I woke up with a mission.
Today, I was going to audition for a role that could possibly define my career or end it.
But let's not be negative, I shaved my legs for this.
And i wasn't even wearing a skirt.
I stood in front of the mirror, giving myself the pep talk every misunderstood, overacting actress deserves.
"You are talented. You are fabulous. You are the girl best friend with emotional depth and amazing screen presence… kahit three seconds ka lang sa frame."
I flipped my hair.
Then flipped it back.
Then regretted it, because i hit my nose with my own hair and almost sneezed off my concealer.
-
By 10:00 AM, I was in the studio lobby surrounded by girls who looked like they could pass for both the love interest and the villainess.
Like, pick a struggle, please.
I checked in with the assistant who barely looked up from her iPad.
"Hi, I'm Elara Zulueta," I said, batting my lashes for no reason other than muscle memory. "Here to audition for the role of Becca?"
She hummed in acknowledgement.
Hummed.
As in, didn't even use a real word.
Okay. Cool cool cool.
Fast forward to the actual audition, and let me tell you, I served. I gave personality, I gave warmth, I gave sassy one-liners like i invented sass.
I mean—if there was an award for most dramatically supportive best friend, I deserved it.
I even teared up when the lead actress in the scene told me her heart was broken.
Never mind that i imagined she was talking about a missing shoe on sale.
Afterwards, I walked out of that room with my chin high.
Like, not too high because gravity exists and my neck started cramping, but high enough.
Then, hours later, my agent called.
I didn't get the role.
"BUT," she said like it was a plot twist in a telenovela, "they're offering you five lines as a mean girl. AND—get this—you have a boyfriend."
Hold up.
"What kind of boyfriend? Like, real love team boyfriend or blink-and-you-miss-him kind?"
"He holds your hand in one scene. So yes, technically, love team."
I screamed.
As in, legit screamed while crossing the street and almost got hit by a delivery bike.
The rider looked at me like i was unstable. Joke's on him, I was.
Five lines.
A love team.
My villain era has officially begun.
I texted Cairo immediately.
Me: BOYFRIEND DUTY. Pick me up plz. I got five lines and a fake jowa in a drama. We need to celebrate.
No reply.
Weird.
Usually he texts back in two seconds.
One if he's bored.
I waited.
Then, finally, my phone rang.
"Hello—"
"Elara…"
Oh no.
His voice.
His voice sounded like it had been filtered through a dying vacuum cleaner.
"Cairo?! What's wrong? Are you being held hostage? Blink twice if yes!"
"I think i have a fever," he croaked.
My world stopped.
Okay, not that OA.
But still. "Don't die!" I shrieked into the phone, clutching my chest like i was auditioning for a teleserye death scene. "Cairo, don't go into the light! You still haven't tasted my world-famous non-existent adobo!"
"Elara," he groaned, "stop screaming in my ear."
But it was too late.
I was already hailing an Uber, storming into traffic like a tita with no umbrella but all the drama.
Next thing i knew, I was at our building, punching the elevator button like i had beef with it.
By the time i got to his unit, I didn't even knock.
I just entered using the spare key he gave me "in case of emergency."
THIS WAS AN EMERGENCY.
"Cairooo," I whispered as I stepped in, fully expecting dramatic music to play in the background. "Where are you?"
"Bedroom."
I tiptoed in, trying to channel Florence Nightingale meets e-girl nurse.
Cairo was lying in bed, hair messy, face flushed, and shirtless.
I mean…
Focus, Elara.
Not the time.
"Oh my god. You look like a sexy ghost."
"Thanks?"
"That was a compliment. But also, you're dying!"
"I'm not dying. I just have a slight fever."
"LIES. You sounded like death on the phone."
He groaned again, covering his eyes. "Why are you yelling?"
"Because i'm emotionally unstable!"
I sat beside him and dramatically took his temperature using the back of my hand like how they do in old movies.
"You're warm. Like, super warm. Like you've been microwaved."
"Elara…"
"Don't talk. Save your energy. I will take care of you."
"You?"
"Yes, me. I am nurturing and caring and very calm under pressure."
(Reader, I was none of those things.)
The truth? I had zero clue how to take care of a sick person. I once burned a hot compress. A compress.
So i did what any reasonable, intelligent woman would do.
I Googled.
"how 2 take care of a sick man 😭😭"
I was reading WebMD while simultaneously messaging Ari.
Me: Ari. Cairo is sick. What do i do???
