Jason woke to a room that spun and dipped like a roller coaster ride. He tried to swallow and winced. It felt like he'd gargled broken glass. Beneath his blankets, he shivered uncontrollably, his body alternating between freezing cold and burning heat.
Idiot. The only thing he can say for himself right now is "a big fucking idiot".
Yesterday's memory floated back through the fever haze: standing in the hallway after the pool incident, dripping wet, waiting for Marissa to finish her shower. He'd been too distracted by what had happened—by the image of her that refused to leave his mind—to bother changing out of his soaked clothes. The chill had settled into his bones while he leaned against the wall, water pooling at his feet.
He groaned and pulled the blanket tighter around himself. Every muscle ached. His head throbbed with each heartbeat. The clock on his bedside table read 10:17—he'd slept through breakfast. No one had come to wake him.
A soft knock interrupted his misery.
"Jason?" His mother's voice came through the door. "Are you awake?"
He tried to answer but produced only a raspy croak. The door opened anyway, and Elaine poked her head in. Her expression shifted immediately from curiosity to concern.
"Oh, honey." She crossed to his bed and pressed a cool hand against his forehead. "You're burning up."
Jason leaned into her touch. "I don't feel so good," he managed, his voice a scratchy whisper.
"I can see that." She brushed his hair back from his face with gentle fingers. "What happened?"
He started to explain about the pool and the wet clothes, but his throat seized up in protest. Elaine shushed him.
"Never mind. Stay right there…I'll be back."
As if he could go anywhere. Jason closed his eyes, drifting in and out of awareness until his mother returned with a tray. She set it on his nightstand: a steaming mug, some medicine, and a damp washcloth.
"Sit up a little," she instructed, helping him prop himself against the pillows.
The tea scalded his raw throat, but the heat felt good spreading through his chest. Elaine placed the cool cloth on his forehead, and he sighed with relief.
"Thank you," he whispered.
She sat on the edge of his bed, her weight creating a comforting dip in the mattress. "You haven't been sick in years. Not since that flu when you were thirteen."
Jason remembered. Three days of misery, his mother bringing him soup and checking his temperature every few hours. Some things didn't change, even when the world outside did.
"Try to rest," she said, standing. "I'll check on you later."
He wanted to thank her again, but sleep pulled him under before he could form the words.
When he woke next, Lily stood beside his bed, holding a steaming bowl. Her eyes were wide with worry.
"Mom said you're sick," she said quietly. "I brought soup."
Jason pushed himself up, wincing at the effort. "Thanks, Lil."
She set the bowl down carefully and perched on his desk chair. "You look awful."
"Feel awful," he admitted.
Lily watched him take a spoonful of the instant chicken noodle soup. It tasted like nothing, but the warmth soothed his throat.
"We were supposed to watch the next movie tonight," she said, disappointment clear in her voice.
"Rain check?" he offered.
She nodded. "We'll wait for you. It wouldn't be the same without you there."
Something warm that had nothing to do with fever spread through Jason's chest. He managed a small smile.
"Thanks for the soup."
Lily stayed a while longer, filling the silence with quiet chatter about her radio shift and a book she'd found in some boxes. Eventually, she stood and touched his arm lightly.
"Get better, okay? It's boring without you."
After she left, Jason drifted in and out of sleep, the fever making time stretch and compress in strange ways. The next knock came hours later—or maybe minutes, he couldn't tell.
Marissa stood in the doorway, holding a glass of water. Her expression was unusually subdued.
"Hey," she said softly. "Can I come in?"
Jason nodded, struggling to sit up straighter in bed. His muscles ached with the effort, and he had to brace himself against the headboard to stay upright. She approached and handed him the water, her movements careful as if she might somehow make his condition worse by moving too quickly.
"Mom said you're pretty sick." She shifted her weight from one foot to the other, uncharacteristically hesitant. Her usual confidence seemed diminished in the dim light of his bedroom. "Is it... because of yesterday? The pool?"
Jason took a long drink before answering, the water soothing his raw throat. He could feel the liquid traveling all the way down, a momentary relief from the fever's heat. "Probably. My own fault though."
"I shouldn't have pushed you in." Her voice carried a hint of genuine regret, something he rarely heard from his older sister.
"I pulled you in after me," he reminded her, his voice still raspy and strained. The memory of their brief moment of levity seemed distant now, obscured by the fog of his illness. "Fair's fair."
Marissa sat at the foot of his bed, creating a small depression in the mattress. Her fingers played with a loose thread on his blanket, twisting and untwisting it in an unconscious rhythm. "Still. I got to shower first while you waited all wet and cold." Her eyes remained fixed on the thread, avoiding his gaze as if the admission of responsibility was difficult for her.
Jason managed a weak smile. "The view might've been worth it anyway and maybe next time we can shower together huh". He couldn't believe he'd said that aloud. Maybe the fever really had fried something.
Her eyes widened before she rolled them dramatically. "You're such a pervert." But there was no real heat in her words, just the familiar rhythm of their banter.
"Sick pervert," he corrected, which earned him a small laugh.
"Seriously though," she said, her expression softening. "I'm sorry anyway."
"It'll pass." He shivered again, pulling the blanket tighter. "Just need to sleep it off."
Marissa stood, hesitated, then reached out to adjust his blanket, tucking it around his shoulders. The gesture was so unexpectedly tender that Jason didn't know how to respond.
"Get better," she said, backing toward the door. "The bunker's boring without someone to annoy."
After she left, Jason sank back into his pillows. His body still ached, his head still pounded, but something else had eased. In the silence of his room, surrounded by the lingering presence of his family's care, he realized that even in sickness—even in this underground box at the end of the world—there was comfort to be found.
For the first time since waking in the bunker, he felt truly, deeply grateful not to be alone.