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iwritesickfic · 4 years

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perfect, part 1

“You don’t look well,” Bo says, and Dell waves a hand in dismissal.

“I look fine.” he slides into the car next to the younger man and the driver starts off before the door is even closed.

“Ok, you look fine, but I can tell...” He trails off, and Dell laughs softly. Even under the weather he looks lovely. It’d be very hard to tell if you didn’t see him everyday, but because he does, Bo notices every bit that’s off. he’s considerably paler, and his eyes are red rimmed like they are when he hasn’t gotten any sleep. His lips are chapped, and the way he keeps touching his septum with his knuckle is evidence something’s wrong.

All that said, he looks otherwise immaculate. His shirt is ironed and crisp as normal, his curls are brushed the way they always are, he’s clean shaven and obnoxiously punctual.

“What can you tell?” He asks, teasing, and Bo sighs, glancing again at the driver. He lowers his voice.

“That you’re ill.” Dell smirks.

“And what does my being ill matter?” He doesn’t bother lowering his voice. Bo sighs.

“It matters because you probably need some rest and some tea and a day off instead of running around-” Dell cuts him short.

“Do I have time for a day off?” Bo frowns. They absolutely don’t. It’s been only a few weeks since Dell’s mother, reigning queen of their tiny, forgotten, european country announced her decision to step down. Which meant Dell, the royal family’s only son, would be king. And for Bo, the personal assistant hired by his mother, meant an extreme uptick in the amount of things he needed to manage per day.

“We could -”

“Don’t say we could work something out. We can’t work something out. This week is busy and we’re not cancelling everything just because you’re under the impression I have a cold.” Dell seems completely unwilling to keep the conversation between just the two of them, so Bo stops keeping his voice low.

“I’m under the impression?”

“Have I said I don’t feel well?” Bo sighs.

“No.”

“So it remains to be seen.”

The truth is that Dell doesn’t need an assistant. At least not one that rides with him to appointments and is constantly within five feet. Dell needs someone who will answer his emails, not someone to babysit him. Especially not someone a year and half younger. He’s been cordial but it’s clear he doesn’t really enjoy Bo’s presence. He’s not condescending or anything, he just seems to get a lot of fun out of joking and teasing and sarcasm.

“Just trying to be nice,” Bo says, and Dell gives an almost sad smile.

“Your job isn’t to be nice to me or ask if I’m ill, Bowen. It’s to make sure I get to the places I need to be to do my job. The concern is very kind but it’s not necessary.”

Bo wants to argue, but he won’t. He’s not concerned because he thinks it’s necessary. He’s concerned because over the past two months he’s grown to actually care about him. He won’t say that though, because though Dell would probably just find it funny there’s a major possibility that someone up the chain of command would find it unprofessional. Also, he doesn’t need to give Dell any more ammunition for teasing.

So, they go about the day as normal, Dell being his normally charming self through meetings and lunch and meetings and dinner while Bo sits a few feet to the left, taking notes or answering emails or trying to look occupied. The most awkward hour of the day is when Bo is forced to sit in on Dell’s meal with his girlfriend. He’s seated a table away, but it doesn’t change the fact that it’s still Bo’s job to eavesdrop on them.

By the end of the day, back in the car to the palace, Dell looks considerably worse. As much as he can look worse. He’s started to sniffle, and he’s definitely more pale than he was this morning. The most worrisome thing is that he’s started to shiver. Bo doesn’t mention it.

They part ways, Bo headed to his small apartment on the palace grounds, Dell headed to a likely gorgeous private wing decorated with art that costs more than Bo’s salary.

The next morning Dell looks worse - his eyes are still bleary, and even in a thick sweater he’s shivering. His nose is a little pink, and he’s carrying a travel packet of tissues when he climbs into the car. It’s a rainy March morning, warm enough to keep snow at bay but cold enough to be unpleasant.

“Should I -” Dell cuts him off, his voice sounding a bit deeper and raspier than normal.

“No, it’s fine. I can manage.” He gives the younger man one of signature charming smiles and Bo feels something in his chest melt a little bit. He tries to shove it down. He should not feel this way about his boss. His straight, taken, totally-out-of-his-league boss. Still, Dell seems to sense his nerves. “Something’s wrong?” He asks, still smirking. Bo feels his cheeks heat.

“No, nothing.” He forces a little smile before burying his face back into his phone, pretending to write an email.

