Make You Feel Better

Except for when the season ends and then-

Well, then he ends up here. Curled up on one side of the couch with cold sweat running down his back, giving his boyfriend another apologetic look as he picks up the bowl he just vomited into so he can clean it out. 

The movie they had playing sits frozen for the third time since it started. Shane couldn’t tell you what the plot is. Something about cars and robbery that Ilya swears is the best one ever made. Shane’s not entirely sure.

Speaking of Ilya, he reappears with a clean bowl just as another cramp twists Shane’s stomach. Despite his attempts to hide it, a small groan escapes him, a shiver runs down his back. Ilya is at his side in a second, placing the bowl back in front of him and running his hand over his back. Shane ducks his head, but not before he catches the tightness in Ilya’s jaw, the slight crease in his forehead. 

“Drink some water,” he says quietly. Shane feels his knuckles over his spine, carefully nudging ridges and bumps. The motion continues as Shane takes a swig out of his water bottle, sloshes it around and spits it into the bowl to get the vomit-taste out, before taking an actual drink.

This is nothing serious, they both know it. It’s just a pain-in-the-ass stomach flu that maybe, maybe would have been slightly less of a pain had Shane just taken that day off when he first felt unwell a few weeks ago. 

But he didn’t, and Ilya knows he can’t convince him to, so they ended up here. And probably will end up here again. 

As Shane’s eyes fall closed, he hears Ilya climbing up on the arm of the couch, feels his hand trail up Shane’s back to thread through his hair. There’s a shift, a click, and then the movie is playing again. If he’s honest, Shane gave up paying attention a while ago, so he abandons himself to this little half-sleeping state and the feeling of Ilya running his hand through his hair.

“I love this part,” Ilya says.

“I’m probably going to interrupt it again,” Shane mumbles. He opens his eyes just enough and looks up at him, his fingertips scraping against the couch cushions. He pulls his knees into his chest. “I’m sorry.”

Ilya just shrugs, as if he hasn’t been trying for months to get Shane to watch this movie.

“Is okay.” He looks down, dimples and golden hair and a level of fondness Shane didn’t think was possible. Not when he’s half-conscious and puking every 15 minutes anyway. “Just means I get to choose what we watch next week as payback.”

“Asshole,” Shane huffs as his eyes close again. He exhales again, slower this time, and grimaces as his stomach twists. Ilya says nothing, although Shane can feel the weight of his gaze on him.

He wants to thank him. Yuna and David Hollander raised a polite boy, damn it, but more than that, Ilya deserves it. Shane wants to thank him and tell him he’ll watch a load of movies with him and that he loves him and maybe he’ll think about taking a sick day or two if he needs it next season, because Ilya asked him and he knows it stresses him out.

He wants to say all of it. Unfortunately, words are hard and his head hurts and he’s probably one more minute of hair-stroking away from falling asleep. 

F -----------------------------------------------------------

@feverfcking

The Horrifying Ordeal of Being Known part 1 Shane, cold, 4k

Make it Better Ilya, cold, 5k

H -----------------------------------------------------------

@hollanovsnz (tysm for the masterlist!)

An (Un)healthy Scratch Shane, cold

Bunny Shane, allergies

Headspace Ilya, allergies

Hazards of Our Occupation part 1, part 2 Ilya, various

It’s You part 1, part 2, part 3 Shane, various

H/R One-Shot #1 Shane, cold

H/R One-Shot #2 Shane, cold

H/R One-Shot #3 Ilya, cold, 2.1k

Ilya w a cold part 1 Ilya, cold

Oh Babe, I Hate to Go part 1, part 2, part 3, part 4 Ilya & Shane, cold

Oh, Those Russians Ilya, allergies

Quiet part 1, part 2 Ilya, cold

@hurt-care

Untitled (Ilya with a cold, set during his time in Ottawa while Shane still plays in Montreal) part 1, part 2, part 3, part 4 Ilya & Shane, cold

I -----------------------------------------------------------

@itchyandtwitchy

allergic!S/hane with kink-ish I/lya (rewrite of Moscow phone call) Shane, allergies

I/lya with a constantly itchy nose rubbing it against S/hane during sex because his hands are otherwise occupied Ilya, allergies, 3.8k

@ithadtobesneezing

honeymoon Shane, honeymoon rhinitis

K -----------------------------------------------------------

@kushamixotwod

S/hane H/ollander x I/lya R/ozanov set in the Vegas hotel scene Ilya, scent sensitivity

