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It started out innocently enough. An ache in the chest and an itch at the back of the throat. At first Sandrone had just chalked it up to the changing seasons. Winter was melting into spring, plants were blooming and pollen was abundant in the air. Even though she had never had allergies before, it wasn’t unheard of for someone to develop them as time went on. As the weeks past the ache only worsened, turning into a lingering cough that no amount of over-the-counter medicine could cure. She did her best to ignore it, focus on her engineering course work. She brushed off any concern from her classmates with a glare and a huff.
It would probably go away on its own. It was just allergies after all.
Sandrone stared at the flower petal in her hand. She had been walking through the campus gardens on her way home, when a sudden coughing fit tore through her. When she could finally breath again, Sandrone felt an uncomfortable presence in her mouth that hadn’t been there before. Trying not to gag, she picked a single light blue flower petal out from the back of her tongue. She had probably just inhaled it without noticing, she reasoned. She was in the gardens after all, a spring breeze could have carried it into the air in front of her unsuspecting mouth, and she just choked on it. The trees mocked her silently, branches unmoving. It was just a coincidence, no need to get worked up about it.
The second time it happened, Sandrone was home alone in the apartment she shared with her roommate Columbina. She had been minding her own business, preparing some food for the coming week, and listening to Saint-Saëns organ symphony, when the itching in the back of her throat became unbearable. She hacked and coughed, gripping the edges of the sink for support until another blue petal fluttered out of her mouth and into the sink. It just sat there, as if daring Sandrone to try and come up with a logical solution. There was no wind, no flowers in the house, none with blue petals anyway. The only place that it could have come from was Sandrone’s mouth, a possibility she would not entertain. Water flushed the petal down the drain. Out of sight out of mind, Sandrone thought. Still, something in her chest tightened just a little more, making each breath harder than the last. She returned to her meal prepping and tried not to think about it.
The coughing was getting harder to hide. Scaramouche —one of Sandrone’s more insufferable classmates, who always insisted on sitting next to her in their advanced robotics class— had been pestering her about it for days.
“Come on Sandrone, you’ve been coughing for weeks. Don’t you think you should go see a doctor? All that noise you’re making is impeding my focus.”
“I’m fine.” Sandrone shot back. She wasn’t fine, but there was no way she would admit that, especially not to Scaramouche. And who would believe her anyway, it’s not like coughing up flower petals was something doctors could do something about. Any of the searches Sandrone had done online had turned up nothing. She had even checked the library, combing through the stacks of old books in the basement only to be met with disappointment. Seeing a professional wouldn’t help. That’s assuming they didn’t throw her out for making such a ridiculous claim.
“If you don’t want to go to the doctor you should at least talk with your roommate’s friend. Lauma, or whatever. The one in medical school. Maybe she can tell you something about it.”
“I said I’m fine, Scaramouche, so drop it.” Why did he even care anyway, it’s not like they were friends.
“Whatever. Just take you and that incessant cough away from my studying.”
Another coughing fit prevented any witty response she would have made, so instead she stumbled out of her seat and made for the door of the lecture hall. Class hadn’t even technically started but she would just be a disruption. A bother. Better to just leave before she became more of a problem.
The walk home passed in a blur; a trail of flower petals left in her wake. Sandrone only vaguely registered walking into the apartment she shared with Columbina, the concern plain on the other girls face before she slammed the door to her room and collapsed into bed. She would be fine. She just needed rest. Plenty of students suffered from burnout, she was no different. A few days without class and all of this would be behind her.
She didn’t hear the knock at the door, didn’t notice the footsteps as Columbina crossed the room to her bed. Only when Columbina placed a hand on her forehead did she react.
