Bad Romance.

Sam has only had one girlfriend before, and that was Quinn.

But with that ending how it did, he’s definitely been nervous about doing something wrong with KC (who he isn’t sure he can properly call his girlfriend, because he can’t brag to his friends about the gorgeous girl he’s got waiting for him after class or show her off on his arm wherever they go).

It’s been two days since he’s last seen KC.

She’s had a sub in the day before and today. The day of their first real date.

He’s tried to be optimistic but he’s got this horrible, sinking feeling in his gut that’s making him unsure if he needs to throw up or if he needs a Tum. The twisting and turning his stomach is doing only gets worse when he’s in front of KC’s apartment door, a pair of black slacks on and white pinstriped button-up that’s messily tucked in, rolling back and forth from the balls of his feet to his heels and back again.

She hasn’t answered any calls or texts from him, and she isn’t answering the door right now.

He wonders if this is what it feels like to be stood up.

He calls out her name, knocking loudly. When there’s no answer, he hesitates, but somewhere in his rushing thoughts, he justifies opening her door and peeking in with the possibility that she could be seriously injured or unable to stand up or paralyzed from aliens performing numerous, unmentionable experiments on her pretty body.

Sam shuts the door behind him, and he can hear what sounds like dramatic orchestra music coming from her bedroom. He wanders over, knocking on her door and saying her name.

When he hears heavy coughing and then a slurred response, he takes it as an okay to walk in. And his worry that he’s been stood up changes instantly into worry that KC is able to even stand up.

She’s wearing the football hoodie she “borrowed” (in her defense, Sam let her borrow it, and never specified when he wanted it back) from him, underwear that’s Christmas-seasoned with little stockings printed all over, and her hair is messy and pulled out of her ghastly pale face. He rushes over to her side, taking a knee.

“Sam?” She blinks, a smile breaking onto her face. “What are you doing here?”

He grins half-heartedly, holding her hand in his. “I was actually coming to pick you up for our date.”

“Date?” Her confusion is only temporary, replaced by realization and a sad, watery expression. “Oh, fuck, Sam, I’m so sorry…” she starts trailing off about how she’s sorry and she totally forgot and she’s been asleep most of the day until she almost coughs up a lung, turning away from Sam so she doesn’t infect him. Turning back, he speaks before she starts again.

“I’ll take a rain check,” he gives her a genuine smile, wanting to kiss the frown off her face, but also not wanting to get sick himself. “I’ll be honest, you look like you feel like shit. Let’s get you cleaned a little bit.”

He stands, and as KC begins to protest, Sam slips his arms underneath her legs and her back, lifting her with ease. She doesn’t fight, and simply rests her head against his shoulder, murmuring something about how he looks handsome and “if I wasn’t sick, you’d definitely have gotten laid tonight.” He chuckles, making a note to wear something similar when they manage to actually have their date.

In the bathroom, he asks if she wants a shower or bath. Thinking a moment, she answers that she wants a bubble bath. Sam nods, and puts her on her feet, his hands lingering underneath her arms as she takes a second to get steady on her feet. KC starts the water, stripping off the little clothing she has as Sam comes back from a quick trip to the kitchen for a cup, and searches her cabinet for the bubble bath stuff, finding it with ease (because although he may not be a genius, he doesn’t have a problem finding the pink, bubbly-looking bottle that says “Bubble Bath” in big letters).

It takes a few minutes, but the water finally got to be bubbly and warm but not scalding hot, and KC sits in the water, letting out a deep sigh of content before coughing again. Sam rolls up his sleeves and gets on his knees beside the tub, reaching for the cup, taking some of the water and pouring it over KC, just getting her body wet for now.

It’s quiet, except for KC’s occasional coughing and the sound of whatever she was watching from her bedroom. Her eyelids are heavy, Sam can tell, just like he can tell her body and mind are craving sleep horridly by the way her shoulders are slumped, and how her head falls forward when she dozes off before snapping back up in an attempt to wake up a little. He grabs the body wash that’s on the side of the tub, and squeezes a little in his hand, before rubbing her shoulders and back, and after hesitating a moment (he’s not sure why, because he’s felt every inch of her body, but only when they’re intimate sexually—he’s never really touched her like that when she’s so drained like this), he rubs it on her collar bone area, and she saves him the hesitation again by rubbing herself in the front.

He rinses the soap off her, after taking out the hairband, looks at how her hair is falling around the sides of her face and in her eyes, and she’s beyond caring at this point. KC is always so strong and dominant that seeing her so vulnerable is weird. He’s yet to see her completely submissive (she’ll give him opportunities to be dominant during sex, but she’s always had some control), but he never thought he’d see her vulnerable.

Sam doesn’t know where the question comes from, or why he suddenly thought of it, but he asks anyway. “What does KC stand for?”

A small smile is thrown his way, and he momentarily forgets to breathe.

“Kori Charlotte,” she tells him softly, looking at his oceanic eyes. It takes him a minute to realize he’s outright staring at her before he gives her his boyish smile, the one he reserves just for her.

It’s quiet another minute—he’s rubbing shampoo in her hair, hoping he’s doing a decent job—until he breaks the silence again.

“What were you watching?”

“Phantom of the Opera.”

He grins, trying not to chuckle. She flicks her fingers, sending a tiny amount of water into Sam’s face. He returns the favor, his hand moving in the water from just in the middle of bubbles to her side. It’s weird, feeling her skin underwater, even if it’s just the curve of her side.

“What’s it about?” he asks her, wanting to hear her voice.

Smiling, she dives into the storyline, practically giving him a play-by-by of each scene. He doesn’t really mind, though—he likes listening to her talk and how she is obviously in love with the story and the music (especially The Music of the Night, which she tells him helps her sleep sometimes), describing certain parts in such detail it’s surprising.

Even after she’s clean and has new underwear on but only wearing Sam’s hoodie over that, she’s still telling Sam all about Phantom as he places her back in bed, pulling the comforter over her. He goes to move away to grab her little trash can in case she gets nauseas, but one of her small hands grabs onto his shirt, tugging weakly.

“Stay with me,” she murmurs in a hushed voice, and he’s reminded of the first night he spent in the same bed when she asked him to not leave just yet. He wonders briefly what would’ve happened if he hadn’t stayed, but dismisses it almost immediately as he slides under the covers.

KC had grabbed the remote, starting the movie over again. “I hope you don’t mind,” she says into his side, his arm holding her close. He stopped caring about whether or not he’ll get sick—he probably already caught it, if he was going to. “I usually watch this when I’m sick.”

“I don’t mind at all,” he assures her, rubbing her arm.

By the time KC is breathing evenly beside him, the Phantom is finishing singing The Music of the Night.