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As long as they had known each other, Finney was quite confident that Robin had never gotten sick. No cold, no flu, not even a random twenty four hour bug. Even in the basement, when Finney kept getting various kinds of sickness from the low temperature of the room, Robin never had the same symptoms. He was the one comforting Finney and pretending it didn’t gross him out when Finney threw up for hours on end.
So, no, Robin never really got sick.
That being said, Robin definitely faked being sick more than once to get out of school. It was usually on days where they had math tests or on days where he mentally felt he couldn’t handle it. It was pretty easy to get away with when he was younger since he never really skipped or had sick days. All he had to do was complain he didn’t feel well following something going around and his mom would let him have a day off. She definitely knew he wasn’t sick.
Whenever Finney would show up after school on Robin’s ‘sick days’ to hang out, she let him in with a humored warning about not catching anything. They’d been through enough; no one was going to call Robin out for faking being sick or Finney for skipping to spend time with him. In the back of his mind, Finney always feared it had something to do with the memories they never escaped so he would rather be with Robin than at school.
Maybe they were codependent at this point, but Finney didn’t care if anyone saw it that way.
Finney got sick far more often than any normal person. He was convinced that his immune system had a vendetta against him; just someone mentioning they were feeling off was enough to have him nauseous and ill for a week. His dad didn’t ever believe him or let him stay home, so it used to take Finney far longer than necessary to get better.
Robin started to notice when they were fourteen, just two months after they escaped and a few weeks before they made their relationship official.
When he did, he pretty much forced Finney to stay at his house all day while Robin covered for him in classes. The school never cared enough to call home, so Terrence never knew. After Robin noticed, most of Finney’s sick days were spent walking over to the Arellano household instead of going to school, spending the day being taken care of by Robin’s mom, and going home in the afternoon like he’d been at school all day.
So, when Finney was walking to school with Gwen on a cold morning in November and Ernesto showed up without Robin, it definitely raised a flag in his mind.
“Where’s Robin?” Finney asked in lieu of a greeting.
Ernesto gave him a dry look. “Good morning to you, too, hope you had a nice start to your day.”
Finney didn’t apologize for not actually greeting him. He just stared for a couple of seconds, waiting for an answer to his question. Over the past few years, his scowls had gotten more intimidating to pretty much everyone except Gwen and Robin. Somehow, it even scared Ernesto who had known him for over ten years.
“He’s sick,” Ernesto eventually said.
Finney rolled his eyes and Gwen laughed.
Ernesto already looked tired of both of them. “He’s actually sick.”
“You don’t have a test or anything today, do you?” Gwen asked Finney, already trying to figure out why Robin would possibly be absent.
“No, we had mid-semester testing last week. No quizzes or tests for another two weeks at least,” Finney said, thinking through anything else that would cause his boyfriend to cut school.
Gwen let out a small hum. “So what’s he really doing? He doesn’t skip without Finney.”
When he was a freshman or sophomore, Finney would’ve adamantly denied any accusation that he ever dared to skip a class. Now, as a senior, he couldn’t care less. His grades were fine, his attendance was decent, and he had only been suspended once so far that year for getting into a fight. The suspension didn’t last as long as it could’ve; the other guy deserved it.
Still, Mrs. Arellano wasn’t pleased and Finney spent every day of his suspension with her doing chores and practicing Spanish. It was better than being home where his dad would notice; Terrence didn’t pay enough attention to know he’d been suspended, but he would definitely notice if Finney didn’t leave for school with Gwen.
Finney and Robin skipped class together occasionally, but Gwen was right that Robin probably wouldn’t on his own. They shared most of their classes and usually made plans to cut early in the day. The last time Finney missed a class alone to get high, he had to deal with hours of complaining and snide remarks from his boyfriend. No need to smoke was worth that aggravation.
“I’m not lying,” Ernesto said. “He threw up last night and was acting like he’s on his deathbed when I left five minutes ago.”
Finney considered briefly how someone could fake both throwing up. He didn’t know how, but he’d never had to fake it; his body hated him naturally and his immune system proved it. Maybe Robin had some hack to throw up without actually being sick.
“Bullshit,” Finney said after thinking it over even if Ernesto sounded convincing. “I’ll see you later.”
