Heart's Done Time (Aerosmith Fanfiction)

Chapter fifteen

Chapter fifteen
Sesame's POV
"Wha'timeisit?"
I turned my head towards the sound of Steven's hoarse, groggy voice and smiled at the look of youthful confusion I found in those glazed brown eyes.
I moved from where I was stationed at the desk to sit beside my patient, taking the thermometer I'd retrieved earlier from where I'd placed it on the bedside table and motioning for Steven to open wide. This had never been a hard feat for him, what with the size of his mouth and all.
"It's about 10:30," I told him, examining the thermometer once the reading was good. I frowned.
"In the morning?" he exclaimed, scrambling to get out of bed before I pressed a hand against his bony chest. "We're late for school."
I shot him a look, moving the thermometer back to the table and removing the now-warm cloth from Steven's forehead. "You've got a fever of over 102," I told him, moving towards the en suite. "We're not going to school."
"You don't have a fever," he threw back, raising his voice so I could hear him over the sound of water running. I laughed, shaking my head as I rung out the rag.
"No, I don't," I said when I'd reentered. "But someone's gotta make sure you don't hack up your own lungs, and seeing as we're official now, I figured I was the best for the job." The look of bashfulness on his face was absolutely priceless. "You've been coughing all night," I told him, returning to sit on my side of the bed while I bathed his face.
"Sorry," he said, looking very sorry indeed with his eyebrows drawn together and his lips pursed.
"Don't be," I said softly, withdrawing my hand to plant a kiss on his forehead. "Gives me all the more reason to spend the day looking after my favorite rockstar."
His face flushed.
"How are you feeling, by the way?" I asked then, returning to my earlier action of stroking his face with the damp rag.
He coughed into his fist. "Shitty, but better than I'd be feeling if I were alone and not officially dating the only girl more beautiful than Bridget Bardot," he replied, voice raw and painful-sounding, but tone sincere.
It was my turn to blush, now, saying, "Be serious," more to change the focus of the conversation than to actually get information. "What's bothering you? Apart from the cough and fever, that is."
"Well, uh," he thought for a moment, looking as though he really didn't want to tell me. "My head, for one, but that's hardly a rarity," he said, absently rubbing his throat with one skeletal hand. "I feel nauseous, but again, when do I not?" I winced in sympathy. "My throat really hurts and it's, uh, kinda hard to breathe past the snot in my nose. I actually might drown in snot."
That earned him a laugh, but I couldn't shake the worry I felt so prominently every time I looked at his drawn face. He just looked so pathetic.
His eyes were glazed over with fever and underlined with tired dark circles to match the shadows beneath his jutting cheekbones, his complexion even paler than it'd been over the past few days of withdrawals and his face so pained that it acted like a knife to my heart, making my chest tighten in pain and my eyes fill with tears. I felt like crying, eyes tracing every sickly feature of his and mind searching for a way to ease the discomfort in some way and feeling desperate when it came up empty. I felt so helpless.
Steven noticed my distress. "What's wrong?" he asked, brow creasing in concern and oh the irony of that.
"What do you think is wrong?" I asked, tone coming across harsher than I'd meant for it to. I felt guilty, but I didn't apologize.
His expression softened. "You want to make me feel better but you don't know how, so you've worried yourself to tears," he said, not asking, but stating because he knew. He always knew. "But that's not really necessary because you make me feel better simply by existing and gracing me with your endearing presence." I laughed, tears slipping unchecked down my cheeks.
"You don't believe me," he said then, eyebrows furrowing once again. "You think I'm just trying to get you to stop crying, but really I'm being entirely serious." That got my full attention.
Steven sat up slowly, obviously taking precautions to ensure he didn't faint or vomit. "Pink, I really don't feel well, I'm not gonna lie," he started, looking me in the eye. I wondered for a minute if he was entirely there, or if the fever was making him a bit delirious. "But if I had canceled our date and stayed in bed, I would not only feel sick, but I'd be beating myself up because I'd be alone. And even if you came to comfort me like you always do, it would be different because I would look at you and remember what I was missing out on by postponing our first date, whereas right now, I'm looking at you and feeling proud that I get to say we're dating." I let some more tears slip from my eyes. "And you know, it's kinda hard to care about my various pains when, ultimately, my life rocks right now." And with that, I began full-on crying, allowing Steven to guide me closer with my legs thrown over his and my back supported by his arm.
"Shh," he soothed, breath hitching a little and forcing him to look away while he coughed. I laughed a little through my tears.
"I'm not doing a great job of nursing, am I? I don't think that being comforted by the comfortee is in the rule book," I joked, wiping away my tears and rubbing Steven's back as the fit slowly subsided.
"That's okay," he said when he was finally able to breathe again, face rather red from the effort of coughing. He smiled, but the expression quickly dropped as he whispered, "oh shit," and made a clumsy beeline for the bathroom with me hot on his heels.
I reached the toilet just the same time as he did and gently pulled his hair back as his stomach contents evacuated in a bout of painful retching, his vertebrae poking out as his bare back arched. He whimpered, and I quietly shushed him and stroked stray curls away from his overheated forehead, continuing to hold the gathered ponytail behind his neck.
We stayed this way for quite a while, until finally Steven finished dry heaving and flushed the toilet with a single trembling hand, forehead coming to rest on the edge of the porcelain bowl.
"C'mon," I said, beckoning him to stand with me and giving him a hand up and over to the sink to brush his teeth.
When he was done with that, I looped one skinny arm over my shoulder and escorted him back to bed to tuck him in once again. He hummed appreciatively when I draped an extra blanket over his shuddering frame and placed a kiss on his cheek before climbing in beside him.
"Wake me up if you need anything, okay?" I told him, eyes gazing up at his sweaty face and a smile cracking my features when I found him watching me lovingly. "I love you," I said as a reminder, and then shut my eyes.
The last thing I remember before falling asleep was the comforting weight of a hand in my hair and the sound of Steven humming.