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A fever so bad he called in sick? Impossible. Ridiculous. Apollo knew he’d never face such a thing, treating a used sick day the same as most people would consider making up a family event to get away from a shift. No illness was worth missed time, paperwork always awaiting him.
But what else could one do, if even just getting out of bed was near-impossible?
Apollo burned beneath his covers, sleepwear clinging to his sweaty-yet-shivering frame. Even moving a single finger was hard, shifting something as big as an arm sapping all his strength. The thud in his head was steady, constant, like the tap of a hammer on stone. It was all bearable, sure, as long as he stay still. But giving up like that was just as unreasonable as calling in.
Lurching upwards with unsteady movement, Apollo swayed, nearly blacked out. His eyes wavered, vision blurred, walls seeming to momentarily shift. It was only a sitting position, so simple, and yet was already making his head spin. One hand clutched the mattress’ edge, doing its best to reduce the disorientation, the other going to the phone at his bedside.
But Apollo hesitated before dialing, mind struggling. He didn’t have work today, right? Hadn’t had work. No need to call in today, he thought, setting the phone back down as he waved away the thought. He was fine.
But medicine, water, anything else? That, he desperately needed, anything to fight the rising nausea in his stomach and heat in his head. Getting up was for the best. It didn’t matter that Apollo’s limbs barely responded, that his aching head longed for the pillow it had been lifted off. Getting up was for the best.
With as much grace as a newborn calf, he pulled himself out of bed, scraps of gauze catching on the edge of blankets. Up on his feet he went with a stumble, momentum carrying him across the floor. But it only did so much, and soon his legs had buckled, ground rushing up to catch his fall.
The impact jarred through him moments after it actually happened, a dull shock that rattled his teeth. For a few long seconds he simply lay there, cheek pressed against the cold floorboards, breath coming in shallow, uneven waves. The ceiling above him wavered, edges softening, blurring, as if his eyes couldn’t quite decide where to focus.
He should get up.
He really should.
But his limbs wouldn’t cooperate, heavy and unresponsive, like they belonged to someone else entirely. He swallowed against the rising nausea, tried to push himself upright, and managed only a weak twitch of his fingers.
Pathetic. He shouldn’t have even tried.
He squeezed his eyes closed, willing the room to stop spinning. The fever roared in his ears, a low, relentless hum. Maybe he could stay here for a while, getting up a waste of effort. But the odd feeling he felt beside him was enough to interrupt the thought, hair pricking on the back of his neck as someone’s presence was felt.
“...‘Pollo?”
The voice was warm. Familiar. Unmistakable, really.
Apollo’s eyes shuddered open, a blurred silhouette shimmering before him. With a blink, the image sharpened, bold blue jumpsuit and white-striped navy uniform jacket coming cleanly into view. The outfit was spotless, just as official as he’d remembered
His mind lagged, momentarily.
“...Clay.”
The man crouching by his side smiled in response, expression just as warm as his voice. His usual visor sat squarely on his head, white adhesive strip planted horizontally on the ridge of his nose. Warm light bathed the front of his form, odd for the inside of a room. But Apollo couldn’t care less, detail going unnoticed
“Whaddya doing down here on the floor?” Clay asked, voice equal parts lighthearted and concerned. “I mean, the bed’s right there?”
His hand settled on Apollo’s shoulder, or at least the attorney thought it did. It was hard to tell, through the haze.
“I’m… I just need to get medicine. I… think I’m sick.”
“You think? You’re burning up, man!” Clay said, dramatically slumping his shoulders. “Shoulda just asked me to get stuff. You gotta get some rest.”
Apollo stared blankly, eyes narrowing as his vision wavered again.“...I didn’t know you were here.”
“Hm… maybe I shoulda told you sooner, then? But that doesn’t matter- Come on, let’s get you back into bed!”
Apollo gave only a mumble in return, eyes fluttering shut.
Once he opened them again, he was crumpled on top of his covers, seemingly moved in less than a second. It was startling, the action entirely missing from his memory, but Apollo was too tired to react. The mattress was much more comfortable than the ground, anyway, so why should he complain?
