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Chloe can tell the second she opens her eyes that something is off. Her head is fucking pounding. And not in a normal, post-show, late-night, morning-after way.
Her throat feels like shit—raw, dry. She’d noticed it when she was falling asleep last night, figured it’d be gone by morning.
But, as usual, the universe had other plans.
She can’t breathe out of her nose either.
Fan-fucking-tastic.
She blindly reaches over to the nightstand for the glass of water. Misses it. It hits the floor and spills.
“Motherfucker.”
Max stirs at the sound.
“Chloe?” she murmurs, voice thick with sleep as she turns toward her. “Are you okay?”
“Fine,” Chloe grumbles, dragging a hand over her face. “Go back to sleep.”
Max doesn’t.
“Hey…you sound weird. Are you okay?”
“I screamed my lungs out all night, nerd. I’m amazing,” Chloe says, wincing a little at how weird her voice actually sounds.
Max moves closer, reaching out. Her fingers brush Chloe’s forehead.
“Chloe, you’re burning up.”
Chloe rolls her eyes and pulls away.
“Yeah? Adds to the aesthetic.”
“Chloe.”
“…don’t do that voice.”
She flips onto her stomach, burying her face in the pillow, then immediately lifts her head again, exhaling hard when she can’t breathe like that.
“Jesus Christ,” she says under her breath, rolling onto her back.
Max runs her hand through Chloe’s hair.
“Chloe,” she says softly, “You don’t feel good, do you?”
“I’m fine, Max,” Chloe says again. “Really. We have a big show tonight. I gotta focus on that.”
“Chloe, you’ve been working so hard,” Max says, quieter. “Let me take care of you.”
Chloe sighs. Max is so fucking earnest it hurts sometimes.
“Fine. But I’m not missing the show.”
“Yeah,” Max murmurs, pulling Chloe against her. “We’ll see.”
Chloe makes a small noise and folds into her immediately, like her body decides before she does. Max’s hand settles at her back, rubbing slow, steady circles.
Chloe falls back asleep like that, wrapped up in Max’s arms, breathing through her mouth.
* . °•★|•°∵ ∵°•|☆•° . *
When she wakes again, the sun is way higher now, light cutting through the thin motel curtains. Her throat feels even worse and her whole body feels heavy, like she’s been hit by something.
Great. This is just great.
The other side of the bed is empty.
Chloe frowns faintly, then sighs, dragging a hand over her face.
She looks around the room.
The glass she knocked over earlier is back on the nightstand. Full this time.
Chloe blinks at it, then reaches for it, taking a long sip.
There’s a bottle of Advil next to it. The cap already loosened.
A box of tissues sits where her cigarettes usually are.
Chloe huffs a humorless laugh through her nose—immediately regrets it—and grabs a tissue.
The trash can has been pulled closer to the bed.
Chloe swallows, throat tight for a reason that has nothing to do with being sick.
She presses the tissue to her nose, staring at the setup like it might rearrange itself if she looks long enough.
God.
Her phone is still on the nightstand. She grabs it.
There are two texts from Max.
Borrowed your truck to run to the pharmacy. Be back soon <3
Do NOT smoke anything!!! I mean it.
“Jesus, Max,” she mutters.
Chloe coughs. Yeah. She’s definitely sick.
She remembers the last time she was sick with Max. Years ago. Strep throat. She’d told Max it felt like she was getting throat-fucked by razor blades.
Max had tried her best to take care of her.
Chloe had been…kind of a nightmare about it.
Snapping at her. Pushing her away. Acting like everything Max did was wrong.
Max had still stayed. Still tried.
Chloe swallows, wincing at the pain in her throat.
She’d been, what—twenty-three? twenty-four? Something like that.
She still doesn’t like being taken care of.
But now she’s older. She’s got her shit together. Mostly. She can handle it. She can—
Her phone starts buzzing in her hands.
Izzie.
The sound makes her ears ring.
“Yeah?” Chloe says, picking up the call.
“Oh, she rises from the dead,” Izzie says. Chloe can practically hear her rolling her eyes. “Do you know what time it is?”
“Time for you to get a watch?” Chloe croaks.
“…wait,” Izzie says. “Why do you sound like that?”
“I don’t sound like anything,” Chloe says, clearing her throat.
