No Strings Attached

CHAPTER TWENTY

That morning was worse than most. Not only was my tiredness feeling more like the dead calling me to join them and rule them as their Ghost King, but an intense pit in my stomach opened and remained like an unclosed chasm after skimming that book. I was sweating. The bags under my eyes darkened so they looked more like suitcases one would lack when migrating. I was in no condition to go to school, if not mentally, then physically.

My father tiptoed into my room, preparing to ceremoniously wake me up with the empty threat that I'd miss out of I didn't go to school, but upon seeing me in the state I was, he considered his move.

"Nico? How do you feel?" He said, pressing the back of his hand against my forehead. I tore my eyes open, and the movement was far more effort that it should have been.

"Terrible." I groaned. I was panting and tired and I hadn't even gotten out of bed. Great.

"A bug at school, I'm sure." My father frowned, pulling down the wrinkles he denied getting around his mouth. He smiled then, and I could see it then, his expression cracking at the edges. It hit me.

My father hadn't really well learned what to do with sick kids ever since my mother died. Maria di Angelo could have been a general practitioner if she'd wish. A paediatrician, even. She had a knack for being able to tell my every illness and ailment with just a few minutes of being with me and give me the correct dosage of the correct medicine soon after. She'd always accompany it would a bowl of hot chicken soup. We all called it "Mama's Chicken Soup" since chicken was the only ingredient, we were confident was in the soup. My father and I had spent cold nights and rainy days in gruelling discussions and experiments of what was in the soup. It usually ended in a watery orange mess in the kitchen, but huge smiles as well. Even now with Ms. Persephone and his relationship, my mother tore a hole in his heart that even the fates couldn't stitch up.

"I'll make some soup." He said, and with that he left his room. I sighed.

The part I hated most about being sick was the boredom. Being sick came second. Hours of just staring at your bedroom wall while your body has the cool, epic battle royals in fighting germs. I'd trade my life for a white blood cell any day.

I was about to go to sleep again when I received a call on my phone, which was unusual because I have no social life. I wheezed in relief when I found Will Solace's name on my screen and a picture of him smiling brightly. I answered the call.

"Hey," I said, trying not to sound like a scratchy mess and only succeeded in breaking out in a fit of coughing. I cleared my throat. "I'm sick. Won't be at school today. Suffer in English."

"I'm sick too, genius." Will said. "I won't be suffering in English today. How's your day going?"

"Horrible," I tried for a laugh, but immediately regretted that choice when my throat retaliated in the form of a sensation that I could only describe as a million needles trying to destroy your voice box. "And you know what's worse? I'm meant to be writing a speech for Jason's funeral and I'm too sick to do anything. Oh, and I might miss the funeral if I'm too sick. The funeral of my friend. Whom I watched die. Whom I watched being murdered."

Will Solace, with his usual perceptive nature noticed my spiralling. "Hey, hey, hey, it's okay, Nico. You're going to get better in time, and I'll help you write the speech if you want. I could even come over if you'd like."

"You're going to get sick if you come over. Sicker than you already are." I said, though I desperately wanted Will to be here.

"I don't care, Nico." He said it kindly, and it made my heart melt. "I'm sure my dad will let me. We can be sick together." He smiled and cut the call.

I heard the thumping footsteps of my father. He appeared in the doorway, balancing a steaming bowl of soup and a packet of medicine.

"Here it is. Hopefully it'll taste as good as your mother's." He tried for a smile, but it failed him.

"Thanks. I was wondering if Will Solace could come over. I think he already might be on his way, actually." I said, looking up at him and assessing his reactions. He deflated completely, which was the reaction I expected. Ever since Jason's death, my dad has been much more lenient with me. Maybe it's that he knows what it's like. He lost his wife, and I my mother. Now I lost a friend. He was worried that I was turning into a shell of myself. And I couldn't blame him one bit.

"Okay, sure, Nico. I can't stop him now." He smiled. "I'll be downstairs. Just call me if you need, okay?" He eyed my phone.

"Of course. Thanks dad. And the soup looks really good. Mama would be proud." I added that last bit as an afterthought. He paused for one moment, before his face erupted with a smile, cheeks balling at the corners. He looked like he did before my mom passed, and I felt proud of myself for being able to do that.

I carefully took the soup into my lap, staring at the swishing broccoli, carrots and chicken. I raised the spoon to my mouth and sipped it. Instantly, I was hit with ginger. Makes sense, considering it's good for sore throats. I was about to take more, when I decided to put the bowl on my desk and consume it there. I carefully got up, wincing at the cold that hit my legs as I stood up and took a seat on the chair. I began drinking it when I heard my bell chime. I was about to get up to greet the friendly blond, but I stayed when I heard my dad usher him to my room. He knocked on the door and opened it with his usual smile, except now he looked like a mess. It seemed as if his attempt to tame his bushy hair was all for nothing, as now it stood up, extremely frizzy, like rays of the sun. The eyebags I'd seen the other day had scored a permanent spot above his cheek and his eyes were bloodshot.

"You look terrible." I said.

"Hello to you too." He grinned. "So do you. We're writing that speech now, right?"

I groaned and threw the back of my hand to my forehead. "Let me eat first, Will. You're such a medical person and you won't allow me some breakfast? Harsh."

He laughed and sat down on my bed, the bed creaking with his weight. He lay down on it, ruffling up the bedsheets and making himself a cocoon with them.

"Make yourself at home." I cracked a smile. He rolled his eyes.

"It's very warm in here. And I'm very cold." He said, sitting up in the blanket burrito he had made himself.

I finished the rest of the soup and pushed the bowl further from me. I took my laptop, a HP laptop with stickers all over it, mostly of subtle queer references most people didn't understand, and my own drawings and doodles in whiteboard marker. I opened up an already titled document I had cleverly named SPEECH. Will Solace sat on my bed, refusing to move, so I brought the laptop to him. He leaned against the wall, wrapping the blanket around both of us, and I leaned against him. He didn't seem to mind.

"Start with a formal introduction," Will said. I started typing.

Thank you for inviting me to speak up here. I'd like to thank everyone for attending this funeral of someone so special. I'm sure almost everyone in Washington D.C. is well aware of what happened to Jason, and having so many people show their support is reassuring.

And it was true. Ever since news about Jason's death got out, a number of people had slipped notes into my locker, sending their condolences. A few had stopped me in the hallway and asked about it. I could find no one who said this maliciously, and that made me believe in humanity just a little more.

"Nico, are you going to talk about how you saw everything happen?" Will Solace said slowly. I could tell he was picking his words, and that the kind expression on his face was no accident.

"Briefly." I spoke. "I don't think I could tell them what happened in excruciating detail. But I'll do my best."

I typed away at the laptop, my eyes so close to the screen Will voiced his concerns for my eyesight. I shook my head and continued. Will grabbed my laptop at some point and included some of his own thoughts. In around half an hour, Will Solace and I were done. I put on a movie on my laptop, but in our sick states, we ignored it completely, and slipped into a dead man's slumber.