#shionwrites

Cliff had been running since middle school and he was pretty fast. Sports had always been his one excuse for staying at school as late as possible and doing something other than studying on the weekends. His parents had made digs about it being a waste of time, but Cliff had never let his grades slip so they didn’t truly have a reason to yank him either. All through high school Cliff had maintained a steady 4.0 GPA, something that was as looming as it was an achievement. He didn’t expect it to be any different now - he should be able to keep up his 4.0 in college classes and play sports, right? He could handle it because he had always handled it. In fact, so far Cliff’s freshman intro classes were a lot easier than his senior year all-AP schedule - but the teachers were more strict about attendance. It was not permitted to miss any class more than three times per semester, and the flu had knocked out strike one. So he had to get back in the swing of things, otherwise he’d get too comfortable being complacent to this illness, skip more classes, drop out of his courses, get kicked out of college, end up on the street and die.

Ok, maybe a little dramatic, but Cliff’s anxiety rarely cared about how realistic the threats it made were.

After the first lap, Cliff’s chest was burning fiercely. Every inhale felt rough, like the spiked stem of a flower rubbing against his lungs. He was trailing behind the pack several feet behind the second to last guy. Cliff tried to keep moving, but it hurt. The distance between him and the group just kept getting wider. Soon he began to stumble over his own feet, his pace slowed to a sloppy jog, and all he could hear was his own heartbeat in his ears. He wasn’t going in a straight line anymore. In fact he was barely moving at all.

“Barrows!”

Cliff came to a complete stop, his vision swam, and he was confused why two Theos were suddenly standing in front of him with their hands on their hips. “Captain?” Cliff answered, stumbling backwards a little.

Theo snorted, shaking his head. “Go sit on the bleachers,” he said.

“But-“ Cliff started.

“Go,” Theo barked. “Now!”

Cliff flinched and headed towards the side of the track as ordered, but as he walked his feet stopped feeling attached to his body. “Barrows,” he heard Theo say in a warning tone.

“I’m going,” Cliff whined back. Just as fast as his legs would carry him… were his legs even moving anymore? The rush of blood in his ears just got louder and louder, black spots filling his vision.

Right before he lost consciousness, he heard Theo shout, “Cliff!”

He woke up to someone patting the side of his face too hard. “Wake up Cliff. C’mon buddy.” It was Theo, Cliff realized slowly. Why was he getting slapped? “Cliff, eyes on me.” With great effort, Cliff dragged his gaze from the sky to Theo's freckled face. “There you are. Do you know where you are?”

It felt like he was back in swim club, when he pushed himself too hard and got dizzy on the turn at the wall. A feeling of nausea rose in his throat, and Cliff barely had time to pitch to the side before he threw up the waffles he’d had for breakfast. He could hear it slapping the granite track beneath him and multiple teammates exclaiming in shock. “Goddamit kid,” Theo was saying, slapping his back. “I told you you shouldn’t have been up yet.”

In his head Cliff reluctantly agreed, although it was too little too late. Another wave of hot, lumpy vomit came up with a loud gag, followed by some bitter coughing. He groaned thinking about how the whole soccer team was right there watching him, the new guy, spill his guts after ignoring the warning from their captain.

“It’s alright,” Theo sighed. Somehow, the show in front of him didn’t seem to be bothering him much. “Deep breath, in and out. One more.”

“M’okay now,” Cliff managed to moan.

Theo snorted. “Sure you are, just like before we started running eh?” He asked. Someone passed Theo a bottle of water which he opened for Cliff. “Can you try and drink something?” His voice was gentle, unlike how he’d be barking the team around normally.

Cliff took the water bottle with a shaking hand and took a small sip.

“Good man,” Theo said. “Can you get back to your dorm okay?” Cliff nodded yes, but as Theo helped him stand up a rush of dizziness came over Cliff and he swooned like a freaking maiden. “Hey!” Theo exclaimed, grabbing onto his shoulders and just barely keeping Cliff from crashing to the ground a second time. He threw Cliff’s arm over his shoulders and started to walk with him to the bleachers, which was a little awkward given Theo was significantly taller. “Alright, that’s a no. Let’s call that boyfriend of yours.”

“My what?” Cliff gaped, suddenly more with it than he had been two seconds prior.

Theo paused. “In my boyfriend’s club. Elliot?”

“He’s not my boyfriend,” Cliff said, face hot.

“Oh, sorry,” Theo said. He didn’t seem to realize he’d just made Cliff’s dizziness twice as bad. “Al said you guys were close. So who do you want us to call? We have to call someone,” Theo said before Cliff could insist on going back to his dorms alone again. “That or one of the guys will take you.”

“…Elliot,” Cliff mumbled. Theo chuckled and dropped him onto the metal bench. Cliff shivered as his gym shorts did little to keep out the cold that was clinging to the bleachers.

Apparently Theo had Elliot’s number, because he was on the phone with him already. Cliff tried not to listen to their conversation, he was humiliated enough knowing they were talking about him at all. “Alright, he’s coming,” Theo said. The perks of living on campus - nothing was ever more than ten minutes away. “You just hang right here, okay? No getting up.”

Cliff wanted to complain that he wasn’t an invalid, but he hadn’t exactly done himself any favors towards proving that. He nodded reluctantly, and the guys went back to practicing on the field. Cliff watched them glumly, sniffling and coughing into his elbow every few seconds as the cold air got to him. Someone brought his bag over with his jacket, but it didn’t seem to keep him any warmer. This was so pathetic, Cliff thought. Could he even come back to practice ever again after this?

Elliot arrived a few minutes later, striding confidently across the field like he owned it. Cliff had no idea how he always held himself so high. “Hey Cliff,” he said cheerfully. “Dare I say I told you so?”

Cliff let out a wheezy laugh. “Yeah, you did,” he said. “I’m okay now, but Theo thinks I need a chaperone back to the dorms.”

“Well clearly you do, or you might try and go to the gym next,” Elliot smirked. “You got everything? Alright, let’s go.” Elliot didn’t immediately put his hands on Cliff - he knew by now that Cliff was jumpy and disliked being touched - but when Cliff swayed on his feet he slung an arm under Cliff’s arms. “We’ll take it slow,” he said.

“Sorry you had to come get me like a kid,” Cliff said quietly. He allowed himself to lean on Elliot though and they began to walk off the soccer field.

“I wasn’t doing anything anyways,” Elliot reassured him. “Besides, being right is always uplifting.”

“You’re such a dork,” Cliff giggled.

Elliot gasped dramatically. “Ooh, ouch, harsh words.”

“Don’t let him come back for at least another week!” Theo shouted after them.

Elliot raised a hand in acknowledgement. Cliff felt his face grow warm with embarrassment. Not only was Elliot seeing him a mess again, but the whole soccer team had, too. And who knew when it would rain and clean that mess he’d left up? Cliff hated to even think about people running by it and curling their lips in disgust as they avoided - or even worse, didn’t - the puddle of puke. He resolved to come back and clean it up tomorrow if it didn’t rain. God he hoped it rained.

Elliot’s body was so solid and warm holding him up.

It took a while to get back to the dorms since Cliff was still dizzy, but they made it eventually. Cliff was shivering, the cold air sticking to his sweaty skin. He was pretty sure it was just the temperature though and not a fever, because everything didn’t ache including his toenails like they had last week. “Almost there,” Elliot said in that patient, encouraging voice he so often used with Cliff.

