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He smells so good, and he looks like he put some effort into his appearance this morning. I want to ruffle his hair and undress him—muss him up a bit.
I don’t want my body to ever forget how this felt.
I tell myself it’s not a good look, being jealous of your best friend, but it’s hard when Nico would rather stroke a rattlesnake than touch me like that in public.
The joy I get when I see Nico’s name on the screen is embarrassing in its intensity. “Nico.” Everything I want to say is tucked between those four letters. I missed you these past couple days—please don’t push me away.
I missed him so badly it was hard to function.
“You should go.” Sam bumps his knee against mine. “We understand.” They would. All of them know how it feels to be so attached to another person that their pain feels like yours. I should go. Pulling my phone back out, I send Nico a quick text to let him know I’m on the way and to leave the door unlocked.
“I think we should stay together. Actually together, though, not this shit where we hook up and pretend it’s nothing more. I think we should get rid of your rules, because I want to fucking kiss you and I want to spend the entire night together. There are a couple other things I want, too, but we can start with that.” “I want those things, too,” Nico says, and I swear to god my heart nearly stops.
“That’s not an option,” I say harshly. Nico adjusts his leg and my hand slides to the couch. “Pick something else.”
But Corwin was right, and Nico was right, and it’s up to me to figure out what that means for me from here. I hope, at the very least, that Nico is happy.
I’ve never felt so unhappy in my life, and that is truly saying something.
Picking up his baseball cap from where he’d left it with his shoes for practice, Anthony jams it onto his head, causing his hair to stick out the sides haphazardly. I reach out and tuck a tuft behind his ear before my brain can catch up with my body. He smiles at me, warm and soft as his eyes, and I have to look away. That smile is hard to look at.
can hardly blame him, since I’m a little bit in love with him as well.
I miss him terribly, in a way uncomfortably similar to the way I missed my perfect vision right after I lost it; like something fundamental is missing from me.
For the first time in over a month, I feel happy.
“The magic hands of Anthony Lawson” is a direct quote from the live broadcast. If they only knew.
And just like that, I can feel my joy slipping away. I don’t want to go home to my humongous, empty house, and I don’t want to go out and find someone’s bed to warm for the night. I want one person, and it’s the one I can’t have.
I feel guilty for monopolizing their time, but seem unable to make myself stop. It’s better than being alone.
Oh my god, oh my fucking god. The room is dark, so I can only imagine what sort of mismatched clothes I’m grabbing. Snatching up a hoodie, I take the stairs at a jog. Was there an accident? Did he get hit by a car on campus? Fall down the stairs? She’s not telling me, and the absence of the information burns like an iron against my chest.
I thought I’d feel better, knowing what was going on. I was wrong—I feel horrible. When I had texted with Nico last week, he’d told me he had a cold. A fucking cold, that stubborn ass.
Eyes fluttering open and closed, like his eyelids are too heavy to keep open for long, he turns his head toward me. He stares at me for a long moment before I feel his fingers tighten weakly on mine. My relief is so palpable, I could cry. Indulgently, I reach my free hand up and brush it across his hair. He feels warm, which I hope is because of the extra blanket and not because his fever is coming back.
“Thanks for coming,” he says. “I’m glad you gave them my number. How are you actually feeling, since you just lied to the doctor?” I earn a smile all my own for that one, and I brush my thumb over his in a silent thank you. “Not great.” “We’ll get you home and in your own bed and maybe that will help.”
After a second, he looks at me. “Would you mind helping me?” The resignation is clear in his tone. Deciding that this will be less painful all around the quicker it’s done, I grab his clothes. Reaching behind him to untie the hospital gown, I hand him the long-sleeved shirt he must have come here in. He pulls it over his own head while I sort out the rest. Bending, I tug his socks on swiftly and then stand up to offer him a hand. When he rises, he sways dangerously and clenches his jaw. Once he’s got a hand on the bed and one on my shoulder, I kneel down to help him step into his jeans.
“I think I’m going to be embarrassed about this someday,” he tells me, “but right now I’m just happy to see you.”
Stepping between his legs, I reach around his shoulder and pull him into a soft hug. He lets me, which probably says more about how shitty he feels than anything on that medical chart. We sit there for far too long, given that we’re in a public place, but I can’t bring myself to move. He doesn’t smell right, with the clean hospital scent overtaking everything, but it’s him. Warm and blessedly alive.
Popping the passenger side door, I turn around to see him already standing. We reach for each other at the same time, me automatically putting a steadying arm around his low back, and him clutching my shoulder. He leans against me, hard; unthinkingly, I turn my head and brush the barest hint of a kiss across his temple. It’s not until he’s in the car, door closed, and I’m returning the wheelchair to the lobby that I see the cell phones.
Neither one of us has anything to say for a few minutes, and the silence stretches unbearably. I know how independent and stubborn he is; for him to give the hospital my number to call feels like a big step, and I’m not quite sure what that will translate to in the future. One thing I know for sure is you don’t list a hook up as your emergency contact.
On my way out the door, I stop dead as I notice something hanging on the wall. Above his dresser, in a spot he’d see it every day, is the quick sketch I’d done and given him. It’s framed, and is the only piece of artwork he has hung up in the entire house. My eyes burn as I stare at it. He wouldn’t have kept it if I—we—didn’t mean anything to him.
I want to kiss him so badly I have to clench my hands on my knees to keep from reaching for him.
“Mm.” Nico watches me. “You could lay down with me, if you wanted.” Another gut punch, this one served with a side of longing so potent I can taste it. “I wouldn’t want to disturb you.” He considers this for a long, quiet moment. “You sitting in that chair, watching me sleep, is already pretty disturbing.” “Okay, smartass.” Smiling, I stand and move the chair back to its respective corner.
