Ivan wondered how sick people stay entertained. Solving boredom had never occurred to Ivan since he had a basic routine: Eat, sleep and work. Most of the time Ivan didn't need to change that. He only needed to change that if he got off early, and he took that time to shop for basic necessities. Thinking on that note, when was the last time he just sat at home? Looking around his room, it was strange to admit it looked rather foreign to him. The room had white walls and a maroon carpet, one window and one closet (was it a walk in?). That question bugged Ivan, so he decided to get up to answer it. It was wooden and had double doors. He opened it and it was indeed a walk in. Sighing, Ivan closed the closet noticing something else. He didn't have a lot of clothes either.

'Maybe I should go shopping after I'm better.' He thought looking at the calendar. He grumbled and decided to try walking around. Just looking at it made him think about all the hours he's missing at work.

"Stop playing!!"

Ivan flinched hearing the shout of his southern friend. What was going on downstairs? Ivan strained his lip tempted by the urge to investigate. But one fact made it impossible: the doctor.

'He's still down there...' Ivan shivered and turned away from the door. 'But what are they doing?'

Laughter echoed through the hallway making Ivan stop his pacing.

"They sound like they're having fun..." Ivan said to himself sadly. He couldn't deny it. Staying up here by himself was boring and a little lonely.

'I can walk around a little. Maybe...just a small peek—'

No! He's still down there! A small part of Ivan's mind fought against his curiosity. Don't go down there! It said. If you do, he'll want to talk to you! Ask you questions about your health, then give you medicine, then—

A loud shriek broke the monologue of his mind accompanied by more laughter. Ivan frowned feeling his face heat up in irritation. With a stomp, he grasped the door handle, swung it open, and stormed out.

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Ivan had to be quiet halfway down the stairs. He couldn't remember whether or not they squeaked. Moving on his toes, he carefully slipped from the staircase and pressed himself to the side of the wall. Sliding along the wall, he stopped at the corner and peeked around the wall.

Thick, white, foamy cream was painted all over Micheal's face and shirt. The blond cringed deeply with his eyes screwed shut. He tried to flick the cream off of his red face, but ended up smearing it more on his nose, eyes, and mouth. Micheal grunted in defeat and moved confusedly toward, what Ivan assumed to be, the sink.

Feeling bad, Ivan was about to move to help his friend but stopped abruptly. A rather tall, olive skinned man had stepped beside Micheal.

'Is that the doctor?!' Ivan thought in curious shock.

The man placed reassuring hands on Micheal's cream drenched shoulders guiding him to the sink. "Now who told you to try to spray me with cream?" he said in a scolding manner. "You reap what you sow."

"Like I knew it would blow up in mah face!" Micheal bellowed but sounding not even remotely upset.

The two made it to the sink and the tall, olive skinned man turned the faucet on for Micheal. "I'll go grab a towel." He said then sighed saying, "What a waste of whipped cream."5

As the man walked away to find a towel for Micheal to wipe his face with, he stopped and stared right where Ivan was. The sick man gasped and hid back behind the wall.

'Did he see me?!' he thought in a panic. He waited a while dreading to check if the man was still there.

"Thanks." He heard Micheal say. Ivan also heard the faucet being turned off. He didn't know what would happen next, yet he couldn't will himself to find out. Being seen by that man was terrifying. Ivan knew he was the doctor. His voice was the same as the one at the door not to mention the pants were the same.

"You silly man." The doctor said with a light chuckle.

"Well we can't help it." Micheal sighed, "I'll have to replace it."

Ivan assume they were talking about the can of whipped cream that was in the fridge. What did he even have it for again?

"Is there still some left?" he heard the doctor ask. There was also the click of utensils happening.

"Yeah. Why?" Micheal answered.

'Since when did Micheal let his accent drop?!' Ivan thought in shock which gave him enough courage to peek around the wall again.

"I have my reasons." The doctor smirked while stirring something in the blue plastic bowl Ivan liked to use. Ivan wondered what he was making in it. Inspecting the middle countertop, he saw lettuce and tomatoes, some carrots on the cutting board Ivan forgot he had. There were some other things like mushrooms and red onions, and---olives.

That made Ivan smile. He absolutely loved olives.

