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Jack, as usual, is sick.
With as much money as they can spend on making him attend Choate Rosemary Hall (read: hell), Jack expects for his family to at least be able to secure him a suitable doctor, if he‘s told he’s simply experiencing “growing pains” one more time he’s going to lose it.
He digresses.
Jack, as usual, is sick. And so he has been forcefully put to bed rest by Lem. He had sat Jack down and spelled out the ultimatum, either Jack stays in his bed for the rest of the week or he spends it in the infirmary. And really, he was left with no choice. The infirmary’s beds are horribly uncomfortable, the room too hot, and the weird medical posters hung up on the walls too eyegrating. Jack’s read those damned posters so many times now he’s frighteningly aware of how to administer CPR. But knowing his luck, he’s more likely the one it’s going to be done on, which is just great.
So, bed rest.
Jack rolls over, grimacing as the fever makes his bones ache. It’s hard to move when it feels like his entire body is against him. He spots Lem lying on his own bed, reading a book or newspaper or whatever it is he does to occupy himself when watching over Jack.
It has a printed cutout of a blonde woman in a swimsuit taped onto the front, which is confusing as much as it is annoying. Jack knows Lem’s… desires, and surely Lem knows that Jack knows. Why he continues to keep up this charade when it’s just the two of them evades Jack.
Oh well, let him do what he wants, Jack just wants someone to hold his hair back when he throws up.
Lem eventually spots him staring and smiles that smile reserved solely for Jack, soft and sweet in the corners, sort of like how the girl Jack went out with last year would smile at him, right before she dumped him for spending too much time with Lem. Jack blinks and looks away first.
Lem throws his poor excuse of a porn stash beside him and stands, walking the few steps it takes to get to Jack’s bed and flopping down next to him.
“Hey,” Lem grins, harsher than the look he gave mere moments ago, a bit twisted. Jack buries his head deeper into his pillow and groans in response.
“Feeling any better?” Lem asks, redundantly. He rests a hand on the side of Jack’s neck, the only part of his face he can reach. Lem’s hand is a cold reprieve from the molten lava swimming in his veins so Jack allows it, even turning his head a bit to give Lem access to his forehead.
Cold fingers meet his forehead and he lets out a sigh, letting himself enjoy the touch for a moment. He’ll deny it happened later, when Lem gives him that soft smile again.
Whatever absurdly hot temperature Jack must be right now makes Lem frown, and Jack wonders not for the first time why no one has invested in a thermometer to keep in their room, or even why Lem hasn’t just stolen him one. The nurse has gotten so used to Lem bursting in asking for one that she doesn’t even fuss about it leaving her office any more.
“When am I ever?” Jack answers, redundantly. Whatever miserable expression coats his face is surely enough for Lem to know that he is not, in fact, feeling any better.
Lem sighs and stands, halfheartedly stretching in an attempt to make the trip across the grounds to the nurses office easier on his legs. Jack’s only had to make it once, luckily. When Lem for the first time ever in Jack’s company was sick. It turned out to be a mild case of chickenpox, and Lem made a full recovery in a couple weeks. Jack luckily escaped its crutches since he had it when he was a kid. One of the only time’s his poor immune system has aided him.
He can’t imagine Lem, who goes all the way there and back over and over again just for Jack, it’s basically a hike around the entire grounds, their dorms situated about as far away as you can get. Thank god for boys who are just a bit too friendly with you, who will make the trip to the nurse’s office one too many times for nothing in return except for a demure smile.
“Alright, I'll be back in a bit.” Lem shoulders the door open, the hinges squeaking in resistance. It’s a terribly old thing, probably still the same as it was in 1890, hard to open and even harder to shut quietly. It always slams, even when they try and shut it gently, it’s gotten them caught on more than one occasion to both of the boys' chagrin.
“Hey,” Jack croaks out, just as Lem is starting the five step process to shut their door without sounding like a gun just went off. Lem lets out a breath of exertion and leans his full body weight against it so he can pause for a second to look back at Jack.
“Steal me a thermometer, would you?” He asks, sniffling pathetically so Lem will take pity on him.
