#mod kami

She could swear her neck was about to dislocate with how much she’s turning it from side to side. Like a pendulum, he stomps from one side of the room to the other with his arms folded up to his chest. A flurry of swears flies past the man’s lips as he paces the room erratically, hood thrown back as he scowls.

“What should I do…? Should I get more blankets? But what happens if I leave’n she needs somethin’...?” Scarred hands irritably rake through his hair, ruffling the dark strands as he walks.

“Zack…?”

It’s a soft voice -- even quieter than usual, and muffled and croaky to boot -- but it’s a voice Zack will never, ever miss.

“What?” he asks as he peers towards the bed. Anyone else might have flinched by the nearly reproachful tone the man takes; Ray, however, knows better, and merely glances up at the man from where she laid.

“Are you okay?” she asks, completely sincere in her concern, and the man very nearly howls out in disbelief.

“‘Course I’m not okay! You’re sick, Ray!” he hisses back with venom in his voice, though his fiery anger isn’t directed at her specifically. No, he’s angry at whatever it was that caused this to happen - that caused Ray to get so ill and weak that she’s had no choice but to rest in bed for the past several hours. Germs? Some virus or bug? Whatever the accursed thing is, he’s come to a sore realization that he can’t simply drive it away with a good slash of his scythe - lest he slices into Ray and prematurely break their promise.

Everything seemed fine until that very morning when he for once had been the first to stir from his sleep. Nothing seemed too amiss, aside from Ray’s motionless form still tucked under the covers despite him being fully awake then. Usually she’d be the first to get up and much to his chagrin insist on his waking up too.. Because they have to run ‘errands’ or whatever.

When he rolled onto his side to pull her against his chest however, it was then he noted just how hot her skin felt - along with the heavy, laboured breaths that came from the blonde’s parted lips.

Everything from that point until now was nothing more than a frenzied blur to Zack - though he vaguely remembers his voice frantically calling out Ray’s name, the unfocused haziness in her normally attentive blue eyes finally opening up to his calls and his feet carrying him to do laps around their small apartment - supposedly to fulfill her request for a glass of water and a damp towel.

And here they were now - with Ray looking no better than she had been when she just woke up. Skin reddish and scalding to the touch, her hands clasping tightly onto the one pathetically thin blanket they had that failed to hide the violent shivers coming from beneath. And the worst part were her eyes - they showed far more concern for his panicked state than they did of her own condition.

“I’m sorry… for making you worry about me.” her soft murmured out words sends a javelin straight through his chest.

“Huh? Quit worryin’ about me’n’worry ‘bout yerself!” Accompanying that sense of utter uselessness — he’s not able to simply do away with her illness like he can everything else that’s come their way — is pure and utter exasperation that she would apologise for such a thing.

“Of course I’m gonna worry about you! I care about you!” He snaps, not really thinking the words through. Ray is in a critical condition right now — and he’s not exactly someone who carefully considers what he’s about to say normally...so this just makes it even worse.

Plus — he’s not a liar. And...it’s true.

He misses the way the girl’s pale cheeks redden slightly, or perhaps simply chalks it off to illness. She’s so sick she’s shaking on the damn bed — though the lack of warm blankets must not help much.

“You feel better?” Zack’s voice is a little softer now, quieter as, for once, he stands stock still.

“Um, could I have another glass of water...?”

“Oh, right,” the man mumbles, finally turning away to pad into their small kitchen. He retrieves a glass easily enough, thrusting it beneath the faucet to turn the tap on. Once a decent amount of water fills it, he flicks the faucet off and returns to the girl shivering in the bed, holding out the glass to her.  Small hands slowly begin to unfurl from the blanket’s material -- but they tremble so harshly that the man uses his free hand to press hers down, and instead helps her sit up as he presses the cup toward her lips.

Rachel’s pale and chapped lips close around the rim of the glass carefully, and the dark haired man tilts the cup to allow her to take sips of the water. Though his concern heightens as he watches how closely she’s drinking, Zack makes no mention of it.

