Ray was dying. Actually dying. Right in the middle of the room and nobody cared. He could keel over on the sofa at any moment and no-one would bat an eyelid.
He was a pro at self-pity but the look on his face brought a whole new meaning to it. His stuffed up nose peeked above the blanket tucked under his chin and he sniffed, then rolled his eyes
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"How's it going between you and Billy-Bob-whatshisface? Test driven his pinky finger yet?"
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Though the other man's sniffling caused her to look over her shoulder again. "Lemon juice with honey in hot water will help with your cold," she informed him.
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"You couldn't have just succumbed to the plague in the comfort of your own place? You gotta take the rest of us with you?" Sure, Asher had once chosen the kitchen as his place to die when he was sick, but Ray wasn't around then. What he didn't know, Asher could (and would) freely bitch about.
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"Besides, I'm too weak and fragile to keep walking back and forth all the time." Now all he had to do was find a spare bed to sleep in for a couple of nights. "One gust of wind and I might keel over."
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"So stay in the clinic. Not only will the staff wait on you, but they actually signed up to deal with death germs all day."
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