Gwen rolled her eyes when Finney turned on his heel and walked toward the Arellano house instead of school. She was less than concerned with his attendance; he did fine in school despite the depressive and anxious ups and downs he had, so if he wanted to skip, Gwen rarely commented.
“Come on, we’re going to be late,” Gwen said, grabbing Ernesto’s arm and dragging him down the sidewalk.
~~~
Finney didn’t go to Robin’s right away. As soon as he couldn’t see Gwen or Ernesto anymore, he doubled back to go home and grabbed a joint from deep inside his nightstand. His dad had already left for work so the house was empty. If Robin wanted to skip for whatever reason, Finney wasn’t going to school to sit in boredom all day. They might as well hang out and they hadn’t smoked together in a few weeks because they were busy with their exams.
Usually Robin would call if he was going to miss school for whatever reason so Finney could mentally prepare to be on his own or skip. He more often than not chose the latter.
Finney was prone to giving Robin the benefit of the doubt. They’d been dating for three years and had been best friends for longer. Robin was typically a very active communicator and this was one of those rare times he didn’t reach out. It made something bitter settle in Finney’s gut because either Robin was actually sick or something else was off that he hadn’t shared it yet. Maybe he’d had a nightmare and didn’t recover from it well.
When Finney got to Robin’s he was surprised to see that Mrs. Arellano’s car was in the driveway. By now, she should be at work. It didn’t make the unease in Finney’s gut go away; maybe something really was wrong. There was no other reason for her to miss work to stay home with her seventeen year old son who was perfectly capable of taking care of himself.
Instead of knocking on the door like a normal person, Finney wanted to figure out what was going on and not immediately sell himself out for skipping. He jumped the fence to the backyard and left his backpack on the porch before he carefully climbed the trellis. It wasn’t difficult, he’d done it hundreds of times before, but the morning frost had him moving slow to ensure he didn’t slip. His hands were freezing in seconds, but he pushed on.
The trellis had been coated with climbing roses for as long as he could remember. There were a few times that he’d snuck in far past midnight that it slipped his mind, but he was brutally reminded by the thorns digging into his hands. Thankfully, with it being fall and the plant getting brown and no longer flowering, it was pretty easy to see where it grew and avoid sticking his palms with a thorn.
Once he was high enough, he eased himself onto the roof over the back porch that sat right under Robin’s bedroom window. Finney peeked into the room but couldn’t see anything because of the angle. He tugged on it and was both pleased and not surprised to find it was unlocked. It was rare for Robin to lock his window; when Finney needed a place to go and it was late, he always went to Robin’s but hated to potentially wake anyone up by knocking on the front door.
For years, Robin had left it unlocked for him. It was always a silent invitation to stay and a promise of safety and security, even if it was just for a little bit.
The window slid open, squeaking a tiny bit from the years of being opened and closed. Once it was opened wide enough for Finney to slide in, he started to shimmy his way in. To his surprise, Robin wasn’t in bed. If he was skipping or recovering from a poor night’s sleep, Finney could almost guarantee the first thing he would do is sleep in. The brief surprise distracted him, making his foot slip clumsily on the windowsill from the morning frost.
Finney fell forward into the room, slamming his hip on Robin’s desk and crashing onto the floor. That was definitely way too loud and would get someone’s attention. Finney didn’t even bother trying to come up with an excuse when he was found; he just rolled onto his back and grabbed his side, groaning in pain.
Why would Robin have his desk that close to the window? It wasn’t like this was Finney’s first time sneaking in. Even Robin snuck in through his own window sometimes! Almost every time Finney was with him, usually coming home after sneaking out to catch a late movie at the drive-in.
Finney heard the bedroom door creak open and tilted his head backwards to see Mrs. Arellano walking in. He gave her a cheesy smile from where he was laying, as if he hadn’t just sort of broken into their house and immediately gave himself away. He’d never succeed as a burglar.
“Good morning,” he said in a sing-song voice.
“The front door is unlocked, mijo,” Mrs. Arellano said, standing in the doorway. Her expression was a mix of exhaustion and disappointment. “Where is your backpack?”