“More?” he asks as the glass empties, and the blonde tilts her head back in order to breath out a soft sigh.

“No, I’m fine now.. Thank you, Zack.” she forces out a few words to express her gratitude before laying back down onto the absurdly warm mattress.

To Zack, the heat from Ray’s body getting trapped within the mattress must not make it a very pleasant surface to sleep on - and yet with how hard the girl was trembling, he could swear that she was laying upon a solid block of ice.

“Anything else?” he asks, managing to soften his voice a tad from his usual tone as he does so.

For a moment, Rachel kept silent from his question, merely darting her eyes to gaze at the morbid grey ceiling above her in deep thought while the man beside her awaited her answer. And while Zack may care deeply for her wellbeing and be willing to tend to her every need now, he was still impatient to a fault.. And the lack of a verbal answer from her prompts him to urge her, this time with a rougher tone in his voice.

“If ya need anythin’, just spit it out!”

Finally, her blue eyes focus back on him and she takes a few seconds more to remind herself that Zack hates liars in order to force out an honest answer despite her fear of troubling him.

“I’m… a little hungry.”

Oh. Of course she is. It’s a little past noon now, and she hasn’t had anything to eat since dinner the evening before. He can still remember the delicious stew she’d made for the both of them, and silently laments not having nearly the same amount of ability to cook as she does.

It’s no wonder then that Zack would look so puzzled and worried.

There was always the option of feeding her something that would take little to no preparation. Perhaps a few fruits they have left in the refrigerator, the half-eaten bag of chips that Ray has never taken a single bite out of before, or maybe the small container of leftover cookies Ray had baked in the past.

But memories of the steaming, home-cooked meals served to him diligently every single day made him feel guilty for even daring to consider cutting corners. He may be dumb, but even he knows that those cabinets of junk aren’t going to be very filling or healthy for her.

“That so,” he mutters, uncharacteristically thoughtful as he considers what exactly he ought to make for her. There’s...not really...anything he can make --

Oh.

How about he just ask her? She’s the smart one, she’s got to know what a sick person should eat. Or what she wants to eat, anyhow.

“What d’ya wanna eat?”

Her eyes close for only a moment as she begins to consider what she’s been asked, her mind pouring sluggishly through the possibilities of what he could possibly make for her -- that wouldn’t trouble him much.

A day or two ago, she had cut some salmon fillets for the both of them...but they hadn’t eaten everything, so there are still a couple pieces in the fridge. That shouldn’t be too difficult for him to prepare. And -- it’ll be warm. She’d really like something warm.

“How about…” It takes a moment for her eyes to open; they feel heavy for some reason. “How about some fish? Could you fry it for me?”

She can already tell by the way the man’s head tilts wordlessly -- considering her request -- that he isn’t exactly thrilled by her proposal. Slowly, despite her head spinning as she does so, Rachel begins to shake her head.

“It’s oka -- ”

“Yeah, I’ll do it,” he interrupts, almost impatiently. “So all I gotta do is fry it, yeah?”

The girl blinks.

“...Yeah. You fry it on a pan...with some oil. It has to heat up on high...then you change the heat to medium after you put the fish on. You’ll know it’ll be ready when -- ”

“Stop, stop, stop, that’s way too much,” the man interrupts, shaking his head. “How the hell am I supposed t’ remember all that crap?!”

Right -- Zack isn’t the best at remembering things, much less remembering a whole laundry list of objectives. Not only that, she won’t be able to write this down; while his reading is getting better, Ray isn’t sure he’ll be able to concentrate hard enough on the words while he’s this agitated.

“Okay.” She takes a short breath. “Do you remember the fish we had a few days ago?” There’s a stiff nod in response. “Okay. Bring me the box with the fish in it. It’s in the fridge.”

Zack isn’t exactly enthused about having to leave her alone -- but nonetheless, he does as asked, entering the kitchen and opening the fridge door.