“What’s on the schedule?” Bo’s grateful to have something concrete to focus on.

“Uh, the garden dedication. Oh, shit.” Dell standing out in the cold drizzle for an hour and a half is not going to be good. They’ve got umbrellas but the cold is bad enough on its own. “We could try -”

“It’s ok,” he gestures to his coat and scarf, “I’m prepared for it.”

“But...” Bo bites his lip.

“You’re worried I’ll catch my death?” Dell teases, and Bo rolls his eyes.

“That’d be a blessing.”

“Then who would bother you all day?”

“I’m sure you’d find a way.

“Right I would.”

Despite all of Dell’s protests, after about five minutes of standing outside for the ceremony he looks miserable. At least Bo can tell he’s miserable. To anyone else he probably looks fairly normal, apart from constantly wiping his nose. It’s baffling how everything he does he manages to make look polite and charming and sophisticated.

When the event is over, Bo can see the relief in Dell’s entire posture. That is until his mother approaches them.

“Bowen we won’t be needing you for the rest of the day. Consider it some paid time off.”

Bo’s eyebrows furrow but before he can say anything Dell speaks up.

“Why is that?” He seems tense again, though Bo isn’t sure why. Truthfully he’d much rather spend a day following Dell around than home alone watching television, even more so because it’s clear Dell’s walking the line between a cold and something worse. And Bo is well aware no one but him gives a damn about how Dell actually feels.

“There’s no need, you’ll be with us the rest of the day.”

Dell looks like he wants to argue but he just gives a polite smile. He gives Bo a little nod.

“I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Bo hesitates, he wants to object, wants to insist he stay, but he doesn’t. He just nods and takes the car back to the palace, changing out of his semi-damp clothes and into some sweats. The rest of the day passes slowly, and he decides that at 8:30, he’s going to Dell’s room with some tea. He shouldn’t be so worried, but he is, and the only way to get his mind to stop racing is just to confirm that Dell is in fact doing just fine.

At 8:25 he grabs the thermos of tea and sets off toward Dell’s bedroom. He’s been here a few times, mostly on mornings when they can’t wait until they get in the car to talk logistics, but never for any kind of personal reason. He’s not really sure if it’s allowed, but he’ll take the chance.

When he finally arrives to the door it takes him a minute to gather the courage to knock. The door opens slowly to reveal Dell in an oversized t shirt and boxers, flushed and shimmering with sweat, his curls stringy and limp. Bo’s never even seen him in a shirt without buttons, let alone boxers and a t shirt. The room is freezing, Bo can feel it seeping out into the hallway. Dell looks mildly confused, his eyes half lidded.

“Is there something we need to talk about?” His voice is hoarse and broken in places, some of the sounds rounded from congestion. He sniffles wetly.

“No, I uh...” Bo is so taken aback he’s having a hard time formulating a sentence. “I brought some tea.” He holds it out sort of awkwardly, and Dell takes it, cracking a small smile. They stand there in silence for a few moments, and Bo swears he can see the older man swaying on his feet. One of his hands rests on the door frame.

“That’s all?” He asks, and the teasing tone in his voice is apparent. Evidently Dell is never ill enough to let Bo off the hook.

“Yeah, I guess. I mostly wanted to see how your cold was.”

“Worried about me?” He asks, still smiling, and Bo rolls his eyes. he’s about to reply when Dell breaks into a fit of coughs. They sound like they come from deep in his chest, like they hurt. By the time he’s done he’s trembling, all the color gone from his face. “Before you ask, yes, I feel awful.”

“Can I come in?” The words slip out before Bo has a chance to hold them back. Dell raises his eyebrows.

“You wanna come in?”

“Uh, no, I-um, I ju-” Bo mumbles before Dell cuts him off.

“No, it’s fine. Yeah, come in. Sorry, it’s a little bit much.”

Bo hesitantly steps inside and Dell closes the door. Bo’s never actually been inside any of the core royal family member’s suites. The lights are off and the curtains are drawn, but when Dell flips on a lamp Bo’s able to get a decent look.

the room is massive, and though the furniture looks undoubtedly expensive, it doesn’t look how Bo expected it to. It’s more modern and minimal than he anticipated. It doesn’t really match the aesthetics of the rest of the room - the marble floor, intricate wallpaper, fancy wood working all scream excess while all the furniture though obviously well made is understated.

