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Álvaro keeps trashing and crying out all night long, trapped in fever dreams, and Isco soon gives up on trying to wake him up. He resolves to just holding him. When morning comes, it feels like deliverance, despite Álvaro not feeling any better, and Isco not getting a minute of sleep.
After assuring Álvaro that he will definitely not get kicked out for not working for one day, and after persuading one of the workers to replace him for a while, he runs to the city and finds the herbalist who gives him some herbs and ointments.
When he comes back, he prepares some tea that smells horrible, and forces Álvaro to drink all of it. He kind of feels like a bastard, mainly because Álvaro can’t properly defend himself from his well-meant torture.
To make amends, he places a wet cloth on Álvaro's forehead and even contemplates trying to cook some broth. Then he concludes that instead of healing Álvaro, he could accidentally burn them both to death, so he asks the cook for some.
When he comes back to the barn, he finds Álvaro crying, hot tears rolling down his cheeks.
“Álvarito,” Isco whispers. “What’s wrong?”
“I’m dying,” Álvaro whispers.
“What?”
“You called me Álvarito. I must be dying.”
Isco chuckles. “No, you’re not dying, silly. You caught some chill.”
“It hurts,” Álvaro sobs.
“What hurts?”
“Everything.”
“We can try some of the ointments,” Isco suggests.
“That means you’d have to touch me, and that would kill me,” Álvaro says.
“Then you’ll have some broth, and then maybe you’ll feel better and we can try,” Isco says.
“I’m not…”
“That wasn’t a question,” Isco says resolutely. “You have to eat something.”
Luckily, Álvaro is weak as a kitten, so he can’t quite object to Isco feeding him the hot broth. Before Isco comes back from the kitchen where he went to wash the bowl and spoon, Álvaro is asleep, but it looks like a much calmer drowse. Isco settles on the bed next to him, listening to his breath.
Álvaro wakes up when the sun is already setting, looking up at Isco and smiling weakly.
“I see you’re not dead,” Isco says. “Can we try the ointments now? I’m not going to force the tea on you, I promise. It smells like shit.”
“Tastes about the same,” Álvaro says. “But we can try the ointments.”
Isco nods and carefully peels the shirt off Álvaro’s body. Then he reaches for the pot with the ointment.
“I saw my parents last night,” Álvaro whispers.
“What?” Isco looks at him.
“In my dreams. It was strange. I never dream about them. Not my mother, at least. I barely remember her.”
“It was just the fever,” Isco says quietly. “It doesn’t mean you’re dying, okay?”
Álvaro smiles. “You know what? In that dream, I didn’t want them. I wanted you.”
“Do you still?” Isco asks. “I mean, I tortured you with the tea, and force-fed you the broth and now I’m about to smear this suspicious looking thing over your chest, so…”
“Yeah, I still do,” Álvaro says.
Isco smiles and kisses him on the forehead. “You know that if you die, I’m going to bring you back to life just so that I can kill you again, right?”
“What sense does it make?” Álvaro asks.
“None,” Isco shrugs. “I’m just petty like that.”