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Curly didn’t show up to school today. Which was unusual. Not once has he ever shown up late, let alone not shown up to class at all. It irked Jimmy in all sorts of ways. After all, he wouldn’t have shown up to school if he knew Curly wouldn’t be there. Hell, didn’t receive a text or anything. And now his classmates are bothering him, asking if he knew where Curly was. They usually never talk to Jimmy, always scared of his demeanor, the way he so callously treats everyone. But because their beloved Curly is missing, they decide it’s the perfect time to talk to Curly’s friend, Jimmy. Yeah, that became his unofficial title. This wasn’t the type of attention he wanted. What, he’s just supposed to know where Curly is at all times? Even the teachers are perplexed, saying his parents aren’t picking up.
Jimmy manages to convince the teacher to let him leave. If you can call whatever that conversation was convincing. The teachers would rather not have Jimmy in their class anyways. He’s always snoozing, never paying attention. He’s a reminder of their failure to teach, the sooner he’s out of the school, the better. He can see the judgment in their eyes, that false pity and empathy. Jimmy knows about how other people see him, especially when Curly isn’t around. He’s just a parasite clinging onto the boy that everyone loved so dearly. A stain on the perfect canvas even. Jimmy draws in a sharp breath as he nears Curly’s door. Each step he takes is agonizing, his shoe barely offering cushioning from the hard, concrete pavement.
He turns the doorknob but it doesn’t budge, stopping just as soon as his hand twists it. He tsks, clicking his tongue. “Curly! Open the door!”
A beat. Usually he hears footsteps running for the door. And Curly’s always running. He’s polite, never wants anyone to wait longer than they need to but instead Jimmy is met with silence. Definitely unusual. Curly better have been kidnapped, sent to another country, or be dead right now because his sudden disappearance makes Jimmy’s chest race a bit faster than it should. Not in that way, of course, he just thinks Curly would never go MIA like this. It’s out of character, he would say something to someone. No, he’d definitely say something to Jimmy if he suddenly disappeared. Right? Right.
His eyes darted over to the row of flower pots in front of Curly’s porch. It’s an acquired taste and Jimmy certainly isn’t a fan but what can he do, Mr. and Mrs. Curly aren’t the best people to have rational conversations with. But hey, he’s prepared! He rummages through the pot nearest the door. Nothing a bit of dirt on your hands can’t fix. Out comes a key, dinged up and full of scratches but the dirt falls off just fine. He puts the key in the doorknob and click he’s in.
“Curly?” Jimmy waltzes right in. He closes the door behind him. He’s not worried about Curly’s parents being there because, well, they’re never there in the first place. They leave Curly to his own devices but on the outside they look like the perfect family. Curly’s running everything, calling all the shots on his own ship but he craves someone else.
There’s still no response. It’s eerily quiet in Curly’s home, if you can even call it a home. It’s well-kept but it barely looks lived in. Jimmy turns on the lights, a bright, scintillating white. Almost as if he were in a hospital instead of someone’s goddamn house. Usually homes have those lights with a slightly yellowish hue, you know so it can feel a little warmer but Curly’s home offers no such comfort. He doesn’t know how Curly deals with it but at least it's better than a broken lightbulb that flickers, only ever working when it feels like it.
Jimmy always hated the silence in Curly’s home. It was a noise that filled his ears, if that even made sense. He can hear every single one of his thoughts without fail. At least at his home, there’s always the whirr of the broken air conditioner or the noises blasting from the TV without anyone watching it. It drowns out his thoughts, keeps him sane, but Curly’s house feels dreary. There’s no buffer, everything laid bare and untouched.
Jimmy cranes his neck in the direction of Curly’s room. The lights aren’t on, he can see it through the crack between the door and the floor. He walks over, his head filling up with those thoughts he’d rather not be hearing right now but they get louder and louder as his hands turn the knob. “Curls?” His voice barely comes out as a whisper, choked up and airy.
And Curly’s slumped over on the floor, his back against his drawer, clothes haphazardly scattered around the floor. Jimmy runs over to him, his heart pounding so loud he can hear it ringing in his ears like a time bomb. Shit, Curly’s sick. Jimmy bites his lip, disappointed in himself for taking so long, upset at Curly’s good for nothing parents for never being around when Curly needs it. Jimmy flings Curly’s arm over his shoulder, lifting up his weight using his back as he plops him down onto his bed, tucking him in. Wait, are you supposed to do that?