There’s a sitting area with a television, a huge bed, and what appears to be an equally massive bathroom and closet. One of the windows is open, which explains the cold, and Dell waves him over to where he’s sitting on the couch. He sits gingerly, and Dell gives a weary smile.

“Now you know how the other half lives.”

“That’s not why I wanted to come in.” Dell just raises his eyebrows. “I wanted to just uh, make sure you’re alright.” Dell sighs and rubs his eyes. He sniffles.

“We’ve got tomorrow off, I’ll be fine. Just need some sleep.” He sniffles again, and wipes his red tinged nose with a tissue. Bo’s heart is pounding.

“You need more than sleep.” He has no idea where he’s getting all this courage. Dell smirks.

“And what do I need?”

“Well you’ve got a fever, clearly, and that cough sounds pretty bad. I don’t know if sleep will do it, especially considering the temperature in here.” Dell looks sort of impressed.

“You wanna look after me.” It’s not a question. Bo freezes.

“I mean...if you wanted somebody to -”

“Bowen, I’ll be honest with you.” Bo’s heart stops completely. “It’s been probably 15 years since I’ve had anyone look after me because I was sick. And even then, no one’s ever done it for free. And I’m pretty sure you know this isn’t part of your job. So my question is, why?”

A thousand thoughts are running through his head, but none of them seem quite right to say out loud. Because he has a desperate crush? Because he’s worried? Because his heart hurts thinking about him all alone sick as he is?

“I care about you. Even though you...hate me, I don’t wanna leave you all alone like this.” Dell laughs softly, and Bo feels his heart sink until he hears him speak.

“Why would you think I hate you?”

“It’s...it’s obvious.” Dell laughs again, this time breaking into a fit of coughs.

“Christ, Bo.” He shakes his head and pushes his hair off his face. His hands are shaking. “I don’t have the energy or the lung capacity to talk about this right now.” He’s takes an unsteady breath. “Listen, I would be...I would be so fucking grateful if you wanted to look after me. If you wanted to.”

For once, Bo doesn’t over think his answer.

“Of course I do.” Dell smiles and swallows hard.

“Thank you.” His voice is almost a whisper. Bo’s frozen for a few moments before he breaks their gaze.

“Have you taken anything?” Dell looks confused. “For the fever.”

“The fever?” Bo finally cracks a smile himself.

“I mean, I haven’t checked yet or anything but I think it’s safe to say you’ve got a fever.” He reaches out to test Dell’s forehead but pauses. “can I?”

“Go for it.”

The moment his palm connects with Dell’s overheated skin he winces. It’s worse than he was anticipating. The blonde is absolutely on fire. He tests his cheek, then again with the back of his hand.

“Your hands are freezing,” Dell mumbles, and Bo wants to push his damp curls out of his eyes but he just pulls his hand back. Dell seems almost disappointed.

“No, you’ve got a fever, it just feels like it. I’ve gotta get a thermometer though to see what exactly we’re dealing with. What else is....what’s going on? Other than the cough.”

“Head hurts. My nose is a fucking mess, too.” Bo hasn’t seen very much but even still he knows what Dell’s talking about. It’s red, peeling a bit around the base of his nostrils, and every few moments he gives a wet sniffle.

“Well you definitely need some ibuprofen. And water too, probably. And some tissues.”

“I think that’s a fair conclusion.” He shivers, and Bo gets up to close the window.

“Alright, well I’ll just go back -” Dell cuts him off.

“No, no, I’ve got everything. In the bathroom,” he says, slumped further on the couch, still shivering.

“Yeah?” Bo’s a bit surprised. It doesn’t seem like Dell would’ve ever had the need for a thermometer. Ibuprofen is a little easier to understand, but even then he can’t picture Dell ever needing any sort of help. Dell just nods, and Bo walks to the bathroom door, too aware of Dell’s eyes on him. He opens the medicine cabinet and though he’s not sure what he expected, it certainly wasn’t shelves of cold and flu remedies. Even more surprising is that they almost all look half-used.

“You getting lost in there?” Dell calls, and Bo snaps back to the current task, grabbing the thermometer and one of the few bottles of ibuprofen. When he steps back into the larger room, Dell’s slumped on the couch, wrapped in a heavy blanket.

Bo sits down on the coffee table in front of him and their knees touch. He fiddles with the thermometer for a moment before handing it to Dell, who places it under his tongue.

“You’ve got a lot of stuff in there,” he says after a few awkward moments of silence and Dell gives a tired smirk.

