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10:48 PM
On a Tuesday
Just as Dennis’ fingers find the bottom of the empty box, Mac hands him fresh tissues. He sneezes, and blows his very, very red nose. Mac frowns. Dennis has limited his complaints, and that’s how Mac knows he really isn’t feeling well. Every time the seasons change, his hay fever acts up.
“Do you want any Benadryl?” Mac asks.
Dennis yawns, checking the time on his phone before he answers. “Yeah. I guess it’s getting late anyway.”
He accepts the tiny pink pills from Mac, and swallows then gratefully.
“Maybe you should start wearing a mask when you’re outside,” Mac says.
Dennis sighs. “Maybe.” He looks up blearily at Mac. “Spot me while I get up?”
Mac gives him a sad smile. “Aw, bro.”
He follows Dennis across the apartment, into his bedroom. He helps Dennis get comfortable, and then quietly turns to take his leave.
“Wait,” Dennis says. He coughs into his elbow. “Stay?”
Mac’s eyes widen. Dennis has been acting more like his old self lately, but he still struggles. Especially with vulnerability. Especially with regards to Mac.
“At least til I fall asleep?”
Mac nods. “No problem, Den.”
.
9:16 PM
On a Wednesday
The apartment is dark when Mac arrives home. Dennis is curled up on the couch, watching some kind of nature documentary with his eyes glazed over. More than a little concerned, Mac turns on all the lamps in their living room, bathing them both in soft light.
Mac stands worriedly over Dennis, who is wheezing loudly.
“Dennis?”
He looks up.
“Yeah, Mac?”
He leans down, wordlessly pressing a hand to Dennis’ forehead. Mac knows he just came in from the cold, but Dennis’ skin blazes underneath his touch.
“Den, I don’t think this is just allergies.”
“I’m fine,” Dennis tries to say, but he’s cut off by a deep and rattling cough.
“You coughed all night and now all day long. I’m taking your temp.”
Dennis sighs as Mac scurries away toward their bathroom. He really hadn’t been feeling that bad. At least, not until he woke up late in the afternoon, after Mac had already left for the bar, insisting Dennis stay in bed and rest for awhile. Now his body aches all the way down to his bones, and he feels so dizzy he can’t stand. But he hates when Mac gets anxious like this. The stress rolls off him and makes Dennis even more tired.
Mac returns with more than just a thermometer, and Dennis groans.
“Open your mouth and don’t be an asshole.”
Dennis sticks his tongue out before listening to Mac’s request.
Mac huffs indignantly when it beeps out a response.
“Jesus Christ, Dennis. You have a fever of almost a hundred and three fucking degrees.”
He shoves the thermometer in Dennis’ face. His burning eyes struggle to adjust, and he can’t help but roll them when he reads back 102.6.
“Stop exaggerating,” he mumbles.
Mac huffs again. “I said ‘don’t be an asshole.’”
Dennis makes a whiny noise. He closes his eyes, trying hard to ignore the spinning sensation in his head. He’s starting to feel worse by the minute. He shudders as he hears the sound of pills rattling. Mac nudges him, holding out his palm. Dennis swallows the ibuprofen in silence, taking a long drink of water. His mouth is so dry and hot. His throat is on fire.
“You admit you’re sick now?” Mac asks, taking the water bottle from his hand.
“Yeah,” Dennis sighs. “I feel like shit.”
Mac frowns. As Dennis snuggles back down into his blankets, curling tightly into a fetal position, Mac sits down at his feet.
“Have you eaten anything recently?”
Dennis shakes his head. He feels wobbly. Like he could melt into nothingness at any moment. The thought of eating food seems like a giant, insurmountable task.
“Can’t,” he croaks out.
“Do you feel nauseous?”
“Too tired.”
Mac rubs a soothing hand up and down Dennis’ thigh as he closes his eyes.
“Why don’t you try to go to sleep? It’s late.”
“Stay here?” Dennis asks, cracking one eye open. “I need your body heat. I’m fucking freezing.”
Mac smiles. “Yeah. ‘Course, Den.”
.
