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Butcher sits irritated on his bed, legs bouncing up and down without rest. He's lit up a smoke to calm his nerves, but it wasn't working in the slightest. Putting out the cigarette, Butcher throws himself back on his bed, rubbing his face and groaning, fed up with this feeling invading his entire being. The worst thing was that it made no sense, it was just a small misfortune that fell upon people when they didn't take care of themselves enough.
Hughie was sick.
The kid had been infected by a high fever, incapcitated for a few days. It was currently the 3rd day. How long was Hughie going to stay lazing about, they had work to do. Hughie wasn't essential to the team, quite frankly he was the weak link. Yet, Butcher couldn't pull himself to actually take the team out. Hughie just brought something that assured Butcher that it turn out okay. Not that he would ever say that to his face.
The rest of The Boys probably assumed Butcher was growing increasingly irritated by their incapability to do anything while Hughie was out. While there was a kernel of truth to that assumption, Butcher just couldn't help himself to be worried about the kid. He was fighting the urge to enter Hughie's room and check how he's doing.
It's not like he doesn't know per say, he made sure to keep Frenchie and M.M. taking care of him, but he hadn't taken the time to see for himself how Hughie was holding up. He'd been combatting that invasive feeling for a few days now.
I mean, he never felt the urgency to see how anyone else in the team was doing. They could take care of themselves and it'd probably come off as patronizing, but Hughie was different. Hughie appreictaed the small gestures, the details and surely would appreciate if Butcher came physically to ask he's doing.
With a grunt, Butcher finally decides to gets off his ass and visit Hughie. Just once, and it'll help blow out the flame of worry to die down in his core. That being said, it would have to wait until night arose, he would rather not handle questions on why he was slipping into Hughie's room late at night.
As light fell, it came time to act. Butcher slipped into Hughie's room with no problems and he finally came face to face with the sick kid in question.
Hughie was breathing heavily, the filthy covers that they managed to salvage from the basement of the pawn shop half on and half off. Clearly Hughie couldn't decide if he was too cold or too hot, fitting for someone with a fever, Butcher supposes.
Butcher sits down on the bed lightly, making sure to not wake Hughie up from his slumber, lest he scare him and kill him via heart attack, bypassing the illness all together. It would be comically morbid, but he would still rather just avoid it happening at all.
A few minutes trickle by, Butcher merely staring at Hughie's profile, despite the bothersome illness Hughie still held a serene appearance while sleeping. It reminded him of the days Lenny was sick, his dad sure as hell wasn't going to take care of him, so it usually fell upon his and his mum's shoulders. Mum couldn't always stick around, so sometimes Butcher would stay up all night making sure Lenny didn't take a turn for the worse. He'd feel like a zombie the next morning, but it felt worth it to him, all to make sure he was okay.
The same overwhelming feeling resonates when he stares at Hughie. He tried to fight it, but he gave in eventually, he couldn't bare staying away any longer. However, daydreaming about his past with Lenny begged the question of whether he came because he cared about Hughie or just to relive moments he had with Lenny.
As Butcher contemplates this, his eyes drift towards Hughie's defining trait, his soft curls. Almost as if his hair magnetic, Butcher can't help his hands from carding through it, slightly massaging it like a hairdresser would. Maybe that's enough to convince himself this was all for Hughie. The kid's his own person, he's not just Lenny, despite the similarities, and Butcher doesn't feel the same towards Hughie the way he did about his brother. It's something different all together, just as strong but still different.
Continuing the night of insanity that is, wall of steel Billy Butcher, visiting a sick Hughie out of the "kindness" in his heart and stroking his hair, Butcher pulls a few damp and stray curls covering his forehead. His eyes fixate on his forehead, and just like Hughie's curls had done before, Butcher feels a magnet pull dragging him to make contact.
This time with this lips.
Butcher leaves a small peck on it, and almost instantly regrets it as the sweat that comes through suffering through a fever invade his lips, an uncomfortable sensation spreading throughout. Butcher has to purposefully stop himself from loudly spitting as to not wake Hughie. He opts to instead wipe his lips with his sleeve.
That was disgusting, but Butcher weirdly doesn't regret it. There must be something wrong with him, maybe he's coming down with a fever himself. May be wise to leave soon, so being close to Hughie doesn't guarantee the sickness.
A silent "Don't keep us waitin' too long, son" is spoken in the dark and calming room, the last words to be said in the room for the night.