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Curt was sick, and it worried Owen.
He’d never seen Curt like this- so pale, with a sheen of sweat over his skin, coughing every couple of minutes.
Owen feared it was pneumonia- which wouldn’t be too terrible, as pneumonia was much more easily treatable nowadays with penicillin- but there was one problem.
Curt was allergic to penicillin.
Owen stayed faithfully at his partner’s bedside. He didn’t give a damn if someone figured out his secret; the man he loved was sick, possibly dying. Owen couldn’t leave him. It didn’t matter if his feelings were unrequited; Curt needed him, and so Owen stayed.
Curt was hardly lucid, and when he was, he was apologizing over and over for being ‘like this’.
So here Owen sat, perched on Curt’s bed, dabbing his forehead tenderly with a wet washcloth.
Curt took Owen’s free hand in his. “Owen?” He croaked.
Owen squeezed his hand gently. “I’m here, Curt.”
“I have something to tell you. Before I die.” Curt’s eyes were glassy, unfocused, as he attempted to stare at him.
Owen’s heart clenched. “You’re not going to die, Curt. I won’t let you.”
“Please,” Curt said quietly. “I need to say this.”
Owen pressed his lips together but nodded.
Curt swallowed. “I love you.”
Owen’s heart stopped as Curt kept speaking. “This is God punishing me for my sin. It’s not right of me to feel this way for another man.”
“Curt,” Owen breathed, gently lifting his partner’s hand to his lips and kissing it. “If you’re a sinner, I’m a sinner.”