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iwritesickfic · 4 years ago

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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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