Okay, Lisa.

Calm down. It's just a friendly visit.

When the person in question clearly told me he doesn't want anything do with me...

Whatever, I'm just bringing him the assignments he had missed over the days.

When I'm not even the class representative....

But Chloe gave them to me! She's the class representative and I can't really ignore a direct order from her, right?

When she gave them to me after I begged her while on my knees because I needed an excuse to go...

See people? This is what liking someone does to you.

I'm finding excuses to go and not go at the same time.

I clutch the paper bag in my hand which contains Ryder's assignments and tests for the three days he hadn't bothered to show his face at school. He'd been a no show today too and my anger at him was getting overpowered by my worry for him.

That's what you call being in lo-

Shut up, shut up, shut up!

God, I hate that sub conscious bitch!

Fucking whore. Always making me think about Ryder.

And his Greek god body.

And his chiseled jaw.

And his mesmerizing blue eyes.

And...

Shut the hell up already!

I sigh in frustration and ready myself.

Okay, I've come this far. I can just push the doorbell, right? Then if his mom comes, I can just give it to her and be done with it.

Great, now I'm feeling both relief and disappointment at the same time.

So those authors on Wattpad aren't really lying. You do feel crazy shits like this in lo-like. In like.

Yup, in like.

In like? Are you retarded?

Do any of you know of an way to murder your sub conscious?

Taking a deep breath, I force my shaking fingers to push the doorbells. A sweet chiming noise rings throughout the summer afternoon.

Everything is silent for a moment but then I hear footsteps stumbling towards the door.

I know what happens in books and movies. The guy opens the door, the girl takes care of him and voila. They're both in love with each other.

But as it isn't a cliche movie, obviously his mother will open the door.

I feel disappointed but also a slight relief.

Oh fuck, Lisa. You're an strong and independent woman aren't you? You're a feminist! Nothing can bring you down! Why are you-

The door creaks open and the rest of my rant drowns in my throat.

No, there isn't an old lady wearing a kitchen apron standing there.

Instead of his mother like I expected, Ryder is standing there shirtless leaning on the doorframe. His eyes are half closed and a thick layer of sweat covers his forehead. He is slightly panting as he stands there.

My eyes drift towards his chest. I gulp. Oh fuck.

What was I saying again?

My eyes drift lower to the loose fitting sweatpants he is wearing which hangs dangerously low on his hips.

I? Who am I again?

I take a deep breath trying to control my erratic thoughts. He's just standing there and I'm already feeling something I really don't want to describe to our young readers.

Fantastic. The one time I want my life to not be a cliche, it becomes a fucking cheesy cliche.

Luck, please tell me. Just tell me.

What have I done to you?

His eyes are half closed. It's clear that he still hasn't seen me or he would have reacted somehow.

It's then I notice how tired he actually looks.

There are dark bags under his eyes and his cheeks look swollen. Thick sheen of sweat covers his body. His breathing comes in slow pants.

"Uh," he croaks out, his voice sounding more scratchy than usual, "Who are you again?"

Fucking fantastic.

But as I take in his appearance once more, I don't feel turned on.

I feel worried.

Extremely worried.

"Ryder?" I ask concerned, "Are you okay?"

As soon as he hears my voice, it's as if a jolt of electricity passes through his body and he becomes wide awake.

"Allie?" he furrows his eyebrows at me, "Is it seriously you? Are you seriously real?"

I shoot him an amused look, "As real as I can be."

A rampage of emotions flicker in his eyes, one by one.

Shock, disbelief, wonder, guilt, sadness, joy.

I feel as if I can drown in these eyes and still be more happy than I've ever been in my life.

"Are you seriously real? And not some figment of my imagination?" he whispers taking a step towards me.

I gulp and shove the paper bag into his chest, "Yup. And h-here. I just came to give you these. Your homework."

But he makes no move to take them, instead he just stares at me with eyes filled with wonder and guilt.