“I’m gonna shower,” Cliff told Elliot once they were in the dorms. “Thanks for your help. Sorry you had to come get me like you’re my keeper or something.”

“It doesn’t bother me,” Elliot said smoothly. How did he just say things like that? “You can always call me for anything.”

Cliff felt something flutter inexplicably in his chest. It had been happening a lot lately, and Cliff wondered if he should have his dad check his heart out. “Well, thank you.”

"Cliff! Open up before I go get the RA!"

Cliff groaned, tempted to tell Elliot to bug off again but not wanting the RA to get involved. “Hang on,” he said, forcing himself to get up. He wobbled the few steps to the door, shivering as his bare feet hit the cold linoleum floor, and opened it. "Why are you knocking so hard?" He rasped, leaning on the door frame as he glared at Elliot in defeat.

A very indignant Elliot stood in front of him with one hand on his hip, his lower lip sticking out in a pout. "Because you're clearly dying, duh."

"Not dying." The string of harsh, deep coughs that came straight from Cliff's lungs at that very moment did him no favors to support this.

"Uh huh,” Elliot rolled his eyes. “Get back in bed.”

“I was there before you tried to break into my room,” Cliff muttered, but Elliot didn’t miss a beat. He ushered Cliff back to bed and threw Cliff’s duvet over him, as brazen as ever when it came to taking charge. Cliff shivered miserably and thought great, now he was sick and humiliated. “No offense, but why are you here?” He asked weakly.

“Because you haven’t answered me all day and Perry said you weren’t in class,” Elliot said smoothly. Perry? “My friend who’s in your lit class,” Elliot added. Right, her. “Do you have a first aid kit or a thermometer?"

"No,” Cliff said dizzily. Elliot was talking too fast, his words wrapping around Cliff’s aching head like a rope and squeezing. Usually Cliff was happy when they were together, but right now he just wanted Elliot to go away. He knew he was a basket case when he got sick, fevers always slamming him at full force. "I'm fine, you should go back to your room,” he said.

Elliot frowned. "You don't want me here?" He asked indignantly.

Cliff clutched his sheets tightly, trying to come up with a way to say no without actually lying. “I don’t want you to catch whatever this is,” Cliff said. “And I’m not good company right now. It’s just a cold, I’m really okay.”

He jumped when Elliot slapped his hand to Cliff's cheek, which elicited an unwillingly needy sound because of how good Elliot's cool palm felt against his burning skin. "A cold doesn't feel like that," Elliot said pointedly. "It’s fine, I’m not here to be entertained, just let me take care of you.”

Cliff blinked in confusion. Was he hallucinating right now? "Take care of me?” He repeated slowly. “Why?"

“Because we’re friends,” Elliot said, like it was the most simple explanation in the world. Cliff felt the strange flutter in his chest that he always felt when Elliot said that so easily.

"What if you get sick?" Cliff asked weakly, but Elliot had clearly broken his resolve.

"I've got a good immune system," Elliot said with a confident grin. "Besides, I got my flu shot.”

“I probably just have what you had,” Cliff said tiredly, thinking back to Elliot’s cold last week.

Elliot snorted. “Nice try. I didn’t have a fever.” Well, that was true. “I’ll be fine. I just don't think you should be alone right now."

Cliff felt his eyes suddenly get teary and he jammed them shut so that Elliot couldn’t see. This was embarrassing enough without him crying like some loser baby. But the truth was, no one had ever wanted to be around him when he was sick. His parents thought every illness was just a pain in the ass and the most caretaking he could remember after he had outgrown a nanny was his mom shoving a bottle of cough syrup and a packet of antibiotics through the door at him. His dad was a doctor, but if anything that seemed to contribute to the opinion that a sick kid was far beneath caring about. The general consensus among all of them was stay in your room and don't bother anyone or spread whatever it was to anybody else. End of.

"I'm going to grab the first aid kit in my room, I'll be right back," Elliot said. Cliff nodded and waited to hear the door shut before he opened his eyes to wipe them dry. He noticed Elliot had shoved a sock in the door so that he could get back in without Cliff having to get up. Seamlessly considerate as always, Cliff thought. He didn’t know why Elliot stuck around him, whose own prom date had accused him of having the emotional intelligence of a goldfish when he hadn’t bought her a corsage. He was always just waiting for the other shoe to drop and Elliot to get sick off him. It was nothing short of a miracle he hadn’t already, Cliff thought wearily.

Elliot came back with a plastic box that had a big red cross on the front. "I'm back,” he announced. He caught Cliff ogling the first aid kit and laughed. "Remember my mom’s a nurse? She wanted me to be well stocked," he explained. He opened the kit up on Cliff's desk and pulled out a thermometer which he handed to Cliff expectantly.

Cliff accepted it but didn’t use it. It felt too embarrassingly self indulgent and Elliot was just staring at him like this was totally normal. "It goes under your tongue," Elliot said helpfully. “What’s wrong?”

“...It’s weird,” Cliff said in a tiny voice, unsure if this was going to make Elliot mad. Instead, Elliot just nodded in recognition and turned away to rummage through his first aid kit for something else. Cliff popped the thermometer in his mouth and waited, watching cross eyed as the number on the tiny screen climbed up and up before finally settling on 102.5 with a shrill beep.

Elliot turned around and took the thermometer back with a concerned frown. "Have you taken any medicine?" He asked, brow furrowed in what Cliff was pretty sure was worry. Cliff shook his head no, shivering and pulling his duvet closer. He just wanted to lie down, his head spinning. “Here,” Elliot said, tapping out two Tylenol from a bottle and holding them out to Cliff with a bottle of water. Cliff clumsily tried to open the water with shaking fingers, but every movement was jerky and uncoordinated. Upon breaking the seal, water immediately leaked onto his hand and bed. He cringed, knowing this was only going to further convince Elliot that he was an absolute wreck who should either be intensely pitied, abandoned or both.

“You got it?” Elliot asked. His voice was soft, not berating. Cliff nodded and swallowed the Tylenol, the chalky pills passing painfully through his sore throat. "Good. You should feel better in a bit," Elliot said. “Think you can go back to sleep?”

“Are you going to stay here?” Cliff croaked, finally allowing himself to lie down and pull his covers all the way up to his neck. “This is boring,”

“You’re not boring,” Elliot said. Cliff wanted to point out that he hadn’t said he was boring, but that watching anybody sleep was. But his head felt heavy and full of cotton - cotton soaked in something disgusting, like cooking oil. He didn’t understand how he’d gotten sick this fast, but maybe that was the flu after all.

At first, Elliot told himself he’d only stay for ten minutes. But apparently the Tylenol was not agreeing with Cliff’s empty stomach, because a few minutes later Cliff was throwing his blankets off with one hand clasped over his mouth. He looked positively white. Elliot realized what was about to happen and quickly shoved Cliff’s wastebasket into his lap.

“Can’t… it’s too gross,” Cliff groaned.

“I’ve seen you throw up before, it’s fine,” Elliot said.

“That was different,” Cliff panted, face twisted in pain as he clutched the waste basket tightly. An unwelcome gag bubbled up and Cliff burped into the can, a bit of saliva dripping against the plastic liner. “Please.”

