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SQ hurts all over. From the tip of his nose (stuffed beyond hope) to the tips of his toes (aching like the rest of him). Curling up in the middle of the sheets helps a little, but it’s probably more psychological than anything substantial, but the poor boy will take anything he can get.
A flu strain. At The Institute. His father must be livid. He’d always taken pride in the cleanliness standards and isolated nature of the island. Nothing out, nothing in. Which is why it is odd for SQ to have gotten the flu. Especially when he’s not allowed to interact with other students.
Looking up blearily, SQ locks his eyes on the water glass on his bedside. He knows he needs it. He doesn’t think he can bring himself to reach it, but he has to try.
Shivering, SQ reaches an arm out from under the heavy blankets, fingertips brushing at the glass. Almost…He grabs the glass, but as soon as he tries to lift it, his grip falters and—
CRASH!
The glass shatters on the floor, sound stinging SQ’s ears longer than it should. He whimpers and tucks under the covers. His father will be furious at the mess and SQ doesn’t think he can handle sweeping it up this time.
The door creaks open and SQ tries to inch further under the covers.
“Oh dear.”
“I’ll get the broom.”
SQ stops listening, overtaken by wracking shivers that rattle his teeth and make his jaw ache. The covers are pulled off his head and he opens an eye to look his father in the eye, but his father is leaning in too close and…
Lips press tenderly to his forehead. SQ melts into the pillows and begins to cry.
“‘M sorry, Dad. Didn’t mean to break it. ‘M thirsty and everything hurts…please don't make me clean it–” He tries to turn his head into the pillows. One should never cry in front of others.
But a hand tips his chin up and away from the pillows. SQ screws his eyes shut, trying desperately to stop more tears from coming. The hand moves away from his chin, and SQ braces himself for a scathing lecture about eye contact and crying and breaking things.
But no, again, the hand is gentle. It brushes away his tears and another soft kiss is pressed to his brow. SQ gradually becomes aware of the quiet comforting voice murmuring to him and the shushing noise of the broom on the floor. SQ opens his eyes and looks up at the rumpled form of his father, smiling gently, sadly, down at him. His father tips a glass to SQ’s lips and the teenager drinks greedily, the room temperature water leaving his sore throat undisturbed.
“Go back to sleep, dear boy.”
And he does.
After all the glass is swept and the water is mopped, Milligan braces a wavering Nicholas in the hallway.
“Nathaniel would have–”
“I know.”
“He didn’t even–”
“I know, Mr. Benedict.”
Milligan catches his friend, gently lowering himself to the floor until they’re both positioned comfortably. He stares at the closed door and pulls Nicholas a little closer.