“Yeah, you sound like shit,” Bash calls.
Definitely on speaker.
Chloe presses her fingers to her temple.
“I’m just tired,” she says, sharper now. “Everyone chill out. I overdid it last night.”
“Yeah,” Izzie says dryly, “you think?”
“You told that guy who flirted with Max to—what was it—‘eat shit and die slowly?’”
Bash snorts.
“Whatever,” Chloe says. “He had it coming.”
“That’s not the point,” Izzie says. “You sound awful.”
“I’m fine,” Chloe says, firmer. “I’ll be there for setup on time. And that’s more than I can say for you assholes.”
“Seriously, Chloe—are you sick?” Marisol’s voice cuts in.
“No,” Chloe says, extremely over this. “I’ll see you tonight.”
“Wait—”
Chloe hangs up and tosses her phone onto the bed.
She shivers.
Great. Now she’s freezing, too. The room’s warm, but it doesn’t matter—her skin feels wrong, like it can’t decide what it’s doing.
She swings her legs over the side of the bed and stands.
Her head lags a second behind the rest of her, vision going slightly swimmy. She steadies herself on the edge of the dresser, jaw tightening.
She pushes off anyway, making her way to her bag and digging through it.
No cigarettes.
Chloe frowns, digging deeper. Shuffles things around. Checks again.
Nothing.
“…you’ve gotta be kidding me.”
She checks the side pocket. Empty.
Weed pen’s gone, too.
Chloe pauses, then laughs weakly.
“Sneaky little—”
She shakes her head.
“Of course.”
She grabs her phone and unlocks it.
Ur a thief, Caulfield
The reply comes almost immediately.
:D
Chloe squints at the screen.
-_-
A second passes.
Love you too! Be back in 5!
Chloe drops her phone back onto the bed and looks toward the bathroom.
Okay. Shower. Clear her sinuses. Wake up a bit.
Easy.
She walks into the bathroom, throwing her shirt and underwear on the floor, and cranks the hot water.
Steam starts filling the tiny room almost instantly.
She catches herself in the mirror.
Jesus.
Her hair’s a mess, sticking out in every direction, the green dulled and uneven from sleep and sweat. There’s smeared eyeliner under her eyes—actually—not even under. Just…everywhere.
Her lips are dry, red from how much she’s been breathing through her mouth.
Her skin looks wrong. Flushed in that uneven, feverish way.
There’s a small mark at the base of her neck—Max, from last night.
“…nice,” she smirks.
She looks like absolute ass. Feels like it, too.
She turns away before she can think about it any longer.
Chloe steps into the shower and leans her forehead against the tile with a groan, letting the water hit the back of her neck.
“Fuck,” she breathes out. “Okay. Yeah.”
It actually helps.
Her sinuses loosen. The heat sinks into her bones, takes the edge off the chills.
She stands there, eyes closed, letting it pour over her.
Then her head starts to feel…weird.
Heavy. Floaty. Too light and too dense at the same time.
Chloe opens her eyes, blinking against the steam.
“Okay,” she murmurs. “Okay, we’re good.”
She’s not good.
The room tilts slightly when she shifts her weight. Her grip on the wall tightens.
Right. Cool. Awesome.
She sighs, long and slow, then carefully lowers herself down until she’s sitting on the floor of the shower, back against the tile.
Better.
The water runs over her, soaking through her hair.
She’d usually avoid that—green dye’s a pain on the road—but right now?
Could not care less.
The color bleeds faintly, tinting the water a washed-out teal.
Chloe watches it.
Future Chloe problem.
Chloe lets her head tip back against the tile, eyes slipping shut.
For a second, she almost drifts.
The bathroom door opens—
“Chloe?”
Chloe’s eyes snap open. She jerks, trying to turn too fast, and smacks the back of her head against the tile.
“Fuck.”
“Chloe?!” Max’s voice, sharp now.
Chloe winces, holding a hand to the back of her head.
“I’m fine,” she says immediately, voice rough. “Do not rewind that. It’s fine.”
Max is already stepping closer, hovering outside the curtain.
“Did you hit your head—”
“It was nothing,” Chloe cuts in. “Relax.”
Max pushes the curtain open enough to see her—and then fully, because of course she does.
“Perv,” Chloe mumbles.
Max’s expression changes instantly.
Concern. Worry. That classic Max look.
