[The truth of the matter is that he'd have jiggled the door open with his elbow if he had to. He was halfway expecting that anyway. He's used to two kinds of sick people: the Narancias of the world, aka normal people, who lie in bed and whine about how shitty they feel, and the Fugos of the world who would rather die than admit they're sick and need some help.]
[His instinct is that Erika's the latter. That's why he's here. And even if he's wrong, it's not like anybody sane in the world is gonna say no to chicken soup and crackers when they're sick.]
[So he's in the process of juggling the tray he's carrying into one hand so he can reach for the handle himself when Erika opens the door. He blinks, nonplussed, and then waggles the tray around dangerously.]
Room service! [At least he's pitched his voice down to something approaching normal. He's gotten kicked in the shins too many times for yelling while somebody's sick not to know better by now.] You didn't hafta get up. You look like a goddamn bus hit you. [Could you not.]
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[His instinct is that Erika's the latter. That's why he's here. And even if he's wrong, it's not like anybody sane in the world is gonna say no to chicken soup and crackers when they're sick.]
[So he's in the process of juggling the tray he's carrying into one hand so he can reach for the handle himself when Erika opens the door. He blinks, nonplussed, and then waggles the tray around dangerously.]
Room service! [At least he's pitched his voice down to something approaching normal. He's gotten kicked in the shins too many times for yelling while somebody's sick not to know better by now.] You didn't hafta get up. You look like a goddamn bus hit you. [Could you not.]