“Go away, you’ll get sick too.” She wheezed. Something about the sight of Columbina like that, looking at her with such worry made the knot in her chest tighten. She didn’t like her obviously. She sang at ungodly hours of the night, pretty lullabies that drove Sandrone insane when she was trying to sleep. That stupid teasing smile that was always on her face whenever they talked, like Columbina knew some secret nobody else did. How she would always throw stupid compliments at Sandrone about how cute she was or how nice her outfit looked. Even if she wore the same thing everyday. It was all just to get a reaction out of her. In short, Columbina was the worst. So why did that look make her chest feel so tight?
Columbina just hummed in response to Sandrone’s complaining, leaving the room and closing the door behind her. She assumed that would be it, that she would be left alone to get over whatever sickness had invaded her body over the last couple of weeks. To her annoyance, Columbina returned a few minutes later with a bowl of soup and some crackers.
“Eat. You don’t look well Sandrone.”
When she didn’t respond Columbina just nudged the soup a bit closer to the bed, fluffed up the blankets, turned off the lights and left. It wasn’t like Sandrone needed her stupid soup anyway. Even if she was a bit hungry.
A few minutes later the soup bowl lay on her bedside table empty and Sandrone was asleep.
When Sandrone woke, sunlight was streaming through the windows and the apartment was quiet. The itch at the back of her throat and ache in her chest was ever-present, but she felt well enough to move around. On her bedside table, the bowl had been replaced with a note.
Gone to class. Text if you need anything.
-C
There was barely enough time to read the note before another round of vicious coughs stole the breath out of Sandrone’s lungs. By the time she could breath again three innocent blue petals lay in her bed, standing in stark contrast to the brown blanket.
After a brief search online, Sandrone identified the flowers to be Khuuvahki blooms, a local flower only found in Nod Krai. She texted Lauma, who’s number she had gotten after some house party Columbina had arranged and got dressed. Her first stop was a flower shop on campus. A bell tinkled as she entered, the attendant looked up briefly before returning to whatever they were doing before. The store had an array of different bouquets and potted plants, but none were what she was looking for.
“Are you finding everything you’re looking for today?” Right, clerks did that sometimes. Usually, Sandrone would just find it annoying but today it might actually be useful.
“Do you have any Khuuvahki blooms here? I want to place a recurring order.”
The clerk typed something on the terminal before responding
“We have some in the back, but none in any of our standard bouquets. Do you want anything else in the arrangement?”
“No, just those.”
“I’ll just go sort everything out in the back. It should only take a few minutes.” The clerk scurried off, disappearing behind a set of double doors.
While she would have preferred to be able to buy one of the standard bouquets, Sandrone was happy enough to get the khuuvahki blooms at all. Apparently, they were uncommon in florists’ shops even in their native Nod Krai. Something about them being very difficult to work with. With the bouquet, Sandrone would have an excuse if any stray petals found their way around the apartment that didn’t involve explaining whatever was happening to her.
Flowers in hand Sandrone departed the florists shop for her second destination on her impromptu outing. Lauma had responded astonishingly quickly, informing her that she could meet with Sandrone in thirty minutes. That message had been sent twenty minutes ago so she figured she should have about enough time to get to the designated meeting spot. Thankfully, her walk was blissfully free of any respiratory failure or unexpected flower petals.
Lauma had arrived first, lounging on the park bench in the shade of a weeping willow. She was wearing her usual outfit of a maxi length dress that hugged her curves and open toed shoes. Sandrone always scoffed at that last part. Who wore open toed shoes in Nod Krai at all? Let alone in the middle of March. Lauma stood up as Sandrone approached to pull her into an unnecessary hug.
“I’m sick.” Sandrone announced.
Lauma gave her a curious look releasing her from the hug. “I heard. What I’m wondering is why you’re here talking to me instead of being at home in bed or with a doctor.”
The response had Sandrone clenching her jaw. Rather than waste any more of her time on the rest of this conversation she turned to leave. Before she could even take a step, she felt Lauma tugging her wrist.
“I won’t make you go to a doctor Sandrone. Just tell me why you’re here.” She said, eyeing the bouquet clutched in Sandrones other hand.