8:49 AM
On a Thursday
A violent, painful coughing fit forces Dennis awake. Mac is already up, of course, no doubt anxious about whatever the hell Dennis has come down with. He hurries into the room and helps Dennis sit up.
“Get it out,” Mac encourages, rubbing his back.
Dennis’ body obliges, hacking up a disgusting amount of sputum into his hand. Mac hands him a tissue and he quickly wipes it up, sleepily muttering, “Gross.”
Mac cups the side of his face with one gentle hand, looking at him sadly with those wide, puppy dog eyes, “You’re boiling, Dennis.”
Dennis just hums.
He feels like his bones must be ablaze.
“I’m getting you more ibuprofen,” he announces. “And I’m taking your temperature again.”
This time, Mac isn’t exaggerating when he says Dennis is running a fever higher than one-oh-three. He’s climbed all the way to 103.4, and he can absolutely feel it. He hasn’t felt this awful in quite awhile.
He coughs violently into his elbow, and more follow in quick succession until he doubles over, gasping.
“You okay?” Mac asks.
It’s a stupid question, but Dennis doesn’t voice that. Instead, he winces against a twinge in his chest. He presses a hand against his sternum.
“Dennis?”
“Mmmph.. hurts,” he croaks.
Mac hands him his water bottle. “Drink.”
Dennis does, and when he’s sure he isn’t going to start hacking up his lung again, he takes the pills Mac gives him.
“Do you want to sleep more? Or do you think you could eat something.”
He tries to think about the question, but it makes his head ache more.
“I don’t know.”
“If I get you something, will you try to eat? You really should, dude.”
Dennis exhales. “Okay.”
What feels like hours later, but probably isn’t, Mac returns with toast, peach slices, and tea with honey.
Dennis only manages a few bites/sips of each, but Mac is satisfied.
.
6:13 PM
On a Thursday
When Dennis wakes up from his unprompted nap, Mac is hovering. Something cool drips down the side of his face, and Dennis realizes there’s a wet washcloth on his forehead. He shifts, feeling something else cold on either side of his torso. Ice packs.
“Mac - ?”
“I’m trying to get your fever down,” Mac explains.
Dennis’ stomach gives a lurch, and he remembers why he woke up. The nausea pooling in his stomach is so strong, that when he starts another round of painful coughing, he knows how it’s going to end. He scrambles out of bed and stumbles toward the bathroom, ignoring Mac’s questions.
He falls ungracefully to the floor in front of the toilet and vomits harshly into the bowl. Mac is beside him in moments, wrapping an arm gently around him. When he’s finished, Dennis collapses against his chest.
“That’s it,” Mac announces. “We’re going to Urgent Care, Dennis. Your fever is crazy high, you’re throwing up, and your lips are blue.”
Dennis can’t even argue. He feels like he’s dying. There’s just one problem. He can’t move.
“Need help,” he mumbles.
“I’ve got you,” Mac promises, and he lifts Dennis easily into his arms.
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7:37 PM
On a Thursday
The waiting room is absolutely packed. Fucking flu season. Dennis lays his feverish head in Mac’s lap, a throw blanket wrapped around him, over his winter coat. Mac rubs his fingers back and forth across Dennis’ sweaty, heated scalp. A deep, harsh cough bubbles its way out of Dennis’ chest and he groans.
“It won’t be much longer,” Mac says, but he knows that it could realistically take all night to get him checked out, even though he currently looks like he could drop dead at any moment. Mac doesn’t even know how high his fever is anymore, but it’s gotta be dangerous.
Thankfully, only about fifteen minutes go by before Dennis is called to see a nurse, and Mac supports almost his full weight as they walk back to an empty room.
Dennis curls up on the bed, way too feverish to be coherent.
“He’s been running a really high fever for a couple days,” Mac explains. “He’s got a horrible cough, and he’s been sneezing. He threw up so much right before we came here.”
The nurse wordlessly swipes a fancy thermometer across Dennis’ forehead. He whistles when it reads the numbers back to him.
“Any chest pain?”
“Yeah,” Mac answers. “Yeah, he was complaining this morning.”
“Alright,” the nurse notes. He pulls out his stethoscope. “Get his coat off. I need to listen to his lungs.”
