The blue eyes narrow. “Ten days.”
“At most. Usually less.”
“And in this time?”
“I feel a bit rubbish and I sneeze a lot and I sleep more than usual and then it’s gone.” I rub my eyes, which are watering again. “That’s it. That’s the whole thing.”
Dis does not look reassured. He looks like a man being told that the bomb is only a small one and really shouldn’t cause too much damage.
“I saw a segment,” he says, “on This Morning. About viruses. The presenter was very concerned.”
“The presenters on This Morning are very concerned about everything. That’s their whole thing.”
“They said complications could arise.”
“In vulnerable people. Elderly people. People with compromised immune systems. I’m a twenty-six year old witch with a perfectly functional immune system and it’s just a cold, Disney.”
He doesn’t look convinced. He looks, if anything, more alarmed at the specific detail of me being a perfectly functional person who is currently clearly not functioning perfectly.
He yanks the futon down, pulling it from its sofa shape to its bed form.
“Lie down,” he says.
“I’m sitting.”
“Lie down on the futon.”
I look at the futon, which is inside the circle. I look at Dis. He looks back at me with an expression that suggests this is not a debate he intends to lose.
I think about arguing. I think about the energy that would require, and the way my head is currently feeling,and the fact that the futon does look extremely inviting from here.
Somehow, over the last few days I’ve accidentally given him both a pillow and a blanket. He doesn’t need either and I’m not a kind person, but here we are. With a very comfy looking futon.
I get up. I step across the line of the circle, into his space, which we’ve both gotten so used to that it barely registers anymore. I lie down on the futon and the futon accepts me with the warmth of something deeply inviting.
Above me, Dis looks down with those blazing blue eyes. He is holding the blanket I gave him.
“You should have it.”
“I’m not cold.”
“You are shivering.”
I look at my hands. I am, in fact, shivering. When did that start?
Dis makes a sound that is not quite a word and is very much an opinion, and then he does something I genuinely don’t see coming. He tucks the blanket around me.
Not just drops it on me. Actually tucks it, with the careful deliberate movements of someone following instructions they’ve seen demonstrated and are now executing for the first time. Around my feet. Up my sides. His shadow-hands patting it into place with a focus that is genuinely, completely unhinged and also one of the kindest things anyone has ever done for me.
I stare at the ceiling.
Something is happening in my chest that has nothing to do with the cold.
“On This Morning,” Dis says, sitting down and settling himself on the futon beside me with the carefularrangement of someone making sure they don’t disturb the blanket, “they recommended hot lemon and honey. Also steam inhalation. Also rest. They were very insistent about the rest.”
“You’ve been paying far too much attention to daytime TV.”
“I retain information that may be useful.”