"Oh! And what are those reasons?" Micheal rubbed his face a little more with a brown towel, "Seems pretty suspicious. What are you planning for my friend?"

Ivan didn't see it as joking like Micheal did. He saw it as a skepticism. It frightened him to the point he wanted to return upstairs. Thank god Micheal was still here with him.

The doctor turned to Micheal with a wicked grin that made Ivan shudder and said, "I'm going to use it on your friend and make him into a pie!"

Ivan's jaw dropped, 'What?!'

"Haha!" Micheal laughed slapping his knee, "Good one!" he placed a hand on his hip and one on the counter. "But seriously—"

"I am serious." The doctor smirked, "I do so love pie. Especially cherry pie." The man flicked his eyes to the spot where Ivan was.

Ivan felt his face burn. He moved a little more behind the wall but only enough to not see the doctor's flirting eyes.

"Oh?" Micheal cocked his head to the side, a light blush coated his cheeks, "So what's your take on apple pie?"

The doctor chuckled deeply this time, "Mr. Woodlong....are you flirting with me?"

Micheal barked a laugh, "Hah! Nope! I'm jus' diggin' fah gold!" he chortled dumbly.

The doctor shook his head, "You are a funny, funny man." He then turned back around to the plastic bowl. "Do you think he'll like this?"

Micheal shrugged honestly. "I don't know. I've neva seen 'em eat home cooked meals before."

"Well then, let's ask him."

Ivan swore to himself and tried to move as quietly and swiftly as possible back up the stairs. Ironically, the floor underneath him creaked loudly. Ivan swore again.

"Ivan?!" he heard Micheal squeak. He breathed deeply, and, reluctantly, turned to enter the kitchen.

"H-Hey..." Ivan stuttered feeling unnaturally weighted down. The gaze of the doctor made it hard to breathe, and it took everything he had to keep him from turning tail and running.

"Greetings." The doctor said not even attempting to go near Ivan. "My name is Alexander Steel. You can call me Alexander if you'd like."

Ivan and Micheal both shared confused glances, but it didn't bother Ivan that much shockingly.

"Uhm...nice to meet you, Alexander—"

"Bah, that sounds too formal!" the doctor huffed abruptly, "Just call me Alex."

The man's sudden irritation at his long name and nonchalant attitude was slightly funny to Ivan. He couldn't help smiling at the man's furrowed brow and twisted mouth. Ivan noted that the man was indeed handsome.

"Then can I call you Alex?" Micheal asked in a sing-song voice and proceeded to move closer to the doctor.

"No." Alex answered flatly.

Ivan laughed quietly seeing Micheal's insulted expression. "Mean!" he declared.

"So," Alex turned to Ivan dismissing the blond, "Would you like some? It's salad." He paused watching Ivan stare at the bowl. "I made it myself. Do you not like olives?"

"That's not the issue!" Ivan spat suddenly. He glanced between Micheal's worried expression and the doctor's hurt one. "I mean...I like olives. But—"

"You don't want anything made by a doctor." Alex said sadly, "I understand—"

"Ah!" Ivan gasped. He hadn't meant offense. "No that's—"

"Then eat the salad." Alex said sternly like a mother. "You're sick and you need good food. Not this fast food junk."

Now it was Micheal's turn to laugh as Ivan flared. "And who are you to tell me that?!"

"Your nanny." The doctor went over to one of the drawers to take out something.

Ivan took this chance to go closer to the counter the man was at. "Now listen you! I—" he was cut off when something delicious was shoved in his mouth. The doctor had grabbed a fork to pick up the salad with and managed it fast enough for Ivan not to notice.

It was the best salad Ivan's had in awhile. It was seasoned perfectly to boot, not too much salt or pepper, and the olive oil...

"How is it?" the doctor Alex asked with a smirk. "Good?"

Ivan paused in his relishing to glower at the olive skinned man. He took his mouth away to chew. The doctor took that for an answer and smiled triumphantly.

"Well then." Alex picked up the bowl again, "Shall we go to the living room?"

Ivan took a moment to register what just happened. He hadn't noticed how close he was to the man and took a few steps back. "I guess."

Micheal opened his mouth to say something but rethought it. He just smiled and went along with whatever the doctor had in mind.