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Through thin walls, Milo lets out strongly-worded insults, frustrated with some other player in his game. The hum of electronics comes through, distant and dull. Some pop song Jake can’t be bothered to recognize plays quietly from where his phone is on the nightstand against his bed. On a warm Sunday night, layered in sweat by summer heat, Jake falls asleep.
It’s not all that often Jake falls ill. When you get bullied, you come into contact with a lot of germs —not like bullies are thinking too hard about what virus to give you. It just happens to be that dirt-crusted ratty shoes in mouths and faces shoved against lockers were a fan favorite when he was a kid. Something along the lines of germs in your childhood build up your immune system . Not that he was a STEM kid or anything, but he’d participated in the intellectual behavior of reading an academic article every once in a while.
But that didn’t change that for the first time in some years, Jake felt feverish. Chills crawled through each and every one of his limbs, and yet simultaneously warmth sank into him all over. “Hot, then you’re cold,” he muttered, choking back a laugh at his own joke. With his back pressed up against the headboard, Jake reached over for his phone, of which he’d forgotten to charge last night and of which was on its last few batteries. His vision blinked in and out of focus. Perhaps he was making up for all the colds he didn’t catch over the last few years, bacteria culminating into one fervent disease that left him dizzy and disoriented.
His phone read 11:34 A.M., July 3rd. Milo had surely already been dropped off to whatever camping trip he had going on this week. Not that Jake’s mom would have cared about his fever if she were here, but she’d already left for work herself. That meant he was forced to entertain himself.
As though it were clockwork, he pulled up YouTube. Liam often called him an “easily impressed iPad kid,” which, as much as he hated to admit it, had some semblance of truth to it. Jake tugs the blankets over himself, flopping his head over his shoulder. He stays like that for some amount of minutes. Or an hour. Or several. The music videos keep him well entertained, captivated thoroughly by bright colors and high-pitched singing.
Then: a chime from his phone.
drew!!: Genshin with me in half an hour?
From there, his heart right about bursts. Hanging out with Drew is undeniably appealing. But the ache that pulses through his skull bargains with him otherwise.
Jake: drew i woudld love to!!
Jake: but cant rn. maybe in a couple days?
The reply is instantaneous.
drew!!: In a couple of days? Did you break your laptop? Did you break your phone keyboard with it?
Hilarious. Jake imagines the edges of Drew’s mouth, curled taut into a frown. It makes him smile.
Jake: no way nver im not rich like u prick i take care of my stuf!! just have a fever
Jake: sry for typos haha its the fever
drew!!: You’re sick?
Jake: yeah s bad
drew!!: Dumbass. Get off your phone then. You shouldn't be looking at screens right now.
Jake rolls his eyes, feeling petulant.
Jake: ok mama drewie bear ( ´(ｴ)ˋ )
drew!!: Shut up and turn off your phone.
There's no way of getting around that—Drew is stubborn and would bombard Jake with countless messages telling him to rest—so instead he leaves Drew on read and swipes back to YouTube. He’s once more enthralled by a number of cute animal videos, full of tiny paws and fur.
But it’s not long before the doorbell pitches sharp and high, whistling Jake’s attention over to the front door… and something tells him he knows exactly who it’s going to be. His wrist turns, the door opens, and—
“You don’t listen to anyone but yourself,” says Drew, and it's only a little bit funny that he of all people is saying this. Drew’s got a shoulder bag slung over him, the one he’s had since freshman year. His car is hiked up in the driveway that was previously empty, looking shiny and luxurious. “I had to make sure you actually knew what taking care of yourself looked like.”
“What makes you think I don’t?” Jake scoffs.
Drew pointedly gestures to Jake’s rumpled appearance.
“...Fair enough.”
He huffs. “You’re notoriously bad at following directions,” Drew says. That unfortunately tracks. Jake still gets nightmares of Hailey scolding him over every little thing, like being late to rehearsals by fifteen minutes. Sure, being timely so everyone could practice properly was important, but what harm could fifteen minutes do?