Over him leaned Clay, arms folded as his head tilted to the side.
“That better?”
“...I guess.”
“I guess?! Pff… why’s it so hard for you to admit to stuff, huh?” he responded, tone thin and exasperated as he folded his gloved hands behind himself, one eye pressing closed. “Of course your bed is better than the floor!”
Apollo’s expression stayed flat for a few seconds, adjusting his head to lay on its side facing Clay. Maybe if he were speaking to anyone else, the almost-annoyed statement would have only gotten ire from him. But here, a wry smile was cracked, despite his ill state.
“...Maybe I liked the ground better.”
“Yea, well, you aren’t going back on my watch! Just chill out for a moment, man!”
In response, Apollo just gave another grumble, letting his eyes fully close.
“Seriously, though.” Clay continued, the direction of his voice becoming vague. “You’re always putting yourself through some outlandish crap for no reason. Like, don’t tell me you thought about working today.”
“I would’ve tried.” Apollo mumbled back.
“With how much you complain about your boss, I thought you’d want a break?”
“...I do.” he breathed, sighing deeply. “But it’s my job.”
“Your job that you deserve a break from?”
“Mm… you don’t get it.”
Clay laughed a little, cautioning tension vanishing from his voice.
“Of course I get it. I’m the only one who does, aren’t I?”
・ー・ー・
The sunlight enveloping the sheets before him was the only indicator of passed time, everything blending together aside from that. Apollo blinked slowly, trying to piece together how long he’d been lying there. Minutes? Hours? His thoughts lagged every time he tried to think.
Clay was still there, of course..
Sitting cross‑legged at the foot of the bed now, elbows resting on his knees, visor catching the light in a way that made it hard to look directly at his face. He looked relaxed, looked comfortable. Like he’d been there the whole time, just waiting.
“Finally awake, eh?” Clay asked, leaning back on his hands, the covers beneath him remaining perfectly still. “You were out for a bit.”
Apollo swallowed, throat dry and raw. “How… long?”
Clay shrugged, giving an off-kilter smile. “Long enough that I started debating whether to poke you with a stick.”
Apollo let out a weak huff that might’ve been a laugh, but gave little more in response.
“You still look awful,” Clay added, though his tone was soft.
“...No shit.”
His smile widened in response, just barely.
“I’m glad you’re aware, at least. Buuuut….” Clay leaned forward, resting his arms on his knees. “You’re really out of it, ‘Pollo.”
Apollo didn’t argue. Couldn’t. The fever pulsed behind his eyes, heat and cold fighting for dominance as the room around him wavered in ways walls shouldn’t.
“Don’t you have somewhere to be..?” He muttered, question blunt but genuine.
“What, is there something wrong with making sure you’re okay? You suck at taking care of yourself, I gotta make sure you don’t do anything stupid.”
“I don’t-”
“No, nononono, don’t argue with me!” Clay scolded, voice still soft. “You are absolutely terrible at self-care, mister one-meal-a-day and three-hours-of-sleep. And I know you know it! You’re just afraid to admit it. Like, man, do I even gotta bring up the week after you canned your own boss?”
“...I don’t want to talk about that.”
“Yea, I know, you never do… but you get what I’m getting at?”
“I guess.”
“Soo… it’s kinda important that I stay here, yea? Don’t want you being alone.”
“But-”
Clay shushed Apollo before he could try and continue his complaint, raising a gloved index finger in tandem.
“Just rest, man! Leave everything to me, I got your back.”
“Are you sure you won’t get bored, or something?” Apollo muttered.
“Jeez, who do you think I am?”
The attorney stared back, gaze suddenly unfocusing before sharpening a moment later.
“Who do you… huh?” he mumbled, coherence slipping. “You’re… Clay Terran.”
Before his friend could even begin to respond, Apollo’s eyelids faltered, then closed. Overwhelmed by whatever wave of delirium had suddenly hit, he remained in a strange silence, slipping into rest eventually.