There’s a shit ton of stuff in here -- and it takes a bit of time pushing around containers and that jug of milk -- but finally he locates the box of orangish stuff and brings it back to the bedridden girl.

It takes a moment for the blonde to focus on the box he’s brought her, but within a few seconds, she knows that he has indeed retrieved the box of salmon for her.

“That’s right. Now you just need to grab one of the pans...and pour some oil on it. Heat it up on high until you see little bubbles start to form...and then lower the heat and put the fish on it.”

The man’s face seems to be permanently set into a frown, but he nods -- hesitantly, but attempting not to show it.

Grab a pan… pour some oil.. Heat it up to high and then lower the heat before putting the fish in. The man recites those phrases in his head again and again like a mantra. It should be simple enough. How hard can grabbing a pan, pouring some oil and then heating it up to cook the fish really be?

“I just gotta cook the fish, right?” Zack asks, and the girl’s head nods slowly.

“Yes, but make sure to lower the heat before putting the fish on the pan, or it’ll burn.”

Right. Lower the heat. Got it.

“Aight.” With a huff, the man finally turns to leave the bedroom and finally, the blonde is able to close her eyes in order to get some well needed rest.

It doesn’t spell good news when Zack drags himself into the kitchen and is immediately frozen where he stands. His mismatched eyes dart around the kitchen, from cabinet after cabinet, to the box of leftover salmon in his hands, and then to the now oddly intimidating looking stove. He’s immediately disoriented by the layout of the kitchen, and the task he’d tried to convince himself would be easy now feels far more daunting by the second.

“Get your shit together,” he hisses through gritted teeth and his grip on the box tightens.

Ray is depending on him to cook this fish. He can’t in his good conscious go back and tell her that he doesn’t want to, or worse, make her cook her own food when she can barely even stand without shaking like a leaf.

He’s reminded of the times Ray has gone the extra mile to take care of him - from cleaning up around the house, to cooking hot, delicious meals for him. He, by comparison, has never really done anything for her.

If he can’t even cook a single piece of fish for her when she’s sick, then he may as well be an absolute waste of a man.

Sucking in a deep breath, Zack finally forces himself forward to begin searching through the cabinet. It takes several tries, but he eventually does find the frying pan in the cabinet next to the stack of plates, which he takes along with the frying pan and sets them on the counter.

Now he has to find the oil, and then heat up the pan.

He grabs the oil from the left most cabinet, and uncaps the bottle of the yellow substance.

Just as he’s about to pour the oil into the pan, however, his hand freezes.

Just how much oil is he supposed to put exactly? Ray said ‘some’ oil, but there’s no way he can understand exactly how much is needed with a vague term like that. Is a drop enough? Does he have to cover the whole pan in it?

As reluctant as he is to return back to the bedroom, Zack does so with slumped shoulders and the bottle of oil in hand.

“Hey, Ray.”

Blue eyes open slowly at the call of her name, and he can swear her eyebrows are furrowing a little as she looks up at him.

“Yeah?”

“How much oil do I gotta add exactly?” With a light shake of the bottle of oil, the man asks and he notes the way Ray’s weakly shifts her gaze towards the bottle, as if focusing her eyes on something in itself was taking her a monumental amount of effort.

When she finally registers his question in her head, she looks back up at the dark haired man.

“Not too much.. Maybe just a quarter of the pan will do.”

A quarter of the pan. That’s a lot more specific than just ‘some oil’.

“Got it.” Zack is quick to stomp back out towards the kitchen, now unafraid to tip the bottle over and pour the oil out onto the pan. He’s careful to not pour more than what he thinks to be a quarter of the pan, caps the bottle and sets it to the side on the counter.

Placing the pan on the stove and turning the flames on is easy enough too, though waiting for the oil to begin bubbling has the man impatiently tapping his foot against the floorboards as he stares into the pan.

So...when’s it gonna start bubbling? Why’s it taking so long? Did he set the heat too low? But Ray had told him the H stood for hot, and -- he glances at the stove -- it’s certainly set to hot.