“Are you going to ask me about it or is that just an observation?” He says around the small device. Bo tries to backpedal.

“No, I’m - I was just...I wasn’t expecting it, that’s all.”

“And why not?” Dell seems to find it funny, making Bo nervous.

“I don’t know, I guess -” Dell cuts him off.

“I don’t look like someone who gets sick very often?” He asks, and Bo swallows hard.

“Yeah, I mean I...” Bo tries to think of something that would indicate Dell’s lack of vulnerability. “You’re just always so perfect, I guess.” He almost regrets the words. Is it too obvious to call him perfect? The thermometer beeps before Dell can reply, and Bo’s glad. Well he’s glad until he sees the reading - 102.4. The worry must show on his face because Dell starts to speak.

“What is it?” His voice is so weary.

“102.4, that’s -” Dell cuts him off before he can finish.

“Not so bad. I could probably manage on my own if you don’t want to stay. I wouldn’t hold it against you,” he says, and while for a second Bo thinks it might be some weird guilt trip manipulation tactic, Dell looks completely genuine. Nonchalant even. Bo bites his lip, debating what his response should be. He’s pulled back to reality when Dell starts to sit up.

“Hey, it’s alright, what do you need?” He puts a hand on his shoulder, easing him back into the cushions. Dell looks confused.

“I was gonna grab some water,” he says, and Bo nods.

“Ok, just let me know I’ll get whatever you need.” He’s about to get up when he pauses. “Listen, if you were implying that you want me to leave, I definitely will, but trust me I wouldn’t be doing this if I didn’t want to be.”

“I don’t want you to feel obligated to work without pay,” he says, and Bo sighs.

“It’s not...I’m...” He doesn’t know how else to phrase it without just admitting he cares for him, and he decides it’s not the most pressing thing to address at the moment. “Whatever. Where’s -”

“The kitchen.” He nods toward an archway near the back of the room, and Bo nods.

“Alright. I’ll be right back.” He’s already in the small - yet somehow still expensive looking - kitchen when he hears Dell speak again.

“You don’t need to tell me you’ll be right back. I can make the assumption,” he calls, and Bo smiles. He’s a little shocked when he opens the fridge. He was expecting it to be empty - the royal family has a chef on staff - but it’s got a decent supply. It’s healthy food too, which makes Bo smile a bit as well. It’s exactly what he’d expect from Dell, it’s the perfection that seeps into everything he touches. There’s no beer, no half-empty ketchup, no old take out containers or anything that could be considered “dessert”. Even in this place where presumably no one but Dell should ever be, everything is perfect. He grabs a bottle of water and walks back into the main room.

“You cook a lot?” he asks, and Dell nods, taking the bottle. He manages to open it even though his hands are shaking. “I wouldn’t have guessed.” He takes a small sip.

“I guess I’m just a surprising person, hm?” Bo’s almost totally distracted from the matter at hand, but when he gets a better look at Dell’s appearance, he feels a small pang of worry in his chest. He’s really shivering, his cheeks are flushed and his breath is unsteady, his lips chapped from breathing through his mouth.

“Alright, time for ibuprofen.” He grabs the bottle and shakes two into his palm, passing them to Dell who downs them with a swig of water. He starts to cough right after, almost doubling over and burying his face in his sleeve. Bo’s anxious listening, they sound so desperate, trying so hard to expel the illness that sits so heavy in his chest, moving enough to make his cough sound deep and painful, but not enough to give any real relief.

When he’s finally done he’s almost hyper ventilating trying to catch his breath, and Bo wishes there was something he could do more than just sit and watch. He places a careful hand on Dell’s shoulder and hands him back the water, which Dell drinks eagerly. He lets out a shaky little laugh.

“Sorry, that’s so gross,” he says, his voice still a bit raw from the coughing fit. Bo frowns.

“It’s not, don’t worry about that.” Dell seems to relax a little beneath his hand, closing his eyes, and Bo uses to other to feel his forehead. He probably should’ve asked first, but Dell doesn’t seem to mind, letting out a small contented sigh. He’s really burning, Bo thinks it’s probably safe to say this is the worst fever he’s ever felt. He pulls his hand away. “I’m gonna grab something,” he says, and Dell nods, eyes still closed.

He grabs a washcloth from the bathroom and soaks it in cold water. He wringing out the excess when he hears Dell’s voice.

