Flowers in the Window || W2S

12

sorry for no updates gang, still sick. So I've decided to make MC sick as well. The first half of this part is a scientifically accurate representation of how I feel right now.

"Holly Hayes is bitching about you on the drama group chat again."

Not exactly the sentence you were expecting to hear on a Friday night, still curled up in bed and very much still sick, with Margot and Wes hanging around your house. You were trying to come up with the most polite way to kick them out in a bit-you wanted Harry to come over for sickness cuddles, and he'd probably be entering your house in the..slightly less conventional manner.

"What's she saying?" You'd been pretty out of it for the last couple days-this was the first time you'd properly spoken to anyone, except Bryce, who was also forced to stay home, and Harry, who had some kind of weird spider immunity to illnesses and therefore was perfectly fine with being around you. You felt disillusioned-disconnected from the world around you, continuing as normal while you stayed away, trying not to infect it. Only the feeling of studying for your first exam-nine days away now-lying in bed, surrounded by textbooks, notepads and endless boxes of tissue, kept you grounded in reality.

"Hold on, let me scroll back to the top. She makes all her messages so bloody long."

"I didn't even know the drama class even had a group chat," Wes chimed in.

"Doesn't the fine art class also have one, though?" Margot countered without looking up.

Wes's cheeks coloured, and he ducked his head. "Glad you remembered."

Your heart sank for him. Margot had sent countless messages to you last night, telling you that Rex had asked her to be his girlfriend. She'd happily accepted-and you'd been expecting that-but you thought of Wes throughout the entire digital conversation. And when Margot had slipped off to the bathroom about an hour ago, and you'd asked Wes how he was holding up..it turned out she hadn't even told him yet. You knew confidently, with your whole chest, that Margot wasn't cruel. She never did anything to be malicious-even if her actions did sometimes come across as rude or selfish. But this..what she was doing to Wes..even if she didn't know or realise how he felt about her, not telling him, even though he was also supposed to be one of her best friends..that was harsh.

"Here we go," she said, bringing you back to the gossip at hand. "She's banging on about how you're trying to steal Harry from her, basically. How you're doing it on purpose to spite him, or you're just in it for his popularity. It's giving 'stereotypical American high school mean girl'. You know the one."

Wes rolled his dark brown eyes. "This is ridiculous. All this for one boy? I get Harry's a nice guy and all-and his pedophile jokes are fucking hilarious-but does she really need to go this far for one boy? Who she's inevitably going to cheat on by the end of the prom?"

"He's better than nice," you murmured, thinking about that special superhero secret that only you and Harry knew. "But I agree. I like him-very, very much, and he's the sweetest, funniest guy I've ever met-no offence, Wes. But seriously? All this drama-drama that literally only exists in cringe teen movies? Is she mental?"

"Yes," Margot and Wes said in perfect unison.

Groaning, you flopped back onto the mattress, body immediately protesting the hard movement. "I just don't get how I got so lucky with him, and then he just..just..oh, fuck..hold on-hold..can't..fucking breathe..there's phlegm in my throat..nose is blocked..oh, for fuck's sake.."

"You okay there, baby?" Wes asked, leaning forward.

"No..oh fuck-hand me the bin! HAND ME TH-"

And Wes bolted to the corner and shoved the bin underneath your mouth just in time for you to noisily empty your guts into it.

"I hate this," you whimpered when you'd finished. "You guys should go. I don't want to give you any of this."

"Are you sure?" Margot asked, looking concerned. "What will you do without us? I mean, what if you choke or something? Bryce is either on bed rest or in his wheelchair-what's he going to do? And who's going to keep you from dying of boredom?" She walked over to your little bookshelf and leafed through the volumes, holding up one of your classics. "What's even the appeal of this one, anyway?"

You shrugged. "Dorian's hot, I guess."

She set the book back down and came over to run her fingers through your hair. "Just call if you need anything, okay."

"Anything," Wes repeated softly, and you almost teared up, wondering how you got so unbelievably lucky with two such incredible friends.

They left quickly after Wes emptied your bin down the toilet, elbowing each other, bantering, and calling out quick goodbyes to Bryce. Your heart broke for Wes every time you saw the two together now. You couldn't help it-you would take on every piece of pain, physical or emotional, that Wes or Margot or Harry or Bryce would ever feel, as long as it made sure that they would be okay.

Speaking of Harry, when you heard your front door close, you picked up the phone and sent him a message, asking him to come over.

He was there less than five minutes later.

"I was in the neighbourhood," he explained when he climbed through the window. It had begun to rain outside-the droplets creating a nice white noise for you to listen to as you conversed with your friends-and the spider suit was clinging to his body, creating a tiny puddle on your carpet. "I brought extra clothes, don't worry about it."

He snuck into the bathroom to change while you got back into bed and waited until he came out, dressed in a grey t-shirt and checkered red pyjama pants. You lifted your duvet, inviting him in. Since discovering that he had that immunity from the spider bite-which meant he not only had a stronger immune system, but also that he healed faster from physical injuries-the pair of you had been spending a massively increased amount of time with each other-alone, in your room, where nobody else would interrupt or ruin whatever precious moments you were having. You had become extra clingy with your illness-always craving the warmth that only Harry's body could provide-and he'd become more protective, seeing how particularly vulnerable this bout of sickness had left you.

He cradled your weakened body now, arms wrapped securely around you, one hand gently playing with your hair, the other resting on your upper back, as you lay there, feeling as though you wanted to fuse yourself with him-complete the final process of the molten lava, solidifying the rock, making it as unbreakable as ever possible.

"Have you heard about what Holly's been doing?" Your voice was barely audible.

"I have," he replied. "Is there anything you want me to do about it?"

"Will telling her to fuck off actually do anything?"

He chuckled, the sound vibrating through his chest and into your ear, where you could also hear his heart-his good, kind, loving, massive heart. "Unlikely. But I can't just let her say this about you."

"Let her," you whispered. "It's petty. I want to be above that."

"If you say so. But if she goes for you in person, I'm whacking her one and then carrying you off for Wes to come up with some genius plan to get me out of trouble, okay?"

You giggled. "Okay then."

He tilted his head out, looking at the view from your window. "The rain's stopped."

"Oh, that's good." You'd been too focused on Harry's heartbeat to notice the sounds of the water hitting your flat had ceased.

He pressed his chin against the top of your head. "Your stars look lovely tonight."

That made you smile. "They always look lovely," you managed to mumble. His hold on you was growing, and your body was slowly succumbing to the lull of sleep behind your eyes.

"Well, they look beautiful tonight," he said softly. "And the moon. The moon looks beautiful."

You'd heard that phrase before, floating around on the internet-at least, another version of it-and you knew exactly what it was supposed to mean. What he was implying. If you hadn't been so exhausted, your eyes might have flown open in pure shock.

Instead, you allowed your smile to grow wider, and without looking, you said, "I think it's beautiful, too."