“Chloe,” she says, sympathetically. “Why are you sitting on the floor?”
Chloe shrugs, which is harder than it should be.
“Because standing is overrated.”
Max’s eyes flick over her flushed skin, the way she’s slumped against the wall.
“You feel dizzy?” Max asks.
“Maybe a little,” Chloe admits, quieter.
Max exhales, like she already knew.
“Okay,” she says gently. “Hey, can I—”
She gestures, like she wants to help her up, but isn’t sure Chloe will let her.
Chloe watches her, too tired to put up much of a fight.
“…yeah.”
Max leans into the shower, turning off the water. She turns and reaches for a towel off the rack.
“Okay,” she says, voice steady in that way Chloe knows means she’s worried. “Let’s get you up.”
Chloe huffs weakly. “Bossy.”
“Yeah,” Max says. “And you’re sitting on the shower floor.”
Chloe snorts, which immediately turns into a cough. “Fuck—okay, rude.”
Max crouches down in front of her, careful, giving her space but close enough to catch her if she sways.
“Hey,” she says. “Can you stand?”
Chloe nods. Regrets it instantly.
“Cool,” she groans. “That was a mistake.”
Max’s mouth twitches, but her hands are already on Chloe’s arms, pulling her up.
“Okay. Slow,” she murmurs. “I’ve got you.”
Chloe pushes herself up, legs shaky, the world tilting enough to be annoying. She instinctively leans forward and ends up half against Max.
“Okay,” Chloe breathes, eyes squeezing shut. “That’s—”
“I know,” Max says quietly. “I’ve got you.”
Her grip switches, one hand at Chloe’s side, the other braced at her back, keeping her upright as she steps them carefully out of the shower.
The sudden cool air hits Chloe’s skin and she shivers hard.
“Jesus.”
“I know,” Max repeats, already wrapping the towel around her torso, then another around her hair without even thinking about it.
Chloe lets her.
Max pauses at that, but doesn’t say anything.
“Sit,” she says, guiding Chloe to the closed toilet lid.
Chloe drops onto it with a groan, elbows on her knees, head hanging forward.
Max moves around her quickly but not frantically, grabbing another towel, drying Chloe’s arms, her shoulders, careful and efficient.
Chloe watches her through half-lidded eyes.
“You robbed me,” she grumbles.
Max flicks her eyes up. “Yeah.”
“Where’d you hide them?”
“Not saying.”
Chloe squints at her. “Criminal.”
“Mhm.”
Chloe lets out a weak breath that might be a laugh.
“You’re not funny.”
“I’m not trying to be funny,” Max says, but there’s a hint of a smile there.
She finishes drying Chloe’s arms, then pauses, looking at her properly now.
“Chloe,” she says quietly. “You’re not working tonight.”
Chloe stiffens.
“Don’t start, Max,” she groans.
“I’m not starting,” Max replies. “I’m telling you.”
Chloe lifts her head, fixing her with a look that would be a lot more intimidating if she didn’t immediately sway.
“I’m fine,” she says. “I just need to take some meds. I’ll be good by tonight.”
Max watches her, jaw tightening slightly.
“Okay,” she says after a moment. “Stand up.”
Chloe frowns. “What?”
“Stand up,” Max repeats. “No help.”
Chloe narrows her eyes. “That’s manipulative.”
“Stand up.”
“You’re the worst.”
She pushes herself up anyway and immediately, her knees wobble. Her balance goes.
Chloe reaches out on instinct for Max's arm, misses, and fully grabs her boob.
Max makes a small sound.
“That was not on purpose,” Chloe says quickly.
Max looks completely unsurprised.
“Mhm.”
She steadies her properly before Chloe can tip sideways.
Chloe doesn't look at her.
“…okay. Fine. You win.”
Max keeps a steady hand on Chloe’s arm as they make their way back into the bedroom.
Chloe doesn’t pull away.
When they step inside, Chloe blinks.
“What the fuck?”
The small table is covered in things. Not, like, a few things—stuff.
Cough drops. Two kinds of cold medicine. Another bottle of Advil. Tissues. Vapor rub. Something aggressively herbal. Electrolyte packets. A goddamn thermometer.
There’s even a tiny bottle of lavender something-or-other.
Chloe stares at it.
“Did you rob the CVS, too?”