“These aren’t for you.”
“I wouldn’t expect them to be,” Lauma laughed, “Although, I can’t imagine you’re going to tell me who they are for.”
“No, they aren’t for anybody. They’re just for the house.”
“Ahh, Columbina then.”
Sandrone nearly hurled the flowers to the ground and stomped off right then, but something in the way Lauma was looking at her, like a proud parent watching their kid win an award made her stay.
“They’re her favourite you know. Khuuvahki blooms. It’s a good choice.”
The blush was immediate. The flowers were just her cover story. It didn’t matter that they were Columbina’s favourite or that Sandrone’s heart twisted at the thought she would like them. They were just utility. A requirement, nothing more.
“They’re not for anyone.” She grumbled, “I just thought they looked pretty.”
“Sure.” Lauma smiled, her mirth clear on her face, “You still haven’t told me why you’re here.”
“I already said. I’m sick. I’ve been coughing for weeks, and it won’t go away.”
“I’m not sure what you expect me to do about it. Tell me your symptoms and I’ll let you know if I think it’s something serious.” Lauma smiled. It was strained, but she was trying.
“Fine. I first noticed it in the gardens a few weeks ago. Then Scaramouche started complaining I was being disruptive. I went home and slept for twelve hours straight. That was yesterday.”
Sandrone was careful to omit any symptoms involving flower petals or coughing things up. Those would probably just make Lauma worry and Lauma could be very pushy when she was worried. Sandrone shuddered just thinking about the last time she had caught the flu and Lauma had spent an entire week practically living in her room.
Lauma considered her answer for a few moments before she responded.
“Well, it sounds like it’s chronic, whatever it is. It could be a respiratory infection or maybe there is something you’re inhaling that’s causing the cough. Is anyone else around you experiencing similar symptoms?”
“No”
“In that case I would recommend making an appointment with a doctor. In the meantime, make sure to get plenty of fluids and rest.”
Typical advice for someone who was sick. Sandrone wasn’t quite sure why she even bothered coming here in the first place.
“Thanks. I think I’m going to go back to bed now.”
Lauma nodded and pulled her into another hug.
“I’ll come check on you in a couple days, OK?”
“Pftt, whatever.”
Conversation over, Sandrone marched mechanically back to her shared apartment. The climb to the second floor had her breathing hard, which she figured wasn’t a good sign, but she ignored it like everything else. As she turned the key in the lock and pushed the door open to reveal Columbina, Sandrone was overwhelmed by another round of coughs. She could feel several petals working there way up her throat. Nowhere to hide she aimed her wheezing at the bouquet, hoping Columbina wouldn’t notice a few extra petals.
As she caught her breath Columbina rushed over and laid a hand on her back. The touch felt like fire, coursing through her body making her choke on air. She shoved the flowers towards Columbina in an attempt to get her to go anywhere else, do anything other than touch Sandrone.
“Are these for me?” Columbina asked with that knowing smile.
Sandrone didn’t have the energy to process what Columbina had said, so she just nodded and hoped that was the correct response. Thankfully, Columbina had moved and Sandrone could breathe again.
“Thank you, they are very beautiful. Although,” She paused just long enough to pull a vase from the cupboard and start filling it with water, “Are you sure you should be going out right now. You seem quite sick.”
There must have been something on her face because Columbina just giggled and set the flowers down on the coffee table.
“Why don’t you go to bed. I’ll make you some more soup.”
The offer of soup was… tempting, as much as Sandrone hated to admit it. Her throat felt dry and scratchy, and she had forgotten to eat a proper meal in the haze of the morning. Sandrone just nodded again and staggered to her room where she promptly faceplanted into her pillows. Feeling her tongue around in her mouth, she found one of the petals which hadn’t flown out as freely as the others. Fishing it out she barely managed to stifle a scream. The pale blue petal, which had all been pristine when she coughed them up before, was lightly coated in still wet blood. She shoved it into the garbage can next to her bed and tried not to hyperventilate too loudly.