The task of breathing becomes harder by each minute as he looks at me with those eyes. Those deep blue eyes that hide an ocean of darkest secrets.

I need to get out of here before I do something he's going to hate me for. He's obviously sick and not in his right mind. Or else he would have never be looking at me with those eyes.

Or would he have?

Nope. Not a chance.

But as I glance once more at his disheveled state, the task of leaving becomes more impossible.

I can't leave him here if he has the chance to die because of high fever.

Even if he did behave like shit with me the last time and owes me a lifetime of apology to make up for it.

If he wants to make up for it.

I push the thoughts away and take a step towards him, "You look really sick, are you seriously okay? Where's Carla?"

He seems to snap out of a daze at my question, "Oh? Out? I guess. Maybe"

I throw him an unimpressed look and put the back of my palm on his forehead to check his temperature.

He freezes at my touch.

Hm. Probably the fever, nothing else.

Tingles shoot up and down my arm at the contact but these are the furthest thing on my mind.

My eyes widen in horror as soon as my hand makes contact with his forehead, "Jesus, Ryder! You're a fucking oven!"

His eyes seem even more glazed over than before, "Oh? Allie? It's really you."

Rolling my eyes at him, I put the bag down in a corner, "Yes! It is damn well the real me! Now what the hell are you doing out of bed? Better yet what the hell are you doing out of hospital?"

Shit. He's seriously burning up.

He shrugs unfazed, "So? It's not like anyone cares."

That does it.

"Seriously?" I yell at him, rage overtaking me, "Tell me you're jocking! What are you? A suicidal bastard? Don't you think your mom cares? Don't you think your friends care? Don't you think I care?"

I can feel tears stinging at the back of my eyes. Tears of frustration, tears of desperation, tears of sadness.

What could've happened to him so he thought of himself like this?

And how could I have not noticed till yet?

Seething with rage, I go to slap his chest.

But it doesn't happen.

Instead, he grabs a hold of my hand and pulls me towards him. At the same time kicking the door close with his foot.

A gasp of shock leaves my lips as my upper body collides with his rock hard chest.

I'm alone.

With Ryder.

In a house with the door closed.

When he's sick.

This only calls for disaster.

My heart hammers within my chest painfully. I'm too afraid to look at him, in case I do the one thing I had been wanting to do all these times. My cheeks are pressed upon his chest. I don't know which one's warmer. My skin feels like it's on fire and we're not even doing anything!

"Say it again," Ryder whispers nuzzling his head in the crook of my neck, "Say it once more Allie."

Shit.

Shit.

Shit, I seriously can't breathe.

Electricity runs throughout my body like I'm being zapped. So the authors aren't really a that much of a liar, are they?

"Say what?" I manage to whisper out.

His one hand holds mine in a firm but gentle grip whereas his other one is draped around my waist and is pressing me to his chest.

He sighs huskily and lets go of my hand. I feel a flood of disappointment rushing through me. Drowning me, but not in a good way.

I go to move away but his other hand holds my waist in a tight unmoving grip.

"Not so fast," he whispers right into my ears. I shiver as his warm breath fans my neck and cheeks, "Say it."

"Say that you care about me."

"What?" I whisper airily. Damn, I hope my breath doesn't stink.

His grip on my waist slightly tighten, pressing me even closer to him.

"I," my breath becomes more uneven, "I care about you."

"No," he breaths out, "Not like that."

Lifting my chin gently with his index finger, he looks directly in my eyes.

Suddenly all of my doubts, all of my insecurities, all of my fears seem to vanish in the magic of his eyes. His eyes that look darker but at the same time warmer and happier than usual.

"I care about you Ryder," I whisper but my voice is confident, "I care about you so damn much."

An impatient growl escapes his throat, "Fuck. I can't hold out anymore. I'm so sorry, Allie."

Before I can even process what the hell he just said, his lips are smashed onto mine.

!