“Back porch,” Finney said, pushing himself to his feet and rubbing his hip. Pain ricocheted through his side when he did and he knew it would bruise. “Ow.”
Mrs. Arellano gave him a quick hug. “Close the window,” she instructed. “¿Ya comiste?”
“No,” Finney said as he slid the window shut but left it unlocked.
Just in case.
Mrs. Arellano lightly smacked the back of his head. It was never anything that caused pain; it was more a firm pat than anything else. “Downstairs, you need to eat.”
“Is Robin actually sick?” Finney asked as he followed her down the stairs, rubbing the spot where she’d made contact.
It didn’t hurt, but he was dramatic. His main goal was to make her feel bad for him so she didn’t try to send him back to school. In truth, if she tried, Finney probably wouldn’t go, but getting kicked out of the house would be depressing. She hadn’t kicked him out before, but she had threatened it a few times when they both skipped because they didn’t feel like taking a quiz or doing a unit in gym.
“Yes,” Mrs. Arellano said. “Didn’t Ernesto tell you?”
Finney pressed his lips together in a thin line. “He might’ve mentioned it.”
“And you… came to check?”
“He never gets sick, usually he’s faking it.” Finney shrugged. “I wanted to make sure I wasn’t missing anything important.”
“You wanted to make sure he wasn’t skipping without you?”
“We never skip,” Finney lied.
Mrs. Arellano gave him a dry look with a raised eyebrow.
Usually they ended up back at Robin’s if they cut class and there were a few times Mrs. Arellano got off of work early and saw them there. When she asked, they claimed they had been let out of school early. It was a bad excuse and not believable, but they both had decent grades so she didn’t often lecture them.
When they were younger, sure, but not since they started their junior year.
Mrs. Arellano smacked the back of his head again. “He’s in the living room. I’m going to make you breakfast, you better eat it all,” she scolded.
Finney would never roll his eyes at her, but it was close. He knew he wasn’t the best at eating and taking care of himself, but being constantly reminded by his boyfriend’s mom was still frustrating. Even after all the years he’d been around their family, it was hard for Finney to accept how much she cared about him. Having an adult care about him still felt foreign.
“You look like shit,” Finney said when he entered the living room and saw his boyfriend. He winced slightly when Mrs. Arellano scolded him for his language from the kitchen. “Sorry!”
Robin flipped him off and it looked painful for him to lift his arm. He let his arm flop back on the couch where he was laying and curled further under his blanket. Well, sort of under. Evidently he was struggling with his body temperature, as he had one leg covered, one of his arms exposed, and only half of his chest was coated with the fabric.
Finney sat on the free end of the couch, next to where Robin’s head was on a pillow. “So how’d you manage to make yourself throw up to get out of school?” he asked in a hushed voice.
“I wish I was faking,” Robin grumbled, knowing where Finney was going with his question. “How do people do this consistently? How have you not gone to the doctor and asked for a new immune system?”
“I don’t think that’s a transplant they can do.” Finney reached down to brush some hair out of his face and grimaced at how sweaty and warm his forehead was. “Ew, god, you are sick. Are you running a fever?”
“No. Mamá said it’s just something going around but I should feel better in a few days. Did you fall through my window?”
“No.”
“She literally said ‘I knew he’d show up, but I thought he’d use the front door,’” Robin said, laughing before he winced and squeezed his eyes shut. “My head hurts.”
Finney patted his head in what he hoped was a comforting way that didn’t cause any more ache. “Did you take anything?”
“My mom gave me, like, three different things and none of them have healed me. Medicine is a scam, Finn.”
Finney gave him a pitying look. Now that he had the shocking confirmation that Robin was actually sick, he took the time to observe him and it made his heart squeeze.
Robin looked miserable. His hair was disheveled and the roots were shiny with sweat and grease, something foreign to see. Robin had always been obsessive with keeping his hair well-presented despite the fact that he worked on cars and got into fights, two things that were never the cleanest. There were deep, dark bags under his eyes, his color was off, and his eyes were red and shiny from exhaustion and made him look on the verge of tears.
The way he was curled up was also unnatural. He was on his side, awkwardly half-buried in the blanket with his knees pulled up to his chest and groaning in pain with every slight movement. Whenever they spent the night together, Robin was always sprawled out while Finney was the one who curled in on himself. Taking up only half of the couch wasn’t very Robin-like.
