Page 102 of Detectives in Love
Xavier pushes to his feet, unsteady, and I grab his elbow before he can tip over. His hands tremble.
“Sit,” I say, lowering the toilet lid.
He exhales sharply and sinks onto it, head bowed.
“My head hurts,” he mutters. “Can’t focus. Can’t think…”
“I know,” I say, standing over him. “I’ll run you a cool bath. It’ll help. Promise.”
Xavier gives the faintest nod, eyes still fixed on the floor.
I move to the tub, plug it, and turn on the tap. Water hisses as it streams out. Adjusting the temperature, I glance back—he hasn’t moved, his face buried in his hands. We stay like this for a few long minutes, just waiting.
“Are you hungry?” I ask quietly, stepping toward him. “Thirsty?”
“No,” he mumbles, barely audible. “I might be sick again.”
I nod, and we wait, water still hissing in the background. After a few more minutes, I say, “Alright, let’s get you in.”
He gives me a weak nod. I move closer, help him up, and his hand clamps onto my shoulder for balance.
“Easy…”
I take hold of his sweater—well, my sweater—and ease it over his head. The cool air makes him shiver, but he doesn’t say a word, his fingers still resting on my shoulder, his gaze fixed on my neck.
I unbutton his pants and slide the zipper down, but as I reach for the waistband, his fever-warm hands close over mine.
“I’ve got it.”
I meet his eyes, then nod and step back. He hesitates before tugging his pants and boxers down in one motion, stepping out of them and standing there, bare, a little uncertain.
I grip his forearm and guide him toward the tub. When his hand moves to steady himself at the edge, I turn away. A splash follows a moment later, and I glance back just long enough to make sure he’s alright.
“I’ll be nearby if you need anything,” I say quietly. “Don’t lock the door. I’ll check on you soon…”
“Mm.” The reply is soft, barely there.
I linger for a moment, then step out, leaving the door cracked as I head into the kitchen.
I yawn as I flick on the kettle and glance out the window. Outside, rooftops and empty streets lie under a heavy blanket of snow, first light tinting everything in blue.
I make a strong cup of tea, drink it in silence, then head to Xavier’s room to grab some clean clothes. For all the chaos he leaves in the living room and kitchen, his closet is meticulous. Pressed shirts and suits hang in neat rows on the right, stacks of folded casual clothes line the left, everything precise.
I pull out his blue checkered pajama pants and a dark blue tee from the top shelf, but something catches my eye—a black box tucked into the upper shelf. I reach for it, and the moment my fingers brush the surface, I realize it isn’t a box at all. It’s a laptop. My brow furrows. Why would Xavier keep it there?
I don’t give it much thought—just shut the wardrobe, toss the clothes onto the bed, and head back to the bathroom. Knocking lightly on the open door, I call, “Coming in. You okay?”
Silence.
“Xavier?” I step inside and find him stretched out in the tub, eyes closed. “Hey.” I move closer.
The water laps at his chin, his wet hair plastered to his neck.
“Xavier.” I perch on the edge of the tub, brushing my fingers across his forehead. He’s not burning up the way he was—the water must’ve cooled him down a little.
His eyes flutter open, drowsy, unfocused, drained.
“Time for bed. Let’s get you out.”