L -----------------------------------------------------------

@lavsnz

the first time Shane sees Ilya sneeze Ilya, unknown

ilya & sneezing in the centaurs locker room (after shane joins the team) Ilya, unknown

ilya & the handkerchiefs Shane, cold, 1.4k

mics & a head cold Shane, cold, 2.3k

@lilies-and-hyacinths

Off the Record Ilya, allergies

@lipsmind

h/ayden being grossed out by i/lya’s sneezes Ilya, sick

I/lya at morning practice on game day Ilya, cold

P -----------------------------------------------------------

@perseaphoneaa

prompt: Delayed and confused-sounding “bless you”s after a singular sneeze from a person who is a chronic multiple-sneezer because everyone was just waiting for more to follow Ilya, unknown

I/lya having the nastiest, messiest sneezing fit in the locker room after his first practice with the Centaurs. Ilya, unknown

Untitled Ilya, allergies

@poetic-illness

Photic Senses part 1, part 2 Ilya, photic

Untitled Ilya, sick, 0.9k

R -----------------------------------------------------------

@rozsnz

bad luck Ilya, flu, 2.9k

copycat Ilya & Shane, cold, 2.7k

one thing after another Ilya, cold and allergies, 3.3k

pucks & tissues Ilya, cold, 5.1k

rudolph Shane, allergies, 1.9k

so easy Ilya, various, 6.3k

S -----------------------------------------------------------

@silentsneezes (ty for masterlist!)

Blessed with Rivalry Ilya, various, 4.1k

Idiot part 1 Shane, flu, 5.5k

@silklined

Versus part 1, part 2 Ilya & Shane, cold

@sleptwithinthesun

medium well Ilya, allergies, 3.1k

pillbug Ilya, cold, 2.1k

side effects; diphenhydramine Ilya, allergies, 4.2k

crepitate Ilya, cold, 2.2k

gift horse Ilya, unknown, 1.8k

@smallandsneezy

itchy Ilya, allergies, 1.65k

softie Ilya, allergies

so sensitive Shane, allergies, 1.7k

to be cared for Ilya, cold

@sneezeace1

photic!Ilya on the red carpet Ilya, photic

@sneezydreamgirl

Hysterical and Useless part 1, part 2, part 3 Shane, sick

@snifflybabe

greedy Shane, allergies

In Sickness and In Health part 1, part 2 Ilya, sick

Untitled Ilya, sick

@snottysnz

a messy mouthful Ilya, cold, 0.7k

don't feel good Shane, cold, 0.2k

itchy Ilya, allergies, 0.5k

kinky little secret Shane, flu, 1.4k

Untitled Ilya, cold

Untitled Shane, cold

@snzity

A sneeze attack over facetime?! Ilya, allergies, 2k

Double the Misery Ilya & Shane, cold/flu, 4k+

Ilya doesn’t show up to practice because he’s sick, and Troy is the one who calls him to inquire Ilya, cold

First time Ilya sees Shane sneeze Shane, unknown

First time Shane sees Ilya sneeze Ilya, unknown

Second time Shane sees Ilya sneeze Ilya, unknown

Third time Shane sees Ilya sneeze Ilya, unknown

@snzivore

prompt: on a family vacation and I/lyas allergies are insane part 1 Ilya, allergies

@stormysnz

Growing on Me Ilya, various, 5.6k

T -----------------------------------------------------------

@themiseryandcompany

untethered; his teeth ache with it | Shane, cold, 3.7k

Brow furrowing, he texts back.

J: What? I just got here. I know you're on the ice -- we can talk after. (8:38)

Shane lets himself in to the house and tosses his bag in the bedroom. Ilya's generally pretty neat, but the bed is unmade and there are clothes scattered on the floor and an empty plastic water bottle on the nightstand. In the kitchen, several mugs and dishes are in the sink along with remains of a sandwich half-eaten on the table. Shane turns the TV on to TSN to catch the rest of Ilya's game while he loads the dishes into the dishwasher.

The second quarter has just ended and the commentators are discussing the game. Ottawa is behind 1 to 3. 

“Rosanov's just not looking his best tonight,” one of the commentators remarks. “He's been slow on his skates all evening.”

“And with Ilya Rosanov playing poorly, the rest of the team just can't seem to pick up the slack,” the other broadcaster replies. 