Ari: Give him water. Check his temp. Don't kiss him unless you want his germs.
Me: Rude. What if I AM the medicine?
Ari: Girl. No.
I turned to Cairo. "Do you want water, tea, or my unconditional love?"
He just groaned.
"Okay. I'm gonna get a towel and wipe you down."
"You don't have to—"
"LET ME BE THE HERO OF THIS STORY."
I ran to his bathroom, found a small towel, soaked it in warm water, then ran back like it was a race and i was in the Olympics.
He blinked at me as i hovered near him with the towel.
"Okay, question."
"What now…"
"Can i start with your abs?"
"Elara."
"What? I just feel like… they need attention."
He rolled his eyes, but i swear i saw the tiniest smile.
Giddy, I sat on the edge of the bed and dabbed at his forehead with the warm towel.
I was trying to be gentle but also secretly posing like there were hidden cameras.
"Are you okay?" I asked softly.
"Mmhmm."
"You sure?"
"Elara."
"Yes?"
"You're sitting on my leg."
"Oh."
I looked down.
Oops.
"Sorry!" I scrambled, slipping off and nearly falling face-first into his closet door.
"I'm fine," he said again. "You didn't have to come all the way here."
I sat back down, crossed-legged beside him.
"I did, though. Because you're important to me. And boyfriend duties go both ways. You pick me up, I wipe your face with water. Balance."
He smiled faintly.
I swear, wiping someone's chest should come with a diploma.
Because there i was, armed with a washcloth, a bowl of warm water, shaky hands, and zero relevant experience trying not to panic while Cairo sat half-naked on his couch looking like a dehydrated Greek god with a slight fever.
Okay, not dehydrated, he was drinking water. I made sure of that.
But his color was a bit pale, his voice raspy, and his mood? Grumpy with a sprinkle of endearing. Like a cactus that says "thank you" if you water it.
"Can i wipe your abs now?" I asked, holding the cloth like it was radioactive.
He cracked one eye open, gave me a smirk. "You want to wipe my abs?"
"No! I mean yes! I mean—this is not about desire, okay?! This is medical," I said, dunking the cloth again like it was holy water. "Do you want to die from a fever just because I was too shy to dab your sweaty body? No, thank you."
His lips twitched. "You're cute when you panic."
I almost threw the bowl.
But i didn't, because obviously, he needed care. And i was… well… I was his Florence Nightingale.
If Florence wore rhinestone hair clips and didn't know what the heck she was doing.
I dabbed carefully along his collarbone, trying very hard not to stare at the way his muscles shifted under the cloth.
I mean, okay, fine.
I stared a little.
I'm human.
"Stop breathing like that," I muttered as i worked down to his chest.
"Like what?"
"Like you're a cologne commercial. It's distracting."
He laughed, well, coughed-laughed and I froze. "Oh no. Did i make it worse? Is it pneumonia? Is it tuberculosis?!"
"Elara," he said weakly, but with an amused tone. "It's a cold."
I dramatically stood, hands on hips. "Excuse me, mister, but you're warm and shirtless on a couch and i'm holding a wet towel. This is literally how K-drama death scenes begin."
He shook his head, smiling faintly, then winced. "Ow."
"See? See?! Pain! You're in pain!"
"I just moved too fast."
"Don't move at all!" I shouted, pointing at him like I was directing traffic. "You stay exactly there. I'll get soup!"
I ran to the kitchen.
And by ran, I mean i tripped over his rug and screamed a little because i saw my reflection on the microwave and realized i looked like a cartoon nurse rejected by Nickelodeon.
The only soup i could find was instant ramen. But it was spicy. And i didn't want him sweating more than he already was.
So i did what any rational woman would do—I opened Google and typed, "Soup that saves lives."
So i still end up cooking the ramen. I mean, i didn't cooked. I just put a hot water. Because, girl! I can't cook.
It tasted… edible.
Back on the couch, I tried feeding him with all the tenderness of a mom bird feeding a baby chick, except i almost poked his lip with the spoon and spilled some broth on his sweatpants.
"Sorry! I'm nervous!" I whined. "You're just… so… sick. And warm. And brooding."
"I'm not brooding," he mumbled, taking another spoonful. "This is just my face."
I set the bowl down, crossed my legs beside him, and gave him a small smile. "You'd tell me if you needed to go to the hospital, right?"
"Yeah."
"Because if you don't, I'll call 911, carry you out bridal-style, and dramatically scream 'Don't take him from me!' while the ambulance drives away."
