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Unsurprisingly, Dennis had the worst immune system out of their makeshift gang. If anyone brought a bug in, most of them would withstand it, except for him, or at least that’s what Mac always noticed. Mac considered himself the strongest of their group, sans Pete, and along with that came an immune system ready to fend off any unruly patrons trying to get into the dive-bar of a temple he considered his body.
Regardless, it was clear that all Dennis’ immune system needed was a little push and he was sick like a dog. In fact, Dennis had been out the last two days, babbling incoherently into the phone when Mac called to check on him, and hacking up a lung while hanging up. Dee said it was influenza A, and Schmitty asked if he caught bird flu from her, which made everyone laugh and high five.
Still, the following day when Dennis came underneath the bleachers still looking worse for wear, it was just a normal day in Southern Philly. And when they passed the blunt back and forth, waiting for everyone else to arrive? Mac didn’t think twice about the tingle in his throat. Usually it was a little side effect that came over him after taking too long of a hit, so slumping beside the older boy and huddling as his friend shivered was second nature.
“How’re you feeling?” Mac asked, shrugging his jacket off his shoulders to wrap it around Dennis. Normally Dennis would gripe and complain about it in some form or another ‘Mac there’s so much body spray I can’t tell if there’s any jacket.’ or ‘I’m not a damsel in distress.’ before begrudgingly wrapping himself in it.
Dennis grunted, pulling it tight around himself “Bad, Mac, obviously,” he grumbled, massaging his temples. Still, he looked more content than before. “My throat is fucking killing me.”
“Shouldn’t you still be at home then?” Mac prodded, nudging him lightly. Dennis flinched, and Mac forgot that Dennis told him he was having body aches. Grimacing, he gave the other boy an apologetic look.
“Dad came home last night,” he responded, looking exhausted. Mac watched his eyes glance to the left, and his lips roll into his mouth, throat tightening. A silent thirty seconds rolled through them and Mac made sure not to say anything till Dennis composed himself. “Took away my fucking concealer, too, the dick. So now I look like,” he gestured to his face, “like this.”
Mac knew better than to say anything about his appearance during moments like this. If he was too positive, Dennis would get mad, and if he relayed that he was confused by why Dennis would put concealer on in the first place, Dennis would get even more mad. Instead, he leaned over and put his head on his shoulder. Placing a small kiss there, he said, “your dad’s the worst dude.”
“I think that title still goes to you,” Dennis sniped, practically shoving him off.
Taking in a sharp breath, Mac pinned him with a look. Ignoring the pain of rejection, he spoke. “I’m going to let that go because you’re sick, but don’t talk about my dad, dude.”
They sat in uncomfortable silence for the next few minutes, but didn’t move away from each other’s body heat. Dennis tried to snuggle his way back into good graces, but Mac was stewing in how the exchange made him feel. It was always like this between them because god forbid they address it–not that Mac wanted to. Talking about shit was girly anyway. Still, he wished he had better insight into the mind of his best friend.
The tension was broken as Charlie led their band of idiots on over, and Mac had forgotten about the exchange until that night.
When he felt a pain in the back of his throat, one of which he knew wasn’t from Dooley’s bong an hour ago, he remembered it quite well. As he stumbled into his front door, listening to the sound of Dennis’ tires squealing, it occurred to him that his body was finally caving and he was getting sick. Sickness was just weakness leaving his body, so maybe it was a good thing to get it occasionally.
Mac went up to the linen closet and sorted through the various medications, legal and illegal that his parents kept stocked for emergencies. He figured he’d want to sweat the fever out, so any ibuprofen-and the likes was off the table. Maybe some sore throat spray and a shot of vodka would lull him to sleep and he could work through it the following day.
But first he’d have to write a note for his mom, asking if she could call him out. She’d probably see it in between shifts before she headed back into work and he’d handle himself through this cold he always did. He knew the reason his mom didn’t stay was not only because she was working so hard for their family, but because she knew he could handle it on his own. He was basically an independent adult–like she raised him to be!--and this was just a sign of her trust. Doing everything he could to let the thought warm his heart, he pretended not to be bummed that he’d be fighting this sickness by himself.
Falling asleep the first night was pretty easy, but waking up was hell. He got a call from Charlie who sounded just as bad. Like a case of biological warfare, Dennis had infected their platoon with a few concentrated breaths and shared surfaces.