What did Curly do when Jimmy was sick? He tries to rack his brain for answers. Jimmy got sick pretty often, that’s what you get when you aren’t able to eat a proper meal for days, when you’re out and about doing the good stuff with a couple of buddies instead of going to sleep. He takes time to get better, pisses him off to no end because then he’s stuck feeling like shit for days. Sometimes Curly takes him into his house, takes care of him when he’s not feeling good then asks for nothing in return. Jimmy hates it, hates the way Curly looks at him with genuine concern. A type of tenderness he’s rarely granted, can’t even reciprocate it.
But Curly almost never gets sick. Never. Once in a blue moon type of thing and that blue moon happened to be today. The last time Jimmy saw Curly sick was back in middle school. How many years ago was that? When he gets sick, it’s bad. The type of sickness where he’s out of it the entire day, can’t get him to do anything because he’s loopy and overheating just like now.
Jimmy presses his hand to Curly’s forehead, checking his temperature. That’s what you’re supposed to do, right? He thinks, Curly did something like that last time. Curly’s face relaxes for a moment at Jimmy’s touch, the cold feeling like sweet relief against his burning forehead. Curly’s breathing is awfully heavy, his body shivering even under the sheets. Jimmy leaves his hand there. Whatever it takes to get Curly to feel better if even slightly. Jimmy rummages through his pocket with his other hand checking his flip phone, contemplating whether he should ask one of his buddies what to do if someone’s sick. Nah, they’ll probably laugh at him, call him a pussy or some stupid shit like that. He can never have a serious conversation with them unless it’s about drugs.
“You’re burning up,” he mumbles to himself, his own hand starting to get warm as Curly’s heat radiates off of him. He doesn’t need a thermometer to know that Curly’s got a fever. He doesn’t know how bad the fever is but he doubts Curly would want him calling an ambulance just to go to the hospital for a fever. “Stay right there.”
He doesn’t really know why he said that because it’s not like Curly’s gonna prance out of bed and start hopping around. Jimmy walks over to Curly’s bathroom, grabs a washcloth from off the towel rack and soaks it in cold water. To break the fever, of course. At least that’s what he thinks he should be doing.
The washcloth gets placed on Curly’s forehead but then Jimmy looks at the rest of him. He shouldn’t have the blanket on if he needs to cool down so Jimmy pulls it off of him. Even then, Curly’s still shivering so what the hell does he do now? Jimmy places his hand on Curly’s forearm. Damn, he only started weightlifting just a few months ago but he’s already got muscle on him. Jimmy furrows his eyebrows. He can’t afford to have hobbies like that, he just has to watch Curly move on without him. Back to the point, he shakes his head, Curly’s entire body is heating up. Should he wipe him down?
Yeah, maybe just a bit. He’s burning up after all, might as well try and get that temperature down. Jimmy goes back to the bathroom and catches himself in the mirror. He takes a long, hard look at himself. So fucking unloveable, why does he even put up with me? Jimmy looks down at his arms. They’re not something to scoff at but they certainly don’t compare to Curly’s. Obviously Curly’s so great, he can do anything without Jimmy’s help. The water’s been running for a few minutes now and Jimmy just notices the rag in his hand. Shit, what am I thinking? Curly needs me, he needs me now.
He rushes over to Curly who hasn’t really moved. Looks like he’s trying to pull the blanket over himself so Jimmy yanks it off of him. “Hey, I’m taking your shirt off. Gotta wipe you down.”
Curly just mumbles in response. Looks like Jimmy will have the honors of taking off Curly’s shirt for him. Yay for Jimmy.
“Lift your arms up, man.”
And Curly does but sluggishly, like he’s having to move up a ton of weight. Jimmy peels the shirt off of Curly which looks like it's been drenched in sweat. He doesn’t know how long Curly’s been overheating but it looks like it’s been a while. Good call, he praises himself, chest swelling with pride. He gives Curly’s exposed form a quick once over. Yeah, that weightlifting is really something. Doesn’t mean anything by the way. Jimmy’s seen Curly shirtless a few times anyways. It’s a best friend thing.
He keeps wiping Curly, sometimes having to move the rag to a cooler part because Curly’s body heat rubs off on the cloth too quickly. As Jimmy turns Curly over to wipe off his back, Curly suddenly stirs and blinks at Jimmy. His eyes are half-lidded, clearly taken with whatever fever dream his brain decided to give him.