“It's going to be tough for Ottawa to regain control in this third period. Detroit is absolutely dominating the puck and the pace.”

Shane searches the screen for a glimpse of Ilya as the players start entering the ice for the last twenty minutes of the game. The camera pans across to the Centaur's bench as Ilya enters the ice for the face off.

Shane's stomach sinks as he sees exactly why Ilya is playing poorly. He's barely off the bench before the camera catches him pausing and sneezing violently. 

“Oooh,” the commentator groans as Ilya is captured with a thick rope of snot dribbling out of his nose. The Russian turns around and grabs a towel from the bench, wiping his face. He spits impatiently onto the ice and skates to the centre.

“That was gross,” the commentator continues. “Clearly Rosanov isn't feeling well tonight. Let's hope it's not contagious.”

Shane watches anxiously as Ilya struggles through his rotation on the ice and then heads for the bench, clearly exhausted. The camera catches him coughing as several of his teammates inch away along the crowded bench.

There's a simultaneous mix of intense sympathy, care, and disgust fighting in Shane's mind. He is just here for a day and then he has to drive back to Montreal for practice and to catch a flight to Tampa for a game series in Florida. Ilya is clearly very sick and Shane definitely does not want to catch whatever he's got. But at the same time, the idea of Ilya sick and alone in an empty house kills Shane to think about.

He grabs his phone and texts Ilya.

J: Oh I see what you meant. I'm at your place anyway. Are you okay??

Ilya is benched for the rest of the game and the period ends with Ottawa losing 1-5. Shane switches off the TV and goes into the bedroom, stripping off the bed sheets and making the bed fresh. He fills up a water bottle and puts it on Ilya's side with a box of tissues.

Ilya's bathroom cupboards are woefully bare when it comes to cold medicine of any kind. Shane considers running out to Shoppers, but if anyone in Ottawa saw him buying cold medicine after that display on TV...would they connect the dots? He considers calling his mom and asking her to drop some off. He's scrolling UberEats for options when he hears Ilya's car pull up.

Ilya slumps in from the garage bundled in sweatpants and a hoodie and looking a mess. His nose is red and shiny underneath and his lips are chapped. He makes an awful snorting sniffling sound at the back of his throat that turns Shane's stomach with both sympathy and disgust.

“Hey,” Shane says softly. 

“Harris has given me the plague,” Ilya scowls. “Don't get close. It's – you don't want this.”

His voice is gravelly and muddled with congestion, making his accent sound thicker than usual.

“I made the bed up,” Shane offers, standing awkwardly by the kitchen island, not used to staying so physically separate from Ilya when they're reunited. “Do you want a shower first or-?”

“Yes I should – I -” Ilya begins but his breath catches sharply and he shakes his head with an irritated expression. “Fuck....”

Hehh-TSGHTT! Ehh-TSGHHT!

Two sneezes tumble out and he doesn't move to cover them or turn away. Shane can see the spray visible in the room and he shudders.

“Bless you?” he offers tentatively.

“Not – not done,” Ilya stammers, reaching for a towel that's hanging on the kitchen stove. 

Ehh-TSGCGXHHT! Eh-GHSXTT!

He sneezes the second two outbursts partially into the towel and sniffles thickly in the aftermath.

“Ugh,” he groans, closing his eyes and rubbing them with his hand. “Please put me in the shower and drown me, Hollander.”

Shane can't help but laugh a little at the dramatics.

“Sounds like you're already halfway to drowning,” he says. “Have you taken anything? Medicine?”

“Team Doctor gave me pills, yes,” Ilya says wearily. “And an IV fluids before the game. Didn't really help. He sent some more medicine. I took one before I left.”

“Is it a cold or the flu?” Shane asks. “Did you have a fever?”

Ilya shakes his head. “No. Bad cold he said. Boring. Stupid. Who can't play with a cold?”

Ilya is leaning against the kitchen counter looking dead on his feet. He sways a little, catching himself with a steadying hand on the fridge.

“Hey,” Shane says, stepping forward, his worry outweighing his fear of catching this. “C'mon.”

He puts a hand on Ilya's shoulder and before he knows it, he's holding the man tightly and Ilya is trying to pull away.

“Stop,” Shane says, pressing a kiss to Ilya's temple. “Let me take care of you.”

“You will get this stupid cold,” Ilya grumbles. 

“Well, I guess you'll have to return this favour later,” Shane replies. “Let's get you showered and in bed.”