“Yeah dude,” Charlie had been saying, “my mom’s fussing like crazy, I’ve been sprayed with Lysol like six times! And I’ve been telling her I tried ingesting it already, it just doesn’t taste good. She told me I’m bed ridden till next week, dude!” he complained, throat sounding like it was working overtime.
Mac nodded. “Totally man, my mom was hounding me to take meds too, but I was telling her it’s way more better to sweat the fever out first. My dad said that in prison they don’t get meds, so sweating it out is the only way.”
Charlie paused. “Right. Well–” in the background, Mac could hear Bonnie shouting for her darling Charlie to stop pushing his throat so hard. Groaning, Charlie sighed. “Shit, she’s coming. I’ll try and call you later, bro, but feel better in the meantime.”
“Thanks Charlie, you too, let’s kick this influenza’s ass!” he exclaimed, and the line thankfully clicked before he burst into a coughing fit so bad that he carried the phone with him into the bathroom, clutched in his hands as he steadied himself above the toilet bowl. There was that uncomfortable churn, and the burn in his throat from all the hacking made him dizzy.
Whatever meager medicine he’d downed was introduced to the toilet bowl shortly thereafter. Mac whined in discontent, feeling miserable. Still, despite it, he knew his mom would be disappointed if she found him on the bathroom floor, so he pulled himself out of it, and practically dragged himself back to his room.
He stared at the Karate Kid poster for a long moment, wondering if Ralph Macchio ever got this sick or if he managed to fight off illness just as consistently and badass as he did other competitors. Mac placed the phone on his bedside as he got settled in, futzing with blankets and pillows until he felt… less uncomfortable than he could have been. His body still ached, he still felt too cold, but at least he could breathe out of his right nostril. Grabbing the vodka bottle on the nightstand, he took a quick swig and waited for the only pleasant sensation he would have for days. As he placed it back, he stared at the phone for a long moment. The battery was still pretty full from where it sat in its normal charging station downstairs, and if he kept it close, he would be able to hear if his mom called to check on him…
Mac cradled the phone to his chest. He imagined his dad calling and asking how he was doing, and a smile crossed his face. When he was sick as a kid, back when his mom and dad smiled more, his dad would come into his room and put a warm rag on his head and tell him he needed to stop crying because it meant he was dehydrating himself. Mac remembered those words now, and toughened up. His dad didn’t need him crying.
Before he drifted off to sleep, the familiar sound of the phone had him scrambling to accept the call. “Hello?” he asked.
“Mac, you weren’t at school! And I’m just starting to feel a bit better, too,” Dennis griped. “I ditched and found a payphone just to call and bitch, bro, that’s how lame you ditching is.”
“Yeah, well, maybe I wouldn’t be ditching, if you wouldn’t have poisoned all of us, asshole. Charlie’s out sick too,” Mac answered, trying not to be put out that it was Dennis calling and not his mother. Normally he’d be ecstatic to hear Dennis, but knowing that he got them all sick when it was avoidable was… annoying, to say the least.
Dennis scoffed. “Poisoning you is a bit of an exaggeration,” he returned but at least had the good sense to sound sheepish.
“Yeah well, now I’m running a fever dude, so thanks for that.”
“I’m surprised you answered the phone,” Dennis said, “I’m not allowed to answer when I’m sick. Carlita usually enforces that, but I guess if she’s feeding me the meds, I can’t say shit.”
Mac frowned. “Who else would answer the phone? Who would stop me from answering it?” he asked, like Dennis was going insane.
“Um, even your mom has to recognize influenza A is a big deal,” Dennis told him, matter-of-factly. A beat passed. “Mac, your mom knows you have the flu, right?”
“Well, my mom just knows how tough and independent I am, Dennis. So she left me here knowing that. Obviously.”
The line was silent. Mac heard the phone rustling, and in a quiet tone Mac rarely heard from the other boy, Dennis said, “I’ll be over as soon as possible, okay?” The sound of the payphone clicking back into its slot was all Mac needed to hear to know that Dennis was entirely serious. He really was going to be over as soon as possible.
Thirty minutes passed. The doorbell gave its shrill, half dead ring that Luther always complained about, for Mac to know that Dennis was waiting at the door. Lethargic, he pulled himself from his cocoon and dragged a blanket down the hall and stairs with him. He was greeted with Dennis’ eager eyes and impatient tap to his foot.