“Are you coming right back? You didn’t specify.”

“How can you be so sick and still have energy to tease me?” He asks, arriving back at the couch. He presses the washcloth to Dell’s forehead and he lets out a small sigh of relief, eyes fluttering shut.

“Fuck,” he breathes, and Bo moves it to the side of his throat.

“I haven’t used one of these in forever,” he mumbles, and Bo furrows his eyebrows.

“What do you mean?” He flips the compress over, laying the cool side back on his forehead.

“They’re hard to use. You have to lay really still.” Bo decides it’s finally time to ask the question that’s been eating at him.

“You get sick a lot?” Dell opens his eyes, a little smile on his lips.

“What gave you that idea, Sherlock?” Bo gives an indignant laugh.

“I mean I thought so but, I don’t know, it seemed like a personal question.” Dell raises his eyebrows.

“Well I think it should be pretty obvious. Considering how much we see each other.”

“What?” Bo’s very confused now, and Dell looks surprised, but expression quickly changes to one of understanding.

“How many times have you seen me sick, Bo?” It sounds like a trick question.

“Once. Today. Or twice I guess if you count yesterday.” Dell rubs his eyes.

“Well my mother hired you in January, I believe, so that’s two months. In winter no less.” He stops a moment, as if he’s calculating. “I’ve honestly been sick more often than not, I just thought you knew.”

“What? No, of course I didn’t know. I never - fuck, Dell, I -” His heart feels like it’s breaking. Dell, on the other hand, looks sort of amused.

“It’s ok, really. I like you a little more now though to be honest. I always assumed you just didn’t give a shit, but -”

“Of course I do! I -” He stutters, trying to sift through his memories to find out how he missed this. He’s shocked into silence when Dell puts a hand on his shoulder, then on his cheek. His expression has softened.

“It’s ok. Really. I’ll admit I try not to let it interfere with anything, I guess it’s just obvious to me because I’m the one who feels like shit, but I guess it’s good to hear the facade is almost flawless. You noticed this morning, but I guess this is also an exceptionally shitty cold or flu or whatever.” He takes his hand back, and only then Bo registers how warm it was. He sets his jaw.

“Do you wanna sleep here or in bed?” Dell seems taken aback.

“Uh, bed, I guess?” Bo gives a quick nod and pulls him up, supporting him for the short distance. When he’s seated on the bed, Bo wordlessly starts to collect the thermometer, his water bottle, the extra blanket. When he gets back, he slides the thermometer under his tongue.

“What’s going on?” He says around the device, and Bo gives him a serious look.

“I’m making up for the last two months.”

#My writing #oc dell #oc bo #sickfic #fever #perfectseries

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iwritesickfic · 4 years

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perfect, part 2

Over the course of the night, Dell occasionally lets details slip that give Bo a better picture of what his health is like. No matter what he has, he always runs a fever. The picture of health is a combination of various medications, caffine, and Dell’s general ability to maintain his poise. If it comes on during the week, he’ll need to keep it at bay until the weekend, or his soonest day off. Then it’s a mad dash to feel better before he needs to work again.

Bo sees several major flaws in the plan, and while Dell is propped up next to the humidifier, nursing a cup of tea, he decides to bring them up.

“Your methodology might not be so great,” he says, and Dell raises his eyebrows.

“Yeah? How so?” His voice is laced with sarcasm, but Bo just ignores it.

“If you don’t ever give yourself time to fully recover from something it’s just going to come back. It’ll just stretch the whole thing out. Wouldn’t it be worth taking a day off to spare another week of feeling like shit?”

“Astute observation, haven’t considered that,” he says, deadpan, and Bo frowns.

“Ok so then why -” Dell interrupts.

“Your math is off. Listen. Amount of days I can take off, zero. Amount of scheduled free time, static. Your equation is only considering I take time off. Which I can’t.” Bo sighs. Dell can do whatever he wants to do.

“I’ve seen your schedule, you could definitely take a day off,” he says, and Dell nods.

“That’s true.” He seems so casual, so uninterested, it’s almost annoying.

“So why not?” Dell takes a long sip of tea before turning his gaze to meet Bo’s.

“You’re forgetting something.” He pauses. “Someone, rather.” When he finally understands, he scoffs.

“Your mother?” He says, and when he sees Dell’s expression is still serious he feels bad for being so dismissive. “You’re an adult, she can’t -”

“She can. And she does.” A shiver rips through him and Bo feels awful for even bringing it up when Dell is so clearly already miserable.