“I’ll wait in the hall, but you aren’t getting up,” Elliot bossed. With that he shoved the sock back into the crack of Cliff’s door and waited in the hall. It wasn’t like being outside of the dorm room hid much. Elliot could hear Cliff starting to throw up with a loud gag the second he was outside. So much for the Tylenol, Elliot thought grimly.

Vomit didn’t bother Elliot much. In school he’d been the default mom of the friend group, always the one to bring somebody to the nurse’s office and wait with them until their parents arrived to pick them up. He understood Cliff was embarrassed, but he was also so sick that Elliot was afraid to leave him to his own devices. How long had Cliff been here, boiling by himself in bed without even a water bottle within arms reach? Would he have ever asked for help? Something told Elliot probably not.

After a minute the loud gagging became just a quiet heave every few seconds, and then eventually ceased. Elliot poked his head through the doorway. “Better?” He asked.

Cliff was slumped over the trash can, his red hair soaked with sweat. He grunted, which Elliot interpreted as a reluctant yes. He stepped inside and tried to take the trash bin from Cliff, but Cliff groaned and didn’t let go. “Don’t clean up after me.”

“I’m not gonna clean up. I’m just going to throw the bag in the bathroom trash, I promise.” Cliff loosened his grip on the wire bin and Elliot brought it to the bathrooms down the hall, tying the bag and tossing it into the large trash. It wasn’t a lot despite all of the gagging Cliff had done - leave it to Cliff not to eat or drink enough when sick, Elliot thought grimly. Cliff had empty trash bags at the bottom of the bin, predictably organized as usual, and Elliot wrapped one around the bin anew before scrubbing his hands clean.

He returned to find Cliff slumped over the side of the bed, one bad move away from falling right on the hard linoleum floor. “Hey, lie down,” Elliot said, pushing him away from the edge by the shoulders.

“Wanna brush my teeth,” Cliff mumbled.

Elliot handed him his water bottle. “Just rinse for now,” he said. He was sure if Cliff got out of bed he was going to keel over immediately. Cliff accepted a sip of water, making a face as the acidic taste in his mouth moved around, before swallowing. “Think you can go back to sleep?” Cliff nodded and lay down.

“You really don’t have to-“

“Go to sleep, Cliff.”

Elliot waited for Cliff’s labored breathing to settle down in a pattern of sleep. If he was convinced Cliff shouldn’t be alone before, he was positive now. He sat at Cliff’s desk and watched a movie on Cliff’s laptop to pass the time as Cliff slept. He probably should have asked for permission, but Cliff was asleep and he’d typed his password in front of Elliot a hundred times by now. He didn’t think Cliff would mind.

Honestly, Cliff didn’t seem to mind much in general. He was nervous, always acting like he might say something wrong, but other than that he was easy going. He never had an opinion on what movie to watch, he just seemed happy with whatever Elliot picked. He didn’t care that Elliot always showed up ten minutes later than he said he would. And despite the fact that they hadn’t talked about the whole being gay thing again since the first time it had come up, Cliff was acting the same as he had before.

Elliot didn’t know what to think of it. Cliff had to be gay, right? Straight guys wouldn’t say they “didn’t know” if they were gay or not. And Cliff was so gentle and soft spoken for a guy. Not that that alone tipped the scales, but it was combined with how he held himself in general. The way he talked, the way he looked at Elliot’s lips too much, the way he seemed to have zero interest in presenting himself as buff in front of girls. Elliot just knew, even if Cliff didn’t.

“Nooo.”

The movie was nearly ending when a loud moan from bed snapped Elliot out of his thoughts. He realized Cliff was thrashing around in bed, tangled in his own sheets. “Hey, Cliff, it’s okay,” Elliot said, standing up. From there he realized how violently Cliff was shaking, his teeth clicking together with chills.

“C-cold,” Cliff said, barely making the word out. He looked so pathetic and small, hugging himself fruitlessly in bed. Elliot leaned forward and attempted to tuck Cliff’s blankets around him. However the second his hands touched Cliff’s skin, he was startled by Cliff flinching away from him. “D-don’t touch me,” Cliff said through chattering teeth.

Elliot frowned. “I’m just pulling the covers up,” he said and tried to do it again. This time, Cliff pushed his hand away and gave him a look of… fear?

“I didn’t do it,” Cliff said.

Elliot took a sharp breath in, realizing that Cliff’s fever had to have gotten worse for him to be so out of it. “Cliff, it’s just me. Elliot,” he said slowly. Cliff didn’t answer, but kept staring at him with watery hazel eyes that squeezed Elliot’s heart in his chest. "It’s okay," he said as gently as he could. “Take a deep breath man, come on."

"C-can't," Cliff gasped. Elliot was alarmed to find he could hear a wheezy whistle every time Cliff sucked in a breath.

“Yes you can,” Elliot said, pretending to be confident because the alternative was freaking out. “Try again. In through your nose… that’s it. Good job. Slow down. It's okay..."

It took several cycles of Elliot's guidance, but eventually Cliff stopped hyperventilating even if the wheeze was still there. “Cliff, do you have asthma?” Elliot asked carefully.

“Used to,” Cliff said.

“Do you have an inhaler?” Cliff shook his head no. Of course not, Elliot thought bitterly. “I think maybe you need to go to the doctor.” He jumped when Cliff desperately grabbed onto Elliot’s arm and shook his head desperately. “Cliff! What-“

"Don't," Cliff begged, eyes filled with tears. "I can't go to the hospital. My dad - my dad works there."

“Not the hospital, the student health center or something,” Elliot said. Cliff’s grip on his arm was so tight that it hurt and he tried to detach himself.

Cliff let out a tiny sob, which just scared Elliot more. "He'll be so mad if I embarrass him again," Cliff whimpered deliriously. "I can't, don't be mad at me, please. I don’t want to get in trouble.”

Elliot's heart broke. This was too much, too sad and scary, and Cliff would never want Elliot to hear this normally. “Okay, no hospital," Elliot said against his better judgment, just wanting to calm Cliff down. "But we need to get your fever down now. Do you think you can take a cold shower?" Cliff shook his head no. "Okay. More Tylenol, and I'm gonna go get ice and hope for the best. If it doesn't work we need to get help tonight though."

Despite his haze of fever and not being all the way there, Cliff realized this was the best deal he was getting and nodded. Elliot helped him take two more pills and then dashed to the floor’s kitchen to fill a few cups up with ice, the fastest things that had stood out to him as potential buckets in Cliff’s minimalist room. When he got back to Cliff’s room, Elliot poured the ice into one of Cliff's trash bags and wrapped it around Cliff’s head and shoulders the best he could. Hoping for the best didn't seem like enough, but unless he gave up and got outside help it was going to have to be. Cliff shuddered violently, an automatic reaction to the ice, but he didn’t make an effort to escape other than some uncomfortable wiggling either.

Cliff looked up at Elliot, eyes clouded with fever. “Is the flu always like this?” He asked with a little whimper of pain.

Elliot grimaced. “It always sucks,” he said. “But it would suck less if you got your flu shot.”

“It’s too late to get one of those now, right?” Cliff groaned, which finally cracked the serious mood and made Elliot laugh.

“Yeah, too late now,” he said. “Next year.”

Cliff sighed, the whistle in his breath faint now. “Are we still going to be friends next year?” Cliff asked.

Elliot carefully adjusted the ice around Cliff’s neck, which was glistening with water as condensation covered the outside of the bag. “Of course,” Elliot said. True unless otherwise proven, right? “Try and get some rest.”