You weren’t supposed to cough up blood. Whenever that happened in the books Sandrone read or the movies Columbina forced her to watch that always meant the character was going to die. Sandrone didn’t want to die. She wanted to go to her engineering classes and listen to the professors drone on in monotone. She wanted to come home exhausted only to be dragged out by Columbina to some club or café. She wanted to sit in the dark at night and listen to the singing wafting through the apartment. She wanted to keep living. She wanted Columbina to keep annoying her. Her breath caught in her throat, another round of coughs tearing through her body. Sandrone wanted Columbina, but she knew she couldn’t have her.
Columbina was perfect. She was sweet and kind and even if she didn’t do the dishes sometimes, Sandrone didn’t mind. She made her have a social life, something she never had before moving into this apartment. She always knew how to tame Sandrone’s prickly moods, and Sandrone had learned to let her. Her constant presence in the apartment kept Sandrone from screaming and ripping out her hair when a professor made a bad assignment or she couldn’t understand a problem. The idea that Sandrone could lose all that because of some stupid cough made her sick to her stomach.
When Columbina came in a few minutes later Sandrone pretended to be asleep. A mountain of blankets was piled on top of the bed, obscuring her face and muffling any embarrassing noises she might be making. Blissfully, Columbina just left the soup next to the bed and made to leave. She turned by the door to peer back at Sandrone beneath the pile of bedding.
“I’m not sure if you’re awake but call if you need anything. I’ll be in the living room.” Her soft footsteps padded away before the telltale squeak of their beater couch broke the relative silence. Sandrone let out a breath she didn’t know she was holding, nearly spiraling into another fit of gasping and fighting for air. A wet feeling on her face let Sandrone know she was crying. She wasn’t quite sure why, so she just choked back her sobs and ate the soup as quietly as she could. She didn’t want to disturb Columbina any more than she already had.
The next few days were a nightmare. Her phone kept getting blown up by her classmates that had latched onto her like parasites over the years. First it was Scaramouche, complaining he told her to take a sick day, not drop off the face of the earth. Then it was Rosalyn, texting her to see if she was finally trying to replace herself with a robot like she always threatened. Even Arlecchino, some law student with the technological literacy of a boomer messaged her. Something about bringing over some nutritious food she had made with her children that Sandrone didn’t have the energy to respond to.
To top it all off her illness only seemed to be getting worse. What had started out as the occasional blue petal had turned into a few each time she wretched them up, which had quickly grown into dozens. Each round of petals was accompanied by more blood. At first only a little bit which mixed with her saliva, but more and more mixed in with the petals as time went on. It took all of Sandrone’s strength just to sit up in bed when Columbina brought in the soup she was so insistent on feeding her. The look of worry on her housemate’s face only served to make Sandrone feel worse, but there wasn’t anything she could do about it. She barely had the strength to feed herself, much less comfort someone else.
Disaster struck on the third day of her imprisonment. Columbina had gone out to go to class or maybe the store, Sandrone wasn’t entirely sure. She had managed to haul herself out of bed and into the kitchen where she had been emptying her bag of blood and stained blue flower petals into the garbage bin when another attack struck her. She was doubled over, fighting to excise what felt like an entire flower coming out of her throat when a key turned in the lock. Sandrone tried to scramble back to the safety of her room, but only managed to fall to her hands and knees and continue coughing. The door swung inwards and standing there was Lauma. Sandrone had forgotten all about her promise to come check on her and had assumed she would be safe with Columbina out of the house. Of course, none of that mattered now, not with Lauma standing in the doorway to her home, her face painted with concern.