Ilya melts against his shoulder, sighing heavily. 

“Ugh,” he mutters into Shane's sweatshirt. “Boring boring boring. You're here and trying to get me in bed and it's not even for good reason.”

Shane chuckles.

“If you're a good patient, maybe you'll get a reward later,” Shane teases, stroking Ilya's back.

Ilya's breath catches in surprise and he coughs raggedly, breath hot against Shane's neck. 

“Eww,” Shane says, leaning away. “Not if you do that.”

“You suck my dick,” Ilya growls. “Now it's gross if I cough?”

“Your dick doesn't spread the flu,” Shane retorts. “C'mon, nasty.”

Ilya follows him begrudgingly and allows himself to be undressed and led into the steamy shower. He's like putty in Shane's hands, melting at his touch, leaning heavily against the cool tiles as the hot water courses down his body. Shane massages shampoo through his curls, guiding Ilya under the spray to rinse out the suds. Then they stand, arms wrapped around each other, Ilya heavy against Shane, sleepy and warm in the water's heat. 

Shane holds tight, letting Ilya relax against him as he runs his fingers along the ridge of Ilya's spine and across his shoulders. Then, without warning, Ilya jerks in Shane's arms and sneezes.

Eh-CGHXTT!

It's a thick, wet sneeze and Shane pulls away to see that Ilya's nose is dripping. The man presses a hand to his nostril and blows, sending a gurgle of snot flowing out and down the drain.

“What the fuck?” Shane asks incredulously. 

“What?” Ilya croaks, sounding miserable. “Is shower. Washes away. Who cares?”

“Kleenex exists for a reason,” Shane says, reaching to turn off the taps. 

“Ah yes, very smart,” Ilya quips, shaking water from his hair. “In the shower. Good idea.”

He reaches for a towel and starts to dry himself off but it's clear he's practically asleep on his feet. Shane wraps a towel around his own hips and reaches to help Ilya.

He towels off Ilya's curls and gets him into the bedroom, sitting him on the edge of the bed while he rummages in Ilya's dresser.

“What do you want to sleep in?” he asks.

“Sweatshirt and those blue sweatpants,” he says.

Shane retrieves the clothes and helps Ilya dress before tugging back the covers. The bedroom isn't unusually cold, but Ilya is clearly seeking warmth. For someone who usually sleeps in boxers, it is a funny sight to Shane to see him so bundled up under the blankets.

“Okay,” Shane says, slipping on a pair of sweatpants and climbing into bed beside Ilya. “C'mere, you.”

He pulls Ilya into his arms, tucking the man against his chest. 

“Shane...” Ilya grumbles. “You shouldn't...”

He doesn't roll away from Shane's embrace but he keeps his head turned, coughing into his pillow.

“I'll sleep in the other room,” Ilya offers between coughs.

“Shut up,” Shane counters, pressing a kiss to Ilya's damp hair. 

“I'm not worth getting sick for,” Ilya continues. “C'mon, Hollander.”

The vibration of Ilya's phone on the nightstand interrupts their arguing and Ilya squints towards the screen.

“Is your mom,” he says.

“She probably watched your game,” Shane says. “D'want me to answer it?”

“No, she likes me more,” Ilya teases, reaching for the phone and swiping to answer it.

“Hello Mrs. Hollander.....yes, Yuna, sorry...yes...I'm fine. A cold only. Yes....ya Shane is here....okay, yes.”

Ilya passes the phone to Shane.

“Hi mom,” Shane says, taking the phone. 

“I wasn't sure if you were in Ottawa tonight,” his mom says. “I was calling to see if he needed anything dropped off.”

“No, I'm here. We're good,” Shane says, reaching out with his free arm to tuck Ilya back against his chest and idly running his fingers through Ilya's hair.

“It's just a cold?” Yuna asks. “He didn't look very well during the game tonight.”

“Just a cold,” Shane confirms. “Team doctor checked him out and everything.”

“Okay,” Yuna replies. “Call me if you need anything. Drink lots of lemon water, Shane. You don't want to be out for the Florida series.”

“Yes, mom,” Shane says.

“Okay, I love you. Give my love to Ilya. I hope he feels better.”

“Okay, love you too. Bye.”

Shane hangs up and sets the phone down on his nightstand.

“She says she loves you and she hopes you feel better,” he murmurs, kissing Ilya's temple. 

