Seth clung to the side of his couch, pale and wide-eyed.

He didn't understand. How was this even possible?

My brain was fried, he thought numbly. Because how else could a person forget how to walk on their own two feet?

It wasn't like he'd actually forgotten because he knew the general process. Put one foot in front of the other and shift your weight from back to front. That part was easy. Yet somehow, he couldn't manage to do something that simple without falling flat on his face.

His hands dug into the faded brown material of the couch, his knuckles white. He cast a nervous glance at the clock hanging crookedly on the wall. A night and most of the morning had passed, and now there wasn't much time left before Mrs Beakor returned with lunch.

She'd insisted on making him something more substantial after it was clear he had no problem drinking the broth she made earlier this morning. And she had hinted that he might want to clean up a bit before she returned.

Okay, that was a lie. She didn't hint. She outright told him to go take a shower because he stunk. And she also told him that she tossed all his puke-infested clothes into a garbage bag and left it by his bathroom for him to deal with. Which was perfectly fair—she'd already done more than enough.

Alright. He set his jaw, lips pressing together. Let's try again. I just need to focus.

He focused, concentrating only on telling his right foot to lift and move a few inches over. The foot listened. It lifted. Then it turned sideways a bit, coming down toes first rather than heel first.

If it was possible, Seth paled even further. He stared at his own feet, one posed on its tippy-toe like some kind of ballerina. That's not what I told you to do!!

He lifted the foot again. Brought it down once more. It did the same thing, so he brought it back to its original position and wrangled it down beside the other one. It took two tries to get it to sit flat like a normal person's foot. Then he tried the left one. Same freaking deal.

You know what? Forget this. Scowling fiercely, Seth gave up. He was in no mood to deal with scrambled brains and confused feet right now. So, he got on all fours and crawled like a baby, because that seemed to be the only thing his body knew how to do properly.

He crawled to his room, pausing for just a moment in the doorway to brace himself. Instead of the stench of vomit, however, the only thing he smelled was the fresh scent of pine sol. That was incredibly relieving, so he crawled inside.

And froze. The mass of clothes that had been spread all over the floor had been picked up and dumped into a huge mountain on his bed. Taped to the mountain was a single sheet of paper with a messy scrawl: For crying out loud, do your laundry!!

He flushed a brilliant shade of crimson, his ears burning like they were about to burst into flames. Great. Not only had Mrs Beakor taken the time to clean up his puke, she'd also picked up his room.

Now how was he supposed to tell which clothes were clean and which were not? He'd had a system! His clean clothes got left by the door for when he'd (probably never) put them away. And dirty clothes had their own piles closer to the bed. It wasn't the greatest system, but it did the job.

He sighed and rose up on his knees. There was a gray T-shirt sticking out of the middle, and he was pretty sure that one was clean. Gingerly, he grabbed a fistful and tugged.

Next thing he knew, he was buried beneath an avalanche of clothes. Seth flailed wildly, managing to dislodge the jeans that had somehow wrapped around his head. Then he shoved aside a large bundle, scowling darkly.

A few minutes later, he crawled into the bathroom with some clothes that were hopefully clean. His expression was set in an ugly grimace, matching his sour mood. He kicked the door shut, left the clothes in a heap on the floor, and then used the bathroom counter to pull himself to his feet.

This time, it wasn't too difficult to stand, but his sense of balance felt off, like he was top-heavy and might teeter over if even the lightest breeze brushed against him.

"This is stupid." He glared at the shower stall. It was only a few feet away, but he was starting to wonder how he was going to manage this without drowning himself. A thread of panic threatened to rise, but he squashed it down.

Just get this done, he told himself. Maybe it'll get better once I move around some more.

Feeling slightly reassured, he shuffled his way along the counter to the toilet, grumbling under his breath when his limbs seemed to twitch in random directions. His upper body didn't seem to suffer as badly as his legs and feet, thankfully, though minor muscle spasms sometimes threw him off. Eventually, he got the shower on and sat on the toilet to pull off his clothes.