“It’s too cold,” Cliff said, but even so his eyes drooped closed and he began to snore.

Elliot sighed, hoping that meant Cliff’s fever was going down and the Tylenol was finally working. “You’ll feel better soon,” Elliot said softly, brushing Cliff’s damp hair out of his eyes with the back of his finger.

Elliot went back to watching movies on Cliff’s laptop, and Cliff slept for over two hours this time, another entire movie. It occurred to Elliot that maybe he should go back to his room and just check on Cliff later. Maybe it was weird to stay here, staring at his friend he’d only made last month while he was incapacitated, but he didn’t trust Cliff to get help if he took a turn for the worse again either. Elliot tried not to think about the stuff Cliff had said - the look of fear that was in his eyes as he’d told Elliot not to touch him - and it made him feel all mixed up inside. Elliot could be pushy, but this was something delicate. He couldn’t push this, just like he wasn’t pushing the gay thing.

“Why am I so wet?”

Elliot found Cliff sitting up, the soggy plastic bag in his hand and dripping all over the also soaked bed. “Makeshift ice pack, sorry,” he said, coming around to Cliff’s bedside. “How’re you feeling?”

“Okay,” Cliff said. He looked pretty far from okay, but Elliot could sense in this case, okay just meant not-dying anymore. “Ugh, this is gross.”

“Think you can go take a shower?” Elliot asked. “Not a hot one.”

“Yeah,” Cliff said. Elliot grabbed Cliff’s shower caddy from under the bed and handed it to him as Cliff detached himself from the bed, grimacing as everything squished around him. He shuffled down the hallway to the bathrooms and Elliot stripped Cliff’s bed. It was truly soaking wet - next time he needed to get some actual ice packs, he thought. Next time...

“Oh, you didn’t need to change my sheets...” Cliff had returned, fresh pajamas on and a towel draped over his shoulders. He looked much better, some actual color in his face again.

“It’s not a big deal,” Elliot said casually.

“Yeah it is,” Cliff mumbled, hanging his towel over the back of his desk chair and sitting on the bed.

Elliot glanced at his watch. It was getting late, and he still needed to eat dinner. “Do you want anything from the dining hall?” He asked. Cliff shook his head no. “Alright, well, I’ll come check on you later, okay?”

“You don’t have to.”

“I want to,” Elliot said. “And I don’t trust you not to die here by yourself either.”

Cliff made a face and pulled his covers over his face. “You think I'm crazy now, don’t you."

"What? Why would I think you're crazy?" Elliot asked, genuinely confused.

"...Coz of that stuff I said about my dad," Cliff said, so quietly that Elliot almost didn’t catch it. His heart clenched in pity and he pulled the covers down to reveal Cliff's ashamed face. Cliff braced like he was just waiting for Elliot to say something terrible to him.

"Cliff," Elliot said gently, but firmly. "Of course I don't think you're crazy.”

"It's stupid," Cliff said quietly. "I'm eighteen. I shouldn't be scared of... Of that anymore." Of him.

"It's okay to be scared of whatever you're scared of," Elliot said. “And parents can really mess you up, believe me, I know.”

Cliff lowered the blankets just enough to peek shyly at Elliot. “Yeah?”

“Uh, hello, transracial adoptee here? I was practically born with a complex.”

Cliff laughed hoarsely, finally letting the blankets drop. “Sorry for laughing,” he coughed.

Elliot smiled at him and reached towards Cliff’s face without thinking to cup his cheek for fever. Cliff froze, but didn’t pull away. His skin was so soft and smooth, Elliot thought to himself. “Your fever broke,” Elliot said softly. Cliff blinked at him slowly, all big, tired hazel eyes. “Just so you know? I promise I’ll never hit you.” Cliff’s chin quivered in Elliot’s palm and he closed his eyes. Elliot knew he was trying not to cry. “We don’t have to talk about it again, I just wanted to tell you,” Elliot said. Cliff nodded and Elliot finally dropped his hand.

It’s Saturday, and all the new freshmen students are moving into the dorms down the street. The bookseller is ready for them, knowing all the students are eager to exercise their first taste of freedom and want to window shop in their new college town. It's probably his busiest day of the year, which is why he absolutely cannot close the store despite the wretched cold he woke up with. He has a cough that won't let him finish a sentence without interrupting himself, and being surrounded by all the used books is making the sneezes that overtake him every minute even worse. He’s putting an old tome of Shakespeare away when he hears the bell ring, signaling a customer. He closes the book and accidentally inhales a noseful of dust. He tries to say, “Welcome,” but instead all he gets out is “Wehh - heee - ahh hatchoo!” 

“Bless you!” It's definitely a freshman, round glasses overtaking half her face and her little homemade clay earrings dangling on either side. 

“Tdangks,” the bookseller mumbles, snorting a huge noseful of congestion up into his face in an attempt to clear his voice. Apparently that's the wrong move, because it causes him to erupt into a harsh round of coughing that forces him to sit down behind his desk. 

The freshman doesn't seem to mind. She’s too interested in looking around the store, fascinated by the used books. The bookseller nurses his poor nose into the fiftieth tissue of the morning, blowing as hard as he can yet it doesn't seem to clear the congestion. He hasn't been this sick in ages. Why did it have to be today of all days?

“I’ll take this, please.”

The bookseller looks up to find the freshman standing in front of him, holding none other than the thick Shakespeare tome he just put away. The one that he knows he really should have wiped down before shelving. 

“Are you sure you want this one?” He asks hesitantly.

“Why?”

Explaining feels like too much work, and bad business. The bookseller shakes his head. “No reason,” he says, coughing into his elbow. “That’ll be $10.80.”

~.~.~.~

It’s well known that a cold isn't uncommon in the beginning of the semester, but the freshman can't believe it took less than a week for her to get hit with this plague. It’s only the end of the first day of classes when she feels a tickle in her throat that makes her cough. By evening she’s feeling the chill of an incoming fever, and by the next morning she feels like she’s been hit by a bus. This feels worse than just a cold, but it's literally the second day of classes in her first year of university. She can't afford to take a sick day so soon.

And so, the freshman drags herself to her English 101 lecture where she continues to cough and shiver, clutching the hoodie she's wearing around her ever tighter. Her bones ache and she feels like she desperately needs to be in bed, but this lecture is three hours long. Three torturous hours, and it's not a huge class. Everybody can hear her coughing away, she's sure of it. She's so embarrassed by her noisiness - the rustle as she plucks out tissue after tissue from the box she's helplessly taken to carrying around. The petite sniffle she's trying to hold back every few seconds, but if she doesn't her nose will be streaming. The stifled sneezes that more than often result in additional chesty coughs. By the end of the lecture she’s so cold and miserable that she's not sure she's going to make it to her next class, which is chemistry 100. 

Somehow she does, and before most of the other students too. She figures now is a good time to try and blow her nose as loudly as possible. Maybe if she can empty it out, she won't be so disruptive at this lecture. She blows into a tissue hard, and it makes her nose tickle. She can't hold it back, and she scrambles to grab another tissue - but it's too late. She ducks her head to the side and sneezes, uncovered, spraying the space next to her. Thankfully no one’s sat down yet. She hastily tries to clean the desk with the tissue, but she stupidly didn't bring any hand sanitizer and the desk is still gleaming with germs when a boy comes in and sits right next to her. 