He’s getting more and more agitated the longer this takes, and he has to resist the urge to run back to the bedroom and ask Ray how he’s supposed to know when the oil starts bubbling.

But then -- suddenly, he sees small little pockets of air forming at the surface of the oil. Does -- does that mean it’s starting to bubble?

He waits a second more before picking up one of the fish fillets and laying it in the oil. Almost instantaneously, it begins to bubble and fizz, small flecks of hot liquid spurting in the air this way and that with a crackle.

“Shit!” Snarling, the man quickly cranks the heat down, grimacing as he steps away. It’s not that he’s unnerved or afraid --

But still, that had hurt. With a scowl and another flurry of swears under his breath, the man deposits the next piece of fish onto the pan, and stares fixedly as the pieces of meat sizzle quietly.

-- How long are they supposed to cook, anyway?

Lifting one hand, he scratches at the back of his head as if in an attempt to coax the answers from the depths of his empty brain. But nothing actually comes to mind, and with a sigh of defeat, he slinks back toward their bedroom.

“Ray…”

It takes a second for a response as the girl forces her eyes to flutter open.

“Yeah?”

“How long’s the fish supposed t’ cook for?”

“Um...until it gets pink...make sure to flip it.”

“How am I supposed t’ do that? I ain’t usin’ my hands.”

“...There...should be…” A cough that seems to shake her entire body interrupts her speech, and the man finds himself tensing in the silence broken only by her rasping. It seems to take way too long for her to be able to start talking again -- “Should be...a spatula in the drawer...near the stove.”

Zack’s silent for a moment, too -- though more out of a simmering anger at the state the girl is in than anything else.

“A spatula,” he finally mumbles. “‘Kay.” He thinks he’s seen her using one of those --

It’s that black flat thing, right? She uses it for pancakes.

“Ya…d’ya need anythin’?” he asks anxiously as he leans to begin making his way out of the room. The girl shakes her head in response, and he waits for just a second more before returning to the stove.

He can already smell cooking fish -- and it makes him a little hungry, too.

But this stuff is for Ray, so -- he shouldn’t really think about eating.

She doesn’t usually eat too much, but when she’s sick, she should probably eat more, so she can get strong and better and stuff.

Zack pulls open one of the drawers to find the black spatula on top of everything else, as if it had just been recently put away. Perhaps Ray had dried it the day before when she’d been frying French toast --

He places the spatula on the stove near the pan for easy reach, and stares blankly into the cooking pan. The fish are steadily frying away…

And they don’t look pink yet, so he guesses they aren’t done yet.

But maybe he should flip them over…?

How’s he supposed to know when he’s supposed to do that? Ray didn’t tell him anything…

He considers going back and asking again, but remembering how she’d struggled to answer him and coughed her damn lungs out gives him pause. Is he really so pathetic that he can’t cook a stupid piece of fish for the girl that he loves?

Eyebrows furrowing in exasperation, he lifts the spatula and slides it beneath one of the fish. Then he flips it over -- clumsily. Oil spatters across the stove, the fish nearly breaks into two, but somehow he manages it regardless. The other side definitely looks lighter in comparison to the other one, the one he hasn’t flipped yet…

Is this pink, then?

The man scratches at his scarred cheek, mismatched eyes flicking wildly between one piece of salmon and the next.

Should...should he ask…?

And if he does...is he supposed to bring the whole pan with him?

Zack very nearly does return to the bedroom to ask her - but the sheer imagination of the shame he’d feel should he have to disrupt her rest for a third time has the man rooted to the ground and his limbs tensing.

He stubbornly watches the pan like a hawk, the sizzling noise grating in his ears, and the scent of cooked fish causing his stomach to unhelpfully rumble.

He regrets not having paid more attention to the colour of the fish when Ray had been cooking them before - or the way she so swiftly darted around the kitchen without so much as a pause in her movement. She’s always been so diligent and skillful in anything she does, but it’s caused Zack as much self-doubt as it has admiration for the girl he’s come to live out his everyday with.

