Viola woke up twice, took more meds, and drank more liquids. Rhys was fast asleep near her on the bed both times, and she promised herself to have a good look at him when she woke up again. Drifting away, she thought that she'd forgotten what it was like to share bed with him - or any man for that matter. During the last year of her second marriage she'd mostly lived alone. Perhaps, that was why it had been rather easy and painless for them to separate. Meanwhile, during the first months after she'd left Rhys, she'd been in hell every minute of every waking hour - and in her dreams even more so. That pain had burnt her out from inside and had perfected her skill of giving up things she enjoyed. Not being Hani's wife had been no exception: she'd missed him at the beginning, but the ache hadn't been acute, it had been a mixture of melancholy and acceptance.

When she opened her eyes the third time, it was dark outside. She listened to her body and understood that her fever had broken. She felt sluggish and tired, but hungry. Rhys was taking most of her bed, and her duvet was wrapped around his waist and his hips, leaving her about a third of it. She wasn't cold only because of his astonishing body temperature. He as if radiated heat, she remembered it now. She turned onto her side, tucked her fist under her cheek, and looked him over. He truly aged like a good wine, she thought in amusement and slowly lifted her hand. She touched the tips of her fingers to the wide strand of silver on his left temple, his Mallen streak, and then trailed her fingers down his sideburn and onto his jaw. He made a low humming noise in his throat, and his eyes opened slowly.

"Hey," Viola said and smiled at him.

"Hey," he answered and made that grimace he did when waking up: scrunching his nose and drawing his eyebrows, squeezing his eyes tightly. He then looked at her attentively, "How are you feeling?"

"Hungry," she answered, returning his line from when he'd been ill.

"That's good," he said and yawned.

"Why are you sleeping?" she asked, studying the seemingly harsh whiskers of his beard.

"I always sleep if I– stop," he said with a chuckle.

"Like on Nana's sofa?" she asked, and he nodded. "It means you're sleep deprived," she said. "You need a better work-life balance."

"I don't have a life," he said. "Just work."

"And sleep," she said.

"And sleep." He smirked. "Do you want me to get you some soup?"

"Yes, please," she said.

He rolled on his back, found the phone in the bedding near him, and dialled. While he was ordering, she continued studying his beard - are you fixated, Viola? - but then she realised he was giving her address for delivery. She poked his shoulder with her index finger, and gave him a frown and a head shake when he looked at her sideways. He finished his order and hung up.

"What?"

"You've ordered me food to the surgery on your name," she hissed, her calm and cosy mood from just a few seconds ago gone completely.

"Yeah." He gave her a confused look. "What's wrong with that?"

What a Rhys thing to say! Never a thought of how his actions can be perceived and how they are reflected on those around him!

"Are you prepared for Mrs. Owens asking when our second wedding is going to be?" she sneered venomously, and his eyebrows jumped up.

"What's up, Vi?" he asked - and she suddenly saw that he just didn't understand.

She groaned and rolled, pressing her face into her pillow.

"Vi?"

"I'm too sick and knackered to explain it to you right now," she muttered, her voice muffled.

She shifted and slowly climbed off the bed. He sat up and stretched his hand to her, probably worried she'd topple over. The danger was indeed real - but she managed to make her way to the en suite. After she brushed her teeth, washed and misted her face, and even ran a brush through her hair a few times, she stepped back into her bedroom. He was still lying on the bed, on his back, his legs crossed in the ankles, his nose buried in his phone, of course. He'd pushed her duvet onto her side, and she lay down and wrapped into it. He looked down at her.

"You have a properly boring bed," he said with a throaty chuckle, and his gaze returned to the screen.

Viola stared at his cheekbone - her heart painfully beat in her throat - and suddenly something snapped in her. The thought that she could always blame it on the flu flashed through her mind.

"Do you know why I divorced you?" she said, and he sharply lowered the phone and met her eyes.

She waited a few seconds, but he just kept staring at her.

"Because we didn't communicate," she said. "There was no connection between us, no understanding. Because if you knew anything about me, you wouldn't say something like that."

"Like what?" he asked in a low voice.

"Boring. You called my bed 'boring,'" she said. "It's hurtful. And I've– I've always been scared of being boring. Ordinary. You probably don't remember that conversation: it was maybe just before your parents passed away, and you and I went on that drive to the coast. And it was such a good day!" she said, lost in the memories. "Maybe it wasn't for you, maybe for you it was just a trip. But I felt so– in love with you then. And we had a long walk, and discussed your cousins, John and Fred, and I said how amazing your family was! How everyone in your family is so–" She searched for a word. He was still intently watching her face. "So original, unique! And how I felt I didn't belong. It was a hard thing to admit," she said with a joyless laugh. "I'd always felt I wasn't good enough for you. I couldn't believe you'd be even interested in me at the beginning! And I– I told you that, and you just laughed and ruffled my hair, and said, 'Don't be daft, Vi. You're ace too.' It was a small thing, just– Just a few words." Her voice wavered, and she felt tears sting her eyes. "But I held on to that conversation for years. And I asked, 'But am I not too boring?' I remember it - these exact words. And you said, 'Not to me.' And I thought–" She clenched her jaw, taking her emotions under control. "And later, when it would get hard, when I felt especially lonely, or you'd hurt my feelings, I'd think back at the day and lie to myself that you had also felt it had been a moment, something we shared, a significant conversation."