“Yeah, yeah, whatever you say.” Jake waves his hand half-heartedly in dismissal, then takes a small step back and extends his hand. Drew grips it as he pulls himself into the Sterling residence.
The two of them trot back inside. Drew doesn’t bother to look around the house; it wasn’t the first time he’d ever been over and it was far from being the last. As far as Jake was concerned, Drew was forever welcome in his home. Even when Drew didn’t want to be.
With all the excitement in the air, Jake supposes it’s only normal that Oreo’s interest is piqued, her wagging tail brushing up behind Jake’s leg. What’s not normal is Drew’s frantic movements backwards, his tennis shoes squeaking against the tiled floor and stepping back onto the welcome mat.
Jake looks at Drew. “Are you serious?” He asks, tone light. Jake scrapes a laugh down his throat, desperate in his attempt not to laugh. Be respectful, he chants in his mind, but a giggle bursts out between his traitorous lips anyway, and Drew flushes to the tips of his ears.
“Dogs bite,” he argues, but his protests are ignored by Jake’s bout of laughter. “Shut up, Jake, I’ve got self-preservation instincts. That’s all.”
Oreo, the precious thing she is, runs right up to Drew and shoves her mouth against his hand. Her fur’s probably going to shed all over him, but the most Jake does to stop her is gesture at her weakly. This isn’t the first time Oreo and Drew have been in the same room, but she’d never gotten so close to him before. Drew scrambles until he’s pressed up against the wall. Then he directs his eyes at Jake in a scathing glare. “Shouldn’t you be a responsible pet owner right now?”
"Oreo is the sweetest dog ever," Jake whines. "If you're afraid of her, you'll be afraid of dogs your whole life."
For a moment, Drew just stares, a piercing gaze fixed right into Jake’s eyes. It’s an expression that reads obvious disbelief. “That thing just tried to bite me,” he says, voice flat. “What do you mean the sweetest dog ever.”
That pulls a laugh out of Jake, bursting at the seams at the thought of a little thing like Oreo trying to nip at Drew. He resolves not to think about the fact Oreo is not a little pup and has not been for a very long time.
“I bet she was only trying to lick you,” he teases. “You’re a big strong man who’s still afraid of a good girl like Oreo? She’s like marshmallow fluff, for crying out loud!” To prove his point, Jake runs one hand through Oreo’s fur. She responds with an eager bark. Then, to ease Drew’s fears, Jake opens the back door so they can leave Oreo to her own devices in the backyard.
They walk through the living room and towards his room, loitering in front of his door just barely cracked open. Although there’s some new furniture scattered here and there, everything has remained mostly the same since Drew’s last visit. Nothing special. Nothing except the large, framed, portrait of Jake after the Music Club’s success at the band competition. It hangs on the wall directly across from his room, highlighting his glory every morning when he wakes up. (It’s only a little embarrassing.)
Drew seems captured by it. His fingertips trace circles over the bottom part of the wooden frame. He gives one good nod, like he approves of Jake’s crisp purple jacket and dimpled smile in the photo. If there’s one thing Jake will grant about his mother, it’s that she knows how to take a pretty picture. “You look good here,” Drew says. When he turns to look at Jake, his face is carefully impassive and still, even more so than usual.
Jake gets the feeling it’s another apology dressed up as a compliment. In his mind, he cycles through replies like it’s already over and I messed up, too . He tries I wish you would have been there and banishes the thought entirely. There were some things that had yet to be resolved, even three or four months after they’d rekindled their friendship. Instead, he says, “I thought so too. Hurry up and get over here so I can lie down!”
Jake pushes the door open. His room is as dim as he left it, with only a glimmer of light shimmering in from his windows. With relief, Jake sighs, and just as he goes to flop over on his bed—
“—Wait.” Drew jolts forward, tugging at Jake’s wrist and pulling him back. He pauses for a moment, hesitant, before speaking again. “You aren’t wearing your binder right now, are you?” Concern flickers over his face.