He greets her and introduces himself as a football player who’s retaking the class. The freshman can't help but watch in horror as he puts his hands all over the desk, then proceeds to bite his nails. She can't just apologize, but she does so in her head, knowing he’s doomed. 

~.~.~.~

The football player is pretty pissed that he’s managed to catch something already. He doesn't have any time for a cold, especially not so early in the season. It doesn't matter that it’s cold for September, or that it's raining, or that he already had chills before practice started. He’s got to push through for the sake of the team, and also his reputation and scholarship. And he still has to finish that chemistry assignment. Who gives such a long homework in the first two weeks of classes? It should be illegal.

He’s drying off in the locker room, a now very wet cough echoing against the metal lockers. He changes into clean clothes, but he still feels sticky with sweat and rain water. He shivers and shleps off to his chemistry professor's office hours. He needs an extension.

The professor doesn't look happy to see him dripping and sniffling when he shows up at his door. “C’mon, professor, I just need a few days. It's the beginning of the season, I can't fall behind already, and I’m - koff koff koff - sick.”

“I can see that,” the professor says in mild disgust. “But I don't make exceptions. Not even for athletes,” she says before he can protest. 

“That's not fair,” the football player complains. “I really am s-siii-”

The professor tries to duck, but it's too late. The football player sneezes, only poorly half covering. “Sorry,” he says hoarsely.

“I think you'd better go home and lie down,” the professor says in a clipped tone. There's some spray on the corner of her glasses, much to both of their chagrin. “And skip practice tomorrow.”

“Yes ma'am,” the football player says. He’s too ashamed of himself now to keep begging. The professor sprays lysol all over her office and hopes it’ll be enough.

~.~.~.~

It’s not enough. By the end of the week the professor, too, is full of cold. She has to lecture through it, even though she barely has a voice and nearly spills chemical solutions on herself trying to contain her sneezes into her shoulder while holding glass beakers. The students keep blessing her, and that irritates her more than anything because it's their damn fault she’s sick. She's trying to make tenure though, and isn't about to call out, so she pushes through. Every sneeze hitches in the back of her throat as she tries to hold back, making a girlish noise that kills her inside a little. 

She’s already passed the cold along to her husband, your coworker, who has an immune system as good as a preschooler. She can't wait to get home where she can just relax. Her legs are cramping from standing for so long in heels, her makeup is running because of all the congestion, and she keeps making errors while lecturing that she never would otherwise. This cold is so embarrassing and comes with all the visible symptoms: cough, congestion, sneezing, fever. It's impossible to hide.

Her coworkers have even taken notice and mentioned she ought to take it easy, which the professor absolutely will not be doing. So what if she has to cough through her lectures? So what if the students in the front row may or may not be nursing colds of their own in a week? She has to work, that's just how it is. No exceptions, she tells her students. Not even for herself.

~.~.~.~

You can hear your coworker coughing from his cubicle opposite you. Yesterday he said his wife was sick, and today he seems to have brought her cold to share with everyone. How generous of him, you think dryly. You cringe as you hear him blow his nose again, a wet, harsh sound that is the audible equivalent of contagion. And now - oh no. Now he's coming to you.

“I've got the report done,” your coworker says as he approaches. His eyes are red rimmed and watery, nose raw red from blowing and his lips parted in an awkward fashion because he can't breathe properly. And now he's blowing germs all over your desk.

You take the report from him and hope to shoo him away quickly with a thank you, but no such luck. He bends over your desk and starts to explain part of the report that apparently, he finds is not self explanatory enough. You can hear the whistle of blocked sinuses and his voice crackles with congestion. “Does that make sense?” He asks, standing up and sniffling. He runs his temple, clearly also trying to work through a headache.

“Yes, perfect sense,” you tell your coworker. It doesn't matter if it made sense or not, you wish he'd just go away. “You don't look so good. Why don't you go home?” You ask.

“It's not so bad - snrrk!” He says before snorting loudly. “I can deal with it.”

“I see,” you say. And apparently everyone else has to deal with it, too. 

~.~.~.~

You hope you'll get lucky. That Emergen-C and hand sanitizer will save you - but it doesn't. Because a few days later you, too, wake up with an ache in your head and chest and a shiver that won't go away despite several fall layers of clothing. You have a cough that snaps and crackles against your sore throat and the sinus pressure behind your eyes throbs. You haven't even made it out of bed before you're overtaken by a round of three loud sneezes in succession. You’re definitely sick.

Unlike your coworker, you're not about to work through this cold. You feel too lousy, and the fever you're running is way too high to ignore. It's everywhere, this fever: deep in your bones, making everything ache from head to toe. You spend the day in bed, shivering and coughing away. The bed becomes a sea of used tissues, the small trashcan long since overflowing. The fever must be making you emotional, because you can't help but tear up a little when your partner finally comes home. 

“Aw, baby,” they say sympathetically. They press their cold hands against your hot cheeks and wet washcloths to cool you down. They climb into bed with you and cuddle you, your throbbing head and streaming nose in their lap, and don't complain about how you're getting snot all over their knee. “Poor love,” they say. “You’ll be better soon.”

“Fair,” Elliot nodded earnestly. The reaction was refreshing to Cliff, who knew law was still considered second best to medical in his parent’s eyes. It was as refreshing as the fact that his Barrows reputation did not precede him at Isherwood University - it was only the third week of school, but Cliff was pretty sure he liked college. He felt so anonymous in comparison to the tiny private school he’d gone to since kindergarten. There weren’t eyes everywhere, waiting to report back to his parents every time he moved. No well-established reputation - good or bad - to drag around behind him.

They were meeting for an early dinner tonight. Cliff spotted Elliot already at a table in the dining hall when he arrived, his friend slouched in his seat and his chin in his hand. “Hey,” Cliff said cheerfully.

Elliot sat up slowly. He looked off to Cliff, but Cliff couldn’t pinpoint why. “Hey,” Elliot said back.

“Should we get in line?” Cliff asked.

“I guess so,” Elliot said. The indifference threw Cliff for a loop. Elliot was always the more enthusiastic between the two of them, so to have him be so sullen was confusing. As Elliot stood up, he coughed into the crook of his arm and it clicked for Cliff. Oh, Elliot was sick. How bad was it that he was relieved to realize this, versus Elliot being pissed at him?

“You’ve got a cold?” Cliff asked sympathetically.

“Al gave me his, really nice welcome to the club,” Elliot muttered. “Theo’s boyfriend? The one who runs GSA,” he supplemented when Cliff clearly did not remember who Al was.

“Oh yeah,” Cliff said. Right, GSA. Gay straight alliance. Cliff still didn’t know what to think about that. “The chicken soup is pretty good here.”

“Yeah,” Elliot said. His cheeks were flushed pink and Cliff could hear the congestion in his voice now. They split up to get their meals - Elliot indeed heading for soup and Cliff going for the day’s entree, which was chicken in some kind of brown mushroom sauce. The food wasn’t bad at Isherwood, although it didn’t seem to be the healthiest either.

Once reunited at their table, Cliff ate his meal and watched as Elliot disinterestedly pushed his soup around with a spoon. “It looks good,” Cliff commented, trying to encourage Elliot to eat in a roundabout way. To his dismay this earned him a scowl from Elliot, who pushed his tray towards Cliff.

“You eat it then,” Elliot grumped.