While she’s smart, talented, and practically everything he isn’t, he’s struggling with even cooking simple fillets of fish for her, while she’s suffering in bed.

But he’s always been far too stubborn for a man, and he made a promise.

They’d be together until the day he decides to kill her, whenever that may be in the future. Until the day arrives, he’d protect her and care for her.. So she won’t die before their oath can be fulfilled.

He can’t be serving her raw fish if he wants her to stay alive.

It’s another minute or so before he decides to flip the second fillet over, more carefully this time so as to not cause the hot oil to spill across the stove again. The surface has turned a rather dark orange colour, leading down to a pale pink center. Much to his displeasure, the edges appear slightly charred, but he decides that it’s better than the fish not being cooked enough.

He uses the spatula to take a look at the other fish’s underside -- it seems...about ready? Maybe? Blinking, he picks it out of the oil and places it on the plate, where he then stares at it for a few moments longer -- perplexed.

How can he figure out if it’s really cooked…? Will it bleed if he cuts it?

He pulls out a fork and cuts it in half -- there’s no blood, so he has to assume that it’s probably cooked.

So maybe the second one is cooked, too --

Blinking, he fetches the second one off the pan too, and settles it onto the plate, then repeats what he’d done with the first fillet. It looks just as well-done as the first one, so he must assume it’s cooked as well.

So he turns off the heat and pushes the pan off the hot plate.

But the moment he picks up the plate to take it to Ray --

He can’t get over how utterly pathetic it looks. Two pieces of fish, both of them practically falling apart, one blackened a bit -- it’s an utter mess. It looks nothing like anything Ray’s ever cooked for him...and it certainly doesn’t remind him of the fish fillets she’s made him before. There’s no way he can give this to her with anything resembling pride.

She doesn’t deserve anything like this. He should give her better.

-- Sometimes she, like, puts stuff on the food, to make it “fancier” or some shit -- right? Or to make it taste better…

But he doesn’t really know what he could put on fish.

And he’s gonna put something -- ‘cause he’s not going to give her this sorry looking piece of crap. Plus, more food is gonna make her get healthier faster, right?

Zack gives a glance around the kitchen, his mismatched gaze landing upon the small basket of fruits they keep near the cabinets. Blinking, he takes a stride toward it and pulls a banana off from a bunch of two others. Then, he returns to the still-hot fish on the counter.

Peeling the skin back, he cuts the banana into smaller pieces with the fork and proceeds to layer the a pile of crudely cut banana slices on top of the fish fillets.

-- Well, it...looks a lot better. It’s not quite what he remembers to be the same as the spoonfuls of sauce the girl would serve on top of the fish, but the round banana slices manage to hide the uglier spots of his fillets, while also making the dish look… unique?

Not appetizing by any means, but unique.

Zack feels tempted to try tasting the banana and salmon combination he’s come up with on the plate, but withholds himself from doing so. The food is for Ray, and though she normally doesn’t tend to eat much, he can’t be sure that she wouldn’t feel considerably more hungry now that she was sick.

He isn’t sure what they’d taste like together.. But if they’re delicious on their own, surely they must taste good together too.

And so with a sharp intake of air through his nostrils, he finally manages to sum up the courage to hesitantly march himself to the bedroom after grabbing a fork from the third drawer he opens, where the very first person he has ever cooked for lay in wait for her meal.

Ray appears to be sleeping soundly on the bed, curled beneath the thin material of the blanket as she breathes through slightly parted lips.

If possible, he’d like to be able to not have to disturb her rest again, but she can’t exactly eat while laying down and asleep like this.

“Hey, Ray.” Zack sits himself down on the edge of the mattress where it begins to sink slightly under his weight and reaches a hand out to gently grasp the blonde girl by the shoulder. She still feels hot to the touch, but bubbling thoughts of anger and guilt are swiftly pushed down when he sees the first hints of her deep blue eyes peeking from under heavy eyelids.

“Yeah?” her voice strains to speak, and somehow Zack manages out a small smile as he lifts the plate of cooked fish up.

