not to me, not if it's you

Fucking Maxie. And Archie had even been stupid enough to get excited when he'd seen the message notification. And all he'd gotten was a stupid, esoteric (yeah, he knew big words, too) 'we're off for tonight. sick.' No other explanation. Never mind the fact that Archie had already bought the condoms. He'd slipped them in the breast pocket of his blazer for safekeeping, just in case Maxie changed his mind. (Yeah, his blazer. He'd even gotten dolled up for this).

Like Maxie was even really sick. He probably just wanted the excuse to work on one of his projects and was hoping Archie would be too stupid to figure it out.

With no other plan than confronting Maxie, fueled by the vague anger swelling in his chest, Archie marched straight up to the door of Team Magma's hideout (stupid name, shouldn't they have been 'Team Terra' or something?) and pulled it open. It was a small place, not much of a hideout. It seemed that Maxie had chosen a name before actually assembling a team; as far as Archie knew his only legitimate member was an awkward 20-something dude with a girl's name. Tammy or something like that. He was nowhere to be found.

From some indeterminate room, the sound of coughing emanated. Archie licked his lips. It sounded bad, the kind of hoarse fit that doubled you over and made you see stars, hitching breaths scraping up your throat like rough coral. Had Maxie really been telling the truth? It seemed so unlike him to admit to any form of weakness, not when he always held himself so rigid and fussed so much over outward appearances. Maxie liked his aesthetics. The hideout was a testament to that. It was all smooth lines and matte white,  minimalist decor and light wood. Archie kicked a few fragile-looking chairs out of place as he went deeper into the hideout. Leaving his mark on the place.

He found Maxie in a bedroom done up mostly in shades of cream and beige, saved for the comforter, which Maxie was wrapped in. The deep red rivaled the rich shade of his hair and, at the moment, his cheeks. A laptop sat in the spot that Archie assumed his legs would be, somewhere deep beneath the thick duvet, hissing quietly. Maxie wasn't looking at it. He had his eyes closed, brow slightly furrowed, chest heaving with shallow breaths. He really did look miserable. And sort of cute. Wrapped up like a burrito surrounded by a sea of tissues…. Archie's heart wrenched and he started to laugh, booming and resonant.

Maxie jerked, his eyes flying open. "What's so funny?" he rasped, squinting.

"You," said Archie, because there was no explaining the funny tickle in his stomach that flared up when Maxie— When he just— When he was so himself that there was nothing Archie could do. "Look at you."

"I'm sick," Maxie said with great dignity, the corners of his mouth turning downward. "I don't see what's so funny about that."

He was flushed up to his forehead, a fine red that spilled across his cheeks and up between his brows, contrasting magnificently with the subtle brown freckles that trailed across the bridge of his nose. Archie took a half-step forward before stopping himself. They didn't touch. Not unless they were holed up in a discreet motel in Lilycove or Slateport and too drunk to think. "I thought you might have been lying."

"I'm not a child, Archie. I wouldn't— Mm…" Maxie squeezed his eyes shut and pulled the duvet up to his nose.

"What's wrong?" Precedent be damned. Archie bolted to the bedside and had to lean on it with both hands to get anywhere near Maxie; he'd set himself up directly in the middle of the king mattress.

"Quiet," Maxie said, less of a demand and more of a plea. His face relaxed by degrees even as his shoulders continued to heave with ragged breaths.

Archie balled up his fist in the top sheet, warm brown against livid red. Aside from a box of tissues and a thermometer (and of course, a light wood valet tray) there was nothing on Maxie's nightstand. No water glasses, no wrappers or empty plates, no pill bottles. Shit. "Maxie."

"Whaaat," Maxie moaned, drawing a shaking hand down his face.

Shit, shit, shit. "Have you had any water today?"

"I don't know. Maybe. What time is it?"

Archie leaned over to check the smart watch, nestled in its spot on the valet tray. "'Bout 5:00."

"In the evening?"

"Yes, in the evening." Okay, that was it. Archie leaned over and pressed his hand to Maxie's forehead. Burning up. No surprises there.

"You…" Maxie's eyes widened but whatever he was going to say got lost in an explosive coughing fit. He turned toward Archie, because of course he did, clumsily aiming his face toward the folds of the duvet and missing by a mile.

Hot breath ghosted over Archie's leg, spreading out across the fabric of his pants. "Oh, gross," he said, only half meaning it. "Now I've got your germs all over me." Maxie continued to cough and Archie's hand found its way to the flaming red hair at Maxie's temple. He stroked it back with his thumb, forcing himself not to mind the beads of sweat that dampened his skin. With a heaving breath, Maxie's coughing fit finally stopped. He went limp with his face buried in Archie's thigh. "Are you okay, Maxie?" Archie murmured.

"I think I need some water."

Archie got him a glass from the kitchenette and grabbed a box of water crackers while he was at it. What Maxie was doing with water crackers, he had no idea, but he certainly wasn't eating them. The box was unopened and had been buried behind an assortment of canned foods and cereal boxes.

"When was the last time you checked your temperature?" Archie asked upon confirming that Maxie was at least able to sit up and drink on his own.

"I don't know, but it was only 38.3." Maxie held the empty water glass out to Archie. Archie eyed it for a moment. Oh, screw it. Maxie was sick and it wasn't like they ever had to talk about this again. He got up and refilled it in the bathroom. "Thank you," Maxie said stiffly.

"Okay, now I know your fever has gone up." Archie pressed his palm to Maxie's forehead again, this time purely to antagonize him. "You're thanking me?"

Maxie's jaw tightened visibly, the corner of it becoming sharper and more pronounced beneath his ear. "You did me a favor."

"It was no favor," Archie said, forcing a laugh. "I just couldn't pass up an opportunity to see you miserable."

"I see." Maxie wouldn't look at him, his eyes fixed on a point somewhere on the mattress. "Well. With a flu like this, it's bound to get worse before it gets better, so if you'd like to stick around and watch the show…"

Archie raised his eyebrows. Maxie was asking him to stay? "I suppose someone should stick around and make sure you don't die."

Maxie nodded, one short, tight dip of the chin.

The silence stretched out, threatening to become awkward. Archie made a half-hearted grab for Maxie's laptop, which had slipped toward the edge of the bed. "What were you working on?" he asked, running his finger over the trackpad

"If you really must know, I was watching a documentary on underwater volcanoes— And no, it's not related to any of Team Magma's upcoming projects, so don't even ask."

"Alright, alright." Archie dumped the laptop on Maxie's only half-trying to avoid his groin. Guessing on the wheeze that followed, he must have overshot and dropped it on Maxie's stomach instead. "Whoops."

"Idiot," Maxie muttered, but there was no venom behind it. He typed in his password and Archie pulled off his boots so he could lie next to Maxie in bed. "The flu is contagious, you know."

"Thank you, Professor Maxie." Archie rolled his eyes. "I don't get sick." He settled in and hit 'play' before Maxie could respond.