Jake blinks. He’d not expected that at all. “It’s awesome you think I’m flat enough without a binder, but no, I took off my binder before going to bed. It’s hard enough to breathe when it’s so hot at night. And when do you care so much about binder safety, anyway? You barely even knew what transgender meant before you met me.” Jake still remembers Drew’s vaguely-confused face when he confessed to him why he was hated so much in middle school.
He gets a suspicious glance in return, tawny eyes searching for something within that answer. Whatever Drew is looking for, he must have found it, looking at Jake with a much gentler expression than the one that had preceded it . “It’s called learning, Jake. You should try it some time,” he says, distracted. It lacks the typical bite it normally has.
There are other possibilities to consider. He might not be the only trans guy Drew knows. But the thought of Drew putting in effort to learn about Jake has him swallowing down a sudden lump of shyness in his throat.
“Quit that.”
That pulls Jake’s attention back into the present. “Quit what?”
“I can hear you thinking from here.” Drew frowns, a perfect replica of the way Jake envisioned it, down to the way it pulls against his skin. True to form, Jake smiles.
“Oh yeah?” he asks. “What am I thinking about then, since you know me so well?”
Drew shoots him a dirty look, swatting at Jake in reprimand. “I do know you so well. You’re worrying about something stupid,” he declares. “You’ve got that weird look on your face when you’re thinking too hard about something.”
Jake doesn’t know how to respond to that, so he resorts to childish teasing. “You stare that much at my face? Am I just that handsome?” After a beat, Jake sneezes, and the room dissolves into laughter.
He hoists himself on top of his bed, groaning at the excessive movement. Then he pats the open side of the mattress, which has a large amount of space that is fitting for another person. Wink wink. Drew looks him up and down. Jake beams at Drew.
“No way in hell.” Rejection punctuates each word, and Jake’s little ADHD heart wants to shrivel up into his sheets then and there. But Drew’s eyes crinkle in a rare smile, like he’s heard he’s won the lottery, or maybe the love of his love accepted his marriage proposal. Drew has lots of different smiles. This one happens to be one of the rarest, and Jake’s heart just about melts at the sight, Drew already forgiven for his transgression of not sitting on the bed next to Jake.
Still, he can’t go unquestioned. “You don’t wanna sit next to me?” Jake tilts his head like a pitiful puppy. “You sit with me on my bed all the time!” That was mostly true in their freshman year, when Drew would waltz into Jake’s room entirely unannounced and sleep over. These days, they mostly stuck to Drew’s house, which was without bratty little siblings and nosy parents. Drew being over like this again washed a wave of nostalgia over him.
“Did you forget you were sick? That’s why I’m here,” says Drew. It’s further emphasized when Drew clasps open his shoulder bag with a click, revealing several bottles of medicine, snacks, and the portable Gacha Switch console. He grabs the back of Jake’s swivel chair from his desk and pulls it up against the mattress, then seats himself against the chair. “I’m not trying to catch your germs, moron.”
“Okay, so you shouldn’t have come here at all,” Jake complains. “But, like, since you’re already here, you should stay.” It’s not the smoothest backtrack Jake’s ever done, but he offers a toothy grin and hopes Drew stays exactly where he is. Maybe not exactly. Jake could do with a cuddle buddy.
Drew sighs. “I already said I was staying over. Someone has to watch over you and make sure you stay alive.” He presses his lips together, like he’s just remembered something he’d forgotten. “When else have you been sick? I can’t remember you ever skipping class because of a cold.” It always feels like Drew catches onto these things about Jake, even when there’s no reason for him to know about these things. Drew is awfully observant.
Jake flips over onto his stomach, then turns his head towards his friend. “I haven’t been sick in over three years,” he explains. “Not since right before we met at the beginning of high school.”
At that, Drew looks honestly astonished. His eyes are usually rather small, but in this instance they’re wide open in what must be disbelief. “Seriously?” He asks. “I get sick at least twice a year and you’re out here missing out on three years’ worth of colds.”
