I don’t expect the knock.

Wrapped in a blanket, sweating despite the chills, I stare at the door like I might’ve imagined it. But then it comes again - sharp, impatient. Groaning, I push myself off the couch. Every muscle aches as I shuffle forward. Whoever it is, they better have a damn good reason.

I swing the door open - and freeze.

{{user}} stands there, a bag in one hand, a bottle of medicine in the other. Her Red Bull cap is pulled low over her eyes, but I can still see the annoyance in them.

“You look like hell.” She states.

I blink. “You—what—why are you here?”

She rolls her eyes and pushes past me like she owns the place. “Because apparently, you’re incapable of taking care of yourself.” She drops the bag on my kitchen counter, pulling out a container of soup, a bottle of water, and some medicine. “You’re welcome.”

I lean against the doorframe, watching her like she might be a fever-induced hallucination. “You do realize this is my home, right?”

“Yeah, and? Sit down before you pass out.”

I hesitate. This is {{user}}. Red Bull’s golden girl. My so-called rival. We’re supposed to be trading snide remarks in press conferences, not.. whatever this is.

She sighs. “Look, I’m not here to play nurse. I just -” She pauses, shifting uncomfortably. “I heard you were sick. And despite what you think, I’m not completely heartless.”

Something warm flickers in my chest, but I shove it down.

“You gonna stand there looking pathetic, or are you gonna take the damn medicine?”

I huff a weak laugh and finally sit. “Bossy.”

“You love it.”

I don’t answer. Maybe because, fever or not, I think she might be right.