“Food’s done.”

The girl’s eyes widen and she immediately attempts to sit up, though she evidently struggles to prop herself up onto her shaking, thin forearms until with a sigh, Zack helps her sit up against the headboard with a pillow tucked under her back.

With tired unfocused eyes, Ray glances down at the plate the man is holding and her expression twists into one of confusion.

There’s definitely… something resembling fillets of fish on the plate...

At first glance however, the top of the fillets look odd. It takes a moment for her vision to focus properly enough to see that there were toppings on top of the fish, and a few extra long seconds to process just what was on top of the salmon.

“Um..” the blonde’s eyes shift up to glance at Zack, whose jaw was tensing, before they drift back down onto the curious plate of fish and banana rounds that had been served to her. “Did you put bananas on the fish, Zack?”

The answer should be obvious, and her questioning it only causes the man’s heart rate to spike up.

“Yeah. Thought it’d be nice.”

There’s no response -- for what seems like a far too long time, and it grinds at the man’s already frazzled nerves.

“What?” he snaps, more force behind the words than he really intends. “Somethin’ wrong with ‘em or somethin’?! -- ‘S it gonna taste bad?”

Instead of growing concerned or perhaps upset by the man’s slight outburst, the girl gives a slow shake of her head.

“I don’t know, Zack. I’ve never tried this before.”

The man’s jaw slowly slackens, the rest of his muscles relaxing as whatever perceived attack he’d felt fades away.

“Yeah, I dunno, I didn’t like how it looked all plain’n’stuff so I put ‘em on it...I thought it looked nicer…” The words fade off as he turns his gaze away, almost as if embarrassed to look at her or the plate.

She’s silent again as if deep in thought or hesitation, and with each second that passes with her keeping a response from him, the more agitated he grows.

Ah shit...It was a mistake to have added the damn bananas.

“If ya ain’t gonna eat it then I’ll just chuck it in th’ trash!” He’s about to rise from the bed when Rachel grabs his wrist with a quick shake of her head. There’s a strange look in her eye - as if pleading for some reason.

“No. I’ll eat it, Zack. Because you put so much effort into making it for me,” she responds, voice far more softened than before. And before the man could let out another word of protest, she’s grabbed the fork from his hand.

Hearing the man’s consideration for the presentation of his dish, something she never thought he’d particularly care about, made her realize just how much thought and effort Zack must have put into cooking for her.

It’s hardly gourmet, and to say that she wasn’t at least slightly taken aback by the strange choice of topping would be a lie - but not eating the food that Zack had worked so hard to make would be far too cruel on him.

With an almost expectant stare from the man, the girl moves her fork to cut a piece of the salmon from the plate he held.. And though wary, made sure to get a slice of banana as well. The morsel of food is lifted to her mouth past pale lips that close around the fork before pulling the then empty cutlery out.

Rachel takes several seconds to slowly chew at her food - savoring every revelation of flavour and texture that slowly blends together into a somewhat odd experience. From the flaky, tender meat of the fish to the mushy texture of banana, she’s far too eager to swallow the mixture quickly.

The silence that follows after her first bite has the man shifting slightly on the bed in something vaguely resembling anxiety. She’s not saying anything about the food --

“Well?” he demands uneasily. “How is it?”

The girl looks at him with deep blue eyes -- clearer than earlier, thankfully -- and takes another moment to respond.

“It’s strange,” she admits slowly, carefully. Zack hates liars, after all -- and she can’t exactly say she’s ever tasted something like this before. “But...it’s not bad.” That’s true, too -- while the flavours aren’t anything she’d ever say would go together, normally...it’s nothing she can’t eat.

And knowing Zack had tried so hard to cook this for her just makes her more motivated to eat it. This is the first proper meal he’s ever made...and he made it for her. No one else.

Zack is silent for a moment as he ponders over her answer.

‘Strange, but not bad’.

He’d hoped that the food he made for her wouldn’t be strange entirely at all. After all, there is nothing Ray has ever made for him that he would consider to be strange, besides the few salads that she insists some people do enjoy eating.