“Mmm… what are you doing?” Curly’s voice has this slight rasp, like the morning voice you hear right after someone wakes up. It checks out. He sounds at ease though and that makes Jimmy’s lips curl into a slight smile.
“Just taking care of an idiot. Go back to sleep,” Jimmy tells him, the smile quickly being replaced by his air of nonchalance. Curly listens, a soft sound escaping his lips as he closes his eyes and his breathing slows faintly.
Jimmy isn’t sure how successful his efforts were in lowering Curly’s temperature but it’s better than nothing. Okay, what now? He changes out the rag on Curly’s forehead again before sitting on Curly’s desk chair. It’ll take too long to punch in the letters on his flip phone. Besides, that stupid thing is beat up anyways. It’s a miracle it even works, can still get messages and send things but the screen is on the verge of never turning on.
Curly’s got a fancy computer in his room. It’s a big blocky thing. The entire thing looks like a mini TV with a keyboard and another big block on the side. Takes CDs, floppy disks, you name it. Jimmy types in Curly’s password. As for why he knows it, it’s a best friend thing. Besides, Curly trusts him. He types away, sometimes catching a glimpse of whatever Curly’s been searching up on there but he’s focused on something else.
Jimmy rummages through Curly’s fridge. Holy shit, there’s like nothing in here. What does Curly even eat? He searches through the cabinets, making a mental note of everything Curly has in stock. Couple vegetables, some eggs, and a little bit of water. His freezer had some meat but Jimmy thinks he should make something easier on the gullet. Plus if Curly’s parents do show up, they won’t take too kindly to their child’s parasite eating good food. He doubts they’ll show their faces today, busy with whatever business they got going on. Curly will be fine, it’ll only take him maybe twenty minutes to grab everything.
He locks the door, keeps the lights on so it looks occupied. Hopefully that’ll deter whatever criminals decide to come by. Tucks the key back into the flower pot, covering it so it looks natural. Jimmy walks a bit faster than usual. He basically feels his heels making contact with the cement. At this point, why does he even bother wearing shoes? They do him no good.
Jimmy goes to the store. He grabs all the items not already at Curly’s home having remembered the list in his head. Brand name products? Please, Curly can deal with the budget option. He picks the cheapest items possible. After all, he’s spending his money on this and there’s not much of that in the first place. The cashier rings him up and thankfully all the ingredients are within his budget. Except for the one thing he wanted for himself. Goddammit Curly. Can’t even buy cigarettes because of you.
Now, Jimmy’s no chef but his cooking isn’t anything to scoff at. He usually doesn’t cook. He never has the ingredients at home to do so but if you give him something to work with, he can whip up something decent. He grabs some cornstarch from Curly’s cupboards, mixes it up with water and sets it to the side. Sets a pot down onto the stove and turns on the heat, pouring chicken broth in and scrambling eggs on the side. He adds a couple spices into the soup. Hopefully a little flavor won’t send Curly reeling from the spiciness. Yeah, it’s that bad. He doesn’t have time to make it fancy so he grabs a couple of the vegetables in Curly’s fridge, washes them, and slices them nice and neat. The soup looks about good so Jimmy pours the sliced vegetables in, the cornstarch mix, then the eggs. He grabs a bowl from Curly’s cupboards and pours the soup in. It’s not the prettiest thing you’ll lay your eyes on, but it gets the job done.
He walks into Curly’s room, he’s got utensils and everything. He sets it all on Curly’s desk then nudges Curly. “Curls, wake up.”
“Jim? Why are you here?” He’s pretty out of it still but he’s doing better than when Jimmy found him. Jimmy helps him sit up, propping his back against the headboard.
“Like I said, I’m taking care of an idiot. Can’t go home just yet.”
“Is it…” Curly gets cut off by Jimmy pressing a spoon to his mouth. It’s soup.
“Yeah, my old man. Gotta make sure he won’t notice I was gone. Plus you need to get better.” Jimmy scoffs, watching as Curly takes the bowl and sips up the rest. He’s quick to finish. Jimmy doesn’t say anything, Curly must be starving. But so is he and the smell of that soup taunts him. He crosses his arms, tightening around his stomach to silence it. Curly doesn’t have to know.
“Hey, you can just stay here if you need to–”
“I can handle him. Don’t worry about it.”
