John was sweating from the pain and his forehead was burning. After feeling the cool touch, he came back to his senses a little. He slowly opened his eyes, his light-colored pupils were misty and confused, staring blankly at the person in front of him.
The darkness outlined the silhouette of Jordan, which was familiar and reassuring. "Jordan." He called softly.
Jordan placed her cold fingers on his forehead, leaned down, and asked in a low voice: "Do you have a fever?"
It seemed like a soft question, or like a faint soliloquy.
John was so sick that he was confused and said in a muffled voice, "Yeah." But he still protested for himself and said, "I won't go to the hospital." He hated hospitals.
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