You might need help getting out of a rather burning mess someday.

Burning mess.

I was too pumped up on adrenaline on my way to the Agency headquarters to think straight. I don't even remember what exactly was it that I told Orias. I must've told him about the ski-masked man. But I didn't think I mentioned the part where the whole building froze over. I think he figured that one out himself.

"You didn't see his face," Orias asked me--referring to the ski-masked man--which sounded more like a direct statement.

I fidgeted with my hands, still too freaky and fidgety to think straight.

"His face was covered." I shook my head. Then shook it again. Was I one of those adrenaline junkies? "But he said that he'll put the Agency to its rightful place."

And kill me. I didn't add that.

Orias paced across the room, the tips of his fingers rubbing his chin as he frowned thoughtfully. Then his gaze snapped up to me and I froze.

"You can go. Get some rest. I assume you've skipped college?" He asked.

The fidgeting started again. It was so bad that I nodded approximately thrice. "Yup. Yes. Don't worry about it. I've got...backup. But yeah, I'll go if that's okay."

Orias's frown turned more into a furrow of his brows as he stared me down. "Don't think he saved you without an ulterior motive, Dahlia."

It took me a few silent seconds to figure out who he was talking about. Like every other time, Orias knew exactly what was going through my head. Ice Phantom. He had saved me from that fire (and maybe even from that ski-masked man). Ice Phantom was the only person I knew who could do that; change anything into ice. Make ice grow out of thin air. He was the only one.

But that wasn't where the confusing mess ended. There was Neo somehow involved in this too. The challenging look in his eyes earlier in the cafeteria today. The warning in his tone. His words.

But Neo wasn't...how could Neo have known about that fire? There was no way any of that made sense.

By the time I left the Agency building, it was late evening by then. The rush of adrenaline was slowly draining away, leaving behind the feeling of utter exhaustion.

I took out my phone and saw a few texts from Penny, asking me how the migraine was going along. One text was from Jon too, asking if I could drop by tomorrow at the bookshop for an extra few hours. Sniffing, I switched off my phone and slid it into my hoodie pocket.

It was a cold evening. Colder than usual.

The whole walk to my apartment felt like I was being watched. It felt like a pair of eyes were on me. Paranoia was like a giant tarantula on me, a snake making its way up my spine. All kinds of horrible.

I wrapped my arms around my middle and was relieved when I neared the familiar apartment building--even more so when I saw Dolores, the old lady who lived in the apartment beside mine, standing at my front door.

"Dahlia, honey." She turned around when she saw me, with a smile as warm as her dark brown cardigan. "Good thing you're here. I made some apple pie. I knocked on your door just now but no one opened."

I passed her a grateful smile and the delicious smell from the container in her hands wafted up to my nose.

"Oh. Thank you, Dolores. You didn't have to." My appetite seemed pretty nonexistent right now, but there was just this something about Dolores's homemade apple pie that always did it for me. The lady had magic in her hands.

"I know, I know. But I also know you love it." She patted my arm and handed me the container. I started hearing a noise that sounded distinctly like scratching from her front door. "I should head back. You know how Daisy gets if I leave her alone for too long."

Daisy was her cat. And no, I did not know how Daisy got like when she was left alone for too long. Judging from the mean scratching she was doing at the moment, I didn't want to know either.

"Thanks again," I told Dolores with another grateful smile, watching as she went inside her apartment, before slowly rubbing the bruise on my stomach. It hurt if I stood still for too long.

Finally, after a few seconds of contemplating, I trudged inside my own apartment.

It wasn't locked, to my surprise. And as I closed the door with the help of my butt, I grimaced when the side of my stomach flared up with pain once again. Gosh, tasers sucked.

I was in the middle of taking off my sneakers when I saw my roommate--Jamie--sitting on one of the kitchen stools with his back towards me.

"The neighbour knocked on the door just seconds ago. Didn't you hear her?" I asked him.

I was expecting words, or maybe even no response. What I didn't expect was a questioning (sort of sulky) groan from his direction.

"What was that?" I asked.

He groaned again.

I walked inside the kitchen, placed the apple pie on the counter and sat exactly across from him, more or less slumping down on the stool in relief.

Jamie lifted his head from the counter and stared at me with a frown.

"You look awful." I scrunched my nose at him, stretching out my arm and picking up a fork from the washed pile of dishes. Then I glanced back at his sickly pale face. "Are you sick? What happened? You looked plenty fine at college."