・ー・ー・
It felt like a week had passed, maybe even more. Apollo didn’t recall waking up, seemingly already in conversation with his ever-present friend.
“I think something’s wrong, Clay.” he muttered, curled on his side, mindlessly picking at the few strips of gauze still wrapping his arm. What was all this from? He struggled to remember… or possibly refused to.
“Well, yea, ‘course something’s wrong.” Clay returned, sitting on the edge of Apollo’s bed as he faced away. “You’re still all sick.”
“...I know I’m sick.” Apollo said with a grimace, pressing his eyes closed as a headache continued to thud in his head. “Something’s wrong.”
“You already said that, come on! What, are you scared or something?”
Apollo swallowed, throat tight.
“...Yeah.”
“Hey, come on, man. I’m here! You don’t gotta be afraid of anything!”
Apollo frowned, trying to push himself up on an elbow. His arm trembled violently, but he managed a few inches before collapsing back into the pillow. The room swayed, pulse pounding in his neck, colors bleeding into one another like wet paint.
Clay glanced over his shoulder, visor glinting in the light. “See? Gotta leave everything to me. Alone, you can’t even sit up straight.”
“I have to,” Apollo muttered, breath catching. “I need to… do something.”
“Like what?” Clay asked, turning fully now. His expression was gentle, but his outline shimmered, flickering slightly with each blink Apollo took. “You don’t even know what you’re trying to do.”
Apollo swallowed hard. His throat burned. “I just… can’t stay here.”
“Why not?” Clay’s smile faltered. “You’re not making sense, ‘Pollo.”
“Nothing makes sense,” Apollo whispered, pushing himself upright again. This time he didn’t fall- but only because he didn’t get far enough off the mattress to.
“I… I need to move.”
Clay stood at some point, the movement seemingly too sudden to be seen. “Hey. Hey. Slow down. You’re burning up. You’re not thinking straight.”
Apollo swung his legs over the edge of the bed, feet hitting the floor with a dull, distant thud. His vision pulsed, darkening at the edges. “I’m fine.”
“You’re not,” Clay insisted, taking a step back as Apollo tried to stand. “You’re really not.”
Apollo pushed himself upright anyway, wobbling dangerously. The room tilted. Clay’s silhouette blurred. His own heartbeat roared in his ears.
And then he took a step forward.
“Apollo, this isn’t a good idea! You don’t need to move, or whatever- you need to lay down!”
Clay stood before him, hands outstretched as he tried to talk his friend out of the action. Even then, with each staggered step Apollo took forward, he took one back, seemingly refusing to directly confront. The attorney kept his eyes locked forward, the astronaut’s silhouette staying sharp despite the dizzying waver of the apartment around him.
“...Why aren’t you helping me?” Apollo muttered as he continued on his unsure path, barely able to force the words out. “I can… barely stand, and you’re just-”
Before he could even finish, his legs gave out below him. Apollo stiffened and closed his eyes, preparing himself for an impact with the floor… that seemingly never came.
Clay knelt, arms wrapped under Apollo’s shoulders as he held him close. Just before he had fallen, his friend stepped in, aggravatingly late but better than never.
“Damnit, Clay.” Apollo hissed, body feeling oddly light. “You really had to wait to be the hero, huh..?”
“Heey, there just wasn’t a good opening! Just be happy I actually caught you.”
Apollo felt himself lift as Clay pulled them both away from the ground, arms interlocked though the latter was doing all the work.
“I did tell you this wasn’t a good idea, right?” he scolded. “If you’d just waited, I’d have grabbed you a glass of water without all this drama!”
Apollo gave an irritated look before closing his eyes, letting his weight fully lean into his friend.
“I’m not that patient, you know.”
“I do. I just didn’t think you had the strength in you to try anything."
He was led back to bed, little attention paid to the calendar on the door both passed by. Evening colors shone through the window, illuminating a room organized and clean, bed perfectly made. Apollo found himself laying down in little more than a blink, Clay setting a glass on the bedside table after making sure his friend was alright.
