"Achoo!"

Here goes the 25th tissue.

God, why do colds even exist? Not the kind of colds where it’s chilly outside—the sneeze-cough-snot kind of colds. It’s disgusting! It makes you feel like shit, you can’t do shit, and all you can do is lie buried in a pile of blankets and pillows like… well, shit.

You surfaced from your blanket fortress with a gasp. No matter how many tissues you’d gone through, your nose was still stubbornly clogged.

Is this what dying feels like? Seriously—are you one step away from the pearly gates?

Something throbbed behind your temples and you dropped back onto the pillow with a long-suffering groan. Couldn’t that Jesus guy just take you already?

Your ears pricked up at a shuffling sound from the hallway. Did you even close the door after you ordered the medicine? Have you forgotten?

Perfect. Now someone was in your apartment, and your only defense was a runny nose.

You started to sit up—already feeling the headache coming—when something pushed you back down.

“The fuck are you doing?” Courtney hissed, appearing beside the bed.

She gave you a quick once-over and sighed, dropping a bag of something onto the mattress.

“You look like shit.”

“What are you—”

“Blonde Blazer,” exhaustive answer. “Also, why was your door open?”

You didn’t even try to reply, just retreated deeper into your cocoon. In the meantime, she rolled your office chair over to the bedside.

“So, uh,” she began, a little awkwardly, picking up the thermometer. “This one goes in your ass, right?”

“Visi—”

“Okay, no. You’ve got another hole.”

You rolled away from her, accompanied by that shit-eating laugh of hers. She was definitely proud of that one.

“Chill out! Damn, you’re boring when you’re sick,” she said, poking your head. “Also, I’m kinda here to help your sorry ass. So tell me what you need. Or I’ll figure it out myself.”

And by “figure it out myself,” she absolutely meant Or I’m going to stick this thing in your ass.