He muttered an incoherent reply, which otherwise got drowned out when I started opening the container.

"Didn't get that," I told him before stuffing a bite of the delicious looking apple pie in my mouth. And God, it was the only most beautiful thing in this whole entire world. I think I moaned out loud.

"Sick. Yes," Jamie said (much much clearly this time), eyes a shade paler than the usual blue as he frowned and dragged his hands down his face. He did look sick, I realised. And it wasn't just the paleness of his face. He even had that whole nasally voice going on. Right on cue, he sneezed, slumped his forehead on the counter, and groaned again.

I furrowed my brows in concern. "You caught a cold." The fact that he was wearing a warm, really soft looking, black sweater right now proved my point--unlike the t-shirts he casually wore. Those were bound to get him sick.

I took another bite of the pie and chewed it thoughtfully. "Hm, the pie's tasty. Want some?" I forked another piece of the pie and nudged the top of his head with my wrist. Ugh. His hair was just as soft as I had always thought.

Jamie looked up at me again with those big blue eyes, then glanced down at the fork I was giving him. He scrunched up his nose a little but took it anyway, stuffing it in his mouth. The mere action made my stupid heart skip a beat.

When he passed me back the fork, our fingers touched just a little, and I raised my brows. "You've got a fever." And I wasn't kidding when I felt his hand burning hot.

"I'm fine," he grumbled, frowning and propping his forehead on the counter again. I almost didn't notice the way he seemed to curl in on himself.

"Are you sure?" I asked him slowly, a little more concerned now--concerned enough to not care about the pie anymore.

He nodded stiffly.

"Maybe you should--"

"You won't catch it. Stop worrying."

I opened my mouth, then closed it shut. I wasn't worrying because of that. If anything, catching it was the last thing on my mind right now.

"How would you know I won't catch it?" I asked him anyway.

Jamie didn't reply. Which I guess wasn't that uncharacteristic of my roommate.

"Maybe you should call it a night. You'll feel better if you get some rest."

Still no reply.

I bit my lower lip. Had he fallen asleep on the counter? "I can make you some soup." I knew this brilliant recipe (thanks to Jade-the medic at the Agency) that always helped me feel better whenever I got sick.

However, I was taken aback, and not just a little when he passed me a glare. "Stop acting like you care." A glare so momentarily murderous that it left me stunned.

"I..." I faltered, blinking, surprised. A few seconds passed by before I found my voice again. "Fine. Whatever. Sorry, I'll act like I don't care then." And then I pushed aside the pie container alongwith the fork, gripping the counter when the bruise on my stomach throbbed again.

"Night," I added, truthfully a little in a sour mood now, and headed for my bedroom.

Maybe I did get a little annoying sometimes. Perhaps if I was sick and someone kept blabbering their head off in front of me, I'd kinda want to end them right there too. Not necessarily, but sometimes, yeah.

I plopped down on my bed face-first and sighed into my pillows. I had closed the door on my way in so I didn't think twice before lifting my hoodie and the t-shirt beneath, grimacing at the large bruise--a shade so sickly purple--on my stomach. Just running the tip of my finger over it made me want to throw up the pie I'd just consumed.

I groaned and flopped back down on my pillow.

Somehow a few hours later, after patching myself up (as pathetically as Jade would not have done), I dozed off.

I woke up again somewhere in the middle of the night when I started shivering my ass off. It had gone real cold in the apartment, and not just my bedroom, as I softly padded out into the lounge.

Trying to bring some warmth to my body, I rubbed my arms and stopped somewhere behind the couch. The only source of light came from the opened TV, which my roommate seemed to be watching at this ungodly hour of the night.

Except that...no, I realised. Jamie was fast asleep on the couch. He must've been watching the tv but forgot to switch it off.

I rounded the couch and stared at his sleeping form. It was hard to make out in the dark but I noticed the way his hair fell over his forehead, stuck and beaded with sweat. A real sight for sore eyes even when he was sick.

I groaned internally and went back inside my room, pulling out one of my spare duvets. I even switched off the TV before tucking the duvet over him. Maybe I was just imagining it (wishful thinking) when the frown on his face relaxed a little. I pulled away and went inside the kitchen, pouring some water into a glass after a moment of hesitation. Then I placed it on the small coffee table beside the couch.

Sighing, I spared him one last, long glance before going back inside my room.

If I were to stop caring, what would be left of me?