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Neil thoughtlessly trudged behind Mr. McAllister as they navigated the corridors, half-heartedly pulling at his tie in an attempt to loosen it without messing up the knot.
“Stop that, boy,” the professor muttered, firmly but not unkindly. Neil dropped his hand to his side just as they turned the corner to be greeted by the faux politeness on his parents’ and Mr. Nolan’s faces.
Neil bowed his head respectfully, hiding a flinch as he forced himself to swallow. He lifted his head slowly, dreading his parents’ reaction when they saw his face clearly.
His eyes drifted to his mother first. Her brows were furrowed, her eyes wide with something akin to care and concern, but, as expected, she stayed silent. Reluctantly, turned his focus to his father, his face of stone cold indifference, yet his gaze very clearly communicated his annoyance and disappointment.
“Ah, Mr. McAllister,” Mr. Nolan greeted, “Thank you for fetching the boy. Neil, ready to go?”
Neil kept his head low as he nodded, silently begging his headmaster to write off his silence as nerves.
“Neil,” his father cut in sharply, not bothering to hide his frustration and warning, “Mr. Nolan asked you a question.”
“Yes, sir,” Neil whispered, physically unable to make a sound.
The icy glare his father leveled him with almost hurt as much as his throat did.
“I didn’t raise my son to be disrespectful,” he spat.
“If I may,” Mr. McAllister interjected meekly from where he stood behind Neil, continuing after Mr. Perry’s nod, “I understand this is a teaching moment, and I’m sorry to interrupt, but as per our previous communications, Neil here unfortunately has the flu. He’s had a fever for the past few days, and his throat is severely infected.”
Maybe it’s the way Mr. McAllister said it, so matter-of-factly, as if the trembling boy in front of him wasn’t experiencing what he described. Either way, Mr. Perry seemed to accept his reasoning, biting out a curt, “We know. You’re not to take off your mask at any point at all during dinner, understood?”
Neil nodded, wanting nothing more than to curl up in his bed and text his boyfriend. He hadn’t even left the school, and he was already over this. He was so tired. His joints ached from his fever, and his throat hurt so bad he literally lost his voice. He wanted to cry.
“Words, Neil.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Audible words, boy. Do not test my patience.”
“Y-yes, sir. I’m s-sorry, sir.”
Neil couldn’t even feel properly guilty by his father’s look of disgust at his weak voice breaking and cracking before he had to duck into his elbow, a wet, chesty cough tearing through his lungs.
He thought he heard his mother’s sympathetic “oh, baby,” ever so sweet and meant for only him, but as he looked up only to see his father’s stoic face, Neil convinced himself he had only imagined it.
“If you’re done putting on your little show,” his father sneered impatiently, “I suggest we get moving. You’ve wasted quite some time, of mine and your professors.
“Gentlemen, I’m afraid we shall take our leave now, if we want to arrive at dinner on time. Mr. Nolan, Mr. McAllister.”
With that, Mr. Perry turned and stalked out the door, leaving his wife floundering after him. Neil quickly nodded his thanks to his professors before following suit and hurrying out the door.
Knowing he had already put his father in a bad mood, Neil really should’ve expected the sharp slap to his face being his father’s way of waking him up. In his defence, he hadn’t expected to sleep at all.
The dinner had passed in a blur.
Neil remembered muffling wet, chesty coughs that sent sharp, shooting pain from his chest all the way to his throat and his head. He remembered his joints aching so bad, and feeling so weak, like they might fall off, but were also on fire at the same time. He remembered trembling so much he almost dropped a glass of water that was offered to him.
He didn’t know when he had climbed in bed. He knew he hadn’t showered. He didn’t care. He clutched his phone, with Todd’s messages of “drink some tea” and “i love you” lighting up the screen, and cried himself to sleep.