23. A fever

Millen squatted beside Alec, who hid under the covers. She set a steaming chamomile tea on the nightstand, pulling down the blanket so she could catch a glimpse of his face. Flushed cheeks peeked from under the covers, tear-coated eyes.

"Alec, I have to go to work," Millen caressed his forehead, using this opportunity to check if his temperature lowered. It didn't. His forehead grew hotter with each passing moment. Millen brushed his hair back as she glanced at his dry lips, "You have to drink, sweetheart. I brewed you a tea. It'll help you." She leaned closer, thumb brushing away the wetness under his eyes. Alec's eyelashes fluttered close, his mind foggy.

Millen opened a box of fever reducers, "Take this. It'll reduce the fever," she helped Alec sit up and fed him the medicine. "Hopefully," she whispered as Alec gulped down the pill, the hot tea making him dizzier.

Millen stood up, dusting her pants out of habit. "Drink the tea. When you get hungry, heat the lunch. It's in the fridge," she took a deep breath, "and most importantly, rest. I'll be on the phone if you need anything."

Alec smiled, his voice carrying a subtle loveliness, "Thanks, mom."

"No worries," Millen smiled back before closing the door.

Alec waited for ten minutes before checking his phone. The message he sent Tristan yesterday remained unread. It wasn't unusual for Tristan to be slow with replies. Alec opened the conversation, his thumb hovering over the unread message: 'Did you get home safe?'

Alec glanced at the clock. The first period started, and he could only imagine the confusion when Tristan wouldn't find him waiting like he always does. He turned under the covers with a devious grin.

He never liked burdening the people he cared about with worries, albeit when it came to Tristan, this fleeting worry felt like a reward. He loved any emotion displayed on Tristan's face. He could admire any emotion he stirred within Tristan for hours – concern, joy, even anger. 

Alec's chest tightened with a cough that wracked his feverish body. Frustration bubbled up, hot and angry. This stupid illness. It kept him from Tristan, from seeing his reactions firsthand.

He closed his eyes, a determined glint flickering beneath his eyelids. He'd find a way. He always did. There was no need to rush.

His heightened mind slipped into a restless sleep.

Alec could hardly differentiate between reality and dreams. Some would call him slow for such foolishness. However, the line between dream and reality had always been blurred for him.

Alec sat in a dining hall. Unappetizing lunch steaming straight into his face. His father, Henry, never possessed any culinary skills whatsoever.

"What about Kristina?" Alec dug into the meal. "You really don't plan on letting her back? It's been days," a subtle worry played in Alec's voice. A worry his voice lacked since Millen died. 

Henry shot him a glare of disapproval before swallowing a spoonful of oversalted scrambled eggs.

'Wait, what is this? Why wouldn't Kristina be here? Where is Millen?' - flashed across Alec's mind before the scene in front of his eyes changed abruptly.

Alec sat by the window, looking at Kristina, who sat motionlessly under the yew tree. She sat there motionlessly for a long time. Alec glanced at the clock. She sat there for way too long. He tapped at the window frame impatiently. The rhythm of his fingers faltered as Kristina's body limply fell to the ground. His breath hitched, "This can't be!"

Alec glanced around, searching for Henry. His vision reddened as he unlocked the front door and sprinted to Kristina. 

"Kristina! Sis!" a holler rumbled up his throat. The distance between them seemed endless in the few seconds it took Alec to run to the majestic yew tree. 

The sky darkened. Clouds frowned at the earth below.

Alec scooped up the body of Kristina partially. His hands met an ice-cold skin. Her body twitched in his grasp. She wasn't breathing.

"Stay with me," Alec shook with her. He looked back to see Henry standing in the open front door. His mind spiraled as his own complexion paled. However, it couldn't compare to the bluishness Kristina's skin held.

Henry did not intend to help Kristina. 

Alec looked up at the yew tree full of life. Its red fruits darker than the death of Kristina in his arms. Alec avoided looking back down at the now motionless body in his grasp. 

Alec's vision coated a subtle redness as if someone closed an almost transparent curtain, putting an end to the scene playing before his eyes.

Alec was forced awake as his nostrils clogged. He coughed furiously, mind concurred by a buzzing noise. 

He experienced a dream he couldn't understand fully, without the knowledge of the past. However, his body remembered, undoubtedly. His body remembered how he threw away the resentment he nourished with sadness when he tried to save Kristina. 

Kristina, who, unknown to him, met her end with the fruits from the tree he planted.

"It's just a fever dream," Alec laughed nervously. He chugged down the cold chamomile tea.

What would change if Kristina knew Alec held her body before death? How would she react if she felt his tears on her skin and the warmth of his skin against hers? Would anything change? Would she see him as an angel if she saw this brief tenderness after all the hatred? Would she survive her end by a miracle if she witnessed this? His desperate cries couldn't reach her in the realm of death.