Beyond The Fine Line

Chapter LXII - Sick Day Drama

Act 1: The Feverish Wake-up

A faint glow filtered through the narrow gap in the blackout curtains, softening the sharp lines of the dark furniture. Tissues were scattered across the otherwise pristine nightstands alongside untouched glasses of water. The low hum of the city outside underscored the quiet, broken only by the occasional rustle of sheets and a muffled cough.

Sean stirred, his temples throbbing with a dull ache as he drifted into consciousness. The room felt stifling, almost like a furnace. In his dazed state, he shifted slightly, his foggy mind registering Jay curled up beside him, radiating such intense heat that it felt suffocating.

"Too hot," Sean grumbled, his voice a gravelly rasp, as he gingerly nudged Jay towards the far side of the bed. "Move over, would you?"

"Leave me the fuck alone," Jay mumbled incoherently and defensively pulled a pillow over his head.

Sean rolled his eyes. Even when sick, Jay was a menace to deal with in the morning. With a heavy sigh, he dragged himself out of bed, his movements slow and unsteady. Using the wall for support, Sean made his way towards the utility space near the kitchen. By the time he reached the living room, his head throbbed so intensely it felt on the verge of splitting open.

He opened the cabinet and cursed under his breath. Only one flavour of flu medicine remained – the one Jay couldn't stand. Sean had learned that the hard way yesterday when they had both started feeling under the weather. Apparently, Jay had a preference even for flu medicine: blackcurrant or nothing. The thought felt absurd given their current state, yet somehow, it was perfectly in character for him.

Finally, Sean managed to heat some water and prepare two steaming cups of medicine. Getting them back to the bedroom was another challenge, but at last, he was in bed again, leaning against the headboard as he nudged Jay awake. Predictably, all Sean got was another death threat.

"Jay!"

Still cocooned in a duvet, Jay peeked out from under the pillow with a groggy yet suspicious gaze. His hair was tousled, and his cheeks were flushed from the fever, accentuating the fatigue in his eyes.

"But... I don't like this one. It tastes like death warmed up," Jay complained, pulling the pillow back over his face.

"Tough luck," Sean retorted, managing a weak smirk despite feeling terrible. He leaned in, lifted the pillow, and gently kissed Jay's temple. The touch of his lips against Jay's feverish skin offered a momentary comfort. "Just drink it."

"I'm definitely not drinking this."

Sean rolled his eyes. "Quit being a drama queen and take your meds. Besides, I'm sure it's your fault we are sick."

His eyebrow quirked questioningly. "Mine? You were the one who complained about a sore throat two days ago."

"My sore throat had nothing to do with this," Sean retorted, giving him a knowing look. "And that was definitely your fault."

"Oh please," Jay said with exaggeration. "I was busy with work when you decided to get your hands and mouth into my trousers to see how long I can last."

"Drink your medicine, you bloody bastard."

Glaring at him, Jay finally relented, begrudgingly sipping the medicinal concoction. He grimaced at the unpleasant taste that lingered long after swallowing it. Finally, with a dramatic shudder, Jay set the empty mug aside and dragged himself to their walk-in wardrobe. Moments later, he returned, clutching two hoodies. Jay tossed one to Sean and pulled the other over his head, hoping it might ease their feverish chills.