“Your sickness isn’t a simple fix, amorcito,” Mrs. Arellano said, entering the living room and handing Finney a plate of food. “Medicine will improve but not make you better.”
“It hasn’t improved at all,” Robin whined helplessly, like he was ten and not seventeen.
Mrs. Arellano shook her head and murmured something under her breath in Spanish that had Robin looking offended. She left the room with a brief warning to Finney to not get sick. It was a pointless warning; Finney had already accepted he’d probably be in Robin’s spot within forty eight hours.
Robin groaned in agony, enviously watching Finney eat since his stomach betrayed him whenever he tried to keep anything down. “I hate this, I should be better by now.”
“Didn’t you get sick last night?” Finney asked, taking a bite of his food. “Pretty sure it takes a little longer than that to feel better.”
Robin groaned, moving slightly and burying his face into Finney’s thigh. “I’m dying, help me write my will.”
“Do you have anything valuable? Your car is a death trap and you spend money as fast as you make it, so what’re you even putting in your will?”
Finney ignored the sweat he could feel from Robin’s forehead leaving a patch on his pants, continuing to eat. He had known Robin long enough to know he was being a little dramatic. Sure, he was sick, but Finney was pretty sure that getting through this sickness would feel like a breeze compared to how ill he usually got.
“You ride in my car all the time,” Robin mumbled, voice muffled by the fabric of Finney’s pants. “And I spend money on you, don’t be ungrateful.”
“I’ve paid for our last three dates.”
“Attacking me in a moment of weakness is so fucked up,” Robin said, biting down on Finney’s thigh through his jeans.
Finney flicked the top of his head. “Don’t bite me, what the fuck?” he exclaimed, but he didn’t move away.
Most other days he would, but Robin was suffering and in a state of weakness that neither of them ever expected from him. Instead, Finney finished his food and set the plate on the coffee table in front of them before he ran his fingers through Robin’s hair in soothing motions. There was a scar in the center of his hairline that was barely visible.
Finney hated looking at it, so he kept it mostly covered with his hand even though he could feel the raised skin under his fingertips. He remembered that day in the basement, when The Grabber had thrown Robin to the floor after he’d tried to fight their way out. When he fell, Robin slammed his head into a rusted spring from the mattress.
The spring had gotten hooked in Robin’s scalp, tearing open a terrifying wound. It hadn’t stopped bleeding for hours and Finney had sobbed for that same amount of time when trying to stop it, terrified that he’d lose his best and only friend. The doctors said later that the only thing he was at risk of was tetanus and that head wound just bled a lot, but they weren’t there when it happened. Even now, four years later, those memories still plagued Finney.
“Stop thinking about it,” Robin mumbled.
Finney glanced down at him, not having noticed Robin moved his head to the side. “Huh?”
“You always get that look when you think about it,” Robin said. “I’m on my deathbed, mi vida, your attention should be on me.”
Unable to fight back a smile, Finney found himself grinning at his boyfriend and giving a feather-light smack to the center of his forehead. “You get your first cold ever and that’s what takes you out?”
“I got one when I was six.”
“I didn’t meet you until you were eight, so there’s no confirmation.”
“Go ask my mom.”
“Take a nap, talking will make you sicker.”
“Just tell me to shut up, Finn.”
“Okay. Shut up.”
“No, I know you love my voice. It’s even hotter right now because it’s all raspy from throwing up, right?”
Finney grimaced a little. “That’s gross.”
“It’s sexy, cariño.”
“It’s really not, but your confidence is something else,” Finney said, brushing his hand through Robin’s sweaty hair and down to his back under the blanket. Sweat had soaked through the back of his shirt. “Go to sleep. Your mom’s gonna kick me out if you keep trying to stay up and get sicker.”
Robin pouted but fell silent. “You’re gonna stay?”
“No, I want to leave and sit through a history lecture.”
Despite the sarcasm, Robin lit up as much as it could despite his sickness. Instead of settling down to go to sleep, he got up, wrapped his blanket around himself, and ambled toward the stairs. He glanced back, clearly expecting Finney to follow.
