Page 24 of Must Love Christmas

He opened his eyes when he heard the clink of ice near his head.

“Drink,” Simon said. “Now.”

Garen sat up to take the glass of Lucozade. “Blue’s my favorite flavor.”

“Good.” Simon placed the back of his hand against Garen’s forehead. “Fever.”

“I know.” He drank deep, swallowing past the pain in his throat.

Simon shuffled over to the coffee table, then came back with the bottle of paracetamol. He poured out two tablets and handed them to Garen. “Did you win the tournament?”

“Not yet. Playoffs tomorrow.”

“Can they win without you?”

“Hope so.” Garen gulped the pills and took another long sip, giving Simon the once-over. This was the first time he’d seen his flatmate’s hair in its natural, un-gelled state. Its soft-looking black strands were squashed against one side of his head. “When’d you start feeling poorly?”

“Thursday night after you left.” Simon shambled back to his couch. “You?”

“Few hours ago.”

“Oh.” There was a long pause. “Sorry if I gave it to you.”

“S’okay.” Garen pressed the cold glass against his temple for a moment, then drank some more.

“But maybe next time,” Simon said, “you’ll clean and disinfect the bathroom using the two-step process.”

Garen’s laugh nearly made him choke on his Lucozade. As he coughed and spluttered, he gave Simon a shaky two-fingered salute, which started his flatmate’s own wheezy laughter.

Garen set his glass on the floor, then slumped back onto his pillow, feeling optimistic despite the illness claiming his body. Maybe he and Simon would be okay after all.

Chapter 5

56 Days UntilChristmas

“You’ve gotta crumple them tighter.” Simon picked up another red throat-lozenge wrapper from the pile at his side. “Otherwise they’re not aerodynamic.”

“I’m crumpling them as tight as I can, given my weakened state,” Garen said from his couch across the living room, where he faced the opposite way to Simon, so they could both toss right-handed.

With his fever broken, Simon felt better this morning, and he’d even ventured out to a local shop for more food, drink, and medicine. Garen had thanked him profusely for looking after him, but Simon felt it was the least he could do after probably infecting him in the first place.

“Okay, trying again.” Garen tossed a yellow wrapper at the small rubbish bin placed halfway between them. It fell more than a meter short. “This game is rigged.”

“How can it be rigged? We’re using the same brand of lozenge.”

“I know. I’m kidding on.” Garen tried again, winging his wrapper closer this time. “You’re better at this.”

“I’ve just had more practice. What do you think I did all day yesterday while you were away?”

“Sorry you had to suffer on your own.”

“I prefer to be alone when I’m ill.”

“That’s bonkers.” Garen swiped his sleeve over his cheek, which now bore a week’s growth of stubble—apparently a superstition he said helped his team win tournaments. “Why would you want to be alone?”

“I guess I don’t like people seeing me weak.” He aimed the wrapper at the bin.

“Being ill doesn’t make you weak,” Garen said.

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