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Hi guys...so this is a little piece of a much bigger writing project I did awhile back. If you like it/are interested, I can post more of it :) This first part is just the begginings of illness/some hurt and comfort stuff :) 

Characters: Jamilah ~ black hair, green eyes, quite underweight. Aged 19 or so. Just recovered from a bout of bacterial meningitis (AKA a bit immuno-compromised). The story is told from her perspective.

Connor ~ sandy brown/blonde hair, blue eyes, tallish, thin and wiry. Same age as Jamilah. 

The two have been dating for quite some time. Hope you enjoy! :) 



"Oh, Connor, look!” I exclaim, grinning. The flakes are coming down fast and hard now, weaving their way in and out of the bare trees. Some still have a few of their leaves, but clearly winter is here and fall is over. 

“I love snow,” I say, somewhat dreamily, as I watch.

“Dance with me,” Connor murmurs suddenly, urgently. While surprised, I consent.

“Okay.” I take his hand, but keep mine in my sleeve, not wanting to ruin the moment with how cold I am.

With his eyes deep in my own, he rests his forehead against mine and we sway back and forth, pressed together. The snow in his hair and the glitter of his turquoise-y, aquamarine eyes and the feel of him so tight to me is making my heart explode with love and desire. 

We spin and we dance in silence, just being in each other’s presence and watching the snow fall harder and the light fade in the background. At one point, though, my hand escapes my sweatshirt.

But this time, its icy temperature matches his.

“C’mon, we need to go inside,” I order. “You’re just as cold as I am. Are you okay?”

“Yeah. Let’s go.” He holds my hand and we speed-walk out of the woods. I should be watching for roots and things so I don’t trip, but I can’t take my eyes off of his face.

He said he was fine, but I’m not sure I believe it. He’s never this cold, and his face looks a little pale.

“Hey,” I say, squeezing his hand. “I’m worried about you. You don’t look okay.” I shiver as the wind cuts through my chest, but I don’t take my gaze off of him.

His eyes are very gentle and loving when they meet mine, and he squeezes my hand back. “I’m tired. And cold. And hungry. But, honestly, I’m okay. Thank you though, sweetheart.” He kisses the top of my head, but concern and fear fill his eyes when he sees how I’m trembling. “Let’s get you inside.” He drops my hand and puts his arm around my waist. “You’re the thin, small one with the serious chance of coming down with meningitis again.” Shuddering at the idea, he propels me forward faster as we reach the edge of the woods.

    *        *        *        *        *

We spend our Saturday night wrapped up in blankets, huddled close to each other on the queen-sized bed in my room. Today was amazing, but I honestly don’t feel that good at all. I’ve been watching Connor, trying to tell if he’s truly okay, and he seems to be. The cold-hands thing scared me for a minute, but I guess it didn’t affect him too badly. Unlike me.

We lay there together, listening to each other’s breathing. I have my back pressed up against him, and his arm is draped over my side and stomach. I know I should tell him how bad I feel. It’s just so hard for me to let someone in like that. My feelings and emotions have always been a part of the great array I keep strictly under lock-and-key, guarded deep down so that I only suffer on the inside. So that my weaknesses can never, ever be used against me. I don’t know why, exactly, but I do know I spent nineteen years doing it and old habits die hard.

I shut my eyes to the darkness and force myself to whisper, “Connor?”

“Yeah?” he murmurs back.

“I...I don’t feel so great.” The words feel like they’re burning me as they come out, and Connor’s reaction to them is immediate. I feel his body stiffen and I can sense that suddenly he is wide, wide awake.

“What’s wrong?” He’s up on one elbow, his arm off of me.

“I don’t know...my head hurts...my throat hurts...” I keep facing away from him, speaking haltingly. 

“Like how?” he prods. “As in, strep throat?”

“No...as in, aching throat.” I’m flaming with embarrassment and fully regretting my decision to say anything at all. I must sound like the most pathetic person on the planet. 

“I’m afraid I’m not familiar with that illness.” He attempts to tease me, and I attempt to laugh, but it hurts so much the sound fades to a sigh. I know I might as well confess the last thing.

“And it’s gotten a little harder to breathe...” 

“Don’t tell me. Your chest is starting to get congested, right?”

I sigh again. “Right.”

“Knew it. That wind...you’ll have a cough or a cold tomorrow. We’ll have to be careful it doesn’t turn into pneumonia.” He runs his hand gently over my forehead, brushing my hair back and checking my temperature. “No fever yet, though.”

I don’t even know what to say. This is horrible. But, truthfully, it also feels amazing to have him care. That combination of emotions kind of really makes me want to curl into a ball and die.

He must be able to tell, because next he adds, “It’s okay. Thanks for letting me know, for once. That you’re not fine.” He kisses my cheek, but he doesn’t lay back down; instead, he hovers just above me.

“Love you,” I murmur, starting to check out. Sleep is the easiest way to escape this situation, and I’m exhausted.

“Love you too,” he whispers now, and just before I drift off, I feel him pull the blankets even tighter around me.

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I need this in my life. Not even kidding! Follow!! 

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