Page 88 of Between Here and There

“You’re not fine,” she shoots back, already reaching out to press her palm against my forehead. Her eyes widen. “You’re burning up! Why didn’t you call me?”

I try to muster a half-hearted smile. “Didn’t want to ruin your day more than I already have.”

Her lips press into a thin line, and I immediately regret the jab. Not because she’s mad, but because she looks genuinely worried. “This isn’t the time for jokes, Joshua,” she says firmly. “You look like you’re about to fall on my feet. Come on, let’s get you to the couch.”

“I’m fine here,” I protest, but she’s already pulling me up. For someone smaller than me, she’s surprisingly strong when she’s determined.

“Couch. Now,” she insists, guiding me with a hand on my arm. I don’t have the energy to argue, so I let her lead me.

Once I’m seated, she disappears briefly and comes back with a cool, damp towel, a glass of water, and what I assume is medicine. She kneels in front of me, dabbing the towel across my forehead and cheeks. The coolness is a blessed relief, and I close my eyes, letting out a sigh.

“I’m sorry about earlier, Em,” I say, still with my eyes closed.

“Shh,” she says. “We’ll talk when you’re better.”

“I’m also sorry,” I add, “that you’re doing this. I know you’re tired of taking care of everyone else. I should be the one helping you. I–”

“Joshua,” she interrupts, her tone part teasing, part exasperated. “Does babbling run in your family? Seriously, just be quiet and rest.”

I crack an eye open to look at her, but she places her hand gently over my face, shutting my eyes for me. “And for the record,” she continues, her voice warm and steady, “I don’t mind taking care of you. Not even a little.”

Her words settle over me like the towel on my forehead—cooling, calming, and strangely comforting. For a moment, I just breathe, letting her kindness wash over me. “You sure?” I ask, my voice barely above a whisper.

“Positive,” she replies, her hand moving to brush my hair back in a way that feels so tender it nearly undoes me. “So just let me be here for you, okay?”

I don’t argue—not that I want to. So instead, I nod faintly and let my eyes drift shut again, her presence already making me feel better than any medicine could.

I wake up to the soft glow of the TV casting shadows across the room. Blinking groggily, I shift slightly, only to realize something unusual.

“Oh, hey,” Emily’s voice cuts through the haze, and I turn my head to see her smiling down at me.Wait. Down at me?

I blink again, taking in my surroundings. I’m lying on the couch… with my head resting comfortably on her lap. And she’s stroking my hair.

She catches the confusion in my expression and chuckles softly. “I hope you don’t mind,” she says, her voice light but soothing. “I finished cooking that sinigang you were attempting to cook earlier. It was a valiant effort, by the way. Also…” she pauses, giving me a playful smile, “I might’ve already had my share. Oh, and I grabbed one of your sodas.” She points toward the fridge as if to make it official. “And… I cleaned up around here. Added some fresh throw pillows too. Thought your couch could use a bit of life.”

I sit up slowly, rubbing the sleep from my eyes. Sure enough, my once bare black leather couch is now adorned with soft, subtly toned throw pillows. They’re nice. Cozy, even.

I glance at her, still processing. “How long was I out?”

She shrugs, reaching for the chips beside her. “Four, five hours?” she says casually, then adds with a sheepish grin, “Oh, and I also opened these.” She shakes the bag of chips for emphasis. “I can get you something to eat if you’re—”

“No,” I cut in gently, waving her off. “You’ve done more than enough. I’ve got it. Really.” I glance at her, the words coming out softer this time. “Thanks, Emily.”

She smiles, the kind that makes the room feel a little brighter. “You’re welcome.”

I stand and walk toward the kitchen. But, I turn to her to ask, “How exactly did I end up sleeping on your lap?”

Her grin turns slightly mischievous. “Well,” she begins, drawing out the word, “after I finished up in the kitchen, I sat beside you to grab my snacks. And you, in your sickly form, just kind of… moved over and flopped your head onto my lap. You looked so peaceful, I didn’t have the heart to wake you.”

We both laugh quietly, and for a moment, the earlier tension between us feels like a distant memory. Just the soft glow of the TV, the warmth of her presence, and the comfort of knowing she stayed.

It hits me then, like a subtle shift in the air. This feels too good. Too easy. The kind of quiet, unassuming moment you don’t realize you’re craving until it wraps itself around you, and suddenly, you can’t imagine letting it go.

This is what I imagine home should feel like. Not the walls, the furniture, or even the smell of food from the kitchen. It’s this. The easy laughter that doesn’t ask for anything in return. The quiet, unspoken care that wraps around you like a soft, worn blanket. It’s someone kneeling beside you, pressing a cool towel to your feverish skin, not because they have to, but because theycan’t not. Because it’s you. Because they care.

I can’t remember the last time anyone cared for me like that. Back home, my mother wasn’t the type to linger. She was too caught up in her own battles to notice when I was fighting mine. I learned early how to stitch my own wounds, how to swallow pain in silence, how to sleep through the haze of a fever and wake up alone. No one asked how I was, and I stopped expecting them to.

Until Emily. Until she stumbled into my life with her sharp wit, her relentless kindness, and that maddening way she makes me feel both invincible and vulnerable all at once.

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