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Cynthia's dress (black, slinky, with a tantalizing slit up the side) lay limp and wrinkled on her bed. She sniffled and let a breath out, running her hands down her face. Fatigue dragged her posture downward, dragged her eyelids shut. She sighed heavily and went to the bathroom, crashing down on the closed lid of the toilet with all the ponderous ill-grace of a Hippowdon. She couldn't do this. What had started as a stinging throat and a slightly stuffy nose had gradually crept up in intensity all day, and she had kept stubbornly denying it. She had better things to do than sit around at home nursing a tiny little cold in the head.
Except that she'd burned through quite a lot of energy merely ignoring her sundry symptoms, and now that evening was almost upon her, she... she just couldn't anymore.
Well, she could, probably, but it wouldn't be fair to Lucian to show up at dinner half-awake and sniffling, or with enough caffeine in her system to power the S.S. Anne. Not to mention, she'd be dreaming of her bathtub the whole time. That was one thing this particular villa had on all the others: an enormous bathtub with jets.
And Lucian, well. Better to cancel. He'd be disappointed, but he'd live, and without catching her cold. Now where had she left her phone...?
She hauled herself back to her feet to conduct a search of the house with a handful of tissues pressed to her streaming nose, and at last found her cell phone in the kitchen alongside her diamond studs and a bottle of clear nail polish. Leaving the rest, she scooped up her phone and sank to the kitchen floor.
It took Lucian a few rings to answer. "Hello?"
"Hi," Cynthia said, unable to make herself sound anything but miserable and congested. "Listen, Lucian, I have to cancel. I'm sorry."
"Is everything alright?"
Cynthia rested her head against the cabinets, staring blankly at the ceiling light through watery eyes. "Yes. I'm just sick."
"Ah. That's unfortunate. I'll cancel our reservation. Are you still in Sunyshore?"
"I— Yes." Cynthia licked her dry lips. "Yes, I'm still in Sunyshore."
"Can I bring you anything?"
Cynthia smiled despite herself. That Lucian was a perfect gentleman should have come as no surprise, but it kept sneaking up on her. "I don't need to be looked after."
"That's not a 'no,'" Lucian said without missing a beat.
"I don't want to get you sick," Cynthia said, which was true. Whether or not she wanted to see Lucian was irrelevant.
"Still not a 'no.'"
A giddy warmth spread through Cynthia's chest at the prospect of seeing Lucian. She really had been looking forward to their date. "You know where the spare key is," she said innocently. "Just don't blame me if I'm in the bath when you get here."
In fact, Cynthia had just gotten out of the bath when the front door opened and shut with a quiet click. She bundled herself up in a fluffy white bathrobe and perched on the edge of her bed, dabbing at her nose with the cuff. Not quite sanitary, but her hands were still a little too damp for tissues.
Lucian's gentle tread sounded from the hall, pausing, then resuming. At last, he peered into the bedroom and his face softened at the sight of her.
He'd tied his hair up and had evidently wasted no time in getting here; he was wearing only slacks and a button-down (no tie) with the sleeves rolled to the elbow. Cynthia would have pounced on him if she wasn't so busy trying not to sneeze.
"Hi, Cyn," he said, coming in properly, and revealing a large (and surprisingly unfashionable) tote bag slung over one shoulder. It had the logo for the local co-op on it. "How are you feeling?"
She sniffled, wiggling her nose slightly against the persistent tickle in her sinuses. "I've been better."
"Could I convince you to join me in the living room?" he asked, extending a hand to her.
Cynthia took it and let her lead him back down the hall. "You didn't have to come," she said, resisting the urge to rest her head on his shoulder.
"I know." He flashed her a smile. "You don't need anyone to take care of you."
"I don't."
"But you have plenty of things you don't need."
Cynthia laughed a little, sparing a glance at the paintings lining the walls, the keepsakes on various shelves. "Touché."
Looking satisfied with himself, and also very fond, Lucian settled her down on the couch and wrapped her in a throw blanket, his fingers ghosting over her exposed ankles. "Are you hungry?"
"I could eat," Cynthia said, her eyes hot on his collarbone.
"First things first," Lucian replied, setting the tote bag on her ottoman.
Cynthia watched attentively. Lucian had an eye for aesthetics, so there must have been some reason he'd had to use such an unfashionable bag.
Without much fanfare, he reached in and pulled out a soft-looking Munchlax plush, passing it over to Cynthia with both hands like it was heavy.
"What's this?" she asked, taking it. It was heavy, and felt like it was full of pebbles.
"It works like a heating pad," Lucian said. "I wasn't sure if you had a fever or if your stomach was bothering you. I suppose I could have asked. Do you want me to heat it up for you? It only takes a few seconds in the microwave.
"Mm..." The weight felt strangely good in Cynthia's lap, and she was cozy enough in her robe, with the throw blanket over her. "I'll hold onto it."
Lucian spared her a smile before reaching into the bag again. All in all, its contents amounted to: a magazine, three different types of herbal tea in metal canisters, a box of tissues, a package of metal-free hair ties, and various groceries. That explained the ugly tote bag; nothing else could handle the weight.
Lucian had everything planned, meticulous as a watchmaker. He left Cynthia on the couch with the magazine, the tissues, and a cup of tea, and disappeared into the kitchen with the groceries.
Cynthia was nearly done with the magazine when he came back out, and had made quite a dent in the box of tissues.
"May I steal your attention?" Lucian asked, showing Cynthia a hairbrush he had evidently taken from her bathroom.
She smiled and put the magazine down, turning so he could sit behind her. "You really thought of everything."
He worked his fingers into the damp tangles of her hair, pulling them apart gently. "You deserve everything."
She wiggled her shoulders a little. "You're spoiling me."
"Oh, that reminds me." He pressed his nose to the back of her neck for just a second, a little nuzzle. "The soup just needs a few moments to simmer, and then it will be done." He pressed the brush to her hair and ran it through gently.
Cynthia sighed and closed her eyes, almost glad she had gotten sick. This was perfect.