The off feeling still hung in the back of his mind, the perfect surroundings bothering him to some extent. But he felt so much better, already. Why complain, resist the rest he was given?
“Feeling better already, huh?” Clay suddenly said, statement nearly mirroring his thoughts.
“Mhm… read my mind.”
“Hah! Might as well be empaths, at this point. We know one another too well.”
“You’re right about that…”
The filled glass of water was taken from the table beside, a sip drawn from it. It felt oddly unsatisfying, all things considered.
“One thing I do know, ‘Pollo… is that you still need rest! So I’m gonna get outta your hair.”
Clay smiled his usual lopsided smile, expression unchanged over all the years they were friends. Reaching out, a gentle pat was given to Apollo’s shoulder before he backed away, room almost seeming to dim all on its own.
“See you in the morning, yeah?” Clay said, voice unnaturally distant
“Yeah. ‘Night.” Apollo replied, own voice fading out in tandem with his vision.
・ー・ー・
As feverish as he was, his sleep was unusually sound. No nightmares or strange visions haunted him, leaving Apollo to his much-needed rest. It was strange, then, when he awoke to find himself crumpled uncomfortably on the bathroom floor, tile cold on his aching face.
For a long moment, he didn’t move, letting the chill of the ground combat the fading fever in his head. His vision, while groggy, was sharper than it had been, the dusty moulding along the bottom of the wall stared at idly.
Didn’t he fall asleep in bed? He fell asleep in bed. That was what he remembered, no doubt whatsoever. But past that, things blurred together strangely, memories covered in a hazy sheen. What day was it, now? Had days or just hours passed?
And, more importantly, where was Clay?
He’d been here, hadn’t he?
Gears turned in Apollo’s head, thoughts still sluggish. One answer was clear, but he didn’t feel like confronting the truth.
He pushed himself upright with a shaky breath, palm slipping once on the tile before he found his balance. The bathroom light hummed faintly above him, too steady, too real. No warm voice followed, no white-gloved hand there to steady him.
Apollo dragged a hand down his face, fingers catching on the dried sweat along his temple. His head still throbbed, but the fever’s grip had loosened, leaving only exhaustion in its wake. The world no longer wavered at the edges, the lack of visual distortion forgiving. But a double-edged sword it was, making him realize just how troublingly murky the world had felt for the past few… days, at least.
He braced himself against the sink, pulling his weight up inch by inch until he could see his reflection in the mirror. Pale, hollow‑eyed. Hair undone, plastered to his forehead. There was a bruise on his cheekbone he didn’t remember, likely resulting from hitting the cold bathroom floor, something that he didn’t recall, but clearly, obviously happened.
With his gnawing appetite lost, Apollo pushed himself away from the sink, meandering into the hallway, then into his room. All a mess, from the crumpled sheets to the unkempt piles of clothes shoved in any available place. Papers were kicked into corners, unsorted change was scattered over desks, legal forms stacked in woefully unsorted manners. The air was heavy with the smell of stale sweat, something that clung to his own body as well, stifling in the worst possible way. And the glass of water on his nightstand, that he no-doubt recalled?
There wasn’t one.
Apollo stared, for a long minute. Only did he divert his eyes to turn and look elsewhere, head turning before he could even think.
He couldn’t tell if he was shocked, startled to any degree. His expression remained flat, stare unwavering. How was one supposed to react to something like this? He didn’t know. Who would know? He didn’t know.
Before him was a calendar, formatting as plain as it could be. But even as boring as the item was, the numbers listed at the top still hit just the same.
January 2028.
His scars ached, unhealed wounds sending sparks of pain through the dressing that covered them. The fact was clear from the moment he woke up on the bathroom floor, cold tile pressed against his cheek. But knowing and accepting were two different things, and the fever had made it so easy to pretend. So easy to believe, even for a moment, that he wasn’t alone.
Maybe talking to someone real was all he had left.
But no one was as good. No one would ever be as good as the one who ended up with a hole in his chest.