Sandrone continued her best impression of a cat hacking up a hairball while Lauma recovered her senses. By the time her visitor had the wherewithal to enter the apartment, Sandrone had already spat an entire Khuvaahki bloom onto the floor. A mixture of blood and saliva dripped down her chin, connecting her to the bloodied flower that lay in the middle of the otherwise pristine kitchen. Lauma gave her a look that Sandrone hated. Pity. But there was nothing she could do as Lauma picked her up and carried her to the couch.
“Why didn’t you say anything.” Lauma asked, wiping Sandrone’s chin with a damp cloth. “We could have helped.”
Sandrone tried to tell her it was none of her business, that she had it handled on her own but all she managed to do was choke on air. As a compromise, she mustered up all her strength and channeled it into the most pointed glare she could manage. It seemed Lauma got the message and they both stayed silent until her face and chin was clear of blood.
“It’s fatal you know. The disease keeps progressing, starting in the lungs, then moving to the throat and the heart. Eventually you choke to death. Drowning in flowers and your own blood.” Lauma’s face was unreadable. A carefully constructed mask they probably taught all the students in medical school.
It was surprising to Sandrone that Lauma accepted this reality, and even seemed to know about whatever disease was afflicting her. She wanted to ask more, wanted to know exactly what was happening to her and why. Her desire must have been palpable because Lauma took one glance and kept talking.
“The flowers take root in your lungs, growing steadily over time. The roots spread inhibiting oxygen exchange, causing tissue damage, blocking the airway. The most obvious symptom is the petals. Usually, they’re few and far between at first, but as the disease develops there are more of them. In the later stages it’s common for the infected to cough up entire flowers like you just did. Sometimes even multiple at once.”
She was in the later stages then. In a way this was a relief from the weeks of not knowing. She preferred the concrete. Empirical data had always been Sandrone’s muse whether that be in engineering or her relationships. A list of symptoms was a blessing, even if she had figured out most of them in her own.
“There is a cure. Multiple, actually. Although I am getting a bit ahead of myself.” Sandrone wasn’t quite sure what could be more important than a cure, but she decided to trust Lauma’s judgement. Her being a medical student and all.
“The disease is supernatural in nature; the seed is planted when the victim experiences unrequited love. The easiest cure is to have that love requited.” She looked at the scowl on Sandrone’s face before continuing, “or if that isn’t an option, my people the Frostmoon Scions know a ritual to cleanse the body of the disease.”
The second option sounded much more appealing to Sandrone. Confessing her love to someone on her deathbed was far from her to do list, and quite frankly she didn’t even know who that person would be. She barely had any friends aside from the ones Columbina introduced her to, and among those there weren’t any she had strong feelings for. The only person she really felt anything around was Columbina, but that was just because of her incessant teasing. Right?
Seeing Sandrone’s dilemma Lauma continued with her explanation
“The ritual is not without cost. When the disease is cured by confession, any damage to the tissue is reversed. The ritual is not so robust. There will be substantial damage to the lungs, heart, and throat if that is the route you pursue. There is the additional cost that any feelings you may harbour for this person will be excised along with the infection.”
So what. Sandrone had always worked alone. Obviously she would rather avoid permanent lung damage, but she would live. She could go back to her classes. Listen to her classmates annoying voices while she tried to work. Maybe Columbina would start singing those lullabies again, the ones that helped her fall asleep instead of sitting in the living room in silence like she had been the last few weeks. Her life could go back to normal, all it would cost is some pain.
Sandrone’s rumination was interrupted by the sound of Lauma’s voice.
“You should tell her.”
Sandrone gave her an incredulous look.
“Who”
“Columbina.”
Lauma looked at her like she knew. Like it was written plain as day that it couldn’t be anyone else. It made something inside Sandrone wither. Was it really so obvious to everyone else. Was she the only one who hadn’t figured it out. Some part of knew, but she never wanted to accept it. Never wanted to admit it to herself.
“Khuuvahki blooms are her favourite flower, Sandrone. Who else could it be?”