Max glances over, a shy little smile tugging at her mouth.
“I didn’t know what you’d need.”
“So you got everything.”
“I wanted to have options.”
“You’re insane, Max.”
Max’s hand slides to her back, steadying her again without thinking about it.
“Sit,” she says, guiding her toward the edge of the bed.
Chloe sinks down, heavier than she means to, still staring at the spread.
“What’s the lavender for?”
“It said it helps with relaxation.”
“I’m not, like, haunted, dude,” she complains. “I’m just sick.”
Max’s mouth twitches. “Okay, well. You’re getting it anyway.”
Chloe shakes her head, reaching for one of the electrolyte packets, turning it over in her hands.
“You even got this weird shit,” she says.
“It’s not weird,” Max says. “It’s helpful. You should be using those anyway.”
Chloe looks up at her, squinting. “I don’t believe in that stuff.”
Max blinks. “In…hydration?”
“In whatever that is,” Chloe says, giving the packet a small shake. “Feels like a scam.”
“You literally drink gas station coffee and call it a meal.”
“Yeah, and I’m thriving.”
Max stares at her, completely unimpressed, and sighs.
Chloe drops it back onto the table, leaning back on her hands.
She watches Max. The way she’s hovering, brows furrowed. The way everything’s already laid out.
Chloe swallows, throat aching.
“You didn’t have to do all this.”
Max looks at her like that’s the stupidest thing she’s ever heard.
“I know,” she says simply.
Chloe looks away.
“Okay,” she says, quieter now.
Max softens, stepping closer.
“Joyce used to not let me come over when you were sick,” she says.
Chloe blinks, thrown.
“What?”
“When we were kids,” Max adds. “If you had a fever or something. She didn’t want me catching it.”
Chloe squints at her, reaching for the tissue box. “That’s…normal, Max.”
“I know,” Max says quickly. “I just—”
She trails off, fingers fidgeting with the edge of one of the medicine boxes.
“I might’ve told you this before,” she says, a little uncertain. “But I remember standing outside your house once. Like, actually outside. I rode my bike over anyway.”
Chloe lets out a small sound, pressing a tissue to her nose. “No, I don’t think you told me.”
Max looks up, a small, fleeting smile crossing her face.
“I brought you, um—” she pauses, embarrassed. “—ginger ale. And crackers.”
Chloe snorts, then coughs into the tissue.
“You didn’t even like ginger ale,” she says, voice rough.
“I know,” Max says, a little defensive. “But it felt like a sick-person thing.”
“You’re such a nerd.”
Max smiles, barely.
“Your mom made me leave it on the porch,” she says. “Wouldn’t even let me come in.”
“I hated that,” she adds, hushed.
Chloe’s expression changes.
Max looks at her then, more steady.
“I’m here now.”
Chloe looks away first, jaw tightening slightly, pressing the used tissue into her palm.
“Guess you really love me or something,” she says in a low voice.
Max gazes at her.
“Guess I really do.”
Chloe looks back at her.
They hold each other's gaze for a second.
Max reaches for the thermometer on the table.
Chloe clocks it immediately.
“No,” she says.
Max doesn’t even look up. “Yes.”
“Max.”
“Chloe.”
Chloe narrows her eyes at her, leaning back further on her hands, like that somehow puts her out of reach. “I feel like I would know if I had a fever.”
“Chloe, you do have a fever,” Max says calmly. “I can literally feel it.”
“Okay, but I don’t need it quantified.”
Max pauses, eyebrow lifting.
“...You don’t need it quantified.”
“Correct.”
Max stares at her.
“You’re so annoying, Chloe."
Chloe presses her lips together, very deliberately not reacting.
Max’s eyes narrow slightly.
“Did you just pout at me?”
Chloe scoffs. “I did not—”
“You did,” Max says, pointing at her. “That was a full pout.”
“It was not a full pout,” Chloe sputters.
Max gives her a look.
“…half pout,” Chloe concedes, sulking a little.
Max lets out a laugh, shaking her head.
“Please,” she says, gentler now, stepping closer. “Let me check, okay?”
Chloe hesitates. Then sighs, long and dramatic.
“Fine,” she mutters. “But if it’s, like, normal, I get to be insufferable about it.”
“Deal,” Max says immediately, which is how Chloe knows she’s absolutely fucked.