"I remember that trip," he said quietly.

Viola laughed darkly and rolled on her back as well, to hide how her lips trembled.

"Well, I suppose, it was a good trip," she said nonchalantly, chastising herself for the moment of weakness and sentimentality.

"I wasn't trying to hurt your feelings just now," he said in a lost tone, and she once again laughed sarcastically.

"Of course not," she said. "You never do. It's not intentional. Please, don't think I misinterpret these judgemental statements of yours. It's just a good– reminder why we didn't work."

She'd taken herself under control and once again turned to face him. She could trust her composure these days, her face showed nothing. He was frowning, but to think of it, Rhys Holyoake's moods had nothing to do with her these days. Just eat the soup he ordered for you, thank him profoundly for all his help, and in a day or two cancel that dinner with him.

His eyebrows twitched, she could see emotions splash in his electric blue irises, and she could just see a cartoonish image of cogs spinning in his noggin. It was almost amusing. Just watch. He'll shut off like a clam, brood and speak in three word sentences. He'll get your food, and then he'll leave, because he doesn't understand whether he did something wrong but he can see you aren't happy. And he will of course decide he did nothing wrong - and you are the problem.

"When is the food going to be here?" she asked lightly, pondering whether she should take the medicine now or wait till after the meal.

"I'm not worried for you as much now," he deadpanned, and his frown deepened.

Viola gave him a confused look.

"Pardon?"

Some sort of a frustrated groan like noise rumbled in his throat. "You look better. Not as scary." Ah, that word again. "And I'm less worried, so I started thinking I was in your bed. So, I wanted to say it."

It was Viola's turn to gawk at him.

"You'll have to give me more, Rhys," she said. "I'm at loss here."

"I wanted to talk about the fact that we're in the same bed," he said.

He looks almost as if he had a toothache. The expression 'like pulling teeth' is starting to make so much more sense!

"You wanted to talk about– Alright, let me get this straight," Viola muttered and tried to sit up. He helped her, tucking her memory foam pillow behind her back, with the same disgruntled expression on his face. Viola gave him another questioning look. "Are you saying that calling my bed boring was your idea of sexy flirting?" she asked.

He threw her a dark side glance - and nodded. Viola barked a shocked laugh.

"Alright," she drew out. "I'm having a revelation here. I might write a PhD thesis on male psychology after today. The topic is riveting." She tended to run her gob sarcastically when flabbergasted. "Your thoughts turned onto being in my bed, hence you just said the first thing that came to your mind. Am I right?"

"It is a boring bed!" he gritted through his teeth. She'd never seen him that uncomfortable! Is that... blush on his cheekbones?! "There are no pillows, just this one rubber thing, and one duvet! It's not exactly cosy or... sexy."

"Well, maybe I'm not cosy or sexy," Viola quipped.

"Bollocks!" he bit back. "You're plenty of both. You just stuff yourself into this–" He gestured something square with his hands. "You just need to loosen up!"

"Oh my god!" she cried out. "You're insulting me again!"

"There's nothing insulting about this!" he exclaimed just as loudly - and seemingly equally perplexed. "Why is this insulting?!"

"Because you're telling me I'm lacking something!" How is one supposed to get the point across to this man?! "Like I'm dull or limited or–"

"I don't know how to talk to you!" he roared and made a few jerking movements: one towards her, his hand flying up, as if he was going to grab the back of her neck - and maybe kiss her? - and another away from her, as if he was going to jump off the bed. At the end he just stayed seated and pinned her with a frustrated glare. "It's like–" he started and then growled, baring his teeth. "I don't want to hurt your feelings! Bugger! Just tell me how to do it, would you?" He gave her a half-angry, half-begging look. "I just said what came to my mind, and then you start talking about our marriage and the trip to the coast! And I just don't understand all this, Vi! Just tell me what to do! Please?"

"You don't have to do anything," she said, stunned by his outburst.

He was quiet for a few seconds and then sighed deeply. That's called a mournful sigh.

"I remember that trip," he said. "And no, I don't remember any significance behind the word 'boring.' And you're not lacking anything. You're–" He gave her an emotional look and then shook his head. "I don't know how to say these things. Not to you. I mean, I've had relationships after you, and it was never that difficult." He rubbed his forehead, and then pushed his splayed hand into his hair and mussed it. "You're the sexiest woman I know. And you aren't boring. You're brilliant, and strong, and successful. I never thought differently. I reckon I botched it up last time, but I'll try to do better."

Viola wasn't at all sure what she felt - and whether she was going to blame it all on the flu again - but she stretched towards him and gingerly wrapped her arms around his neck. He grabbed her and pulled her into a tight hug. She felt him bury his nose into her hair, and he exhaled noisily.