Worsening

Mukashi had almost called the doctor again.
     Thankfully, when Miya had fainted, it was already the end of her day. When the tour bus came to a stop inside Zygeist Media's garage, Mukashi looked at Miya's sleeping form as she laid down on the chairs of the bus. 
     He considered what she'd done. 
     She'd spilled food onto the floor. He calmly told the bus driver to clean it up before he finished his shift for the day. Mukashi looked back at Miya. He could not let her sleep in the tour bus. He watched her chest rise and fall with the deep, slow breaths she was taking. Her bangs were drifting lazily off her forehead, exposing her closed eyes. Her small nostrils barely flared as she breathed.
     Her porcelain skin reflected the lights of the tour bus.
     He could wake her up and walk her back to her bedroom, but he realized that waking her would probably only serve to further upset her. He looked down at his arms and hands. 
     Hands slipped against the ruffles of her dress, and his knees bent as he lowered himself to her level. He took a quiet breath as his arms flexed and he silently lifted Miya off the seats of the tour bus. She was light, exactly as she should be. 
     She smelled, very faintly, like sweat.
     He stepped off the bus with her in his arms. The bus driver took a glance at him, but didn't say anything. 
     He stepped out of the garage and onto Zygeist Media's first floor. He navigated the floor expertly, avoiding any unnecessary exposure to others. He couldn't hide from the security cameras, but he knew that the people monitoring those understood who he was. He kept himself aware of any other employees in the halls with him. He stepped onto the elevator after a few minutes; Miya was breathing peacefully in his arms.
     There was another manager in the elevator, who chuckled slightly when Mukashi arrived. Mukashi gestured for the other manager to remain quiet.
     Chi-Hun nodded, then spoke in a whisper for only himself and Mukashi to hear.
     "I had to do the same thing with one of my boys back when we first started, believe it or not." Chi-Hun said with a wink.
     Mukashi thought there was something wrong with that statement, but before he could say anything about it, he looked down at Miya in his arms.
     He was doing what any manager would do, for any of their charges. If Miya had been a male, he would've done the same thing. There was nothing odd about what Chi-Hun was saying or Mukashi was doing; it was what any efficient manager would do. 
     The elevator doors opened. Mukashi stepped out, but Chi-Hun spoke again, simultaneously texting on his phone. He didn't glance up at Mukashi as the elevator doors stayed open for a few moments.
     "By the way, I was kidding about carrying one of my boys." He glanced up at Mukashi and smiled smugly. "Be careful you don't spoil her."
     The elevator doors closed, and Mukashi was left standing in the hallway of the third floor of Zygeist Media with Miya in his arms. 
     He didn't like Chi-Hun turning his words back onto him. He wasn't spoiling Miya.
     He turned around and walked, quickly, back to her bedroom. He passed by the old janitor, but didn't pay any attention to him as he approached his destination. The door to her bedroom opened without a sound, and he thought about what to do next.
     He could wake her, now that she was in her room, but then he remembered how she'd looked at him just before she'd fainted. It was an expression that looked wrong on her face. He didn't want to see it again. He decided that it was in her best interest not to wake her. He would let her sleep with her makeup and outfit, and tomorrow he would adjust her schedule so that she could prepare herself for the day ahead without cutting into her schedule too much.
     He approached her bed. It was perfectly made. 
     He set her down atop the comforter and rested her head on the pillow. Her breathing stuttered for a moment, and he froze when it did, but it soon returned to normal. He sighed, then stood up and looked at her as she slept.
     She looked so peaceful.
     He stepped out of the bedroom and closed the door gently.
~~~
     Gene Southwell pulled at a lock of his wavy brown hair. When he did so, it reached about halfway down his eyelid. He let it spring back up to his forehead where it usually resided. 
     He turned on the sink and filled it with hot water, wet his face, then applied some light shaving cream. Once his slightly round face was hidden beneath the foam, he put the razor to his upper right cheek and pulled it down slowly.
     There was the sound of a gentle scrape as the metal met his flesh and cut off the scattered brown hairs that made up his usual slightly prickly face. Each journey the razor made down his face felt like it was purifying him, making him look more handsome and refined. At least, that's what Annabelle said he looked like when he was clean shaven.
     The sink washed down the foam and the hairs as he rinsed his face off, and he looked at his face in the mirror. The same barely visible cheekbones and slight bump on the bridge of his nose looked back at him. He glanced up at his brown hair with his tea colored eyes and smirked. If he shaved himself completely bald, his family would freak out. 
     The light to his bathroom turned off and he chuckled as he pulled on his shirt. 
     "Maybe next year." He said with a smile.
     He went to the kitchen of his small house and poured himself a bowl of cereal. He ate about two full spoons of the concentrated sugar before gagging and putting the spoon down. He looked at the bowl briefly as the clock hanging on the wall above his small refrigerator chimed with the sound of the hour, marking that it had just become five o'clock. He stuck his tongue out, then looked at the drawer next to the broken washing machine. He picked up the bowl of cereal, set it on the counter, pulled out a small blender, and set it down next to the cereal. 
     "Might as well." He mumbled.
     He put some ice in the blender, as well as a little bit of leftover protein powder, then dumped the cereal into it too. He stuck the blender cap onto the concoction, then made himself a cereal milkshake. The loud sound served to remind him that it was already past five o'clock, and he stopped moseying and started hurrying.
     He took the blender and poured its contents into a metal thermos, put the engine back into the drawer, and tossed the pitcher into his sink. He ran towards the front door and put on his flight jacket as well as his boots, then stopped right before he opened the door. He raced back through the kitchen, set the thermos down onto the counter, and went back into the singular bedroom. 
     "Stupid pants." 
     After he put his pants on, he looked himself over one last time to make sure he had everything he needed while he hurried back to the front door. His phone was in the pocket of his jacket; his wallet was in his pants; his car keys were also in his pants. He nodded assuredly, then went out the front door and hopped into his pickup truck.
     The drive to the airfield was quick, and by the time he'd made it, he still had ten minutes before he was officially 'on call.' He parked his truck in the same spot he always parked it, then walked towards the office. His knuckles rapped against the solid metal door twice before a sharp voice told him to come in.
     He stepped in with a relaxed smile.
     "Southwell! Early again; I hope this becomes a habit." 
     "Maybe, maybe not. I had to have some of that cerea-" he stopped mid sentence, then winced, shook his fist in the air, and slapped his forehead all at the same time.
     Mrs. Dwight crossed her arms and smirked, her graying blonde hair bouncing slightly as she spoke in the tone that meant she knew better than everyone else alive.
     "Forgot to eat breakfast again?"
     Gene could practically see the thermos full of his breakfast sitting on his kitchen counter, mocking his forgetfulness. He sighed.
     "Yes ma'am." He admitted, looking disappointed. 
     Mrs. Dwight laughed.