“Do you own any sweatshirts?” He asks, and the question seems to catch Dell off guard. He laughs softly.

“What?” Bo’s glad the tension has lifted somewhat.

“You look cold, I wanna grab you something.” He’s really shivering now, so much so that he’s started to curl in on himself, presumably in an effort to keep warm. Dell shakes his head, his eyes closed. “You don’t have a hoodie?”

He opens his eyes a bit.

“I shouldn’t, it’ll make the fever worse.” Bo sighs. He wishes he could really comfort him. Hold him. Instead, he just gets up, walking over to the closet that looks like it could be its own room.

He flips on the light. Everything’s immaculate, as he expected, but there’s a drawer half open in the very back, and that’s where he finds Dell’s tiny collection of actual, comfortable clothes. He pulls out an oversized sweatshirt that feels soft from long term use, a few holes near the hem. It’s got a faded image, he can’t exactly make it out.

Walking back into the bedroom, he hears the tail end of a coughing fit. Dell’s just catching his breath when Bo hands him the sweater. Without warning, Dell pulls off his t-shirt, and Bo isn’t sure what exactly he should be looking at. It’s only his chest, it shouldn’t be a big deal, but it’s Dell. Dell who he thinks is so handsome. Dell who has a girlfriend. His body is perfect, no surprise there, except for a large scar that runs down his sternum. As he’s pulling on the sweater he seems to realize Bo’s staring.

“Yeah I know. It’s pretty bad.”

“No, it’s - it’s not that, that’s not why I...you just uh, you have a nice body. Or muscles, I mean. You’re in shape. But I guess I already knew that.” Bo stutters out, feeling himself digging a deeper and deeper hole. “I mean obviously I’ve never - just like, your arms, I guess -” Dell smiles.

“Relax, it’s fine. You hitting on me, it’s flattering.” It’s clearly just to push his buttons, but Bo can’t resist.

“I wasn’t hitting on you.” He hopes his flustered tone doesn’t give off the wrong message. Dell smirks.

“That’s a shame.” If Bo didn’t know any better he’d think Dell was flirting with him. But of course he isn’t. It’s just Dell being Dell.

“Do you feel any better?” he asks, and Dell sniffles, rubbing at his red nose with the cuff of his sleeve.

“Not really.” Bo feels his forehead, then again with the backs of his fingers. The medication had kept the fever down for a few hours but it’s clear it’s coming back full force. He’s still trembling with chills, jaw clenched to keep his teeth from chattering.

He shakes a few ibuprofen into Dell’s palm, and hands him the now lukewarm tea. He downs them quickly, wincing as they scrape past his likely-sore throat.

“You can probably go once I fall asleep,” he says, and burrows himself deeper into the comforter.

“Do you want me to go?” Bo asks, voice soft, and Dell sniffles wetly before answering.

“I want you to enjoy your time off.” He’s almost totally underneath the heavy white comforter now, just his eyes and his mop of curls visible.

“If I leave you here like this I definitely won’t.”

Dell sniffles again, and it takes a moment for him to reply.

“Well then, I guess you’ll have to stay.”

Dell falls asleep a little while later, but not before telling Bo how to use his coffee maker. It’s a french press, and Dell does an alright job, but between running a fever and not actually having it in his hands, Bo ended up having to google it anyway. He’s not very tired but he’d like to stay up as long as he can to keep an eye on Dell. He’s not a child, but sick as he is he’s basically helpless.

So Bo’s sitting in a likely expensive chair, drinking coffee, about a foot to Dell’s right, and alternating between reading Dell’s worn out “collected works of shakespeare” and scrolling through instagram. He’s just finishing a page when he hears coughing from under the covers. He keeps his eyes on the bed to see if Dell will get up - he’s probably due for more fever reducers anyway, so that wouldn’t be such a bad thing.

The coughing eases up though without him emerging from the nest of blankets, so Bo goes back to reading. Only maybe a minute later it starts again, and Bo puts a hand on the mattress.

“Dell,” he says, half whispering, and the coughing starts to taper off. Again, less than a minute passes before he’s gripped in another fit. When it’s finally over, he untangles himself from the comforter and weakly pushes himself up on an elbow. He doesn’t seem to notice Bo is there, which just speaks to how bad his fever must be, and he takes a moment before sitting up all the way, resting his head in his hands. Bo’s not sure what to do. Make his presence known? Wait for Dell to notice?