Mac nods.
“Den?” he asks softly.
Dennis moans, squeezing his eyes shut tighter.
“I need you to take your blanket and coat off, buddy.”
“Nooo,” Dennis whines. “‘M cold.”
“I know,” Mac coaxes, pulling him gently into a sitting position. Dennis leans forward, pressing his face into Mac’s chest. Mac gently works the coat and blanket off him. He’s left in his thin, zip-up hoodie, shivering.
The nurse pulls Dennis’ shirt up slowly before pressing the end of his stethoscope to Dennis’ bare back. Mac can hear Dennis’ lungs crackling with just his ears; he can’t imagine what gross shit this guy is hearing up close.
“Definitely pneumonia,” he concludes. “I’ll need to test his sputum to see if it’s bacterial or viral.” He grabs a tissue from the box on the desk. “Get to him to cough some up.”
Mac accepts the tissue with a minor grimace.
“Dennis? See if you can cough up some of that shit in your chest.”
He starts with a small cough, which evolves very quickly into a violent fit, bringing up more than enough mucus for them to test. The nurse accepts the spoiled tissue and swabs the gunk before throwing it away.
“Alright. I’m gonna take this sample to the lab. I’ll instruct another nurse to bring in some extra-strength ibuprofen for his fever.”
“Thank you,” Mac says.
He helps Dennis lie back down and drapes their blanket over him.
A half hour later, Dennis is filled with ibuprofen, steroids, and his first round of antibiotics, and Mac is breathing easier too. They don’t get home until well after ten, where they collapse into bed together, a false sense of security hanging in the air.
.
11:24 AM
On a Friday
Dennis is miserable. His fever’s gone down, but it’s still hanging on tight. He wakes up woozy, sweaty and uncomfortable. He can’t breathe properly in any sense of the word.
“Mmmac?” he rasps.
He coughs, deep and dry.
Mac is by is side suddenly, smoothing a hand over his forehead. Dennis keens at the touch. He makes a small noise of contentment.
“How you feeling, bud?” Mac asks. “You’re still pretty hot.”
“I feel really gross,” Dennis admits.
“You’re really sick,” Mac responds. “Do you wanna take a bath? I’ll help you.”
“Mmmm,” Dennis hums. “Yeah.”
“I’ll get it started. You rest for a little longer.”
The sound of Mac’s footsteps fade, and Dennis rolls into his side. He feels like he’s spinning, following Earth on its axis. Every part of his body aches, pulsating with his heartbeat.
Mac sneaks back quietly, tucks his arms underneath Dennis and hoists him out of bed. He doesn’t fully rouse until Mac is already settling him on the closed toilet. He lets Mac ease him out of his clothes and into the steamy water.
Dennis sinks into the tub with a sigh of relief. He lays his head back against the tile, closing his eyes.
“I’m gonna wash your hair,” Mac says quietly. He squirts Dennis’ expensive shampoo into his palm and rubs his hands together. He eases Dennis’ head forward. “Work with me, bud.”
Dennis hums, letting his head fall forward. Mac massages the shampoo into his hair, scratching lightly at his scalp. It feels good.
“Don’t forget the conditioner,” he croaks, and Mac huffs a laugh.
“Of course not.”
When the bath is over, Mac towel dries his hair and helps him into fresh pajamas. Dennis still feels like he’s floating, bones roasting with an internal fire. His chest aches.
“Bed,” Dennis mumbles. It’s all he has energy for.
Mac scoops him up. “You got it, bro.”
Dennis finds himself being placed gently onto the sheets, pillows easing him upright. Mac pulls the comforter over his lap.
“You gotta take some medicine, Den.”
“Okay,” Dennis rasps.
Mac hands him an ibuprofen and his antibiotics. He takes them both gingerly with a sip of cold water. Exhaustion sweeping through his body, Dennis leans back into his pillows. Mac nudges him. He’s holding the inhaler out. Dennis sighs. And coughs. He inhales two puffs, both triggering coughing fits that last at least thirty seconds each. He all but collapses against the bed when he’s finished.
