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We hang up. I type out a quick group text to Corwin and Troy, trusting that they’ll pass the message along to their respective partners, and add a screenshot of the statement as well. I keep my phone on silent as I go back upstairs. I’m tired of the world, all of a sudden. I don’t like being backed into a corner and forced to make such a personal decision. And I really don’t like that Nico was made to do the same.
He’s waiting for me, sitting propped up in bed and looking like he’s barely holding onto consciousness. He holds up anempty Gatorade bottle, triumphantly. I hold up the full bowl of soup in response, winning a smile. The sight of that smile hits me like a ton of bricks, and I realize that this is mine now. No more rules; just Nico and I.
“Damn,” I breathe, handing him the bowl.
“What?”
“It just hit me that, as of half an hour ago, I have everything I want in life.” Slipping back into bed, I sit as close to him as I can without being on top of him. Then, because I fucking can, I put my arm over his shoulders.
He takes another gulp of soup, and I can’t tell if the color on his face is a blush or a byproduct of the fever. It’s cute, either way. He leans his body into me, both hands clutched around the bowl. He’s eating slowly, flinching occasionally as he swallows on a sore throat. When he’s eaten all he can stomach, he passes the bowl to me to finish off. Leaning around him to put it on the nightstand, I click off the light.
“Everything you want, huh?” Nico muses, as we lay down on our sides, facing each other. Fingertips brush lightly along my jaw.
“No more rules, right?” I slide my pillow a little closer to him, and he brushes his thumb lightly over my bottom lip.
“Yeah, probably best to do away with those.” His fingers leave my face and slide into the hair around my ear. “I’m sorry about making a big deal of that, by the way. I just didn’t want to…well, get attached. I thought I’d be able to control my feelings better, if there was less intimacy involved. Joke’s on me, I suppose.”
“I know, I understand. I didn’t like it, but I understood why. I wish you hadn’t had to get sick for this to happen, but I’ve got to say, I’m starting to feel pretty good about the way things are working out.”
Nico’s laugh turns into a labored cough. He rolls away from me, so as not to cough in my face, and I rub his back until it subsides. When he’s facing me once more, I slide an arm over him and guide him toward me until he’s tucked against my chest. I’ve got an entire summer’s worth of no sleepovers to make up for.
“God, you’re warm,” he mumbles into my neck.
“Too warm?” I loosen my arm a bit so he can move away if he wants to.
“Definitely not. I feel like I’ll never be warm again.”
He’s all limbs—far longer than I am, but not as wide. It takes a moment for us to arrange ourselves, but eventually we find how to fit together. I want to keep talking; I want to know how this will work, and how much time he’ll allow me to spend here; I want to know what I can tell people about us; I want to know if he feels well enough for me to kiss him.
“I’ve never kissed a man, before,” I say, the words sneaking out before I can call them back. He needs to rest, and I need to let him. Kissing can wait for another day.
“Yes, I’d figured.” He sounds amused, even with his face buried against my chest and breathing labored. One of his hands has found its way to the waistband of my boxers, fingers curled inside and knuckles brushing my abdomen.
“I’m a little nervous about it,” I admit, and Nico stiffens. Brushing a soothing hand down his spine, I elaborate. “Not like I’m nervous I won’t like it. More like I’m nervous because it’s something we haven’t done and it feels…important?”
I keep rubbing his back until he relaxes once more, and then continue simply because I like how soft his skin is. He doesn’t answer for a long time. Long enough that I close my eyes in an attempt to fall asleep as well. His voice, when it does come, startles me.
“I’m nervous, too. It's been a long time for me, and I’ve never been good at relationships. I’ve also never had a public relationship. You might have to be a little patient with me.”
“Only a little?” I tease. He shifts, tucking his feet under my calves and making me flinch—his feet feel like icicles. “Jesus, your feet are cold.”
“Not for long. Stop moving your leg. I’m sick, remember?”
Smiling, I lower my head closer to the top of his head. His hair is a little damp from sweat and he smells like someone who’s spent the week sick in bed. Pulling him a little closer, I stop moving my legs and let him tuck his feet underneath. He makes a humming noise, enjoying the warmth. As much as I want him to feel better, I have to admit I’m enjoying sick Nico; he’s affectionate, warm, and has let me get away with things that wouldn’t have been an option before. I send up a little prayer that the cuddling sticks around once he’s back to normal.
I can tell the moment he falls asleep, mouth open against my chest as he works to breathe through exhausted lungs. I’m not quite tired enough to join him, though. I continue gently stroking his back, keeping the touch light and soothing so as not to wake him up. Slightly worried that he’ll develop another fever like he did last night, it takes me a long time to close my eyes. Eventually, though, the darkness of the room and Nico snuggled against me are enough to beckon me into sleep.
Nico
There is something distinctly odd about waking up in someone’s arms. But not, I realize, altogether unpleasant; certainly not when those arms belong to Anthony. There isn’t a millimeter of space between us, legs tangled and my face resting against his chest. I can feel the tickle of hair against my cheek. He’s still asleep, so I lay still and take a quick inventory of myself, trying to judge how I’m feeling. Not bad, all things considered. My chest and throat still burn, and my body feels like I’ve been playing nonstop hockey for days. But the headache is marginally better—practically gone, in fact—and I don’t feel dizzy at all.
Lying there, listening to the soft sounds of Anthony breathing, I take stock of our situation. I’d known, when I gave the hospital his name, that I was ushering Anthony back into my life and I would have to face the consequences. In truth, I hadn’t expected those consequences to come around quite so rapidly, but I am feeling surprisingly optimistic about the situation. I’m tired—so goddamn tired—of being miserable and alone; of worrying what might happen in the future and acting accordingly in the present.
I’d like, for once in my life, to get out of my own way and try to be happy. And if it all goes to hell, well, at least I can say that I tried.
Anthony stirs in his sleep, smushing my face into his chest as he pulls me closer. Being in the hospital again had given me a childlike desire to be comforted and taken care of; something I should no doubt feel humiliated about, though it’s hard to do so with Anthony’s heart beating a steady rhythm against my ear. He’s been so generous and compassionate, which is scarcelysomething I deserve after holding him at arms length for so long. I owe him another apology.
A big, calloused palm trails down my spine and I feel Anthony’s nose against the crown of my head as he presses his face into my hair. Absurdly, my throat tightens and I have to swallow past the sudden and strong desire to cry. Wrapping my own arm around him, I tuck my fingers between his body and the bed. At this point, we’re so thoroughly intertwined, we might as well be one person.
