KELLAN WARD
Aurora accompanied him home, helped him shower, dressed him in pajamas, and tucked him into bed. The fever reduced thanks to the medicine, but it didn't completely go away. Aurora stayed by his side making sure he took the bitter medicine every morning and every night. And she made porridge for him, the only thing he could eat given how badly he felt.
When Aurora left to use the restroom or shower or get him food, he always felt anxious. What if he let her walk away and she never returned? The silence of the bedroom would press in on him, the empty space beside him felt cold. He'd track the sounds of her movement through the house—the soft creak of the floorboard in the hall, the distant rush of the tap. When his anxiety worsened so did his fever, the two feeding each other in a vicious cycle until her return broke the spell, her presence soothing his physical pain and his restless mind.