Chloe rolls her eyes, but opens her mouth anyway.
Max steps in, fingers light at Chloe’s chin, tilting her head back.
“Lift your tongue,” she murmurs.
Chloe does, mumbling something suggestive under her breath.
Max scoffs, adjusting her grip on Chloe’s chin slightly.
“Hold still.”
The thermometer beeps after a few seconds.
Max pulls it out, checking the reading.
Her expression shifts.
Chloe squints at her. “What?”
Max doesn’t answer right away.
“Max.”
“You have a fever,” she says.
“No I don’t.”
Max looks at her.
“You do.”
“How bad?”
Max hesitates.
“Max.”
“One-oh-three,” she admits.
Chloe leans back slightly. “Okay, that’s—fine.”
“That’s not fine.”
“It’s not, like, that bad.”
Max gives her a look.
“Chloe.”
Chloe huffs, crossing her arms like that proves anything.
“I’ve had worse.”
“Chloe,” Max says, gentle yet firm. “You’re not going to the show tonight.”
Chloe opens her mouth to argue and immediately coughs instead, turning her head away.
Max waits.
Chloe wipes her mouth with the back of her hand, glaring weakly.
“That was unrelated.”
Max doesn’t even dignify that with a response.
She reaches for the box of medicine, pops two out, and holds them out to her.
Chloe eyes them.
“What’s even in those?”
“Chloe, this is, like, the least concerning thing you’ve ever put in your body.”
Chloe gives a weak laugh that turns into another cough. “Okay, fair.”
She takes them from Max’s hand. Max hands her the water without being asked.
Chloe downs them, swallowing with a wince.
“Ugh,” she mutters. “Hate that.”
“I know,” Max says apologetically.
Max turns back to the table and unscrews the vapor rub, the sharp menthol smell hitting immediately.
Chloe wrinkles her nose. “Gross. I don’t even smoke menthols.”
“It’ll help you breathe,” Max says, already dipping her fingers into it.
Chloe watches her, suspicious.
“You’re not putting that on my face.”
Max doesn’t look up. “No, silly. Your chest.”
Chloe leans back against the pillows, towel still loosely wrapped around her.
Max climbs onto the bed beside her, steadying herself with one hand as she reaches for the edge of the towel.
“Hey,” she says carefully, a pause for permission.
Chloe’s gaze flicks to her face, then she shrugs.
“Knock yourself out.”
Max lowers the towel enough to expose her chest.
Her fingers are warm when they touch her skin.
Chloe inhales sharply. Her hand shifts against the sheets, gripping for a second.
“Jesus—”
“It’s cold at first,” Max murmurs, already smoothing it in.
Chloe lets her head tip back, shoulders loosening a fraction.
“This feels like a setup.”
Max doesn’t even glance up. “For what?”
“I don’t know,” Chloe says, voice rough. “Something nefarious.”
Max snorts low, continuing the motion across her chest, up toward her collarbone.
Chloe watches her—the focus, the care, the way Max is just…there with her.
“You know,” Chloe says lightly, “this feels like a missed opportunity for you.”
“Chloe.”
“I’m just saying,” Chloe continues, voice rough but playful, “I’m literally naked here.”
Max finally looks at her. Flat.
“You have a fever.”
Chloe grins faintly. “Yeah, I’m hot. Don’t you want this?”
Max shakes her head, fond and unimpressed.
“Worth a shot.”
Max finishes, smoothing the last of the vapor rub across her collarbone, thumb lingering before she pulls her hand back. Then, without another word, she gets up.
Chloe watches her, suspicious. “Where are you going?”
“Clothes,” Max says, already digging through Chloe’s bag like she knows exactly where everything is.
Chloe squints at her. “I’m literally fine.”
Max hums, pulling out a t-shirt and a pair of underwear. “You’re damp and have a fever.”
Chloe looks at the shirt.
“I don’t want that one.”
Max raises a brow. “Why not?”
Chloe shrugs. “…want one of yours.”
Max blinks.
“Yeah,” she says, her voice dropping. “Yeah, of course.”
She turns back to her own bag without a word, digging around before pulling out a worn t-shirt.
She looks back at Chloe.
“Sit up.”
Chloe groans like this is a massive inconvenience, but pushes herself up anyway, slow and a little wobbly.