“And for you to not get sick,” Ilya says bitterly.

“Just to try not to get sick,” Shane says. “Stop it. I'm fine. You need to sleep.”

Ilya lets out a long sigh, closing his eyes. 

“Cannot breathe through my nose,” he grumbles.

“Well, is that so new?” Shane counters. “Didn't you break it twice? That's why you snore.”

“I do not snore, you liar,” Ilya says, his voice slurring with sleepiness. “My throat is so dry. I keep breathing through my mouth.”

“There's a water bottle on the nightstand,” Shane says. “I filled it up before you got home.”

“Yes, but last night I kept drinking water because my throat would be dry and then I would fall asleep and then wake up cause I needed to piss and repeat again all night. I just want to sleep. 'm so tired.”

“Then stop talking and sleep,” Shane says. “C'mere.”

Yes, God, please. Maybe her prayers had finally been answered and Vin had seen the light and understood she hadn't been trying to hurt him, not for a minute.

Of course Wendy was aware she had overdone it during the Sunday call, but she had been hurt and furious, after waiting for him at the restaurant for hours and the worrying over his wellbeing, only to find out he had been with Bella the whole time.

The guilt hit later, not as soon as she turned off the phone, still too angry to really see clearly. It had hit her when Max returned to the apartment, shuffling awkwardly as if he didn't know what to do with himself, eyes downcast.

"Did you eat?" Wendy had asked, as she got ready for her shift at work. Work was good, it meant she wouldn't sit home, wondering if she had overdone it with Vince.

"I did- Grabbed something with Leo..." Max hadn't met her eyes, hands in his pockets, "got the place. Signed the lease..."

"Oh that's great, Max!" Wendy smiled, although she couldn't bring herself to be as excited for him as she probably should have been. She would miss his company, a whole lot. She'd miss that one week of bliss that all three of them had shared, before everything went to shit.

"Yeah, uhm- It's one of your picks, so thanks," he had looked up, finally, arms crossed to his chest, "on the phone, you said you found Vin- Did you talk? Is he okay? I tried calling, but he didn't pick up either."

"He's sick," She had shrugged, trying to sound nonchalant about it, "at the Atwoods. Bella's with him."

He had squinted at her, "how sick?"

She hadn't known. That was the first hint of guilt to seep past the anger. Wendy hadn't even thought to ask Vince what was wrong with him.

"Uhm- I don't know, I don't- I don't think it's anything serious. Just a bug..." So far, she hadn't lied to Max. Not really. She wanted Max to want her, stick by her because he was the one person who understood where she was coming from, besides Jon, of course.

"Ah, okay," Max sighed, "I'll call him in the morning. You're heading out?"

"Yep, graveyard shift," Wendy had walked closer, pressed a kiss to his cheek, "don't wait-"

And Max had turned his head, lips crashing against hers, a hand on the back of her neck.

That had been the second stab of guilt. So thick it made her flinch into the kiss, as if Max had pinched her, when instead he had just been about to sweep her off her feet.

It didn't feel right. Not without Vince, not when everything was fucked, not when she could tell Max was trying to hold her together with duct tape, spit and good intentions. This hadn't been how she envisioned them, there was a missing piece.

"I'm gonna- Gonna be late," Wendy had patted his chest, breaking apart the kiss, "don't wait up-" of course he wouldn't, she was only gonna come back at 6 AM, "uhm- Congrats on the apartment, honey."

Wendy wanted to throw up. Max wasn't honey. Handsome, Max, Daniels, babe- Honey was Vince. Just him.

"Thanks," he had pulled back, clearly wanting to say something and Wendy could had sworn she heard it loud and clear. What the fuck?

That had been Saturday night. Sunday came and went in a blur. Max and her barely talked, he was busy online shopping, eyes trained on the laptop screen, and she had passed out in bed until nearly 5 PM, followed by a quiet dinner and silence. So much silence. Max slipping out for work at 7 AM, pressing a kiss to her temple.

And now Vince was texting her.

She stared at the text, mouth dry and heart racing.

Vince: Can I stop by tonight?

Had he talked with Max? They were colleagues, they had lunch together. It wouldn't be a stretch to imagine Max had vouched for her, even if Sunday had been tense and silent. A spark of hope, maybe Max had talked sense into Vin. Maybe he was ready to come home, still pissed, but ready to come back. She was his girlfriend after all, wasn't she?