He turns so one foot is on the floor, and he’s about to stand up when Bo puts a hand on his shoulder. Even through the sweatshirt, which is now almost damp, he can feel the heat of the fever.

Dell just looks up at him, confused, and Bo kneels down so they’re face to face. He still looks puzzled. Not alarmed or freaked out, which is good, but puzzled isn’t particularly good either.

“Wh-” He barely gets out a sound before launching into another fit of coughs, practically doubling over, face buried in his sleeve and Bo’s pretty sure the only thing keeping Dell on the bed is his hands on his shoulders. When he gets a respite, he half sits back up, his nose streaming. A sniffle makes his breath catch and forces out a few more coughs, and Bo graduates to letting him rest his forehead on Bo’s shoulder.

“You don’t need to get up, I’ve got it,” he says, and Dell shakes his head. “I do. I’ve got it. Lay back down.”

“No, I need meds,” he mumbles, the congestion apparent in his voice.

“I’ll grab em. Just stay in bed, alright?” Dell doesn’t reply, just shifts himself back onto the mattress, closing his eyes as another fit wracks his frame. Hurriedly, Bo grabs the thermometer, a bottle of cough syrup from the cabinet, a washcloth, and another bottle of water. When he gets back there’s enough space for him to sit halfway on the bed - one leg up, the other on the floor. Hesitantly, he feels his forehead - not that he needs to, but it seems a better way to wake him than to shake his shoulder. Sure enough, his eyes open, and he finally seems to actually see who’s in front of him.

“Bo,” he says, and Bo is sure he’s imagining it but it almost looks like he’s wearing a hint of a smile.

“Yeah, it’s me.” He brushes a few of the damp curls off his forehead. His eyelids flutter.

“It is you,” he says, and Bo almost wants to laugh.

“That’s correct.” He was hoping a little bit of conversation would make him more lucid, but no such luck. he grabs the washcloth from the nightstand and presses it to Dell’s overheated forehead. He doesn’t really react, which is a little worrying.

“But is it you? Is it really you?” He sounds like he’s trying to evaluate some philosophical idea.

“It’s really me,” he says, and flips the cloth so the cool side rests on his skin. “Can I take your temp?” He’s going to either way, but better to ask first.

“I have a fever,” he says. It sounds more like an unrelated statement than it an answer, but Bo slips the device under his tongue.

“That’s true.” It’s a few moments before the thermometer beeps, and Bo frowns when he sees the reading. 103.2. He looks back at Dell. “What’s the worst you’ve ever had?”

“Fuck...” He sighs and closes his eyes for a moment. “I think it was...my last year at university.” His voice is slow and lazy, as if he’s drunk. Not that Bo can actually picture Dell getting wasted enough to start slurring his words. “It wasn’t bad, really, but i found out she set up her phone. On my dresser. So she could sell it. The video.” Bo is deeply confused, eyebrows furrowed.

“What are you talking about?” He really hopes Dell isn’t fully delirious, that would be exceptionally bad. Dell opens his eyes, looking almost annoyed.

“You asked me the worst I ever had.” It takes Bo a moment to understand, then he can’t stop himself from laughing. Sex.

“No, that’s not what I meant. Why would I - and why would you even -” Dell frowns.

“So what did you mean then?” Now he looks confused, and Bo presses his palm to his forehead again. He doesn’t really need to, but Dell seems to like it and it’s the only comforting touch he can justify.

“Fever. Worst fever.” He’s guessing his fevers typically spike like this, but he can’t be sure without asking. Dell hums softly.

“104 probably. Somewhere around there. Probably higher but I was probably unconscious.” Bo breathes an inward sigh of relief. He’s definitely not doing great but at least it’s not catastrophic. He coughs again, luckily it doesn’t escalate into a whole fit but from the look on his face Bo can tell it’s painful. He uncaps the ibuprofen. “I need meds, Bo,” Dell mumbles, and Bo puts the tablets into his palm. He’s about to hand him the water when Dell just knocks them back dry. Sort of impressive, but also probably indicative of how often he actually needs ibuprofen that he’s gotten so good at it.

Bo is squinting to read the cough syrup label when Dell speaks.

“Top line. 10 mull.” Bo’s confused for a moment before he laughs again. M-L.

“Milliliters?” Bo says, even though he already knows.

