Chapter 17: Part 7 - Chris caring for a feverish Sarah

= Sarah POV =

Chris borrowed a tote bag from Ms. Jun's closet. After pulling her shirt back on, she carefully folded my damp clothes into the bag before guiding me through the house and out the front door. Thankfully, we didn't run into any of our colleagues, sparing me the embarrassment of being seen in my feverish state.

Once outside, Chris led me to her car, parked across the street. The ride home was quiet and oddly soothing, but I couldn't stop shifting in my seat. Between the fever and my nerves, I felt restless and on edge.

"I'll have the staff check if the in-house doctor can come by after you shower and get changed," Chris said, glancing at me as she pulled into the apartment car park. Her tone was calm, but the concern in her eyes betrayed her worry.

I let out a soft sigh and rubbed my forehead. "Yeah, that sounds good," I murmured, grateful that I wouldn't have to drag myself to a clinic.

Chris came around to help me out of the car. I tried to manage on my own, but the moment I stood up, the dizziness hit me hard. By the time we reached the elevator, I was leaning heavily against her, my knees wobbling like jelly.

The elevator ride felt endless. I clung to Chris's arm, barely managing to stay upright. But the second we stepped through the apartment door, my legs gave out completely.

I felt myself being scooped up, strong arms wrapping around me as if I weighed nothing.

"Hold on to me," Chris's voice murmured, low and steady, though it sounded far away. I struggled to lift my arms, trying to loop them around her shoulders, but my limbs felt heavy. The world tilted, and before I could be sure I'd done it, I drifted off.

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The next thing I knew, I was submerged in warm, soapy water. I blinked, dazed, finding myself propped up against the backrest of the bathtub. Chris was crouched over the edge, a loofah in one hand and my leg in the other, gently scrubbing my skin as if I were some VIP client at a luxury spa.

"Chris?" I murmured, unsure if this was real or just a fever dream.

But the moment flickered, and suddenly, I was staring at dark, blurry figures muttering to each other. I was back in bed, and the room felt heavy with the smell of medicinal oils.

I tried to sit up, but Chris's hand pressed gently against my shoulder, guiding me back down.

"The doctor's just finishing up," she said softly. "I'll bring you something to eat in a minute. Just rest."

I gave her a small, sleepy smile and nodded. Her voice was enough to calm me, and before I knew it, I'd drifted off again.

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When I finally woke, the room was cloaked in darkness. I pushed myself upright, my body still heavy with exhaustion, but something pinned my legs down.

Peering down, I found Chris fast asleep, her head resting on my lap. She'd pulled my desk chair close to the bed, clearly keeping watch over me. Around her were bowls—some filled with water, others with porridge. Small bottles of medicated oils and crumpled washcloths lay scattered across the bedside table.

I reached down and brushed my fingers through her unruly hair. She stirred slightly but didn't wake.

Was this really something a landlord—or even an ex-best friend—would do? It was one thing to make sure I got home safely, but to stay up cooking for me, tending to my fever, and skipping work just to look after me… That felt like something more. Something deeper.

The thought sent my heart fluttering.

I leaned back against the pillows, still stroking her hair, letting the steady rhythm soothe me. The weight of the day—and Chris—pressed down on me, but for the first time in hours, I felt warm in a way that had nothing to do with my fever.

And as I drifted back to sleep, my fingers still tangled in her hair, I couldn't help but wonder—was I imagining it, or had Chris already crossed the line into lover territory?