Love, Emma

Chapter Fifteen:

"Trust me, Helen its fine, I'll stay with him, you guys go enjoy." I give her an encouraging smile, moving to help her pull her coat back on her shoulders. 

She sighs, giving me both a grateful and saddening smile, "You're the best Emma, thank you." Pulling me in for a hug I smile over her shoulder at Matteo, giving him an encouraging smile.

Tonight is the awards banquet for a writing contest he had entered, and I know his mood is going anxious with the nerves of not knowing how he'll do. I reach over and hug him after, pecking his cheek as I pull away.

"You'll do great, I know it." I wink at him and continue by goodbye's, walking them out the door as they depart for the ceremony.

Locking the door behind me as I enter the apartment, I hear a muffled cough from his room, signalling he's, finally, awake.

Nathan had woken up this morning, sick as a dog, and had opted to stay home to recover for tonight, the awards banquet the family has been excitedly talking about at majority of our meals. When I'd arrived home, after a rather average day, he'd been no better- he's been sleeping for hours, and finally, finally seems to have woken up.

Helen was stuck in a corner- stay with her sick son, or go to the banquet, a big moment for Matteo- so I offered to help. Although I was originally going with them, I've opted to stay home, taking care of Nathan, besides, Matteo has all the support he could need tonight, and he'll have it from me too, even if I'm not there.

I knock softly on the door, waiting for his okay to come in, I don't want to barge in if he'd fallen back to sleep.

"C-c-c-come in," his voice is raspy, no doubt dry with all the coughing he's been doing, and I run to get him water from the kitchen before returning, slipping in through the door before closing it tight behind me.

He's tucked into his bed, with layers of quilts and blankets on top of him, his hair a mass of bedhead against his forehead.

"Hey, how are you feeling?" I ask, softly, settling down on the edge of his bed, smoothing out the covers as I do.

"U-um, not t-tt-t-too great." He works to sit up, propping his back against his pillows and the wall, taking the glass from me gently.

Without thinking I touch the back of my hand to his forehead, shocked at the heat radiating from him. He's got to be running a fever.

"Nathan you're burning up, how long have you been like this?"

He simply shrugs, setting the glass on the bed side table.

"I'm f-f-fr-freezing, I don't k-know." He looks so innocent, so helpless, staring at me confused, his blue eyes wide as I've ever seen them.

"We need you to cool down, I don't want you to over heat," I pull off a few of the quilts, folding them at the foot of his bed with care to not wrinkle them.

I leave him with nothing but the sheet on his bed, desperate to get his temperature down as I go to refill the glass of water and soak a towel.

Returning to his room, where I'd turned on the fan and closed the door to keep the heat out, I find him in between sleep and consciousness, muttering tirelessly under his breath. Lifting his head up, I place the first hand towel I'd soaked under his neck, rolling it to follow the curves of his collarbones. The second I rest on his forehead, sweeping his hair, sticky with sweat, out of the way gently.

I settle down on Matteo's bottom bunk against the opposite wall, watching him murmur relentlessly in his sleep for the hundredth time tonight.

Getting to my feet, I make my way to the kitchen to make myself a tea- it's going to be a long night.

.   .   .   .   .

I slip in through the door, freshly soaked hand towels in hand, and make my way to his bed, gently sliding out the old ones in place of the new ones. At some point in time, in between when I gave him the medicine an hour ago and now, he'd yanked off his sweat soaked t-shirt, casting it to the floor by his bed.

His chest was bare, pale and shiny with sweat in the moon light floating in from the parted curtains, left purely visible by the sheet which had fallen to somewhere along his naval. Pulling it up, I slip it up to his shoulders, gently laying it over his smooth skin.

Sitting back on the chair I'd pulled over from the desk, I tuck my knees up, watching over him worriedly. He's been out for hours- should he eat? Do I wake him?

Just as I'm pondering whether to wake him, he stirs, rolling over to face me on his side. His eye lids are fluttering, as if he's half asleep, half awake, trying to fight to get back his deep slumber. They flick open, lazily, focusing on my face for moments before closing again, although I can tell he's not fully asleep yet, just slightly on the brink of sleep, drowsiness fuelling his actions.

Finding my hand with his in the dark, he pulls it towards him, causing me to bring my chair forward. He plays with my fingers, slipping them between his, amused by this, clearly, seeing as he let out a quiet, muffled giggle.

"Y-you have n-ni-nice hands E-Emma, soft han-hands," He traces my palm with his index finger, following the creases in them.

Confused by his actions, I just sit quietly, watching him play with my fingers, tracing the spaces between them with his own.

"A-are you o-o-ok-okay?" He asks, entwining our fingers, and pulling our clasped hands against his heated chest.

"Yes," I whisper, pushing his hair of his forehead with my free hand, "Why?"

He doesn't reply for a while, so I just keep running my hand over his hair, soothingly, humming softly as I do.

"B-b-be-because you d-di-didn't say an-anything. You have a n-ni-nice voice, it's a p-pr-pretty voice." He says, talking so suddenly it startles me, causing me to drop my hand from his hair in shock.

Opening his eyes ever so slightly he looks at me, " Why d-d-did you s-stop?"

I smile a little at his words, bringing my hand back to his hair, running my fingers through it, pushing it back off his forehead as it falls.

"T-that feels nice- y-you're very n-n-nice to me, I like that, I l-l-like that y-y-yo-you're nice. I'm s-s-sorry if I-I'm not a-as nice." His face falls, looking very sad at that thought, and he gives me a sympathetic look.

"You're very nice to me Nathan, you always are." I murmur, squeezing his hand for reassurance.

"B-b-but I don't h-have a p-pr-pretty voice. Or a p-pr-pr-pretty mouth, you have a v-very pr-pr-pretty mouth, pretty l-lips."

I blush at his words, even though he doesn't mean it- he's practically in a daze, speaking out of exhaustion and drowsiness. I wonder if he'll even remember anything tomorrow.

"Thank you Nathan, I think you have pretty lips, a pretty smile, I really like your smile." At my words he smiles, and I smile back without even meaning to, his is too contagious.

Finally seeming to succumb to his exhaustion, he closes his eyes tight, a yawn escaping his mouth. Adjusting his head on his pillow he squeezes my hand, mumbling non sense as sleep over takes him, lulling him into his deep, deep slumber.

Making myself comfortable in the chair, seeing as he's still holding my hand and only pulls it closer if I try to move, the last thing I hear before drifting to sleep is a mumbled, slightly muffled sentence, but it stands out clear as day in my mind, quite notably Nathan's voice.

"She likes my smile," and he didn't stutter once.