“I guess,” he mumbles and takes the little cup. He downs it quickly, pushing himself up somewhat so he can have a drink of water. When he’s done he lays, more like falls, back down and lets out a heavy sigh.

“Thank you,” he says, but it doesn’t look like he’s feeling any better than he did before. Bo wishes there was more he could do. Anything more. He breaks into another fit of desperate coughs, burying them in his sleeve, and when he pulls back his nose is a mess. He sniffles, but Bo knows that’s not fixing anything.

“Here.” He hands Dell a few tissues and he wipes his nose, folding the tissue into neat little squares. When he’s done, he lets out a heavy, congested sigh, curling back up under the comforter. His eyes are open, but he’s still got that hazy, unfocused look.

“Can I ask you something?” He says, and Bo braces himself for what will probably be a bizarre fever-induced conversation.

“Go ahead.” Dell furrows his brow for a moment, like he’s really concentrating, before looking back at Bo.

“Do you have a girlfriend?” Bo immediately feels himself blush and he prays Dell is too out of it to notice.

“Why are you asking me that?” He says, trying to keep his tone even and calm.

“Do you?” Dell just looks amused, and Bo feels his embarrassment grow.

“No. I don’t.” Dell’s expression doesn’t give anything away.

“Boyfriend?” Bo clenches his jaw.

“Are you making fun of me? Seriously? When I’m here-” Dell shakes his head vehemently, eyebrows knit together.

“No! No, no no no no. I’m...I want to know.” He looks ernest, so Bo relaxes somewhat.

“I don’t.” Dell frowns. Pouts, almost.

“You’re so pretty though. And so smart. And funny,” he says, still sounding so genuine in the way a fever makes you. Bo smirks.

“That’s very nice.” Dell shakes his head.

“S’not nice, s’true.” He pauses, rubbing his nose with his wrist. “I don’t want you to work for me.’

“Why’s that?” At this point, Bo knows nothing he’s saying holds any weight so he shouldn’t really take any offense, but the words still sting.

“Because I like you.” Now he’s really making no sense.

“Then why wouldn’t you want me to work for you?”

“Because.” He says, as if that’s an answer. When Bo still doesn’t really understand, Dell sighs, rubbing his eyes. “Because I can’t just date someone who works for me.”

Bo’s heart almost stops.

“I don’t think you know what you’re saying.”

“Of course I do,” he says, still so casual.

“You’re straight. You have a girlfriend.” Dell frowns as if this is new information. It takes a moment, but he seems to finally understand.

“Oh! Emilia. Right.” Bo presses his lips into a line.

“Right.”

“Emilia’s not my girlfriend. God, I’m fucking freezing.” He pulls the comforter tighter around himself, and he looks so miserable it shifts Bo back into caretaker-mode. He tests Dell’s forehead again, even though it hasn’t really been long enough for the ibuprofen to have made a difference.

“Well, you’ve been sweating so everything’s probably damp. Do you want a new sweatshirt?” Dell shakes his head. “It’ll make you feel better.”

“Emilia’s not my girlfriend.” Bo sighs.

“Then who is she exactly?”

“It’s for...magazines. The internet and stuff. Fuck, it’s cold in here.” Bo’s at a loss. This is an insane amount of information, and it’s all coming from someone with a brain melting fever. There’s a chance it’s all genuine, but just as likely it could be total bullshit. Bo could show his cards, admit he likes Dell too, but if it doesn’t end up being real Bo will almost definitely lose this job.

“I’m gonna grab you a new sweatshirt, ok?” He doesn’t wait for a reply, just gets up and makes a beeline for the closet. He rummages for a moment through the drawer before finding what he’s looking for, and on the way back he tries to form some kind of plan. He comes up short.

Sitting back down on the bed he hands Dell the sweatshirt, and he sits up shakily, fumbling to take off the sweat damp piece of clothing along with the t-shirt underneath. The minute his bare skin meets the air his shivering ramps up and even when he gets the new one on he’s still trembling.

“The fever reducers should kick in soon,” Bo says, but his heart is aching not doing anything more than just sitting and watching. Before he can stop himself he’s wrapping his arms around him, pulling him tight against his chest. He lets out a shaky sigh, and Bo can feel the shivering start to calm. “Is this ok?” He whispers, and he feels him nod.

“Perfect.”

#sickfic #My writing #oc bo #oc dell #perfectseries #fever

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