Sandrone looked at her hands glumly. Fine. Maybe she liked Columbina a bit more than was strictly platonic. That didn’t give Sandrone the right to force those feelings on her, even if it was literally killing her. They were roommates. What if she didn’t like her back and then it was just an awkward disaster. What if Columbina forced herself to love her just because of the illness. No, Sandrone couldn’t tell her. It would be irresponsible. Not when she had another option.
“I’ll give you some time to think. But whatever your worries are, I’m sure Columbina would be thrilled to help.”
The apartment descended into near silence. Quiet sounds came from the kitchen where Lauma was preparing something, Sandrone wasn’t quite sure what. Her own haggard breathing filled the rest of the space. Everything was peaceful until Columbina burst through the door.
“Lauma! What’s happening, is Sandrone okay?”
“She’s on the couch. I made snacks. You two should talk.” She said seriously. She placed a tray of soft fruit and yogurt on the coffee table; the single bloody flower deliberately lay right next to it.
“I’ll leave you two alone. Call me if you need further assistance.”
Silence returned to the apartment once Lauma left. Neither Columbina nor Sandrone knew where to begin it seemed.
“I..”
“You’re..”
They both started at once
“I’m dying,” Sandrone continued tentatively. Columbina was watching her carefully, like she might drop dead at any moment. Which who knows, maybe she would, “I’ve been coughing up blood and… other things for days. Lauma says there is a cure, but I’m not sure what to do.”
Columbina looked to be on the verge of tears.
“You said there’s a cure. Why is it complicated, you should take it.”
It’s not that simple,” Sandrone huffed, “There are two methods. One of them will hurt me. The other will…” She searched for the right words, “the other will hurt the people around me.”
“I’ll do it. What ever it is I’ll do it.”
“I won’t let you.”
It wasn’t the right thing to say. It was the only thing Sandrone could say.
“What?” Columbina looked hurt, her eyes glassy.
“I’m not worth it. I can live with some pain. Nob...”
Coughs tore through her already sore body. Her ribs ached and her muscles felt like they were about to snap. Sandrone could feel the flower working its way up her throat. Each inch felt like a razor being dragged inside her esophagus. Blood spilled out of her mouth over her chin and onto her shirt. She could hardly breath. Maybe she wouldn’t get a choice. Maybe it would all end right here. Her vision was getting blurry and she could hardly think. Vaguely, she felt her jaw being forced open, the flower being tugged out of the back of her mouth. The last thing she saw before the world faded away was Columbina’s face streaming with tears.
The first thing Sandrone noticed was the weight. It felt as if she was wearing a thick suit of armor, pulling her down into the bed. There was also a warmth. Somewhere on her torso, perhaps her stomach. That seemed like about the right location. The pain came next, deep and familiar after weeks of illness. The monotonous beeping of machines slowly came into focus, the sound of light breathing filling in the gaps. A hospital then. That made sense, she supposed, she was quite sick after all.
Her eyes felt as if they were sealed with a heavy glue, so she didn’t bother to try and open them. Instead, she dragged her arm across her body to inspect whatever warm object was lying on top of her. As soon as her hand made contact with whatever it was it jerked away with a sudden force.
“Sandrone, are you awake?”
Columbina. Why was she here? Why did she sound so sad? Sandrone’s memory of how she got here was cloudy. She could have sworn she was staying at the apartment when had Lauma visited.
“I’m not sure if you can hear me Sandrone, but I think I’ll talk anyway. Lauma says it would be good for me to tell you everything in case you don’t pull through. It’s for my sake, according to her.”
That’s right, she was dying. They had been on the couch, the beginnings of an argument on their lips, when Sandrone had fallen unconscious. She wondered if Columbina had brought her here.
“The doctors said you fainted from blood loss and lack of oxygen. I… I found the garbage bag Sandrone, there was so much blood…”
Drats, there went her master plan. In hindsight filling the main garbage bin was not the stealthiest approach. She blamed the blood loss.
