'feeling poorly'
It’s Friday, and by Monday Troye and I will be back at school, so I know I need to spend as much time with him as possible.
But Scott invited me out the day before and that turned into staying over that night with him and the rest of his friends. It was good, really good, but I still feel a bit bad because I promised Troye I would have a movie night with him and of course when Troye figured out that I was giving up a night with my friends to be with him (after he heard Scott’s message come through on my phone on the table beside him and then asking who it was, I had to be honest) he told me not to be ridiculous.
If I didn’t know any better I would have thought he was trying to get rid of me all together by the way he shoved me out the door.
I am making my way up in the elevator now, early morning, my hangover still persistent but just more of a pest than anything unbearable; it’s manageable.
I am also in my clothing from the night before but I couldn’t be bothered to go change or have a shower just yet. I just want to lie down with my boy beside me and with Bruno at our feet. I smile at the mere thought.
I walk into Troye’s apartment, knowing I don’t need to knock anymore. I am about to call out to him but then I look over to the sofa and there lies a messy bundle of blankets and three pillows with Bruno on top of it all and Troye most likely underneath it all as I notice the top of his nest of curls adorning the sofa’s armrest.
“Baby?” I say softly. Bruno lifts up his head from where it rests on what appears to be Troye’s hip and looks to me sadly. “Tro,” I try again, but no answer.
I go around to the front of the sofa and kneel where Troye’s head is, the blankets covering his face. I pull it back to reveal a paler than usual, yet red cheeked, boy. He looks terribly feverish and it causes my worry to worsen when he sniffles pathetically.
“Sweetheart,” I say, placing my hand on his forehead, it's abnormally hot, covered in a light sheen of sweat
“Hey,” he says, smiling small and leaning into my touch a bit.
“You’re burning up, angel,” I tell him, he grimaces a bit as he lifts his head, must be suffering a headache too then.
“I realised,” he says dryly.
“Why didn’t you call me? When did you start feeling poorly?”
“Jesus, you fret more than my mother and grandma combined,” he grumbles.
“When and why?” I demand, ignoring his comment.
He sighs, “I didn’t want you to either worry while trying to have a good time, or worse, you leaving your fun to come here to play nurse.”
“You should have called, you know I wouldn’t have mind.”
“I know, of course I do, but you need to have your own space too. We have spent the whole break together.
“Yeah but-"
“Shh,” he mumbles, “It hurts.”
“You and me both,” I say, carding my fingers through his hair gently, rubbing his temples a bit as well.
“Hungover?”
“A bit yeah,” he laughs at me. “I haven’t even showered.”
“You and me both,” he repeats, making me grin.
“How about I fill up a bath for you, yeah?” I suggest.
“That sounds amazing,” I laugh at his sudden change in mood and get up, slowly that is.
