiar chime of his phone buzzing against the nightstand, sharp and annoying in the still-dark room. He groaned, squinting as he groped for it, blinking past the early morning haze. He was half-expecting some dumb meme from Zay or a reminder from one of his professors. Instead, Riley’s name lit up his screen.
Riley: Maya’s sick. Like, actually sick. Don’t tell her I told you. She’ll bite me.
Josh sat up straighter, frowning, suddenly more awake. He rubbed his hand over his face and kept reading.
Riley: She’s been in bed for two days. Barely talking. It’s bad. I’m worried. Can you check on her?
He stared at the message for maybe two seconds before tossing the blanket aside and climbing out of bed. He didn’t bother texting back. He was already halfway into a pair of jeans, grabbing his hoodie and keys in the same motion. His hair was a disaster and his breath probably still tasted like sleep, but he didn’t care.
Maya didn’t get actually sick. She got dramatic over paper cuts and claimed allergies when she teared up during sad commercials, but this? Two days in bed, silent, no snark? Something was wrong.
The Hart apartment was too quiet when he knocked—eerily so. No yelling, no music, no sound of paintbrushes tapping against jars or Maya shouting at whatever reality show she was hate-watching that week. Just the dull murmur of a television through the door, and even that sounded muted.
The door cracked open, and there stood Shawn Hunter. His hoodie was wrinkled, and he had the mug of someone who’d been reheating the same coffee since dawn.
“Josh,” Shawn muttered, voice low. “You bring soup or something?”
Josh held up a plastic bag from the bodega near his dorm. “Didn’t know what she could keep down. So I got her chocolate, blue Gatorade, ginger ale, and those honey lemon cough drops she pretends don’t work but always finishes.”
Shawn raised an eyebrow, then stepped back to let him in. “You’ve been paying attention.”
“Yeah,” Josh said softly, setting the bag down on the counter. “I pay attention.”
Shawn hovered in the doorway to the kitchen, watching him like a man caught between being a protective parent and someone who knew when to step aside.
“She’s in bed. Refuses to talk to Riley. Barely said a word to me yesterday. I tried soup. She told me she hoped it boiled over and burned my soul.”
Josh gave a wry half-smile. “So, she’s still got a little fight in her.”
“She’s not herself,” Shawn said, voice dipping. “She’s quiet. Too quiet. It freaks me out.”
Josh glanced toward the closed bedroom door. “Can I see her?”
“She said no visitors.”
Josh turned to look at him, steady. “She said no Riley. Not no me.”
There was a pause. A quiet, heavy one. Then Shawn sighed, long and reluctant. “You’re not going to listen if I say no, are you?”
Josh offered a small, apologetic shrug.
Shawn stared at him another moment before stepping back. “Just… don’t push her, okay?”
“I’m just going to sit with her.”
Shawn waved a tired hand. “She’ll probably throw something at you.”
“Wouldn’t be the first time.”
Josh knocked softly before easing the door open. The room was dark, lit only by the flickering light of the TV playing an old black-and-white movie she probably wasn’t watching. The air smelled like menthol rub and lemon tea. The bed was a disaster zone of tissues, blankets, and cracker crumbs.
Maya was a lump under the covers, buried in hoodies and a fuzzy blanket with some kind of animal print. Her hair was a wild, tangled mess spilling across the pillow, and her face was pale, her nose raw from tissues. She looked like she'd fought off a fever with sheer stubbornness and lost.
“Go away, Matthews,” she groaned without looking up.
Josh stepped inside, closing the door quietly behind him. “Which one?”
“The annoying one,” she muttered hoarsely.
“Still not specific enough.”
She lifted her head just enough to glare weakly at him before flopping back down. “You’re not supposed to be here.”
“Too bad.” He toed off his shoes and crossed the room slowly, careful not to step on any abandoned tissues or crushed saltines. “Riley texted me. Said you’ve been down for the count. Thought I’d check on my favorite blonde.”
“Gross,” she whispered. “You’re not supposed to see me like this. I’m... I’m a disaster.”
“You’re sick,” he said simply. “That’s not the same thing.”
She tried to sit up, but winced and leaned back, exhausted from the effort. “Seriously, I look like something that crawled out of a swamp.”
Josh just smiled, then walked around to the far side of the bed. Without asking, without hesitating, he peeled back the covers and gently slid in beside her. He didn’t touch her right away—just sat close, waiting to see if she’d protest.
Maya turned her head toward him, confused and bleary-eyed. “What are you doing?”
“Being here,” he said softly. “Because you need me.”
She stared at him, then groaned and dropped her head onto his shoulder. “You’re going to get sick.”
“Probably,” he said, wrapping an arm around her anyway. “But I’ve survived worse. Remember that time you tried to dye your hair blue and made me help rinse it out?”
“That was art,” she mumbled, eyes closing again. “And I warned you not to wear white.”
He chuckled, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. “Maya?”
“Hm?”
“You’re allowed to let someone take care of you, you know.”
There was a long pause, and he felt her body go still.
Then, quietly, “I don’t like it.”
“I know,” he whispered. “But I’m not going anywhere.”
Later, while Maya dozed off against him, snoring quietly and clutching his sleeve, Josh pulled out his phone and texted Riley.
Josh: She let me in. No growling yet. She’s curled up next to me, looks like she lost a fight with a tissue factory.
Riley: OMG 😭 She must be really sick.
Josh: It’s bad. But she’s letting me hold her. Progress?
Riley: Definitely. You’re in, Uncle Boing. Welcome to the inner circle of doom and mucus.
Josh: Living the dream.
He set his phone aside again, looked down at Maya’s sleeping face, and gently pulled the blanket up over her shoulder. She stirred but didn’t wake.
“You’ve got me,” he whispered. “I’m right here.”
And she didn’t say anything, but her hand, half-asleep, found his and squeezed.