“I’m paying the consequences now,” Jake laments. “I feel way too dizzy.” He’s exaggerating just a little bit. But the room does spin when he moves too hard too fast, and there’s an ache that’s quickly building in the back of his head. Still, it’s not bad enough that Jake says anything about it.
“Right.” Drew reaches into his bag, pulling out a small bottle of ibuprofen tablets. “I went and stopped by the store to pick these up for you. If your medicine cabinet is anything like the last time I saw it…” He glowers at Jake as though it’s his fault their cabinet is always empty. Milo gets scraped and sick and uses up all the band-aids and pain-relievers so often; how is Jake supposed to remember to pick up everything he’d have to get?
He gripes about this accordingly, caviling over it, but accepts the medicine anyway. Jake scoots over right in front of where Drew is. He fishes a water bottle from Drew’s bag and swallows the pills. Although the water has gone tepid, his parched throat is delighted by the first sip he takes. It's the first thing he's drunk all day and he eagerly gulps it down.
Unfortunately, Jake gets a bit too greedy. The water bottle crushes in his hands, liquid sputtering out of the container and spilling down the wrong pipe. He turns into a coughing fit, gasping for air and heaving from the effort.
Drew rushes to hold him in what seems to be an attempt to perform some maneuver, but Jake recovers quickly enough. He blinks in momentary confusion. Then a stream of giggles leaves his mouth. This seems to placate Drew, who just grips Jake's greasy mop of blond locks in a worried gesture.
“Idiot,” Drew chides, curling his hand further into Jake’s hair. His nails scratch against his scalp. It’s a comforting feeling. “What was that? Are you only good for your looks or something?”
Jake laughs, the sound boyish and buoyant. “I’m a fantastic singer, haven’t you heard? And charming, to boot.”
A tan palm meets Jake’s pale cheek, brushing over the skin in a sudden show of tenderness from Drew. Really, it’s all very sudden. The mood feels charged with something new of which Jake can’t identify. “Yes, Jake,” Drew murmurs, "very charming.” His head dips down closer towards him, fuschia hair flopping over his forehead. For a moment, Jake loses breath. Then Drew's hand slides over his temple and above his brow bone, tenderly stroking the surface of Jake’s forehead with his thumb.
Moments like these are not few and far between. For as much Drew is haughty and judgemental, the reason they ever became friends in the first place is because of the unspoken warmth he treats Jake with. Even Jake, as dense as he can be sometimes, recognizes there’s something different in the way Drew treats him that has his heart fluttering. The idea that him and Drew are special makes him nervous in a good way (though he doesn’t dwell on it too much).
Jake gets the idea that he shouldn’t bring that up, though. He doesn’t get the feeling it’d go over all that well.
“Don’t forget fantastic singer, ” he says. Even though Drew and the Music Club had made amends already, Jake tries not to mention everything that had happened in junior year. It might be selfish of him to not want to linger over his mistakes and everything he'd done wrong, but it’s a grace he extends towards himself nevertheless. “That’s the most important part.”
He's glad he joined the Music Club. Thinking it over, Jake isn't sure how long he could have gone repressing his singing. All he'd ever wanted since he was a kid was to be someone on stage.
Drew raises a brow. "I'm not inclined to believe that. Don't forget all those girls that liked you before you joined your little Music Club." The words themselves sound bitter, but Drew's tone is remarkably level in a way it hasn't been when it comes to the Music Club in a while. "I guess your girl Hailey might like you for your singing, though."
At that, Jake flusters. "It's not like that," he says. "You know it's not like that. Hailey and I are good friends and nothing more.” Because it’s not any of Drew’s business, he keeps it to himself, but he thinks of her gray eyes staring longingly across classrooms at another girl.
“I’m not so sure about that,” Drew remarks, stretching the syllables. “You know, I’m pretty sure you like her more than you like me these days.” Jake very deliberately does not ponder about whether or not that has ever been true. What matters is the present—the two of them together, just like this. And in the present, the way Jake feels about Drew is…
“I like you,” Jake blurts.