Wendy: Yes, of course —

She typed it, but didn't send, staring at the text. What if... What if he wasn't coming back? It wasn't reconciliation Vin wanted, but just to pick up more clothes and go away again, keep their distance. She certainly hadn't helped her case, yelling at him like that Saturday afternoon...

You're breaking my heart.

He had sounded like he was crying when he said that. At the moment, it had barely registered beyond a vicious thought of Good, because he was breaking hers too. Wasn't she supposed to be more important than his best friend's fucking wife? Bella had been Wendy's best friend, to Vince she was a relation that came with the territory. An in law. Why couldn't Vin just-

She didn't want to break his heart, but fuck if Vince wasn't turning hers to smithereens. How hard was it, to just love her, unconditionally? Just fucking pick her, not Bella. Who cared if Bella was hurting, hadn't she betrayed Wendy first? Taken a secret that Wen wouldn't tell a soul if she could, that she hadn't even told Bella to begin with, but rather collapsed in front of her, and then revealed it to Jonah, to hurt him, stealing away Wendy's agency over the matter.

Making her look weak.

She erased the text. Only Vin's on the screen.

Vince: Can I stop by tonight?

Wendy: Got tired of the Atwoods already?

She erased it again, then let out a groan and put the phone on the sink, pulling up her pants and washing her hands, then picking the device up again.

He had said tonight, she had a shift tonight-

Wendy to Jonah: Can you pick up my shift tonight? Emergency.

It took only a second for Jon to answer.

Jon: Sorry darling, rough bout of vertigo. Can't get up.

Fuck.

She clicked back on Vin's messages, staring at it for another minute. She desperately wanted to see him. If he was coming back home, she didn't want to put it off for another day.

Wendy to Claire: Hey C, do you think you can take cover my shift tonight? It's an emergency!! Please?

Was this good enough? She had no idea, nerves long fried.

Claire answered with a simple thumbs up.

She switched back to Vin's messages. It had been almost forty minutes now.

Wendy: Yes, ofc. Will Max come with you?

He didn't answer right away, but that didn't stop her from staring at his contact until it lit up, a speech bubble appearing next to it. And disappearing. And appearing again.

Vince: No, he said he's having dinner with Leo.

Ah. So Vin had sent him away. Wendy had no idea what to do with this information. Did it mean he wanted them have another screaming match or he just wanted her, with no Max.

Wendy: Ok.

Wendy hadn't felt this nervous in a long, long while. As she got ready, she had to resist the urge to run for the hills several times. Text Claire, say she had figured it out and could take her shift after all. Text Max, beg him to be there as backup...

Although Vince had the keys, he knocked.

She was trembling like a leaf as she unlocked the front door and stepped aside.

The first thing that crossed her mind was that he looked great. Just as good as the day she had met him, clad in that stupid varsity jacket, smiling with Lucas and Leo.

They had only been apart for a week now and yet Wendy felt like it had been infinitely more torturous than all those months away from each other when he was in Doveport.

The second thing Wendy realized, was that Vince looked like shit.

Sickly pale and like he hadn't slept a blink all week, curly hair falling limply around his face, her boyfriend looked terrible.

"Oh- wow, are you okay?" Wendy took a step back, so he could come in, and Vin shrugged, stripping off his jacket.

"Been better," he said quietly and she noticed just how raspy his voice was, as if he had gargled with salt.

"That's one hell of a flu, honey," she couldn't help the pet name, it felt marvelous to be said out loud, "come sit down. Can I make you some tea?"

"No, thanks," Vin shook his head, but he did sit down, so she assumed it was just about the tea, "how- How have you been?"

"Missing you," Wendy pouted, wringing her hands, "missing you a lot."

Vince flinched, looking away from her and staring at the rug in their living room. She had been here before, a year before, after she had broken up with him in a spur of the moment decision and Vince had come over to apologize for not telling her he was moving to Doveport.

This time it felt... Worse. Empty.

"You want to take a bre-" Wendy started to guess, but was interrupted as Vin talked over her.

"I think we should break up."

Her ears rung and Wen lost her footing entirely, head swimming with a crazy bout of vertigo, so violent that she stumbled to the side and braced against a wall.

Break up. As in them being... Over? Definitely?

"What...?"

He was pissed, she knew that. But she could fix this, Vince just needed to let her, she could-

"I can't do this anymore, Wendy. I want to break up."

