18

I almost fall asleep again, feeling Ezra's warmth close to me, hearing his breathing slow down. That is, until his stomach growls, loudly.

'You wanna eat something, Ezya?' I snicker because of the shy look on his face.

He nods. 'What do you want?' I try to stand up, my knees feeling weak and shaking, my fever still burning. But I make it, subtly holding on to the wall.

'I don't know,' he groans.

'Fine. I'll make you something. Because you asked me so nicely,' I say sarcastically, ignoring the still awkward mood that hangs around from earlier.

I stumble to his kitchen, falling over my own feet, almost dragging a painting to the ground. I hold in a yelp as I land on the floor and hit my arm on a chair. That's gonna be a bruise.

I slowly get up again, fully ignoring the pounding of my head, the aching of my muscles and the sharp pain in my arm. His kitchen is surprisingly well filled. But what do you feed a hungry man with a fever?