Finney gestured at him to go upstairs but went to the kitchen first to clean his plate. He saw Mrs. Arellano making a grocery list at the table and frowned when he saw some of his normal “sick foods” that she always bought him. He’d think that they were for Robin, but Robin didn’t eat cream of wheat or drink chamomile tea. Well, he didn’t really drink any tea.
“I’m not even sick yet!” Finney exclaimed when he saw the list. He washed his plate and put it in the dishwasher. “You have no faith in my immune system.”
“Mijo, you know you get sick easily,” Mrs. Arellano said without ever looking up. She pointed at the counter. “Bring that up for Robin.”
Finney picked up the mug and observed the amber liquid. “He hates tea.”
“Yo sé, but it’ll be good for his throat. Make sure he drinks it, vale?”
“I’ll try,” Finney grumbled, carefully walking up the stairs so he didn’t spill.
“I’m not drinking that,” Robin said from his bed when he saw Finney enter the room with the mug. “I know it’s tea and I’m not drinking that shit.”
Finney set it on the nightstand and took a second to admire his boyfriend. Even sick and exhausted, Robin was still pretty. It was a word that Finney never thought he’d use to describe Robin, but as they’d gotten older and more comfortable in their relationship, it became a word that Finney absolutely appreciated and felt rang true for his boyfriend.
Robin used it for Finney sometimes, too, but he usually preferred his Spanish verbiage.
Finney sometimes regretted the day he got high and told Robin he thought it was hot that he spoke Spanish. It was true and Robin had weaponized it ever since. Well, weaponized was a strong word because Finney would forever find it attractive and it wasn’t a punishment to hear, but he knew it was usually to tease or rile him up.
“It’ll help your throat,” Finney said. He stripped off his jeans and went through Robin’s dresser to find a set of pajamas that he knew he’d left there. “Where are my pajamas? The ones with the stars?”
“The washer.”
Finney gave him a questioning look, waiting for an explanation.
Robin groaned and covered his head with his blanket. “Don’t make fun of me.”
“What did you do to my pajamas, Robin?” Finney demanded.
“I was freezing last night and I missed you because I was sick and in a weak moment, so I decided to wear them because they smell like you,” Robin explained. He refused to take the blanket off of his face, so his voice was the slightest bit muffled and still raspy because of his sore throat.
Finney furrowed his eyebrows. It wasn’t really that weird or warranted any kind of teasing. They shared clothes all the time and Finney wore Robin’s sweatshirts as often as he could because they smelled like him and it was always comforting. Finney knew that Robin was aware of that, so he really had no reason to feel embarrassed over doing the same.
“Is that it?” Finney asked as he tried to determine the humiliating part that had Robin covering his face.
“I woke up at three in the morning and puked all over myself.”
Okay, that was the embarrassing part. And, much to Robin’s misfortune, Finney did find it funny and he didn’t bother to hide his snort. As soon as the sound escaped him, Robin pulled the blanket off of his face and glared at his boyfriend.
“You said you wouldn’t make fun of me,” Robin whined.
“You told me not to make fun of you, I never promised I wouldn’t,” Finney corrected him through his snickering. “You threw up on yourself? Damn, Ernesto just said you threw up, he never said that you didn’t make it to the bathroom!”
“I want to break up.”
Finney chose a pair of sweatpants and one of Robin’s sweatshirts before he crawled into bed. “Too bad.”
“You can’t hold me hostage in this relationship.”
“I’ve been doing it for three years and you’re still here, baby,” Finney teased. He wrapped his arms around Robin and kissed his forehead.
Robin settled against him, closing his eyes. “You’re going to get sick.” Despite his words, he made no effort to move away and prevent exposure.
“Your mom already has my sick foods on her list, we all know it’s going to happen.”
“Thanks for being here, anyway.”
“I was scared you had a nightmare or something. I almost prefer that you’re sick.”
Robin laughed softly against him before it shifted into a wheezing cough. He covered his mouth with his elbow and sat up to try to clear his lungs while Finney rubbed his back in soothing motions. As grossed out as he was by the mug on his nightstand, Robin resigned to taking a long drink of tea to soothe his throat.