Max steps back over, one hand already steadying her as she holds out the shirt with the other.
“Up.”
Chloe rolls her eyes, but lifts her arms.
Max helps her into it, careful, guiding it over her head, tugging it down once it’s in place, smoothing it at her sides without really thinking about it.
Chloe watches her the whole time.
She tugs lightly at the hem, frowning faintly.
“…Dude,” she says, voice rough, "Haven't you had this since we were, like, twenty?”
Max pauses.
“Maybe.”
Chloe squints at the faded fabric.
“This is from that shitty diner in Utah," she adds. “The one with the broken AC and the weird pie.”
“The pie wasn’t that weird,” Max says.
Chloe makes a face. “Oh, right. You liked it.”
She hums, still half-focused on the shirt.
“…you kept it,” she says, tone changing.
Max doesn’t answer that.
She smooths the fabric once more at Chloe’s side—unnecessary this time—then nudges the underwear toward her.
“Finish the job.”
Chloe makes a face, but complies, slower than usual.
By the time she’s done, she’s clearly more tired than she wants to admit.
“Lay down,” Max says.
Chloe doesn’t right away.
“Chloe.”
Chloe huffs, then lets herself sink back into the pillows with a small groan, shifting until she’s halfway under them.
Max reaches for the blanket, pulling it up over her, tucking it in around her sides with practiced ease.
She starts to pull back, but Chloe’s hand catches her wrist.
“Hey,” Max says gently, pausing.
“Stay,” Chloe says.
Max softens immediately.
“I am staying,” she says.
“No, like—” Chloe adjusts, frowning faintly. “—here.”
She tugs.
Max gets it.
“Oh,” she says quietly.
Without another word, she kicks off her shoes, then pulls her jeans off, leaving them in a heap on the floor.
The mattress dips as she climbs onto the bed, and Chloe immediately turns toward her, like it’s instinct.
She presses in close, forehead nudging against Max’s shoulder, one arm sliding loosely around her middle.
“Hey,” Max murmurs. “I've got you.”
Chloe hums, already settling, grip tightening slightly in the fabric of Max’s shirt.
Her breathing is heavier now. Warmer.
Max brushes her fingers lightly through Chloe’s damp hair, slow and careful.
Chloe leans into it.
“You’re so warm.”
“You have a fever,” Max says with quiet amusement.
“Mm,” Chloe says. “Still counts.”
Max pulls the blanket up higher around them both.
Chloe presses closer.
Max’s hand works in long, steady strokes through Chloe’s hair, then down her back, soothing.
“…Max?”
“Yeah?”
Chloe’s voice is smaller now. Rough, drifting.
“…don’t leave.”
Max’s hand stills, then resumes, even gentler.
“I’m not going anywhere,” she says.
Chloe exhales, something in her finally unclenching.
“…okay,” she murmurs. “…love you.”
It slips out, soft and unguarded.
Max’s breath catches slightly.
She presses a small kiss into Chloe’s hair.
“Love you too,” she whispers.
Chloe nuzzles closer into Max’s side.
“Wait,” she murmurs.
Max hums. “Yeah?”
Chloe tilts her head up slightly, frowning.
“What if you get sick?”
Max hesitates, then gives a quiet, incredulous laugh.
“Chloe.”
“What?” Chloe mutters. “I’m serious.”
“We literally had sex last night.”
“Oh, I remember,” Chloe murmurs, a faint smirk tugging at her mouth.
Max just gives her a look.
“I’m already doomed,” she says.
Chloe considers that.
“Yeah. Classic us, I guess,” she mumbles. “Can I have a kiss, then?”
Max gives her a fond little smile.
“Yeah.”
She leans in, pressing a gentle kiss to Chloe’s forehead—then to her lips, brief and careful.
Chloe hums, satisfied, and settles back against her.
There’s a loud knock at the door.
Chloe flinches.
Max’s hand tightens slightly around her. “Hey—it’s okay.”
Another knock. Louder this time.
“Chloe! Open up!” Izzie’s voice, muffled through the door.
Chloe groans, dragging the blanket up over her head. “Fucking Christ.”
“I should—”
Chloe’s hand tightens in Max’s shirt. “Don’t.”
“Chloeee,” Bash calls. “We know you’re in there.”