Cliff didn’t know what to do. People being mad at him was not something he handled well, and it turned on all the alarm bells in his head. Was Elliot mad at him after all? Was Cliff annoying him? “Sorry,” he stammered, glancing towards the nearest exit out of habit.

Elliot sighed and put his head down on the table. “Sorry, I’m an ass when I’m sick,” he said. “I just don’t feel good.”

It was messed up, but Cliff felt another wave of relief come over him. “It’s fine,” he said quickly. “You know we didn’t have to meet up if you’re sick.”

“But I wanted to see you,” Elliot said. At least that’s what Cliff thought he said, improbable as it was, but maybe he misheard between Elliot talking into the table and the noise of the dining hall. Regardless, Cliff felt his heart skip a beat.

“I’m not that hungry either,” Cliff lied. “Let’s go back to the dorms, you should rest.” He collected Elliot’s bowl without another word and carried their meals to the window for cleaning. Elliot clearly conceded with this plan, because he was waiting by the exit for Cliff.

The walk from the dining hall to the dorms wasn’t that bad. It took about five minutes, eight if you walked slowly or three if you ran. Elliot huddled in his jacket, sniffling. “It feels like everybody is sick,” Elliot muttered. It was true, it seemed half of campus had caught the beginning of the year cold if the amount of sniffling, coughing and sneezing Cliff could hear during classes was any indication. As if on cue, Elliot sneezed loudly with a wet, “Excuse me.”

“Bless you,” Cliff said politely.

They got to the dorms and Cliff badged them in, holding the door open for Elliot who was shivering. Warm inside air welcomed them inside, and Cliff ushered Elliot to the elevators. He hit 2 for Elliot’s floor, Cliff living on the 3rd floor himself. Elliot opened the door with his key and Cliff followed him, thinking he ought to make sure Elliot was okay before he left.

He hadn’t seen much of Elliot’s room before. Usually they hung out in the dining hall or library, but when they did stay at the dorms it was usually in Cliff’s room because Cliff’s Macbook was a lot better for watching things on than Elliot’s tiny HP. Plus, Cliff’s roommate was never there, already swept off his feet by some girl he’d managed to nab within the first week of classes.

Elliot’s room was messier than Cliff’s, but considerably homier. On his side of the room there was a comforter with pastel squares on it, band posters, and fairy lights strung above the bed interspersed with pictures of what Cliff assumed to be friends and family. “Will you be okay?” Cliff asked hesitantly. The dorm rooms were so tiny, essentially only two beds and two desks with about five feet between them.

“I doubt I’m going to die,” Elliot said flatly.

Cliff wasn’t sure if that was a dismissal or not. His eyes wandered to Elliot’s desk, where he saw textbooks, a fluffy purple pen, and a little rainbow flag in a cup. A strange feeling came over Cliff - the same one that had come over him when he realized Elliot had a bunch of pins on his backpack that were for ‘The Human Rights Campaign’ and ‘The Trevor Project.’ He’d felt it that day Cliff had answered Theo’s phone and Elliot had picked up, too. “My boyfriend is starting an LGBT club this year and insisted on tabling outside even though he’s already sick,” Theo had complained between throwing his things together to leave.

Cliff was rarely one to pry, but as Elliot flopped onto his bed with a tired groan, Cliff got a bit of courage since Elliot wasn’t looking directly at him. “Hey Elliot?” Cliff asked cautiously.

“What?” Elliot grunted, his forearm flipped over his eyes.

“Are you gay?”

Elliot moved his arm and shot a glare at Cliff. “No, I’m just sick,” he snapped. “Why?”

“Just asking,” Cliff said quickly. “Because of the flag and your pins and you were at that club.”

“Wow, you’re so smart,” Elliot said sarcastically. “Yes, I’m gay, thought that was kind of obvious.” It hadn’t been obvious to Cliff. Had it crossed his mind? Yes, but it wasn’t something he was comfortable just assuming about anyone because so far in Cliff’s life, gay hadn’t really been something that was okay to be. “Is that a problem?”

“No!” Cliff exclaimed. “Really, it’s fine. I mean of course it’s fine, but also I’m fine with it, I just didn’t know.”

Elliot looked at Cliff like he was clearly contemplating whatever else was on his mind, but instead just coughed into his elbow and turned on his side facing the wall. “You don’t have to stay,” he muttered finally. “I’m just gonna sleep.”

Cliff stood up, an automatic response at being dismissed. “Okay, well, if you need anything text me,” he said awkwardly. “Um... bye, Elliot.” He left feeling like they’d had a fight that he wasn’t even sure what about. It was definitely Cliff’s fault, though. It always was.

Elliot kept his eyes closed until he heard the door click behind Cliff. He let out an exhausted groan and flopped on his back, staring regretfully at the ceiling. He shouldn’t have been so aggressive to Cliff, he thought. He’d just been so convinced that there was a mutual understanding that they were both gay that having Cliff ask him had made his brain short circuit. He couldn’t believe he’d thought they were flirting all this time, but it turned out Cliff was just another straight guy.

No, he couldn’t be, Elliot’s inner voice insisted. There’s no way in hell Cliff Barrows was straight. But maybe he was still in the closet, if he even knew he was there at all. God, did he just give Cliff a complete existential crisis? He looked so shaken when he’d left. Now Elliot not only felt sick, but he felt guilty too. What a shitty day.

Cliff hurried back upstairs to his third floor dorm room with his head spinning. Elliot was gay, and Cliff had ruined their friendship with his less than enthusiastic support. He hadn’t even had a chance to prove to Elliot that he wasn’t a bad guy, and instead he was back where he started with Milo. Anxiety burned Cliff’s stomach in a way he hadn’t felt in a few weeks, not since he’d left his parents house for Isherwood. Stupid, he was so stupid!

Cliff tried to spend the evening studying, but he couldn’t concentrate on anything. The pain in his belly kept getting worse, even though he’d chewed some Tums.

Elliot hated him. He was never going to talk to Cliff again because Cliff was stupid, stupid, stupid-

His phone vibrated on the desk next to him. Cliff glanced at the screen and stopped breathing when he saw he had a text from Elliot. This was it, he thought in horror as he unlocked the phone. It 100% had to be Elliot texting him to never talk to him again, that he was a disgusting person and certainly not a friend anymore.

‘Do you have tissues?’

Cliff stared at the short sentence in confusion. Was this a test? Was it actually supposed to be passive aggressive and Cliff was supposed to understand that it meant ‘never talk to me again’? Cliff grabbed the only box of tissues he knew of in his room - his roommate’s - and dashed downstairs before he could change his mind.

He knocked on Elliot’s door a little too hard, and a few seconds later Elliot opened the door with a face of concern. “Cliff what the heck? Don’t knock like that!” He said. Cliff had the decency to look sorry, but he couldn’t seem to get any words out right now. What did he say now? Did he beg for forgiveness?

“Are those for me?” Cliff looked down at the box of tissues in his hands, which he was clutching so aggressively that the cardboard was creasing. He nodded. “Thanks, I ran out,” Elliot said, then motioned for Cliff to come in.

Cliff hesitated. Did Elliot just want a more private setting to yell at him in? Fine, he deserved it. He braced himself for impact as the door automatically closed behind him.

Elliot sat on the bed and utilized one of the tissues with a long, wet blow. “Ugh, gross,” he muttered and tossed the used tissue into his trash can. He coughed into his elbow and then said, “This cold blows.”