Seth had to admit that Mrs Beakor was definitely right. Stewing in his own sweat and vomit hadn't done him any favours.

He huffed, then grabbed the back of the toilet and shower door. The intention was to stand, then step into the shower stall. Instead, he launched himself headfirst into the spray of water. His head thunked into the far wall, then he slipped and fell heavily onto his knees.

"Ow!"

His breath came out in a long hiss, teeth clenched against the pain. Warm water spilled over his back, but he hardly noticed it as worry overtook him. What's wrong with me? Why is this happening?

Was he going to be like this forever? Where nothing worked right no matter how hard he tried? How'd he even go to work? Forget riding his bike; he couldn't even walk down a hallway.

I'd need to get a wheelchair, he realized, and that idea struck him like a bulldozer. Maybe he'd be disabled for the rest of his life.

His chest tightened like a vise, squeezing until it hurt. If he was unable to even move around without a wheelchair, how would he even stay in this apartment? Living alone wouldn't be much of an option for him.

I'd have to move back home. Dread curled around him, its sinuous tendrils malicious and gleeful.

"No!" He recoiled, then abruptly tried to scramble to his feet, his heart pounding a rapid beat against his ribs. He managed to stand, but then a foot slipped. On his way down he reached out, grasping for something to halt his fall. One hand managed to grab the shower tap, tugging it one side before it slipped through wet fingers.

Seth fell heavily on his butt, the impact jarring up his spine and snapping his teeth shut. Luckily he avoided biting his tongue, but there was no time to feel grateful for that small mercy because the shower water abruptly turned into rivers of ice.

The shock of it froze him in place. It chased away everything but the stuttering realization that it was cold! And with coldness came a crystalline clarity, easing the chaos into calm.

Answers. I need answers.

That was the most important thing right now.

To get those, he had to get back into the game. As strange as it sounded, he suspected that the Veiled knew exactly what they had done. There was also Awesome Dude. And the Chat, which he'd only looked at once or twice. Seth wanted to know what the other players had experienced. Was this strangeness just him? Or did something weird happen to everyone?

One thing at a time, he told himself. That was something he'd picked up from Uncle Fenn. When too much was going on and everything felt overwhelming, sometimes it helped to take a step back and tackle one thing at a time.

Baby steps.

A fleeting, sad smile came and went. Then he shuddered, goosebumps rising all over his body. Hypothermia seemed more likely the longer this went on, so he hastily reached up to turn the tap.

As the water began to warm, he carefully stood, using the walls of the shower stall to steady himself. His sense of balance was off, but as long as he didn't move too suddenly, he found he was able to keep upright without too much difficulty.

By the time he finished his shower, he felt a thousand times better. Though he still was clumsy and off balance, he was able to move easier, and that was a huge encouragement. Perhaps all he needed was to just move around and get some proper food and rest. Anyone would feel loopy after being violently ill, never mind getting brain-zapped by a game.

The glorious smell of food wafted through his apartment, a sign that Mrs Beakor had returned. Using the wall to steady himself, Seth clumsily tottered down the short hall and around the corner. His legs seemed to tug him onwards with unfamiliar movements, his feet maneuvering in what felt like unnatural ways, but he was adjusting.

Mrs. Beakor sat at his kitchen table, rifling through a newspaper. She must have raided a museum and brought it back with her because he hadn't even realized those things still existed. If someone wanted to read the news, all they had to do was look it up on their phone.

Without looking up, she asked, "Feeling better?"

"Yeah," he said. "Thanks. For everything."

She looked up, her eyes finding his. Then she grinned. "Hey, I've got loads of free time. What else am I supposed to do with it?"

An involuntary smile tugged at Seth's lips. "Free time, huh? There are probably better ways to spend it than cleaning up after your neighbor."

She set the newspaper down on the table and scoffed. "Take a seat, kiddo. You look like you're about to fall over."

