It takes a while, but eventually he finds himself looking at the business card again. It’s a week later and aside from the cough he now also has a nose running a marathon if you’d ask him. The number seems to be pointing in the direction of his phone but he still would’ve gone to get his groceries himself after all if not for the fact that sitting up straight in bed already feels like he’s just climbed the Mount Everest. Well, without the victorious part such insanity probably brought those climbers.

He considers it a good ten minutes more before the idea of having to change clothes to go out makes him decide calling is the better option. It takes another good five minutes before he manages to type the number into his phone but then the dial tone almost splits his head in two. Luckily there’s only one ring before someone picks up.

“Good afternoon, this is the Fieldtown Bazaar, how can I help you?”

“…” He stares blankly ahead of himself, wonders if that same guy works there every day, wonders if it’s maybe the owner of the place, then belatedly wonders how it’s possible that he already recognises the voice.

“Hello?”

“Ah, yes, uhm…” He clears his throat, sets off into another coughing spree and actually has to put the phone down to survive it alive. When he picks it back p and puts it to his ear, he is greeted with a sympathetic and worried sounding “Still sick, sir?”

“Yeah,” he agrees, and once again wonders how this guy recognises his voice. But then he recognised the guy’s too. “I’d like to order for delivery?” he quickly adds, though, before another awkward moment can present itself. “I was told you did that?”

“We do, sir, what would you like to order?”

He contemplates a moment, realises he should have made a list and decides he can best do that and call back once he’s finished. 

“I, uh, I didn’t think this through, clearly. I’ll make a list and call you back, alright?”

“Oh, that’s quite alright sir. I have time. You can just tell me what you come up with. Then if you’d like to change that you can call back.”

“Oh, um, okay…” He’s never done as much non-understanding during a phone conversation as right then, that much is for sure. “So, um, bread.”

“Same bread as last time sir?” He flinches a moment at the idea that someone remembers his choice of bread, but then nods.

“Yes, thank you. And some cheese to put on it. Whatever you have works, it’s not like I taste anything.” He lets out a bitterly amused huff, chokes on it and goes into another coughing frenzy - what else is new?

“Should I get you some cough syrup too, sir?” 

He blinks at that, actually looks at the phone for a moment in confusion and then, of course, stupidly asks: “You sell that too?” He regrets it the next second; of course they don’t, but by then it’s too late to take it back anyway.

We don’t, sir, but I could pass by the pharmacy and get you some.” It’s a mind-blowing suggestion, he doesn’t remember people being that kind in the outside world, but it’s very tempting as well. Until he realises he’s going to have to go to the pharmacy regardless to get his prescription.

“Oh, that’s alright, I still need to go for my prescribed meds anyway,” he hums, a little disappointed nonetheless.

“Alright, sir, anything else besides the bread then?”

“Yes, something to drink, um…”

“Perhaps some tea, sir, it’s good to soothe your throat so it won’t get too sore from all the coughing.” Too late, he thinks, and then: since when is this guy his health advisor. Well, probably since he called him sniffing and coughing like a madman.

“Ah, I have that, thank you. But a few bottles of water, maybe. Three. The cheapest kind is okay.,” he retorts. “And then the cheapest 500 grams lasagne you have. Frozen. One litre of vanilla ice cream. A pack of chocolate chip cookies, the New Yorker kind. I’m not hundred percent sure what they’re called.”

He pauses, to give the poor guy time to note that down, but almost instantly the question “Will that be all, sir?” follows and he has to think a little longer before humming in agreement.

“That’s enough for now.” Because he’s not going to make the guy drive half the store over. It sounds tempting right then because his cupboards are empty and so is his stomach, but he already looks like a complete moron to this guy, no need to make the other male see him as a gluttonous moron on top of that.

The next thing he is asked about is his address, so he spells it out nice and slow and makes sure to stress the fact that he’s not through the door but up the stairs at the right and then the door up there. Asking how much this will cost him in total, the end amount surprises him by how low it actually is and he thanks the male for helping him out before hanging up.

Fifteen minutes later, his doorbell rings and he frowns because he doesn’t know who it is. When he finally manages to reach the door, no second ringing noise sounded up, proving it was either a prank or the person is very patient. Opening up, he comes face to face with the shop worker (owner?) who is smiling at him just as cheerfully as ever. Of course the shop attendant is also the delivery guy. Because that’s just his luck.

Quickly getting out his wallet from his back pocket, he gets out the right amount of money and hands it over to the man. “You can keep the change. Thank you very much,” he states quickly, taking the bag from the other male and wishing him a good afternoon as he closes the door again. Glad to be able to hide away from this sudden house guest, he stumbles to his kitchen, only to realise there that he’s given the shop attendant a solid twenty too much.

Well, for the effort, he guesses. And in hopes of never seeing that guy again.