At No Time || Bruno Mars

23

Peter arose feeling as if there were an elephant atop his chest. A stopped-up nose accompanied the aches in his muscles and he cursed to himself before nearly coughing out a lung.

"Peter, move," Kimioko groaned, half-asleep as she pushed him away. She twisted about so she wasn't facing him.

"No, I'm fine. Thanks for asking," Peter grumbled, his brow furrowing from her lack of sympathy, turning the other way and hoping another hour or so of sleep would ease his heightening ailment.

The wish was far from being granted, and Kimioko made it obvious by her expression when she saw that her fiancé hadn't risen from bed yet.

"You look awful," she noted with a twisted countenance as she buttoned up her blouse.

"You don't say?" Peter cut his eyes at her, sniffing.

"Hey, don't get snippy at me. I'm just stating facts."

Kimioko ambled over to the dresser to retrieve her pearl earrings. She picked up the studs and pinched them into her earlobes. "Try not to get your germs anywhere. I can't get sick any time soon. I have way too much work to do at the office to finish."

"I'll keep that in mind," Peter responded and fell back against his pillow, his eyes closed and neck sore. Kimioko eyed him from the mirror, an arched brow cocked. "You're not going down to the studio?"

Peter opened one eye to peek at her, scrutinizing to see if she was actually serious. "I don't know if going down to the studio in this condition would be the best thing to do right now, Kitten." He attempted to obscure the sarcasm in his voice.

Kimioko waved her hand flippantly. "Oh, I'm sure it's nothing. Just a cold is all." She switched around to face him. "Seriously, Peter, you need to get this song or video or whatever it is done with that chick or whomever. Lance will drop your ass quicker than he picked you up if you don't."

Taken aback, Peter replied with more vigor than he attended, "By one sick day?"

"Yes, by one sick day. That song of yours may be a hit, but everything isn't finished yet. Get your ass up and go down there. The cold probably isn't even that bad," Kimioko demanded as she went to their large, walk-in closet to fetch her jacket.

Peter sneezed twice and Kimioko offered a half-hearted "Bless you," as she walked by the bed to leave the room. "I would kiss you, but you know," she called as she headed down the steps. Peter heard the door slam closed and he contemplated if Kimioko had ever been as dismissive as she'd been in that moment.

Maybe she's right. It's just a cold, Peter reasoned, more out of desire to lessen the insolence of Kimioko's words. Comforted by his lonesome, he leisurely got from out of bed, his feet instantly chilling when they hit the coolness of the air. He shook as he tried to stand, and he was sure his illness was no ordinary cold. Still, he felt as though he couldn't let his team down. A day missed meant hours of material not being produced. Peter gathered himself up as much as he could muster and headed into the bathroom.

He hadn't even put his toothbrush into his mouth when he heard the doorbell ring. "What the hell," he muttered in aggravation, setting the utensil down onto the sink's counter.

Getting down the stairs had never been a harder task. He was out of breath by the time he reached the bottom step. He ignored the shot of soreness that surged through his hand as he twisted the gilded doorknob to open the wooden door that he wondered had gotten heavier since the day before.

"Hey—Holy shit." A bug-eyed Trystan stood on the other side of the aperture, her countenance obscuring none of the abhorrence she felt at Peter's disposition. "You look awful." And Peter was sure he did. He'd passed a mirror coming down the stairs and could only relate his reflection to that of a zombie. His olive-brown skin had altered into an ashen-gray, the bags beneath his eyes an even deeper sterling. He hadn't bothered doing anything to his hair either.