"I'm taking that," Jack murmurs into my ear, snatching my phone away when I'm momentarily distracted. 

"Wait, that's not fair!" I argue, lunging for his outstretched arm. "I was distracted." 

I try to pry my phone away, but Jack's fingers are practically glued to it. "Careful," I warn. "I might vomit on you." 

Jack releases my phone reluctantly. "Please don't," says Jack, and I smile, triumphant. "Now can you get off me?" 

I forget I'm in a somewhat intimate pose with Jack and I instantly spring up. "Sorry," I say, tripping over the syllables. Jack raises an eyebrow at my clumsiness, as I almost trip over a stray pillow. "What? It's not like I wanted to be in that pose with you." 

"Of course not," Jack says in disgust. "But no need to be so defensive." 

"I'm not!" I say, my voice rising an octave. I wince, and Jack sends me a pointed look. 

"Right. Now, where were we? Oh right. You're supposed to be in bed." 

With a heavy sigh, I trudge back to bed and try to sleep. 

A couple of hours later, I am vomiting and it is disgusting. "It's okay," Jack tells me as I shudder into the toilet. "You're going to be alright." 

"But—your shoes," I say. 

I can tell it kills Jack a little when he says, "It's fine. It'll wash off." 

I crouch near the toilet and wait for the second volley of vomit. When it doesn't happen, I look at Jack. His voice almost sounds kind. "Do you need to..." 

"No," I whisper. 

"Let's get you into bed, then." 

I wake up a second time, with chills wracking my body. I lift off a cool towel from my forehead and instinctively call out Jack's name. He's sleeping beside me but stirs nevertheless when I call his name. "What's wrong?" he asks sleepily and for a moment, I forget I have a fever. 

Jack's hair looks more mussed than usual and it throws me off. "What?" Jack says, alarmed by my lack of response. "Do you need something?" 

I don't know why, but I'm fumbling for words. I think something terrible happened: the fever hijacked my brain and now I cannot speak in the presence of Jack. Then I realize it's because Jack is watching me with unguarded concern and the knowledge that he's concerned sends something rushing through my stomach. I curse softly. 

"Jack, please leave," I say quietly. Jack is unmoving. "You have to leave, Jack." 

Jack begins fussing over me, grabbing the towel and moving towards the kitchen sink. "Do you feel nauseous?" asks Jack, rapidly striding in my direction. "I can get you more medicine if you'd like. Is your forehead still burning?" 

He lifts a hand to check my temperature and before I realize what I'm doing, I smack his hand away. The smack reverberates. Jack stares at me, stunned. My cheek scorches. 

"I—" My throat is dry. "You have to leave." 

"What's wrong?" Jack asks kindly, and I'm dizzy when I pull myself out of bed. Jack reaches for me, but I shake my head. "Isla, talk to me." 

"Jack, I hate you," I say, but it comes out as a childish lie. "You know that." 

"What?" He is bewildered. "You're delirious with a fever." 

Probably, but I need him to leave before my fever-clogged brain makes me think that Jack actually cares about me. Because once I'm feeling better, Jack will act cold once more and it'll hurt. 

"I don't know why I let you into my apartment, but it was a mistake." I am desperate for him to leave, so I can sort out my thoughts. "I can take care of myself. I don't need some pompous asshole who has nothing better to do than date venerable girls to take care of me." 

Jack must sense some truth from me because his eyes harden. "Is that what you really think?" he asks quietly, and I swallow. He's furious, and it's quite possible the beige paint behind me will melt into a puddle from the heat of his pining stare. 

"Unbelievable," Jack mutters, before gathering his items and heading towards the door. He pauses, hand hovering above the door knob. A mocking note enters his tone. "If you need my help, you know my number." 

Then he exits and slams the door. I flinch. Reality sets in and like a robot, I do my usual routine of making tea: heating water, ripping open a tea bag, dunking said tea bag into a cup of warm water. I stare blankly at the exit, gathering my thoughts. 

Jack taking care of me when I'm sick. Jack going out to buy porridge and medicine. Jack, coming into my apartment. 