Aware that she was now watching him with a critical eye, Seth gingerly moved towards the table. There was a short distance of open space that he had to cross without the support of a wall, but he made it without falling on his face. He reached for the back of the nearest chair and grabbed it like a lifeline, before stumbling around and collapsing onto it with a sigh of relief.

Mrs Beakor, he realized, was looking at him with raised eyebrows, an unasked question written all over her face. He flushed, heat flooding his face. "What?"

"You seem a bit unsteady."

Her eyes twinkled with amusement, yet he thought he could see a hint of concern lurking there, too. It warmed him from within, and he squirmed on his chair in embarrassment.

"Just shaky, but I'm fine."

"Yeah?" There was doubt in her expression, but she didn't press it any further. Instead, she got up and went to the microwave. Moments later, she came back with a plate full of food, and she set it down before him.

Seth looked at it. There were some suspiciously green things on his plate, as well as some rice and a bit of chicken. He shifted his attention to Mrs Beakor. None of this looked like delicious lasagna. Why couldn't he have some of that instead? Her lasagna was the best thing he'd ever eaten in his entire life.

As if she could read his mind, Mrs Beakor bared her teeth in a wolfish smile. "Is something wrong?"

Seth immediately picked up his fork. "Nope."

He stabbed a green thing and hastily shoved it in his mouth. It tasted like what he imagined to be a mix of grass and overripe feet. He forced himself to chew it anyway.

"Good." Mrs Beakor looked pleased. "You've got nothing but crap in your cupboards, and it's a wonder you haven't died from malnutrition yet."

He stopped mid-chew to splutter, "It's not crap!"

Both were delicious and easy to make, and she obviously didn't know what she was talking about.

"Keep telling yourself that, kiddo."

Scowling, Seth poked a green thing. "What is this, anyway?"

"It's asparagus," Mrs Beakor leaned back in her chair, then propped her feet up on the table. She at least had the courtesy to place them on the opposite side of the table from him. "And if you keep whining, I'm going to serve you some more."

Appalled, Seth snapped his mouth shut. I wasn't whining!

He kept that to himself though, since he had a strong feeling she'd carry out her threat. Wordlessly, he ate everything on his plate. The chicken and rice were tasty, but the asparagus stuff... it was all he could do to choke it down. How could people even call it food?

When he finished, he felt full and exhausted, both mentally and physically. A nap sounded like the best idea in the world to him, which he told Mrs Beakor. If he were napping, she couldn't threaten to feed him more gross stuff anyway.

He stumbled into his living room, steadying himself against the wall while he fought to coordinate his limbs. Mrs Beakor watched from the kitchen, arms folded against her chest. She didn't offer to help, thankfully. It was embarrassing enough to become a horrible klutz overnight.

Once he was settled on the couch, she came over and picked up the blanket that had been tossed onto the floor. She shook it out before spreading it over him.

"Uh..." Seth blinked, unsure of this strange gesture. No one had ever tucked him in like this, and he wasn't sure if he should feel grateful or embarrassed. This whole thing was awkward.

"I already told Trip that you wouldn't be going in tomorrow," she said, patting the blanket around his shoulders. "So just take it easy for a bit."

"It's fine," he mumbled. His ears burned from the heat flooding his face. "I'm fine."

A silver brow lifted in sheer dubiousness. Her bony hand pressed against his cheek, then touched his forehead for a moment. "Well, you're not burning up anymore, but you're still pretty pale. I would guess it was just a bout of the stomach flu, but..." She fell silent, shaking her head. "Never mind. Get some rest. I'll come check on you tomorrow."

Seth shifted beneath the blanket. She'd already done so much. It was making him feel guilty for making her waste so much time. "You don't have to. I'll be okay now, I think."

In response, she gave him a look. The kind that said, Uh huh. And I'm a two headed albatross that can outfly a spaceship. She patted his blanket-covered knee.

"Good night, kiddo."

With that, she turned off the lights save for a lamp in the living room and let herself out of his apartment. For the second time in as many days, Seth lay on his couch. This time though, he did so with a faint smile.

Good night.