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At times, Manon thinks that this is bullshit.
This being her pop star reputation or whatever.
She was feeling better that morning, really. Until a swift burning fever and thousands of people yelling all over social media about her lack of health happened. She doesn't think she could handle touching her cellphone at all, the thing on DND blocks what it can. There's only one number it filters, though.
Sophia is advising her to stroll around, softly. That “it will improve her airflow intake”, to please try to recover, that they all miss her. Under any other circumstances, Manon would've rolled her eyes, sent her a thumbs up and done whatever the hell she wanted. But the pressure is starting to get to her, and Manon gathers her spirits to walk around like a drug fiend inside the hotel.
The midday sun drapes over her form without a single care, the heat creeping on her even with the AC blasting in the hallway, the dark sunglasses she stole from Lara are doing basically nothing to filter the brightness and it's kind of making her upset. She forces herself to drag her shark slippers-clad feet. Even when she can feel the sweat forming in her lower back, soaking through her tank top and partially coating her comfort hoodie, which she stole from Dani one day and never returned.
Manon feels like crying. Her head hasn't stopped pounding since the plane touched down in Tokyo, her forehead and nose hurt with the pressure of her snot-flooded sinuses.
She misses home a bit. She misses the way her mom would've made her a sweet, earthy tea with lots of lemon and minty leaves.
But she isn't in Switzerland in her bedroom. Manon's in the middle of some hallway of this five star hotel with a buffet and the fucking flu busting her organs with coughs. She can't even manage to talk for more than two minutes without all the air escaping from her lungs.
She knows the girls will get here any minute, so she barely picks herself up and goes back to her room as fast as she can. Which is not very quick, if she's honest.
The thing is, Manon didn't take her phone with her, and she doesn't carry a watch like Sophia, so she lost track of time. She suspects that it may have something to do with the fact that her mind keeps drifting like a boat out at sea.
It is as if she can't recognize what's going on fully. It's the same feeling she gets when she's sleepy while the rest of them are gossiping in whomever's apartment they crashed in and they're laughing loudly.
So, when Manon gets to her bedroom, Sophia is already there, fumbling with her phone. She's still in her practice clothes. Big pants, tiny t-shirt, chunky sneakers. Y2K.
Manon also is kind of delirious. And dizzy, so, naturally, one minute she's opening the door and the other she's about to fall onto the cold hard ground. Except the pain never comes, because she hears a grunt and some “Shit, Manon!”, the next minute strong hands are embracing her waist, preventing her from falling.
Sophia is kind of really strong, she remembers the Filipina lifting up Megan for an impressive amount of time for someone as lean as her. Manon hums at the blurry memory. She feels movement and a cloudy feeling surrounding her body.
The leader must've moved her to her bed.
“Thank you, Fifi. Love you.” She mumbles, her voice hoarse and muffled against the bedding.
Sophia is furrowing her brows, Manon's body temperature is high, like worryingly so. Which is something that was not happening when she left.
And she's scared that her fever will increase but she's also worried that a cold shower will sicken her even more. She vaguely remembers her mom saying something about how Sophia's old pediatric doctor told her that pneumonia was more salvageable than the effects of a really high fever.
Cold bath it is.
Her heart shrinks when she sees the shivers that haunt Manon's body and the way her pearly teeth clink together. Immediately dreads the fact she has to force her to plunge into a bathtub filled with frigid water. Even more when she remembers the messages that she left before rehearsal.
God, now she feels like an asshole.
“Manon” She murmurs against her ear, pulling back and away damp curls from the Swiss girl’s forehead, “Sweetie, you have to take a bath.”
The curly haired girl stirs and cracks an eye open. “Don't wanna, Fifi. ‘M fine.”
But she's not, and the five percent of her brain that hasn't gone AWOL knows it.
Sophia sighs. Trying as much as she can to keep calm about this. She's kinda mad with the doctors and the company, she's mad that they had to come to perform here even though she loves their fans. She utterly hates that a lot is grasping out of her control and she can't do shit to change it. She hates that Manon is shivering and she can't pull out the fever off her skin.
Manon is too weak to offer resistance but not that of to protest when Sophia is ushering her out of the warm sheets and into the giant tub of her ensuite. Manon gets seated on top of the toilet lid with her eyes closed still while she listens to Sophia run the bathtub.
The leader is moving frantically, making sure to have a towel near and that the water isn't that cold and–
“Soph, I'm cold,” Manon pouts and her bottom lip trembles. “Can you gimme a hug?”
“Oh, Manon.”
Sophia wraps her arms around her midriff, tucks Manon's face in her neck and rubs a hand all over her back, as if that would ease the pain. It doesn't, but it brings comfort to the barely older girl.
It dawns on her that they are in their 20’s, it's noon on a Saturday, they could've– should've been at the beach, playing in the water and tanning in the sun. Not sick from pushing through a cold because promotions were coming up.
“C'mon, sweetie. Let me help you.” Sophia ushers as she pulls the hoodie off. The leader leaves her in her briefs and bralette and she helps her into the cool water.
Manon can't stop shivering, the water feels like needles against her feverish skin and the curly haired just breaks out in sobs. Everything is too much, she feels pathetic and weak.
Sophia’s heart breaks. But she's already taking off her sweatpants to get in the bath with Manon, not handling the pain in her chest at the way her whole body curled within herself.
The Swiss girl can barely register Soph’s long legs getting inside the tub, but she feels her hands pulling towards her chest.
“I'm sorry Manon… M’sorry.” She presses her lips to the curly haired girl's neck repeatedly, enveloping her inside her arms. Sophia quietly takes the shower head and toys with the settings so it falls down like mist over Manon's shoulders. “Lay down on my shoulder, please.” Manon does, still sniffling softly.
Sophia has to maneuver slightly so the hose points only to Manon's hairline but she makes it, and takes a little of the Swiss girl's shampoo. It fills the whole bathroom with the scent of coconut milk, pineapple and something that resembles lime. It's kinda hard washing Manon's hair with one hand but she doesn't care. She wants Manon to feel appreciated, and safe, and to know that she will always have her.
Her fingers scrub meticulously her scalp, treating her hair as if she was her personal hair stylist.
“I like that.” She hoarsely whispers. Sophia hums, quite happy to hear from her.
“That 's good. How are you feeling right now?”
The Swiss girl shrugs, mildly. “Not good. Better than before. Still feels like I'm made from heated glass.”
“I'm sorry for telling you to walk. I wasn't trying to- I wanted–” Her words die in her mouth. Although they form a knot in her torax, because what the hell could she say? Manon, I'm sorry that my overachieving self was poking you so you'd walk when you're feeling like shit. “I'm here.”
“It's okay, Soph.” Then Manon turns to face her, “Thank you for being here.”
Sophia smiles. “Always”