“Why did you hide it Sandrone? I could have done something! I could have helped! I thought we were closer than that. I wish you would let me care for you.”
Columbina had cared for her. She had brought her soup, made sure she wasn’t cold, fetched things from out of the apartment. All things done to care for Sandrone when she was sick. There wasn’t anything more Columbina could do to help. Not without Sandrone abusing the trust between them.
“Do you know how scared I was? I thought you were going to die. I still do. You mean so much to me Sandrone, not just as a friend or a roommate. I’m not sure I could handle losing you right now.”
She meant something to Columbina? Something more than their obligations required of them? Looking back the signs were there. Dragging her out with her friends, late night movies together, the way Columbina sometimes found her way into Sandrone’s bed during the night. Sandrone had thought they were teasing, meant to annoy her, get her worked up. Maybe they had meant something more.
“I love you Sandrone. I hope you saw that. No, you aren’t dead. I hope you will see that.”
Oh. Had she really been so ignorant? It was almost funny. Sandrone’s stubbornness to tell Columbina her feelings had made her illness worse. That in turn had pushed Columbina to make her feelings known. The very feelings Sandrone had been trying to keep from forcing on her. She would have laughed if she could, but in her current state all that came out was a puff of air. The spot on her stomach where the warmth had been began to feel cold
“I hope I can take you home and show you, convince you if I have to, just how much I care. Maybe it’s selfish. Maybe you don’t feel the same. But I want to do it anyway. Anything if it means you grump at me in the mornings again.”
She never needed to worry, Columbina wanted her in the same way Sandrone wanted Columbina. Lauma probably knew, she always knew these things somehow, especially when Columbina was involved. But that didn’t matter right now. Sandrone could fix this, make everything better. All she had to do was say it.
“Columbina,” She croaked. Speaking felt like dragging sandpaper over her vocal cords, but she persevered, “me too.”
It wasn’t much, but it was enough. It didn’t convey the depth of her emotion, the weight of her feeling, but it was enough. It had to be.
The change was immediate. The pain in her chest dwindled from a forest fire to a spark to nothing at all. Her throat felt renewed, like she hadn’t spent the last few weeks coughing like it was her job. There was still soreness, her head still swam. The magical recovery didn’t extend to blood loss it seemed, but she felt well enough to open her eyes. Strong enough to take in the sight before her.
Columbina was sitting in a chair next to Sandrone’s hospital bed. She was wearing different clothes than the last time she had seen her. A flowy white dress and one of Sandrone’s cardigans she always liked to steal. Her lilac eyes were rimmed red and puffy, looking at Sandrone with a mixture of grief and hope. She looked breathtaking. She looked like all Sandrone ever wanted.
“Sandrone?”
She didn’t respond right away. Instead, Sandrone pushed herself out of the bed —an action that made Columbina’s breath hitch— and pressed their lips into a kiss.
It wasn’t heated or passionate, and Sandrone didn’t have the experience to know if it was good or bad. What mattered was the intention. What mattered was they way Columbina’s lips curled into a smile. How her body relaxed at the contact, the stress fleeing from both of them.
“Me too, Columbina. Me too.”
Columbina pulled back, her hand cupping Sandrone’s cheek. She had a look in her eye that Sandrone didn’t know how to interpret.
“Lie back down.”
“What?!” Sandrone squeeked. Did she really want to do that here?
“You’re still sick.”
“No I’m not.”
“Yes, you are. Now lie down.”
“I’m not sick anymore. “Sandrone grumbled, but she did as she was told. Columbina climbed into the bed after her, clinging to her side like Sandrone might disappear.
“Aren’t you going to call the nurse,” Sandrone asked, “I’m still sick, aren’t I?”
Columbina’s reply was muffled by Sandrone’s shoulder.
“In a minute. You’re doing better now.”
Sandrone just hugged her tighter.