"No, you- I can- I'm sorry," she stumbled over her words, blood singing in her ears so loudly she was struggling to hear her own voice, "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I shouldn't have yelled at you like that, I shouldn't have-"

"Hey," at some point, he had gotten up and was lowering himself in front of her, brown eyes meeting hers, "Wendy, breathe."

"I know you're angry," her voice didn't sound like her own and Wendy swallowed past the sudden lump in her throat, trying to communicate that she could fix this, "I know. I'm sorry. I- I- I'll be better," her mind raced through the past couple of weeks. It had only been 2 weeks. He couldn't stop loving her in just two weeks, Vince was just angry. Hurt, "I can- I'm sorry. I shouldn't have yelled at you, I called you names, I said- Fuck, I said you're just like my parents-"

"Shh, honey, breathe," Vin was full on cupping her face now, pulling her closer by the arm, guiding her to the couch, "you're panicking."

She wasn't panicking, it was him who wasn't reacting enough!

"You- You don't love me anymore...?" Wendy whimpered, hooking her fingers on his shirt as Vince crouched down in front of her, so he could keep looking her in the eyes. She didn't believe it, couldn't believe it. He had- Just two months before he had promised he loved her more than anything. Children, no children. There was no way he had changed his mind over an argument, she had to make him see it-

"Wendy," Vince sighed, shaking his head, eyes a little too sparkly, "it's not like that-"

"Please tell me how I can fix this," she begged, "it's because I was- Fuck, I was so mean Saturday, it's because of that, right? I'm sorry, Vince, I didn't mean any of that, I was just angry-"

"It's not because of that," he interrupted her, face pinched as if he was in pain, "but I- I can't-"

"Let's do a break," she suggested, eyes burning and vision turning blurry. Anything but them being over, "Vin, Vin, Vin, look at me-" she grabbed his face, forcing him to look her in the eyes, "I'm sorry. Okay? I was awful- Please don't break up with me. Take- Take all the time you want, just-"

"I was gonna ask for a break," Vince whispered, his chin moving in her hand, tip of his nose suddenly slightly pink, voice wavering, "Saturday. I was."

"But?" Wendy wracked her brain, "please, Vin, we can fix this, we just need- Fuck, we'll do couple's therapy, whatever you want-"

"Apologize to Bella?"

Wendy pulled away, shocked, blinking several times and the tears she had been holding back fell one after the other. She felt like she had just been slapped, "this is about Bella?! You're breaking up with me because of Bella-"

"No," Vince scoffed, pulling back, sitting on the coffee table in front of her, "no. But all I have to do is bring up her name and this-" he gestured to all of her and Wendy flinched, feeling nauseous, "is back. Whoever the hell she is."

"You can't be serious," Wendy shook her head, "I get angry at one person and you want to break up- What- What about everything else you told me? Two months ago, Vince! Two fucking months ago!" Her voice raised as anger took over the sadness, "you said I was the love of your life and now you're just- Over Bella?!"

"It's not about Bella, it's about you!" Vince hissed, glaring at her, "you said it, this is you. And I can't- I won't be with someone who can be this cruel. Who can treat someone they love this shitty..."

"I don't believe you," Wendy ground her teeth, balling her hands into fists as she tried not to cry, "I don't. You love me. I- I love you. So fucking much. You know this- Couples- Vin, couples fight. All the time. We're just- It's just a fight..."

"It's not a fight," Vince shook his head, standing up and Wendy felt like a kid, still sitting down as he towered over her, arms crossed, moving across the room to put as much distance between them as he could, "I was gonna ask for a break, tell you to- Fix this. If you know how," his voice dripped with venom and Wendy suddenly could no longer see him past the tears, "get yourself together and then- Then we could get back-"

"Fuck, I'm not the monster you're painting me to be," Wendy whimpered, hugging herself, "I'm- You said you loved me. Why can't you just love me- All of me?" She sobbed, "am I so hard to lo-love? Why- Please-"

"And all of you, is cruel?" Vince's voice cut through her like a knife, "you broke my heart, Wendy... I- So many times, these past weeks, I can't even count it-"

"And-and you're breaking mine..." She squeezed her eyes shut, lowering her forehead to her knees, "pleas'don't-dothis... Please-" why couldn't he just stay? "I- I'll be better... I'll apologize to Bella. I'll apologize to anyone- Jussss' you said- Don't end this."