However, if she says that it isn’t bad, and he knows the girl would not lie to him in a situation like this, then it must be true.. If it isn’t bad, then it can be good.

“T-that so.” His stutter betrays his attempt to appear composed, and while the man is quick to turn his head away from her gaze sheepishly, Ray knows better than to assume that this was a reaction out of anger or annoyance.

She lifts her fork once more to stab into the food and brings it up to her lips. With each bite of the fish and bananas, the more the strangeness of the combination of flavour and texture fades, and she’s left feeling oddly full in her chest.

Odd choice of topping aside, this was easily the tastiest thing Ray has eaten for a long while - and it’s all thanks to the love Zack put into it.

It takes her a little longer than usual to finish her meal, on account of being ill, but she finishes every last bit -- even the two fillets of fish. Perhaps she was more hungry than she’d thought. The man seems utterly pleased as he takes the plate from her, an enormous smile nearly splitting his scarred face in half. The blonde girl can’t help but give a tiny, weak smile back as she leans back against her pillow.

“Thank you, Zack. I’m full now.”

In more ways than one. In addition to the warm, full sensation her belly has -- her chest feels full in a way only Zack can accomplish.

“‘S’good,” the man mutters, giving her one last glance before he gets off the bed to return the plate to the kitchen. When he comes back, he’s holding a small bit of torn tissue in his hand; he reaches his arm out to the girl and lightly brushes it against the corner of her mouth.

“Ya got crumbs’n’stuff on yer face…”

As if cooking a meal for her hadn’t been enough, the man was thoughtful enough to return with a tissue to clean the stray crumbs littering the side of her lips. The blonde hums as Zack gives a few final dabs of the tissue, before leaning back to gaze back at the girl.

She looks so utterly satisfied and content... Red in the face and dazed from her still burning hot fever, but content nonetheless.. And dare he say… Happy.

“I’m tired, Zack.” she groans out, and makes an attempt to lay back down before clutching the pathetically thin blanket closer to herself. “But I still feel too cold.”

“SHIT! The blankets... I forgot!”

Zack shoots up onto his feet from the bed with a loud swear, his calm expression twisted now into a scowl that Ray recognizes from earlier before.

He looks about to begin pacing around the room again, already muttering something about going out of the apartment to find spare blankets, when Ray quickly reaches a hand up to grab his.

“Zack...stay with me...”

“Huh…?” To say he’d expected her to say something like that would be a lie. After all...she’ll still be cold if he stays, right? So what the hell’s that good for?

“You’re warm…” Sensing the man’s befuddlement from the confused expression he gives her, the girl coaxes him with a couple earnest -- and honest -- words.

Zack is warm. And she’s certain she’ll be nice and cozy next to him -- as long as he holds her in his arms.

With a loud, disgruntled sound, the man relents, shuffling around the bed -- without letting go of her hand -- to lay down on her other side.

“Like that?”

“Yeah.”

Exhaling softly, Zack slides himself a little closer to her, until their bodies touch through the blanket; then he wraps his arms about her as he nuzzles his head next to hers.

“Ya gettin’ warm?”

“...Yeah.”

She feels so utterly content next to him, so full and warm, that she might as well fall asleep again right then and there.

“Zack...?” the girl whispers out his name after what felt to be several long minutes.

Her voice catches the man off guard. After all, he’d expected her to fall right asleep, and was even on the verge of slipping into the realm of sleep himself. He hadn’t expected her to still be awake, let alone want to talk.

“Yeah?” his voice is gentle as he murmurs back into her ear, and she finds herself melting against him even more.

“Thank you.. For working so hard to take care of me..”

Zack is silent for a moment as he stares at the girl through widened, stunned eyes, before he lets out a heavy sigh.

“Nothin’ to thank me for. T’s the least I can do.”

She feels his arms wrap around her form a little tighter, pulling her against his chest so close that she can feel the steady rising and falling of his chest as he breaths.