There is a faint rustle of fabric as he adjusts himself, trying to find the pocket of warmth he’d created before. “No, I was only going to say you could come closer, if you want.” “Are you sure?” “I’m sure.”
I’ve barely stopped moving before Nico pushes himself back against me, tucking his hips into the wider cradle of mine. I suck in a surprised breath, and drop my arm around him automatically.
I want him to smell like my Nico, which is, of course, wildly absurd. He’s not my anything.
“For practice, you mean? Yes. I missed today, but unless I want to be benched for our next game, I can’t miss anymore. But I’ll be back, as soon as it’s over. Might stop by home first and pick up some clothes and a toothbrush, but then I’ll be back.” “Oh.” Relief is clear in his voice. “That’s good. I’ll miss you when you go.”
“Well, I’ll just stay until you tell me to leave. You don’t have to miss me at all.” He shifts under my arm, and sighs. It’s a short, painful barb of a breath. “You’d be easy to fall in love with, if I didn’t know what a spectacularly bad idea that would be.”
“I’m sorry, Anthony.” I rub a soothing hand over his chest. I’m sorry, too, that he thinks falling in love with me would be a ‘spectacularly bad idea’. “Don’t be. I just don’t want you to say something you’ll regret once you’re not hopped up on those good hospital drugs.”
Anthony is curled around me, big body aligned with mine and nose tickling the back of my ear. He’s dead asleep, breathing the slow, heavy breaths of the exhausted. His arm is a substantial dead weight over me, and he’s crooked his fingers into the neck of the hoodie, knuckles grazing my throat when I move. In the way that often happens when you’re sick, I have the sudden and unexplainable urge to cry.
Running my fingers along his forearm, I turn as much as I’m able with his arm around me. “Anthony?” He wakes up much quicker than I’d intended, arm banding around my chest before loosening just as quickly. He half sits up so that he’s looming over me. I feel his fingers touch the side of my face. “Sorry, Nico, what is it? You okay?” Ugh, and here I go, wanting to fucking cry again. Swallowing around the now painful lump in my throat, I cough briefly before speaking. I sound ridiculously weak, even to my own ears. “I’m fine, I just have to go to the bathroom.”
He’s standing by the other door, clearly on his way out of the room. “Oh, you’re leaving?” It’s pitiful, how desperate I sound just then. I don’t even care. What I care about is him not leaving. He’s probably not going for good, though, seeing as he’s in his underwear and nothing else. “No. I’m going to go get you some soup though. Do you think you could eat a little bit? You’re not supposed to take medicine on an empty stomach, and you’re due for antibiotics in a half hour.”
He looks nervous—worried that I’m going to be offended by his concern. It’s not a comfortable thought, but he’s right.
I must have been a Saint in a previous life, to have been given Anthony in this one. As embarrassing as it is, I’m willing to trade my pride for a shower right now. Besides, it’s not as though he hasn’t seen me naked. “Okay. Thank you.” “Of course.” The relief on his face is so evident, it’s disheartening. He was expecting me to argue.
I feel the soft rumble of a laugh against my back, and a soft kiss on my shoulder.
And, perhaps also inappropriately, I want to keep Anthony’s hands on me for as long as possible.
It all feels so right, pneumonia notwithstanding, having him here like this; I want to revive our conversation from before and reassess. Maybe there’s a solution that will keep that hand on my leg and that smile on his face.
I see Anthony relaxed against the headboard, dark eyes on mine and hair nearly black with damp from the shower. He looks masculine, healthy, and so damn beautiful, it’s intolerable.
“You kept that.” Frowning, I follow his line of sight to my dresser and see the drawing I framed. “Oh, yeah. Of course, I did.” When I look back at him there is a tender expression on his face, and his thumb brushes down the side of my leg. I wonder if I should tell him how much I actually treasure that piece of paper. It’s the first gift I’ve received in years, and the only one from him. If my house was on fire, it’s the first thing I’d grab on my way out the door.
Grinning, he swallows the last of the soup and reaches around me to place the empty bowl on the nightstand. This change in position puts his face dangerously close to mine; I’d only have to close two inches of space to kiss him.
Anthony rolls onto his back as I fit myself against his side, and uses his arm around my shoulders to pull me onto him. Sliding down a bit to accommodate for my longer frame, I lay my head down and use his chest as a pillow. He makes a happy little sound in the back of his throat that I tuck away into my heart to pull out on a rainy day. I adjust myself, trying to find a comfortable way to lay half on top of him. I’m not used to this level of affection, and I’m not certain what I’m supposed to do with my arms and legs.
“Can you breathe okay, like this?” he asks, voice rumbling through the ear pressed against his chest. “Yes.” “Warm enough?” “Yes.” His arms tighten and I feel the brush of a kiss on my scalp. Who knew it was possible to feel so awful and so good at the same time?
Talk about what, exactly? How I made a mistake, keeping him at arm’s length all summer? How obvious it became, once he was in my life, that I was miserable before? How empty and alone I am now that he’s been gone? How badly I want him back, but how unprepared I am for what that might look like? Yes, Nico, tell him all the things you’d like to talk about.
“This is awful, how do people function when…” When someone they love is sick. Shoving the rest of that sentence back where it belongs, I bang my head lightly against the wall. I can tell Corwin heard it anyway, by the tone of his voice. “Just do the best you can. Miss today and we’ll regroup tomorrow. I’ll talk to Coach, all right? We’ve all had to handle family matters during the season. You’re not the first person to miss some time.”