“You can sleep a little longer. I’m making soup, and I’ll be back when it’s done.”
Dennis tries to shake his head, but he doesn’t think he moves.
“I don’t know if I can eat.”
“You should try,” Mac presses.
Dennis groans, but concedes.
.
12:45 PM
On a Friday
Dennis eyelids flutter open as someone settles in the bed next to him. He looks over and finds Mac with a tray of soup and orange juice. His stomach turns a little. This is a lot to ask of his body right now.
“Come on, Dennis,” Mac says softly. “You gotta sit up a little.” He lets Dennis pull on him to hoist himself up. He steadies Dennis with a hand on his back. “Comfy?”
Dennis nods.
“Just do your best, okay?” Mac says as he places the laptop tray over Dennis’ skinny legs.
He’s weak, but he hates the thought of asking Mac to feed him. He’s already done so much. Instead, Dennis forces his shaky hand to spoon the soup into his mouth. He only manages six or seven spoonfuls until he starts to feel nauseous. He pushes the bowl away, and Mac trades him for the glass of orange juice. Dennis easily drinks half of it, some primal need in his body acting up.
Mac pulls the tray away, and Dennis finds himself slipping back under the covers. His eyelids feel heavy.
.
3:16 AM
On a Sunday
The rest of Friday and Saturday pass much the same. Dennis sleeps a lot, and Mac wakes him up to take medicine and attempt food and liquids. His fever stays persistent, lowering with ibuprofen and returning full force when it wears off.
Dennis keens at Mac’s touches when he’s burning hottest, tears welling up and escaping his eyes. Sometimes he whines or babbles.
Right now, he’s sobbing into Mac’s side in the dark.
“Ssshhh,” Mac breathes. “Calm down, Dennis, you’re okay.”
“I feel like I’m on fire,” Dennis moans. “What’s happening, Mac?”
“You’ve got a really high fever, baby boy.”
“Am I in hell?” Dennis mutters.
Mac wants to laugh, but his heart is beating wildly in his chest. He’s never seen Dennis this sick before. He’s never seen anyone with a fever this out of control. Mac stumbles out of bed, heading for the lamp. He flips the switch, bathing them both in low, yellow light.
When Mac gets a good look at Dennis, he gasps.
“Oh, Jesus Christ.”
His face is splotchy with red, cheeks and ears flushed.
“Dennis, we need to go to the hospital.”
Dennis’ head spins. Why would they go there?
“Because you’re delirious and your face is covered in a rash.”
Dennis whips his head up.
“What?”
“Your fever’s been so high for so long. Your body’s going haywire, dude. We gotta get you to the emergency room. You’ve gotta be frying your brain.”
Mac dashes out of the room, returning absurdly quickly with his boots and coat already on, Dennis’ winter gear in hand. He helps Dennis slip everything on, and then he’s once more slipping his hands underneath Dennis’ tiny frame, hoisting him into his arms.
.
7:18 AM
On a Sunday
Dennis wakes to the pale light of morning, mouth dry and head spinning. He turns his head, finding oxygen tubes up his nose and Mac seated by his bed, awake and smiling sadly.
“Hey, Den.”
Dennis doesn’t remember how he got here.
“Wha’ happened?” he croaks.
“Your fever spiked to 105, you broke out in hives, and I brought you here. Turns out the pneumonia was resisting your antibiotics. They have you on different ones now. They seem to be working.”
Dennis sighs.
“Why’m I here still?”
“Both of your lungs are filled with fluid, Dennis.” He pushes himself out of the chair and approaches the side of Dennis’ bed. Carefully, he runs a hand through Dennis’ sweaty hair. “Your fever is still high. And they just wanna make sure you actually improve this time.”
Dennis hums.
“How are you feeling, Den?”
He looks up at Mac, trying to half-smile. “I can’t feel much of anything with whatever meds they gave me.”
Mac grins widely. “They gave you the good stuff.”
Dennis laughs, lungs crackling. “Mm. Love you, Mac,” he says, eyes closing again.
Mac’s breath hitches, and he tries to cover it by clearing his throat. But it doesn’t matter. Dennis is asleep.
“Love you too, Den.”