“Huh?” Lem replies, brows furrowed with strain.
“Bye.” Jack answers, rolling back over to face the wall, eagerly awaiting for Lem to get back with what he needs.
“Um, okay. Back in a bit.” Lem lets out a small grunt and shuts the door, it still slams against his best efforts. The quiet after is a bit deafening, Jack’s ears ringing painfully.
Jack sniffles again and plucks up a tissue from the box he has on his bed with him, disposable bag right next to it so he doesn’t have to move from his bed.
A cough startles him and he reluctantly pushes himself up with a shaky elbow so he can breathe properly. He’s not sure how much time passes before he can finally fill his lungs with a sufficient amount of air again. But when he does he feels dizzy and crashes back down into his pillow, his comfortable, fluffy, pillow.
The rubbish bag crinkles loudly as he pulls it over, and he notices little spots of red in his tissue as he shoves it in with all the others. Jack resolutely ignores it.
The pillow’s not even his, not really. Jack thinks about it as he wraps his blanket around him more comfortably. Thinks about Lem, tripping over himself after Jack complained about a sore neck once. Practically forcing Jack to take his more comfortable pillow. Jack’s old one is resting pitifully up against Lem’s wall, sagging in the middle.
He floats in and out of consciousness for a while, thinking of Lem, thinking of the homework sitting on his desk he can barely even sit down at on a good day, thinking of that girl he used to date, thinking what girl would want to date him now? When he’s bed bound and being taken care of by his queer best friend.
Jack doesn’t even notice Lem’s arrival, which is worrying in and of itself. The door wakes up anyone in a ten mile radius, so when Jack is startled by Lem’s cool hand on his forehead instead of the door slamming even he can understand he must be worse than he thought, the blood in his tissue remains at the back of his mind.
“Lem.” Jack mumbles, as Lem sticks a thermometer into his mouth, then begins wringing out a wet washcloth. Lem hums a response and places the washcloth on Jack’s forehead.
“Lem.” Jack mumbles once more, with as much force as he can put into it. Lem pauses his fussing and finally looks into Jack’s eyes.
“I didn’t hear the door.” Jack blinks blearily.
A moment passes. The last time Jack was sick enough he couldn’t hear the door he had to go to the hospital, and he had to stay there for weeks. Lem wasn’t allowed out of school to visit, so Jack had to bear the annoyance of his family and sickness alone.
When he returned to Choate is when Lem had begun his pitiful act, with his blonde bimbo book cover and hesitant words. Someone had clearly said something to Lem in Jack’s absence, and it infuriates him as much as it saddens him. He doesn’t want to leave him again.
“Shall I call your family?” Lem asks, a note of hesitance in his voice. And Jack is struck with the overwhelming feeling of simply wanting to exist, to stay in his dormitory like a normal highschooler and perhaps even find comfort in his best friend. He doesn’t want to go to the hospital, and miss another month of school. He wants his best friend back, most of all.
Jack shrugs despondently, and allows the thermometer to be pulled from his lips. Lem handles it with the grace of a man who has had to do this a hundred times before.
“It’s 103.” Lem purses his lips, fingers running smoothly back and forth across the small device. His skin surely coated in Jack’s spit. Lem clenches his hand, then places the thermometer into its case and on Jack’s bedside.
It’s quiet between them for a long moment, Lem clearly battling with the guilt of not wanting to send Jack to the hospital, away from him. Jack almost asks him to, for a startling second. He almost opens his mouth and asks Lem to not call anyone, to just let him ride out his sickness in bed like all those other times he’s had minor colds. But Jack’s bones ache something fierce, and he swears if he gets any hotter his blood is going to start bubbling, and he’ll simply evaporate up into the air.
“Did you steal it?” Jack asks instead, voice wavering. His eyes are half shut and his mouth is open, so he can suck in shuddering breaths, his nose far too clogged to even attempt. He must look a mess, dripping sweat and soaking his sheets. But Lem stares at him all the same, that look on his face that Jack can’t read.
“I’ll call your family.” He leaves, and lets the door slam behind him.
Jack buries his face into Lem’s pillow and screws his eyes shut.