“Hey buddy,” Dennis started, looking more approachable than Mac had ever remembered seeing him. “Um. Why don’t you go sit on the couch? I brought some canned soup from the Wawa. I can go heat it up. Oh, and here are some cough drops and nyquil. You’re going to want to sleep through most of this, you know?”
“Yeah,” Mac grunted, “you would know.”
Dennis frowned, genuinely put out. “I know…” One sharp inhale later, he spun on his heel and walked towards the kitchen without another word.
I have no reason to feel guilty, Mac reasoned with himself. Dennis got him sick! Of course Dennis should feel a little bad. But… obviously Dennis didn’t want to go to school while he was sick. It’s not like he asked Mac to share his sweater when he was cold.
Maybe he was being harsh. Dennis was here after all. When no one else was. Cursing at the microwave, or maybe the hot bowl, the fact that Dennis was standing in the other room made a warmth rush through him that comforted the fever just a bit.
When Dennis returned, Mac offered a small smile. “Thanks for being here, Dennis, I really appreciate it,” he acknowledged. He’d read that acknowledging someone’s good deeds is a good way to show your appreciation and encourage good behavior. He tried telling his mom about it when he read it, saying that when dad brought home dinner, they should openly point out that it was a nice gesture. She told him if he wanted her to acknowledge a nice gesture, she would appreciate it if he shut the hell up. Still, Dennis seemed more receptive to the positive feedback.
The older of the two offered a boyish grin in return. Mac picked up the soup and cursed, nearly dropping it onto the checkered pot holder. Dennis grimaced. “Too hot?”
“At least the bowl is,” Mac complained, staring at the soup wistfully. It was just a bowl of canned chicken noodle, and yet it was more than anyone had done for him while sick.
Dennis blinked then side-eyed Mac. “I’ve got an idea bro, just sit back, okay?” Mac reluctantly did as he was told, sinking into the fraying couch cushions and inhaling the scent of Newports. Settling in next to him, Dennis took some of the soup onto the spoon and carefully directed it to Mac’s mouth.
Mac gave him a dubious look, but accepted the help. He groaned as the warm liquid hit his throat, feeling it rush through him and into his stomach. Dennis seemed to be studying him, staring as hard as he was. Slowly, he reached down for another spoonful.
They continued this until Mac got greedy, leaning up to meet the bite of noodles he was going to get. Some of it splashed on the side of his mouth, dripping down his lip. Dennis moved to wipe it away before either of them realized what he was doing. His thumb traced Mac’s lip and down his cheek. He sucked his thumb into his mouth to clean it, their eyes meeting for the whole affair.
Mac swallowed thickly. Dennis’ gaze lowered. “It’s a good thing I’m the one who got you sick,” he murmured, breath making Mac’s skin prickle. “It means you can’t get me sick back.”
“Cause we’re sitting so close?” Mac inquired, feeling Dennis shift further into his space.
“Yeah,” he breathed. He pushed himself up and into Mac’s arms so that he too was snuggled in the blanket fort. It seemed now was one of the many times they didn’t talk about. Mac was okay with that. “And maybe this will help you feel better?”
Dennis put his forearms on Mac’s chest, both of them just boney-limbed teens, and surged up into Mac’s space, lips colliding with a gentle enthusiasm. Mac hoisted him up, hands on Den’s thin waist, and hummed contentedly into the kiss.
Abruptly, Mac pulled away, coughing into his shoulder, every breath like fire. He should’ve known better than to trade oxygen for kisses. Dennis whined but settled down. “Maybe we should just watch Terminator?” he asked him, brushing back Mac’s bangs.
“Nap,” he responded, sinking into the blankets. “We should nap.” He wrapped his arms around Dennis and pulled him close.
“I napped for like two days,” Dennis said, trying to wiggle into a more comfortable position. “I’m tired of napping.”
“Shouldn’t have infected me then,” came Mac’s muffled reply from where his face was buried in Dennis’ curls. “Just one quick nap. Then a movie,” he compromised.
“Okay, but if you don’t wake up, I’m pouring hot soup on you,” he warned, letting himself relax into the embrace.
Mac ignored him and sighed happily. Maybe being sick wasn’t so bad after all.