It’s silent between them. Jimmy’s tone leaves no room for argument, his eyes focused on his lap. His eyebrows knit as he tries to ignore that hunger in his stomach, hoping it doesn’t rumble while Curly’s awake. Curly finishes his bowl and Jimmy takes it from him. He should stay in bed rather than concern himself with the dishes. Jimmy walks over to Curly’s desk and hands Curly a plate of peeled tangerines.
Curly looks up at Jimmy with a shit-eating grin on his face and Jimmy rolls his eyes. He turns away from Curly and grabs the bowl. “You better eat them, asshole. I spent my money on that shit.”
As Curly finishes the tangerines, Jimmy shoves a glass of water in front of him and a pill.
A frown plays on Curly’s lips. “Do I have to?”
“You wanna get better or not?” Jimmy takes Curly’s hand and puts the pill in his palm. “I had to make sure you ate something first.”
“You’re acting really weird.” Curly squints at Jimmy. Jimmy raises an eyebrow.
“Psh, keep telling yourself that.” Jimmy takes the glass from Curly after he finishes, making sure Curly went to sleep right after.
He’s sleeping pretty peacefully now. Much better than earlier. Curly recovers quickly, something that Jimmy seemed to have forgotten since he hasn’t seen Curly sick for a couple years now. Hopefully Curly is still delirious so he doesn’t remember all this. He’d hate it if Curly found out about what he did today. Too embarrassing, Jimmy will probably have flashbacks about this day for years to come. It makes him shrivel up into himself. Yeah, Curly’s right. He’s acting weird. Since when did he ever treat someone so well? And does Curly really deserve it? He’s got a ton of other people who care about him but Jimmy has nothing.
Jimmy sits in the kitchen by himself, the fluorescent light of Curly’s home shining onto him. It’s pure silence as he pours himself some of the soup he made right into Curly’s bowl. He eats from the same spoon. It’s disgusting and he knows it but part of him hopes that whatever got Curly sick gets him sick too. Maybe Curly can take care of him again, remind him that he’s just as good as Curly. Loved, even.
He glances at the clock. Ah fuck. He has to go home soon. Who knows what his old man will do if he finds Jimmy sneaking in at a late hour? Jimmy already knows deep down, his chest drawing up tight as he washes the dishes. He doesn’t want to go home because who would? If Curly’s home doesn’t feel like a home, then his is hell. The rest of the soup gets stored in Curly’s fridge. When you live like Jimmy, you can't afford to waste anything. Eat up every morsel on your plate, even if it kills you.
Jimmy doesn’t look back. He turns the light off and locks the door. It’s almost as if he lived there. If for just a moment, he made that place feel like something worth living in. He drops the key back into the flower pot, getting his freshly cleaned fingers covered in dirt.
Curly feels better. Not completely cured but he can definitely manage on his own now. He gets out of bed and checks his flip phone, slowly scrolling through the myriad of notifications. None from his parents, as much as it stings, he isn’t surprised. He notices a couple missed calls from Jimmy and calls him back.
It rings once, twice–
“Hey Jim. Sorry I wasn’t at school yesterday. Got sick.”
“Are you better?” Jimmy’s voice sounds rough, a bit strained. The corner of Curly’s lips sink down into a frown. He already knows, he can picture the bruises on Jimmy. The cuts, the scratches, the freshly purple wounds on his skin. There’s nothing he can do about it except maintain an air of normalcy. It’s what Jimmy would want.
“Yeah, I’m better,” Curly swallows down the urge to say something, instead opting for a more lighthearted conversation. “But I had a weird fever dream.”
“Do tell.”
“You came over to take care of me.” Curly smiles. Jimmy knows Curly is smiling, he can hear it in the way he speaks even from the other side of the phone. “It was nice.”
“Sounds like a crazy fuckin’ dream to me.” Jimmy sneers acidly.
“Oh, come on, Jim. It’s not so bad–”
“Cya at school.” Jimmy hangs up.
Curly sighs when Jimmy cuts him off. He should’ve expected that but damn if it doesn’t feel bad. He shuts his flip phone closed, instead scrolling through his computer.
Jim, he thinks to himself with a chuckle. God he sucks at using technology.
He rests his elbow against the desk and taps his temple. A fleeting smile runs across his lips as he reads through some new searches he hasn’t seen before:
'how to take care of sick person'
'how to break fever'
'what to do if someone sick'
'foods for sick people'
'cheap but good soup'
'friend is sick what to do'
Yeah, it’s a crazy fuckin’ dream.