“I’m sorry!” Cliff blurted.

Elliot stared at Cliff like he had two heads. “I’ll survive, it’s not that serious,” he said in confusion. “Why are you apologizing?”

“B-because,” Cliff stuttered, face red in embarrassment and stomach throbbing with anxiety. “You told me you’re,” he hesitated, swallowing before forcing himself to continue, “Gay and I didn’t know what to do but I didn’t react right.”

Elliot laughed, which quickly became a round of dry coughing. Once he recovered, he said, “Cliff it’s fine.”

“It - it is?” Cliff asked, too nervous to believe those words just yet. “I thought you were mad.”

Elliot shook his head. “I’m not mad. You just brought me tissues, of course I’m not mad.”

Cliff attempted to gulp down the giant weight in his chest down, but it refused to budge. “Then why’d you - you told me to go.”

“Uh yeah, I didn’t need you to watch me nap,” Elliot said. Then less smoothly, “I know I got kinda weird, I’m sorry. I was just surprised.”

“Why were you surprised?” Cliff asked, head spinning. What was there to be surprised about?

“Well, I just thought you knew,” Elliot said awkwardly. “Because I thought you also were… but you’re not.” he trailed off, looking at Cliff expectantly.

It took several seconds for Cliff’s brain to fill in what Elliot was implying. When it did, his face turned several shades of pink. “Oh,” he near-gasped. He took a step back, shaking his head. Now he was short circuiting in a whole different way than before.

“Cliff?” Elliot said worriedly. “I didn’t mean anything bad thinking that, don’t be mad. I’m not going to be weird about it or anything, we can still be friends, right?”

“I’ll be right back,” Cliff said, then dashed out of Elliot’s dorm room before Elliot could say anything else. The mystery of why was then immediately answered when Elliot could hear Cliff throwing up in the bathroom directly across the hall. Elliot cringed, because this really couldn’t have gone worse, could it? Well, short of Cliff having an entirely homophobic response, but Elliot wasn’t actually sure this wasn't what that was yet either. Cliff was either disgusted or he was sick too. Elliot propped his door open so Cliff could get back in and sat back on his bed, knee jiggling worriedly as he waited for Cliff to return.

After several minutes, Elliot could hear the toilet flush, water running, and then Cliff appeared in his room again. He looked sweaty and worse for the wear, but not aggressive. “Are you okay?” Elliot asked awkwardly.

“I don’t know,” Cliff said shakily.

“You don’t know? Maybe you should go to the health center,” Elliot said, genuine concern on his face.

“No, I mean I don’t know if I’m…” Cliff stopped, sucking in a breath before saying in only slightly above a whisper, “Gay.”

Oh. Elliot hadn’t been expecting him to say that. He slowly got off of his bed, reached into his mini fridge and handed Cliff a bottle of water. “Here,” he said. “Drink, you’ll feel better,” he encouraged when Cliff just stared at him in confusion.

Cliff took a tiny sip, which did feel good on his stomach but did not make him any less confused. “Are you breathing?” Elliot asked. Cliff nodded. “Good. Look, I didn’t mean to freak you out. If you don’t know you don’t know, and that’s fine. I shouldn’t have assumed anything anyways. We don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to.”

Cliff swallowed. “What if I want to?” He asked, his voice small.

For a second Elliot smiled before he forced it away in case it was insulting. “Then we can talk about it,” he said simply. “But only if you want. I care more that we can still be friends. Are we okay?”

Cliff nodded enthusiastically, then winced when the movement made him feel woozier than he already did. “You sure?” Elliot asked.

“Yes,” Cliff said. “I really want to be friends.” It was the only thing in this whole situation he was sure about. “I’m sorry I threw up in your bathroom. I just get freaked about this stuff. Because of me, and… whatever I am, not because I’m homophobic,” he explained haltingly.

“I know,” Elliot said gently. “It’s okay. I’ve been really lucky, my family has always accepted me and high school wasn’t that bad, but I know that’s not a universal experience.”

Cliff nodded, throat too closed up to verbalize how very accurate that statement was for him.

“Alright, cool,” Elliot said. “I’m gonna go back to sleep, but… see you later?”

“Yeah,” Cliff said. “See you later.”

“Oh, I never…” Cliff trailed off as she threw an arm over Cliff’s shoulders and grinned.

“My own pet freshman!” She exclaimed. It was uncomfortable, but there was also a touch of satisfaction at being approved of even if it was only by a drunk stranger. She led him to a game of beer pong and announced she and Cliff were a team. “You take a drink every time you make the shot,” she explained to him. “Sometimes they put beer in the cups but that’s just nasty, so it’s water and we just have you take a sip of your own drink.” 

“Alright,” Cliff said. He still hadn’t taken a sip, but after making his first point he tried it. The flavor was sickly sweet and bitter at once, and Cliff tried not to make a disgusted face. His reaction didn’t escape a round of laughter anyways. Somebody said he was adorable. Cliff didn’t love that description of himself, but at least they weren’t making fun of him. Well, not too much. 

As the game continued, and a second and then third round started, Cliff lost track of how many sips he’d had. The flavor got less terrible the more he drank, and his reserved nature began to melt away. Cliff found he was surprisingly decent at beer pong and began cheering along with the others when he and the girl made a point. He realized he hadn’t even gotten her name, and when he asked she laughed and told him only for Cliff to forget immediately after. He wasn’t good with names at baseline, let alone right now. He also had no idea that drinking on an empty stomach wasn’t the best idea, not that he could do anything about it now.

The fun was interrupted by whatever-her-name-was’s shrill voice saying, “Stop it! Don’t touch me!” Looking up, Cliff realized the game had paused because one of their opponents had crept over to their side of the table and was trying to feel the girl up.

“C’mon Linds, don’t be a bitch, you’re embarrassing me,” he said. Right, Lindsey, that was her name, Cliff thought. 

“I’m serious, you better get your hands off me this instant,” Lindsey said, but she’d been backed against the wall and looked scared now.

Cliff had never been a proactive bystander in his life - just the opposite really. But being drunk apparently brought out a new side to him because he slid between the two upperclassmen with his hands up. “Hey, she said stop,” Cliff said awkwardly. 

“What’d you say? Did you hear what this kid said?” The upperclassman snorted. The good news was, this gave Lindsey enough time to dash. The bad news was, the guy threw a punch squarely into Cliff’s cheek. Cliff had never been punched in the face before and wow it hurt a lot more than he expected. He was knocked to the floor, dazed and one hand to his smarting cheek, but made no move to fight back. Fighting, like getting drunk, was not on Cliff’s list of experiences before today. “You’re lucky I don’t beat the crap outa you, kid. Get outa my house,” Cliff heard. By the time he looked up, the guy was nowhere in sight.

Cliff stayed on the floor for another minute just clutching his face before he pulled himself up by the beer pong table to leave, swaying slightly on his heels. The game was very much abandoned. Did getting punched have anything to do with how hard the alcohol was hitting him suddenly, Cliff wondered? He looked for Lindsey, but she really did seem to have gotten away from that creep. Good. Satisfied by the outcome even if it had resulted in getting punched, Cliff turned to leave - and ran straight into another body. He heard a sharp yelp and the feeling of liquid being poured down the front of his shirt. 

"Oh my gosh, I'm sorry!" 