Chloe squeezes her eyes shut. “Oh my god.”
Max presses a quick kiss into her hair. “I’ll be right back, okay?”
Chloe makes a small, unhappy noise but doesn’t argue this time, loosening her grip.
Max carefully slips out of bed, making sure Chloe’s still tucked in, then heads for the door.
She opens it just enough to step out.
Izzie’s eyes flick over Max’s state of undress, and then immediately tries to lean past her into the room.
“Oh, shit, we interrupting something, or…?”
Max shifts, attempting to block the doorway.
“She’s not—”
Too late.
Chloe, in all her glory, is visible over Max’s shoulder—tangled in blankets, hair damp and sticking to her face, flushed and glassy-eyed, a crumpled tissue still in her hand.
Bash snorts.
“Oh wow. She doesn’t just sound like shit, she looks like shit, too.”
“Fuck you,” Chloe rasps from the bed, not even lifting her head.
Izzie winces slightly. “Okay, yeah, that’s…bad.”
Marisol folds her arms. “She have a fever?”
“I’m fine,” Chloe insists weakly, her voice catching halfway through.
She tries to push herself up.
Max is already turning, crossing the room in two steps.
“Hey—nope,” she says, tender but firm, guiding her back down. “Lay down.”
“I’m good,” Chloe mutters. “Just dizzy.”
“You’re not good.”
“I’ve played worse—”
“Chloe,” Max cuts in, her hand tightening slightly at her side.
Something in her tone makes Chloe stop.
She sinks back into the pillows with a frustrated sigh.
Max turns back toward the door, expression set now.
“She’s not working tonight.”
Bash scoffs, pushing the door open more. “Max, c’mon, she’s dramatic. Give her, like, an hour—”
“She has a 103 fever,” Max says, calm but unyielding. “She’s not going.”
Izzie’s eyebrows shoot up. “Really?”
“Yes.”
Marisol nods slightly, already convinced. “Yeah. That’s a no.”
Chloe tries one last time, pushing herself up on her elbows.
“I can do it,” she says, a little stronger now. “Just—give me a few hours, I’ll—”
She breaks off into a coughing fit, turning away.
Max is there instantly, one hand at her back, the other steadying her shoulder.
“Hey,” she murmurs. “Easy.”
Chloe waves her off weakly. “I’m fine, it’s just—”
“Yeah,” Max says. “I know.”
She doesn’t move her hand, just glances back toward the door.
“She’s not going,” she repeats. “She needs to rest.”
Everyone is quiet.
Even Bash.
Izzie sighs. “Alright. We’ll figure something out.”
Marisol nods. “Yeah. No worries, Chlo.”
Bash shrugs. “Guess I’m hauling more gear tonight. Love that for me.”
Chloe glares at her. “Maybe you’ll actually be on time, then, dickhead.”
“Debatable,” Bash shoots back with a grin.
Max glances between them, unimpressed.
“Out,” she says.
Izzie looks between Max and Chloe, expression soft. “Text us if you need anything, okay?”
Chloe rolls her eyes. “Yeah, yeah.”
Marisol nods once, then turns, already corralling the others.
Bash lingers a second longer, giving Chloe one last look.
“You really do look like shit,” she adds.
“Get the fuck out,” Chloe croaks.
Bash grins again and finally leaves.
Max shuts the door and leans back against it, exhaling slowly.
Then she turns back.
Chloe is already sinking into the pillows, eyes closed, the effort of all that clearly catching up with her.
Max crosses the room and climbs back into bed, pulling the blanket up as she settles in close.
Chloe turns immediately, snuggling into her side, warm and heavy.
She huffs weakly.
“I hate them."
Max smiles faintly, brushing her fingers through Chloe’s hair again.
“I know.”
She wraps an arm around her without hesitation, pulling her in closer.
Chloe presses her lips against Max’s arm.
They fall silent.
Max just lets herself feel it—Chloe warm against her, half-asleep and complaining and stubborn as hell and absolutely perfect, curled into her side like she belongs there.
Like this is where they were always supposed to end up.
It still feels a little like a dream.
Her eyes prick unexpectedly with tears.
“...Max, is it weird that this kinda turns me on?”
Max gives a long-suffering sigh.
“You’re literally delirious.”
Chloe shrugs against her.
“Worth mentioning.”