"I believe you," he whispered.
"And also," I added seriously, "if you die, who will pick me up from auditions?"
He laughed again, but gentler this time. "So that's what this is about?"
"Of course not," I gasped. "I mean, partly. But mostly because I don't want to lose the guy who makes me laugh when i feel like a has-been actress with five lines and a fake boyfriend on a drama i don't even like."
He looked at me for a long second.
"Elara," he said.
"Yes?"
"Thanks for staying."
And suddenly… it didn't feel funny anymore. Not in a sad way.
But in a soft way.
Like warm compresses on your skin when you didn't know you needed comfort.
I bit my lip, played with my ring finger. "You'd do the same for me, right?"
He didn't hesitate. "Always."
A pause.
Then—
"Do you want me to cuddle you for warmth?" I blurted, immediately regretting it.
He raised an eyebrow. "Do you want to?"
"No! I mean yes! I mean—I'm just saying it's one of the treatment options, according to Google, okay?"
He leaned his head on my shoulder, eyes closing.
"You're ridiculous," he murmured.
"And yet, here i am. Saving your life."
-
I woke up to the sound of my own snoring.
And not the cute, delicate "oh-she-snores-like-a-princess" kind.
No.
This was the full-on, open-mouthed, borderline-demonic snore na parang may kinakatay sa loob ng ilong ko.
What a way to welcome consciousness.
I blinked twice, adjusted to the early morning light filtering through Cairo's curtains, and realized two very important things:
I had somehow fallen asleep on the couch.
Cairo was no longer burning like a vampire in the sun.
I peeked over the blanket i had dramatically wrapped myself in like a heartbroken telenovela bida.
Cairo was lying on the other side of the couch, still pale but less... about-to-die looking.
His fever must've gone down because he wasn't sweating buckets anymore. His breathing was calmer too.
"Are you dead?" I whispered dramatically, leaning close.
His eyes fluttered open. "Unfortunately not. You snored too loud."
"HUY!" I slapped his arm. "I saved your life and this is how you thank me? Disrespect."
He grinned weakly. "Thanks for staying."
Ugh.
Why'd he have to say it like that?
My heart did a tiny cartwheel and crashed into my lungs.
I sat up straighter and tried to look composed, despite the bird's nest situation happening on top of my head.
I checked my phone.
"OH MY GOSH, IT'S 7:42 AM!" I screamed. "I have a shoot! A five-liner shoot! I'm the evil mean girl today!"
Cairo blinked. "You're still doing that?"
"Yes?! You think I'm just gonna abandon my villain origin story?? I have a boyfriend in that drama. Meaning i have a love team. Meaning i am basically leading lady material. Today is very important to my career trajectory."
I stood up in full panic mode, stumbling toward the kitchen counter where i'd left my tote bag.
"Wait, I'll drive you—"
"Nope!" I pointed at him like a strict school principal. "You are not allowed to be hot, sick, and chivalrous all at once. Stay in bed. You almost died like twelve hours ago."
"I feel fine."
"Oh, really? Then what's your temperature? Your pulse? Your soul alignment? Exactly. Sit."
Cairo groaned but obeyed.
I could see it in his eyes, he wanted to help. Pero hindi na ako nagpatinag. Baka kasi pagdating sa shoot, ako pa ang mas lalagnatin.
So yes, ladies and gents. I—Elara Celestine Zulueta, starlet of sarcasm and slayer of fever—was about to commute.
COMMUTE.
As in, public transportation.
With people.
Without glam team.
With five lines of dialogue waiting for me in a location three transfers away.
"Lord, if this is my humble era, please make it quick."
I tiptoed to Cairo, gave his forehead a quick back-of-the-hand check like i saw on a medical K-drama once, and sighed.
"Okay. I'm leaving. Rest, eat, and don't die. Again."
"I won't," he whispered. "Thanks again."
I paused.
My heart… ugh. My heart.
I looked at him one last time, taking in the slightly-messy hair, the blanket wrapped around his waist, the sleepy eyes that somehow still looked like a Pinterest board.
"No kiss?" he teased softly.
I squealed like a dying dolphin and ran out the door. "YOU'RE SICK! DON'T SPREAD GERMS, YOU WALKING BIOHAZARD!"
Outside, I leaned against my own front door, hand on my chest like i just survived an exorcism.
"I swear to God, if I fall any harder, I'm gonna need crutches."
But no time for drama.
The clock was ticking.
I had five lines to slay.