Drew does not move.
“Just as much as I like Hailey,” Jake adds.
Whatever spell Drew had been enraptured in is gone as quickly as it came. Drew rolls his eyes and crosses his arms, kicking one leg over the other from where he sits in Jake’s chair. “Duh, Jake. I know you haven’t mentally graduated third grade yet, but some of us are mature people. I don’t get jealous and I definitely wouldn’t get jealous over Hailey, ” he says. Jake at first cannot tell if that’s meant to be sarcasm or not, but the ghost of a smile plays with Drew’s heart-shaped lips. It makes his blood thrum in his chest.
“You’re the one who said you thought I liked her more than you,” he grumbles, albeit good-naturedly.
In the background, Jake’s head has been buzzing with dribbling pain, heavy in his mind. But it all comes to a peak here, when the nausea courses through his temples and the back of his eyes, a drilling force in the front of his skull. "Drew," Jake whines in complaint. “Remind me to never get sick again. This is the worst headache of my life… I wanna take a nap."
"That's what you should've been doing. Now you feel worse because of those damn screens I know you didn't get off of." Drew must have pulled it out when he wasn't looking, but Jake notices on his desk a Gacha Switch console that comes to life. Then, a little more tenderly, he asks, "Are you alright?" Drew moves a hand over his forehead. “Warmer than it was a few minutes ago. You’re really burning up now.”
Jake grunts in response. The sunlight that had seemed much more faint earlier now felt like a personal affront to his sensitive eyes. He pushed his head into the mattress to relieve the pain. “I have a fever, remember? That’s not usually something people say they’re ‘alright’ about.” Jake’s voice gets muffled by the bedding, but he’s heard loud and clear.
“I’ll get you something, okay? Hold on.” Jake hears the sound of Drew kicking back the swivel chair he’d been in. Distantly, Jake thinks about telling him off for not respecting his furniture. Not everybody is rich-rich like Drew is. The better use of Jake’s time is clinging at Drew’s wrist, not unlike the way Drew had when they’d first entered the room.
He wavers between asking him to stay and telling him to leave before settling on the latter. Jake is trying hard not to be a nuisance. "You should go home," mutters Jake. "No reason for you to be here when all I'll be doing is sleeping my entire life away."
Suddenly, Drew’s hands are over Jake, and he’s being rolled up over face the ceiling. Jake does not fight this development. Drew looks at him rather solemnly. "I'm gonna be here when you wake up. I’ll stay the night and everything. Your mom isn’t normally here for long, and Milo will be out all week.” He flashes one of those Drew-patented special smiles, two in one day, and Jake knows he’s given in. His heart thumps at the notion of Drew remembering Jake’s nonsense about his family this week. “Now I’ll be right back. Don’t go to sleep yet.”
Jake watches as Drew leaves and wonders again if Drew would have done this for him pre-junior year, if this is just another one of his ways to apologize. The word freak still stings at him when he thinks about it late at night. (He doesn’t think he’ll ever get over the guilt of telling Drew about Zoey like that .) But when he really thinks about it, this is the way the two of them are. He’d known it earlier, hadn’t he? Drew and him have always been special like this.
Then the door clicks open, and Drew returns with a damp towel, laying it expertly over Jake’s forehead. It’s a cool weight, refreshing and pleasant.
Jake flutters his eyes half-lidded, only a sliver of his sight readily available. “You know you’re the only person who’d do this for me?” Even though his pitch heightens at the end, they both know it’s not a question. He whispers it like a secret, like a truth that’s only known to them.
Drew gives him a quizzical look. “What do you mean ‘this’?”
“Treat me this well when I’m sick,” says Jake. He gazes at Drew through long lashes.
That startles a breathless laugh out of Drew, a glimpse of reddened cheeks peeking through Jake’s vision. It suits him well. "Yeah," Drew answers, earnest. His head turns to the side in a bashful movement, but their eyes meet anyway. "I'm just like you. I take care of what's mine."