There was a pause, hesitance, and Wendy launched herself, latching on to it. He still loved her. She could turn this around. She'd apologize to anyone he wanted her to, she'd be better. Nicer, softer, gentler, like he wanted her to be-

"I'll- I'll call B-Bella right now..." Wendy sobbed, trying to think, looking around the room for her phone, "I'll fix this... Please, Vin, I can fix this, just let me-I'm not cruel. I'm not. I love you- And I can't just-Stop! You can't! I know you can't, you're lying to me- Or-Or-"

Or he had been lying all along.

It crashed over her like a wave, shutting Wendy up immediately. Maybe the lie wasn't that he no longer loved her, but that he ever had. Somewhere, in the deep recess of her mind, a voice whispered told you so.

She had been foolish thinking anyone could see all of her and love it. The good and the bad. And she should be angry at him, but instead all Wendy felt was immense disgust at herself. If she could cut the part of her that he didn't love with scissors, she would have.

"Please don't do this."

"I'm-" Vince locked his jaw, staring at some point above her head, "I'm gonna stop by tomorrow to pick up the rest of my stuff. I- It'd be better for us both if you're not here-"

Fuck. It felt like violence, that he could just talk about logistics, while her heart was breaking into a bunch of little pieces. It felt like a punch to her stomach, how resolute he was. Was he even listening?

"If you- You ever loved me," her voice broke, "please don't do this."

"And I'll leave my keys with Max- I do love you," his voice was harsh, angry now, "more than you fucking know."

"Then don't do this!" Wendy cried out, jumping up, "just don't do it. It's that simple, don't do it! Let me- Please, just don't do it. It's that fucking easy, I'll do the rest of the work, I'll- I'll be better. I'll apologize. I won't ever-"

"I wish you actually meant this," Vince said, in a tone so low she nearly didn't hear him. Wendy walked closer, trying to look him in the eyes, "I wish I believed you."

"I'm not lying," she shook her head, "we're happy. We're so happy- I can- You won't ever see me- Be like this again," she promised, grabbing his hands and dropping to her knees, which caused Vince to recoil, "we'll be happy again and I won't be mean and you won't-"

"And it won't be real," Vince groaned, grabbing her arms and pulling her up in one smooth motion, "don't fucking do this, Wen. Fuck, you think it's easy? You think I want this-"

"If you don't want this, don't do it!" She exclaimed, grabbing his shirt, "jusss-don't do it. Please."

How many times they had been at this precipice? How many times she had thought they were done for? When he moved away, when her relapse had happened, when she realized the futures they imagined couldn't be further apart... And yet, Wen realized now, none of those times it had been remotely real.

Now it was real. So real that she could barely see his face past the tears and so real that Wendy felt like she was dying. Vince hadn't ever, not once, said they'd break up. It was her, who had doubts and fears, he had believed in them from the first minute... And now he was ending it.

"I love you," Vince grabbed her face, pressed his mouth to her forehead, hands cupping the back of her head, "I love you so much... And I want you to be happy, Wen. I want-"

Yeah, he wanted all the good things in the world, while he was stomping on her heart. Wendy pressed her face to his chest, clutching him close, "don't do this- Stay, please just stay- If you love me, jusssstay-"

He pulled back, kissing the top of her head, unhooking her fingers from his shirt. His face was red now and Wendy could tell he was crying. Shaking too.

If she only could make him see that none of them wanted this-

"Wendy...." Vince opened his mouth, then closed it, regretting whatever he was going to say. Fine, I'll stay. I love you too much to walk away, "I'm gonna go now. Please, take care of yourself."

🎄  tree lighting ceremony

🎅🏻  holiday shopping

🌲  holiday movies

🌟  midnight mass / holiday service

🕎 lights/candles

✨  holiday decorations

🔥  cuddling by the fire

❄️  flurries

☃️  out in the snow

🌨  snowed in

💨  the coldest day this winter

🥘  hot soup/stew on a cold day

☕️  holiday coffeeshop date

🍵  tea/coffee/cocoa

🍪  cookies

⛸  ice skating

🥁  holiday music / carols

🧩  board games

✈️  holiday travel

🦠  sniffles

🥶 shivers

💊  coughs & colds

🌡  fevery cuddles

🤧 sick for the holidays

🎁  wrapping gifts

🎈  work party

📎 working through the holidays

🎉  new year’s eve

🏥 doctor / hospital visit

😵‍💫 holiday stress

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.