Page 28 of Loverboy

“Thanks,” I muttered, still pissed about the botched IV.

“I’ll come check on you guys in a little bit,” she said, sounding uncomfortable.

Good.

Once she was gone, I turned my attention back to Milo. He stirred, and I dragged my chair closer to the bed. I brushed the hair away from his face, my chest tightening around everything I’d been swallowing for the last couple of days. I needed to do more—I just didn’t know what exactly that more was.

“You had one fucking job last night,” I scolded softly.

His head tilted toward my hand, and I sighed, running my fingers through his hair. Even in his sleep, he seemed to seek me out. At least, I liked to pretend it was me, and not just the warmth of another body. I missed that feeling of closeness, of being inseparable, like two sides of a coin.

I wanted so much more for him than all of this shit.

“I didn’t faint on purpose,” Milo mumbled, eyes still closed.

Awake.

“You didn’t do anything to prevent it, either.” I leaned back, pulling my hand away as though it’d been burned and instead rubbing my temples, the beginnings of a migraine taking hold.

He pulled the sheet over his head, offering a muffled apology. I tried to remember the last crisis this bad, but it always felt impossible while we were in it. How was I supposed to save him when I was barely keeping my own head above water?

Unlike Milo, I kept my shit locked down. He knew I had struggles of my own, but they paled in comparison to his, so I never brought them up. Where he was a bleeding heart, I kept mine buried.

Being the asshole came easily to me. I’d seen enough people walk all over him. I kept telling him to be meaner, but he could only manage it when he was pushed to the edge. Sometimes, I had to help him get there. He needed to choose himself the way I always chose him.

“Come on, loverboy.” I tugged at the sheets. “Quit trying to hide.”

“Don’t call me that.”

He peeked out from under the blanket, eyes bloodshot. It gutted me.

“Oh, now you’re going to complain about it?” My voice cracked, even as I teased him.

“I don’t like it,” he admitted, his cheeks flushing.

Despite his protests, we both knew he was a loverboy through and through. It had gotten him into plenty of trouble over the years, and I’d always been there to pick up the pieces. I didn’t know when he’d become more important than everything else in my life, but I’d never once bothered to question it. I chose him over my childhood friend after their breakup, and even now, it wasn’t a struggle to choose him over being there for my mother. Somewhere along the way, he’d completely rearranged my world and become the one thing I couldn’t let go of.

Maybe I was a loverboy, too.

“Then get your shit together.” I leaned forward, hands clasped. “You need to listen to me. When I tell you that you need to eat something, do it.”

“I can’t—”

“You have to.” I didn’t let him finish. “I told you. You can’t die until I say so, got it?”

“Yeah,” he said, all too hesitantly for my taste.

“And for the love of God, no parties,” I added.

“What? That’s not fair!” He sat up, scandalized.

“No, you need to get better,” I argued. “Fucking look at you. This is the second time you’ve gone to the hospital for dehydration. Not dying involves actually trying to keep yourself alive, Milo.”

He looked away, posture defiant. He was making me out to be the bad guy for trying to keep him from imploding. If guilt was what it took for me to keep him safe, then so be it. He could hate me for it later.

“You asked for my help, Milo.” I hated how desperation bled into my voice. “Don’t give me this shit right now.”

My words elicited a heavy sigh, a guilty look painting his sunken features. I couldn’t feel bad about being so harsh, not when I was uprooting my whole life for him. He owed it to me to make one good decision.