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“Only thing on your walls,” he points out.
“You’d better get to work, then.”
Grinning, he swallows the last of the soup and reaches around me to place the empty bowl on the nightstand. This change in position puts his face dangerously close to mine; I’d only have to close two inches of space to kiss him. But the moment passes quickly, and the room is plunged into darkness as the light is extinguished. Instead of putting my back to him, like before, I turn on my side to face him. I need to make the most of this time, because there is no guarantee of how things will be tomorrow or a month from now. His hand finds my hip in the dark, and there is a little stutter in his movements as he realizes I didn’t turn around.
“Come here,” he whispers—a request that I’m all too happy to oblige.
Anthony rolls onto his back as I fit myself against his side, and uses his arm around my shoulders to pull me onto him. Sliding down a bit to accommodate for my longer frame, I lay my head down and use his chest as a pillow. He makes a happy little sound in the back of his throat that I tuck away into my heart to pull out on a rainy day. I adjust myself, trying to find a comfortable way to lay half on top of him; I’m not used to this level of affection, and I’m not certain what I’m supposed to do with my arms and legs.
Eventually, I settle with one leg wedged between Anthony’s, one arm under the pillow and the other hand resting alongside his face where I can feel the satin of his hair. I can’t see his face, but I can feel him breathing against my scalp like he’s tucked his chin and buried his nose in my hair. His hand, after making a slow path from the nape of my neck to my lower back, has sneaked under the hoodie and is splayed across my skin.
“Can you breathe okay, like this?” He asks, voice rumbling through the ear pressed against his chest.
“Yes.”
“Warm enough?”
“Yes.” His arms tighten and I feel the brush of a kiss on my scalp. Who knew it was possible to feel so awful and so good at the same time? His hand is rubbing a soothing line up and down my spine, slow and gentle. I’m finally warm and the hospital scent is gone, leaving nothing but the smell of Anthony behind. Thank god my sinuses are clear enough for me to be able to appreciate it.
“You should get some rest.”
“Yeah,” I agree, but add, before I can doze off, “but maybe tomorrow we can talk about…”
Talk about what, exactly? How I made a mistake, keeping him at arm’s length all summer? How obvious it became, once he was in my life, that I was miserable before? How empty and alone I am now that he’s been gone? How badly I want him back, but how unprepared I am for what that might look like?Yes, Nico, tell him all the things you’d like to talk about.
“We’ll talk tomorrow, if you’re feeling better. Or the next day.” Another broad stroke is painted across my back with a warm hand. “No rush, I’ll be here either way.”
The next time I wake up, it’s morning judging by the soft light peeking through the curtains. It’s not my bladder that sounded the alarm, this time, but Anthony. His hand is cupped around the back of my neck and he’s speaking softly in my ear, asking me to wake up.
“Hmfph,” I make an unintelligible sound that’s meant to indicate wakefulness. My throat is on fire, and the pressure in my head has kicked up another notch. I’m also shaking—limbsspasming in irrepressible shivers. Is it possible that I feel worse now than I did last night?
Gently, as though I’m an infant and not a grown man, Anthony slides out from underneath me. He doesn’t go far when he leaves the bed, only skirts around to the other side and has a seat on the mattress. I stare at his face, which makes me feel a little better even though he’s frowning. We go through our new routine of fluids, meds, and more fluids. He takes my temperature and the frown deepens. As though he doesn’t trust the little device, he rests a hand on my forehead. I’d like to crack a joke about that, but I’m too tired.
“I’ll be right back, okay?”
I nod, assuming he’s off to get more soup, and close my eyes. When next I open them, Anthony is bent over me and looking worried.
“Sit up a little bit, and take these.” He holds a hand out, showing me a couple ibuprofen in his palm. Struggling into a seated position, I take the proffered water and swallow the pills. Anthony’s eyes watch me closely, like he expects I might drop dead at any moment. He checks the time on his phone and bites his lip. I remember, as the brain fog lifts just a bit, that he has practice today.
“What time do you have to leave?” My voice cracks painfully, and I try to swallow.
“In a couple hours.” His hand, which had been resting on top of the sheets pooled in my lap, lifts once more to touch my head.
“You can go now, if you need to. I’ll be alright.” I mean this to be soothing, but the line between his brows deepens and he looks down at his phone again.
"You have a fever,” he says, slowly. Confused, I wait for him to continue. I’ve had a fever for days. “I’m waiting for Dr. Lopez to call back. You might need to go back to the hospital.”
A spike of fear has me sitting up a little straighter in bed. “What? No, I’m alright.”
“101.2, Nico.” He holds up the thermometer. “I’m supposed to call if it’s above 100. Can you drink more water, please?”
He looks worried—genuinely worried. To prove that I’m fine and donotneed to go back to the hospital, I take the water and drink some. I nearly gag, and it burns going down. But I drink it, even though the look on Anthony’s face tells me he’s still concerned. I put the bottle down and cough into my arm; it’s a painful, unhealthy wet sound. His phone goes off and he answers it before it finishes the first ring, stepping out into the hall. I hear his soft footfalls as he heads downstairs; reclining back, I decide to rest my eyes until he returns.
Anthony
I try to keep the panic out of my voice as I tell the doctor exactly, step-by-step, what I’ve been doing. I tell her about the coughing, and the way Nico was shivering this morning. It felt violent enough to be a seizure.
“He seemed to be getting better last night, but now he’s worse!” Okay, so maybe I’m not doing so well with the panic. Taking a deep breath, I test the temperature of the broth I’d put into the microwave. It’s not Dr. Lopez who called me back, but a female doctor who is currently the on-call physician for the hospital.