I release a stream of curses. If I don't keep myself busy, my mind will slowly start believing that Jack is secretly a kind person. Which he isn't. Obviously. And I'm a sucker for kind people, which means if Jack is actually kind and I start to realize that, I'll start falling for him— 

I say the F-word. And again. Then again. If I weren't sick, I would repeatedly slam my head against the wall. I cannot believe that thought slipped into my conscious stream of words. 

"Are you kidding me?" I whisper, staring down at the whiskey-brown colored liquid in my cup. It reminds me of Jack's eyes, my thoughts push, and I slam the cup onto the table, startled. "You hate Jack, remember? And he hates you. Stop having silly thoughts." 

After sitting on the couch for a while, I decide not to lose hope. While Operation Hate Jack Again hit a snag, Jack is probably back to his asshole self after our goodbye interaction. 

On Monday, I drive to work. My leg is jiggling, when I reach the stop light. Nervousness makes me slightly light-headed and by the time I've pulled into a parking space, I'm a nervous little wreck. As I walk towards the looming doors, I force myself to take a meditative breath. In, out. Then I march inside. 

I scan the lobby, where people swarm by like fishes. The coast is clear and I all but sprint to the elevator, lest I bump into Jack. "Hold the door!" I call, barreling into the elevator before the door closes. "Sorry." 

"No worries," a low feminine voice says. "What floor?" 

"Fifth," I say, turning to smile graciously. 

My heart freezes in my throat when I see who it is. One female, one male, both clothed in the police uniform. Between them is an elderly woman, who anxiously wrangles her hands together. 

"Isn't that a coincidence?" the female officer laughs. "We're going the same way." 

I politely laugh but inside, I'm panicking. The primal version of myself screams her head off, running around. The air grows thick with anxiety and when the elevator dings, I'm about to scamper off. 

"Wait," the officer calls out. Her lips are painted blood red and I swallow. "Do you know a Mr. Yao?" 

"Yes," I say cautiously. People are beginning to peek up from their computers. "He's my boss." 

"Can you direct me to his office? We need a quick word with him." 

I lead them to my boss' office and leave before they can ask any more questions. When I sit at my desk, fear swirls through my blood. I'm so distracted, I barely notice when Jack sits next to me. 

Jack clears his throat and I jerk out of my stupor. "We're here to work," he informs me. "Not to"—Jack squints at my computer screen. "—search up how to flirt on Wikihow." 

I forgot to delete that tab. "Right," I say, pressing ctrl + W. I try to concentrate, but I can't. Not when I can hear voices seeping from my boss' office. "Jack." 

"What?" Jack snaps, annoyed. 

"Police," I whisper, pointing at the boss' office. 

Jack glances over. The indifference on his face suddenly becomes strained. "Are they..." I'm too afraid to continue my sentence. 

"I don't know," Jack replies. "We'll have to wait and see." 

He returns to his work and while he seems calm, I notice he repeatedly presses the backpack key. After what feels like an eternity, the police finally leave along with the elder lady. Everyone's eyes follow them out—before swinging towards Mr. Yao's office. 

It's so quiet, the air feels almost like a noose. Jack pushes back his chair and people's gaze swings to him. It's a game of ping-pong, with everyone's eyes bouncing back and forth. "I'll ask," Jack announces, and the office is a balloon, his declaration a needle and the air deflating slowly. 

Relief. Someone will quell their curiosity before it grows too big and explodes. 

Jack marches towards the boss' office and people are pin-quiet save for some hushed, excited whispers. It takes about five minutes for Jack to finish conversing and when he emerges, people jostle him with questions. He ignores all of them and sinks back to his chair and everyone remembers he's a conceited asshole and leaves him alone. 

"Well?" I demand quietly, searching his expression. 

Jack avoids eye contact. "They're going to start an investigation," he says slowly. "It's on Aiden." 

He finally meets my eyes and I can tell, for once, that we're thinking the same thing: well, shit. 

***

author's note:

hi everyone omg it's december my favorite time of the year <3 is anyone doing anything special for this winter break? :0 (for me, it's undecided lolol so i'm not quite sure yet)