By the time he woke up again, the rumpled sheets next to him had already lost her warmth. Greg felt nauseous and weak, arm already throbbing in the bright light. He groaned as he rolled onto it a bit. She came running at the sound, twangs of a steel string off in the distance. She stroked his forehead gently, wiping away a sheen of sweat.

“You need a doctor.”

He smiled up at her, lost in a fantasy. He saw the yellowed walls, heard the country music playing the background, and briefly imagined he was where he always wanted to be.

“I’m fine, honey.”

Her smiled skewed a bit, torn up with desperation, despair and affection. Bright eyes turned watery.

“No, Greg, you’re not. I’m afraid for you.”

“Really, I’m good. Well, except the arm.”

“Stop it!”

Andrea’s fist hit the bed as she turned away, raven hair gleaming bronze in the sun. A wracking sob tore through her chest, tears falling onto his neck. She collapsed and wrapped her arms tight around him.

“You’ve been nothing but good to me, Greg, and I don’t know why. Please don’t die on me. Please...please let me help you.”

He smiled in his delirium, and put his good arm around her shoulders as the crying shook her.

“Anything for you, dearest Andrea. I love you.”

She recoiled at his words, sniffling and reddening. He looked up at her quizzically. This was not part of his fantasy. She pulled away from his body, helped him up. They ate in silence, bluegrass static swallowing up the quiet. They had eaten a few similar meals on their trek, sitting across a small table from one another. They both ate cereal, crunching quietly over the music. He stared at her with unusual intensity, as if seeing her for the first time. Long trails stained both cheeks. Her hair shone in the late morning light. Indigo eyes sullenly stared down, turning a translucent steely blue as Greg looked at them at an angle. A sniffle or two and some awkward motions showed how she felt. They ate quietly, Greg enjoying the meal with a small feeling of wonder.