When I woke up again, it was already noon.
Peyton had gone to school, and I rubbed my groggy head before getting up.
I looked in the mirror, seeing the resemblance between my face and Peyton's, and suddenly noticed that my lips were a bit swollen. I wondered, did I eat something spicy?
In the afternoon, when Peyton came back, I asked him, "Did you give me something to eat last night?"
He raised an eyebrow and asked what was up.
"Nothing really, just thought it tasted pretty good."
Peyton seemed to think of something, touched his nose, put down his bag, and said casually, "As long as you liked it."
I watched him go upstairs and pulled out my phone, browsing for his birthday gift.
As I was focused on shopping, Peyton's homeroom teacher called.
Peyton is now in his senior year of high school and has always refused to live on campus. With only a few months left until the SAT, although his grades are good, his teacher still hopes he will live on campus.
After hanging up the phone, I went upstairs and knocked on Peyton's door.
When he opened the door, his hair was messy, and he looked tired.
Curious, I asked him what was wrong. He leaned against the door and glanced at me, "Catching up on sleep."
I suddenly remembered that it was my fault he stayed up late last night, and I felt a bit guilty.
But I still told him that his homeroom teacher had just called.
In the past, I always went along with his reluctance to live on campus, but with the college entrance exams approaching, I was firm in insisting that he stay at school to have more time to study.
Upon hearing this, Peyton lowered his eyes. Seeing that I wasn't negotiating, he nodded calmly in agreement.
Seeing him agree, I let out a sigh of relief.
If Peyton isn't home, I probably won't overthink things.
But I didn't have time to be happy.
In the middle of the night, just as I was sound asleep, a loud crash inside the house woke me up, like something had fallen.
I quickly ran out and saw Peyton leaning against the wall at the bottom of the stairs.
His face was pale, with a few drops of cold sweat on his forehead, and when he looked at me, his eyes were dark.
I rushed down and noticed his swollen ankle, asking anxiously what had happened.
Peyton leaned his full weight on me, his voice hoarse as he said, "I accidentally missed a step."
Peyton has good eyesight, and the lights on the stairs were on—how could he miss a step in the middle of the night?
Before I could think further, Peyton rested his head on my shoulder, his breath uneven by my ear.
His breathing was a bit erratic from the pain.
It seemed serious, so I quickly helped him into the car.
Inside the SUV, Peyton leaned back in the passenger seat, his voice weak, "Abbey, could you fasten my seatbelt?"
I leaned closer to him, my senses filled with the cold scent emanating from him.
Just then, Peyton raised his hand, making it seem like I was being held in his arms. My heart skipped a beat as I hastily fastened his seatbelt.
In my urgency, I floored the gas pedal and sped to the hospital. The doctor examined Peyton's severely swollen ankle and asked with some confusion, "How did this happen?"
Peyton replied indifferently, "I accidentally missed a step on the stairs."
The old doctor frowned, "Missing a step usually doesn't result in this—it's more like someone…"
Before the doctor could finish, Peyton interrupted, "Doctor, please just prescribe me some medication."
The doctor looked at me and glanced at Peyton before sighing, "Get a bottle of ointment and some ice packs. Come back for a check-up if it still hurts a week from now."