Cliff looked up in shock as a red plastic solo cup clattered onto the floor. A boy with curly dark hair and shiny green eyes was across from him and clearly the reason Cliff's shirt was now soaking wet. He was trim but sturdy - handsome, Cliff thought drunkenly - and began frantically looking for something to wipe the mess up with. The nearest thing that met this description happened to be a random piece of loose leaf paper on the ground, which blotted basically none of the liquid up as the boy pressed it to Cliff's shirt.

"I don't think it's working," Cliff said faintly, startled by the openness with which this guy was touching him. Not that he had moved away. The taller male looked up from his task, paused and then cracked up laughing. Cliff couldn't help but smile too, although it hurt his cheek. 

"Jeez, you’re right," the boy said, still giggling. "I'm really sorry. Want my shirt?"

"Your shirt?" Cliff repeated incredulously. "I can't take your shirt, you’re wearing it.”

"I meant my jacket," the boy blushed. "Sorry, I'm kinda drunk. I don’t drink much. Ah, crap, I don't think I'm supposed to tell people that, that's not really cool."

The awkwardness was endearing to Cliff and he could certainly relate to being uncool and awkward. "Okay, sure, your jacket,” Cliff accepted the offer. He turned away and quickly tore off his wet t-shirt, not liking to be exposed in public even while drunk. He slipped his arms into the jacket that the boy was holding up and zipped it up immediately before turning back around. The dry jacket felt warm and smelled good, Cliff thought. "What's your name?" He asked, shoving his wet t-shirt as far into the back pocket of his jeans as they would go.

"Elliot," the boy said with a grin. "You?"

"Clifford Barrows," Cliff said, automatically reciting his full name as he was accustomed to back at his stuffy private school where last names meant as much as grades. But Barrows signified nothing to Elliot, and that was refreshing. A relief Cliff hadn't anticipated. “Just Cliff is fine though,” he added.

"Cliff, like Clifford the big red dog?" Elliot asked. "You've even got the red hair to match!" Cliff had heard this before and usually didn't appreciate it, but Elliot didn't seem to be unkind in saying so. In fact, he seemed earnest and sweet and Cliff felt drawn to him. He had a dopey, genuine smile. And he’d literally given Cliff his jacket off his back, even if he’d ruined Cliff’s T-shirt first.

"Yeah," Cliff said. "Like that."

"That’s awesome," Elliot grinned. His eyes wrinkled at the corners and he had dimples on either side of his mouth. "So... Do you know anyone here?"

Cliff considered lying. But then he remembered he was actively being kicked out anyways and shook his head. "No one. Do you?"

"My roommate invited me, then ditched me," Elliot sighed. "Why'd you come if you don't know anybody?"

Cliff hesitated, but Elliot had admitted his drunkenness so Cliff figured he would admit his intentions. "Don't laugh," he said. "It's my birthday."

Elliot's eyes widened in shock. "Seriously? Wow! Happy birthday!"

"Thanks," Cliff said. Elliot opened his mouth and took a deep breath. "You're not going to sing, are you?" Cliff asked quickly.

Elliot looked at him sheepishly. "Not anymore," he said. "But we have to do something to celebrate. You must have wanted to. Why else would you be here?"

Cliff shrugged. "I don't know. Experimenting or something. I already got kicked out though.”

“Yeah, I saw that,” Elliot said, causing Cliff to blush. Good thing it was dark in here. “That was pretty cool.”

“Getting punched was cool?” Cliff repeated incredulously.

“Well, no, but sticking up for that girl was,” Elliot answered. “But I guess we should get out of here before you get punched again.”

“We?” Cliff repeated with a smile he couldn't help. Even though the room was spinning a little, he felt more himself while talking to Elliot than he had all night. 

Elliot lead Cliff to the door, then paused and said, “Wait one second.” He darted away to the kitchen, then came back with a chunk of ice from the beer cooler in his hand. “For your face,” he explained. “Let’s go.”

The two boys stumbled off the frat house porch and headed down the dimly lit street. Cliff had no idea where they were going, or if Elliot lived in the dorms like he did, but apparently they were headed in the same direction for now. Cliff held the quickly melting chunk of ice to his cheek, which did feel nice but made him cold.

“Woah,” Elliot said suddenly, stopping and grabbing Cliff’s forearm. “I think I’m drunker than I thought I was in there.” 

"Me too," Cliff said. Now that they were out of that weird cramped environment and trying to walk, he was more aware of his own drunkenness and the sense of nausea bubbling in his stomach.

“Hey, you said you came as an experiment, what kind? Elliot asked, his hand still on Cliff’s arm. His fingers were warm, the opposite the crisp Fall evening.

"To see if I could make a friend,” Cliff admitted woozily. He wasn't sure why he was telling Elliot this, it sounded pathetic and weird. It must be the alcohol, he thought to himself. Making him brave and warm all over, or maybe it was Elliot.

To his surprise, Elliot didn't call him strange. He just grinned. "Well, I think you succeeded," he said. "Friends?"

Cliff blinked. "Us?"

"Yeah. If you want," Elliot said, suddenly a little shy. "Do you want to?"

Cliff nodded quickly, eagerness winning over any reservations. "Yeah." He just couldn't believe it.

"Perfect,” Elliot grinned. "Now… we could hit up another party, but I have a feeling this frat party stuff isn't really either of our thing. Wanna go to the diner instead?"

It sounded ten times better than a noisy party, and something about being alone with Elliot - just having the opportunity to get to know his enthusiastic and mysterious new friend - made Cliff's stomach flutter with excitement. "Definitely. Let's go."

They made it another block before Cliff stopped them this time. The dizziness was getting more intense and he didn’t think he was walking in a straight line anymore. The taste of acid rose in his throat. “You okay?” Elliot asked. 

“Uh huh,” Cliff said, right before pitching forward and throwing up on the curb. 

“Oh, shit,” Elliot said, scratching the back of his neck, “Uh… It’s okay. Get it up, buddy.” 

Cliff didn’t have to be told twice. There wasn’t a ton in his stomach since he’d skipped dinner, but there was plenty of fluids which left a decent puddle in the road. It tasted even worse than the drink had going in which cause more heaving, and Cliff swore he would never drink Four Loko again. A few cars and people went by seeming to pay him no mind, but Cliff was embarrassed regardless. By the strangers, but more so for making a fool of himself in front of his new friend. Every time he tried to choke out a “Sorry,” he would end up puking more. Mortifying.

“Maybe you should stop trying to say sorry,” Elliot suggested. “It’s okay, really. I - ugh.” He turned around and Cliff assumed it was for privacy before Elliot suddenly spewed his own wave of vomit right onto the pavement.

Hearing someone else throw up triggered Cliff to get going again, which in turn seemed to get Elliot, and so on... Cliff didn’t dare look at Elliot throwing up, not when the sound alone was setting him off, but he could tell it had significantly more volume than what he was getting up. Elliot had probably eaten dinner, Cliff thought vaguely. The back and forth vomiting lasted for another minute before Cliff was empty, and Elliot seemed to be slowing down at the same time. Cliff felt responsible for setting Elliot off and was so embarrassed that he couldn’t look at his new friend - if Elliot still even wanted to be his friend when he was so gross.

“Cliff?” He heard Elliot’s voice. God, he was going to tell Cliff to fuck off, wasn’t he? 

“Yeah?”  

“You still want to go to the diner?”

Cliff was so surprised that he couldn’t help but laugh. "Yeah.”