Finney could see his annoyance and knew the tea had done its job.
“That shit is nasty,” Robin muttered as he laid back down. “You know I’d call you if I had a nightmare, mi corazón.”
“I know.” Finney opened his arms back up to Robin again and embraced him in a comforting hold. “I love you, Robin.”
“I love you, too.”
Finney fell silent so Robin could sleep, which didn’t take long with how unwell he was.
While he slept, Finney stayed wide awake. It had become habitual for them. Whenever one of them had a nightmare or was in some kind of weakened state, the other would instinctually stay awake to keep watch. Finney knew that Robin did it whenever he got sick, until Robin got so tired that he passed out but ended up having restless sleep.
Even if Finney was tired, he probably wouldn’t be able to sleep right now. He definitely didn’t expect Robin’s weakened state to ever come from illness, but he still intended to keep him safe while he was vulnerable. There was no threat here, but the paranoia from their past never really went away.
Mrs. Arellano checked in on them after an hour and wasn’t surprised to see Finney wide awake. She merely told him to call for her if he needed anything.
Finney watched Robin sleep and laid a hand on his chest to feel the rise and fall of his chest. It was a comfort to feel him breathe, to know they were both alive and doing pretty okay despite their life challenges. He pushed memories of the basement from his mind; Robin didn’t want him to think about that and Finney wanted to focus on his boyfriend and not his own fears.
“Finn?” Robin mumbled when he woke up after a couple of hours. His eyes were still squeezed shut and his voice was cracking from how dry it had gotten while he slept.
“I’m here,” Finney confirmed, tightening his hold for a brief second to show he hadn’t left. “You okay?”
Robin groaned. “I had that dream again.”
“Which dream?”
“The one I told you about,” Robin muttered, finally opening his eyes. They were red from exhaustion and he looked terrible but smiled anyway. “The one where we leave.”
Finney’s heart beat a little faster, understanding what Robin was saying. It was something they had talked about for the last few years, and Finney dreamt about it, too. Neither knew what they would do when they finished high school, but Robin had been adamant that they move away and had been nonstop dreaming about it for months. Every time, he told Finney about the house they bought, the garden they put together, the holidays they hosted, and the way they were able to leave the past behind.
“What did you see this time?” Finney asked, knowing how much Robin liked to talk about it.
“It was sunny and we went to a lake,” Robin told him, eyes glazed over and lost in the thought of his dreams. He slipped his hand under Finney’s shirt and laid his hand on his abdomen. “You should walk around shirtless more often.”
Finney scoffed. “You’re overheating, stop trying to make a move.”
“I’m just making a suggestion, stop thinking like a whore.” Robin’s smile faltered a little. “I wanna get out of here, Finn.”
“I know.”
“You do, too.”
“Yeah, I do,” Finney agreed, resting his chin on top of Robin’s head. “We’ll figure it out. We can take your death trap of a car and fill it with our shit and just drive until we find somewhere to stay.”
Robin hummed against him, pressing a tiny kiss to Finney’s collar bone. “Just gotta finish high school.”
“Well, and you gotta not be sick. I’m not dragging you across the country while you’re whining about feeling sick.”
“You’re gonna be the same way in less than a day, I guarantee.”
Finney laughed at him, especially since he was right. “And you get to take care of me,” he said, laying one of his hands on Robin’s hip. He could feel the skin burst with goosebumps and how warm it was under his skin. “Speaking of, I think it’s time for you to take some more medicine and you should probably change your shirt. You wanna take a bath or something?”
“No, I just want to stay here,” Robin mumbled.
“Okay, fine, I’ll go get your meds and grab you a clean shirt.” Finney didn’t have a chance to get out of bed because Robin grabbed him and held onto him. “I’ll be right back.”
Robin didn’t let up his grip. “Just stay, Finn,” he said, almost begging. “Just a little longer.”
Finney paused; he really did want to get Robin more medication and a clean shirt. It was pretty likely that Robin’s head was hurting again and he probably felt uncomfortable covered in sweat, but Finney couldn’t bring himself to pull away. So, he laid back down and cuddled into the embrace.
“Okay,” Finney whispered, his lips against Robin’s forehead. “Just a little longer.”