“You’re welcome.” He said, admiring her fighting spirit. A sick Stephen would have spent the entire day tucked underneath the sheets and talking only to make demands to whoever was watching over him, if there was any.
“Good night, Stephen.” He happened to be straightening the folds of her blanket, as she just literally curled in them, when the words reached his ears. Suddenly remembering an incident where Stephen fell asleep while Nat lectured about the French revolution, he opened his mouth for an inside joke but found out she had already fell in a deep slumber. He got his cup of hot— now warm chocolate on top of her table and sat on the edge of the bed. His shoulders were hunched as he finished his drink, enjoying the calming silence. A few minutes later he found himself texting Alexander with her phone, trying his best to make his message look as ‘Nat’ as possible.
Stephen waited for the reply in deafening silence, his eyes blank on the finished wall, forming imaginary shapes out of the decorative pattern. Thirty minutes passed and he was almost sure he was going to sleep on the floor in case Nat wakes up choking with sickness. He put the empty cup back on the table and eased himself on the cold floor while waiting for the drowsiness.
Bad case scenario (Stephen thought as he tried to sleep): A random Trinity girl walks in, though with Nat’s unpopularity it was highly unlikely, assumes Stephen was spending the night in her room again and adds fuel to the already circulating gossips. He stood up and locked the door. Problem solved.
Worse case scenario: Nat’s roommate Harper, who undoubtedly has the room’s key, finds him on the floor without any evidence of tutoring and tells Alexander. Stephen reached for some of Nat’s books, opened them and scattered them around his place. Problem solved.
Worst case scenario: Alexander was out to some faraway place but received the text and was rushing back to the dorm as fast as possible (Stephen assumed he also shared the room’s key). He walks in and realizes that he stole N—
Another buzz from his pockets got his attention again. Stephen took his phone out and as realization hit him that his father was calling him again after six missed calls, any trace of drowsiness left his system. His eyes darted from Nat on the bed to the scattered books on her floor to the cups of hot chocolate on her table. Muttering a curse under his breath, he stood up, unlocked the door— only to lock it again once he closed it behind him as he got out, and ran outside Trinity. His breathing was ragged as he stood outside the dormitory, the cold latching onto his skin.
“What do you want this time, Roger?”
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