The Sound of Snow

Chapter Fourteen: "Smothering"

When the morning light reflecting off the snow and through the window finally brightened enough to wake The Boy's swollen eyelids, he found himself in his father's arms. Dad's wrath must have finally cooled off enough to allow just enough sympathy to make him fetch his son out of the blanket of snow beside the red post box. In the teen's bedroom now, the parent lowered The Boy onto his futon. The child may as well have been sleeping still for he sat up with all the strength of a wilted flower as the man helped him out of his wet frozen clothes and into some dry pajamas – a thermal shirt, some sweatpants and thick socks. When he was laid down again under the covers, Dad left the room. All the while neither spoke a word.

Though the air around was warm, The Boy lay motionless, convulsing with shivers. His frail body had yet to thaw at the core. His fingers and nose were purple from frost nibbling them all night, and his cheeks felt like what he imagined shaved ice would. And his head! The bubble of fevered heat threatened to bursts his skull from the inside like a balloon.

His sinuses too numb to feel the impending tingle, a shocking sneeze burst from him, searing his insides on its way out. The coughs that followed the sudden exertion only worsened the ache, each one echoing a rattling noise deep in his chest. It was hard to make them stop.

Dad walked in again this time with a bowl of water, a rag and some bandages. Crouching beside The Boy, the phone in his pocket buzzed another text alert.

"Dammit, Akitake-kun." He growled under his breath.

The parent was clearly as tense and agitated as ever for the looming threats of Goto-san. But the dark eyes were empty and null as he doctored the sick teen. First he dried his son's wet face, his movements stiff and quick. A couple times The Boy thought he felt a tremor in his father's hard hands, one of which still carrying a scar from his own teeth that night he got locked in the cellar.

The Boy opened his mouth to speak and his voice rang hoarse. "Is-is she okay?"

Dad dunked the rag in water and aggressively wrung it out.

"Is she okay??" The teen repeated firmly.

Chewing his cheek, the other took his time replying. "The hospital called. She just got out of surgery for a fracture in the skull. Said they got her right in time; should be fine soon as she wakes up."

A bit of the concrete stress on The Boy's heavy chest chipped away.

"When will she wake up?"

Dad shrugged and that was the end of the conversation when he dropped the frigid wet rag on the kid's forehead. The Boy hissed through chattering teeth as his parent pressed it closer to his flesh. He begged him to take it away and let him warm up a little.

"You want the fever to go away or not?" Dad's voice maintained monotony. "I put your inhaler on the desk there. Use it."

The Boy knew that thing was half empty already. As much as his lungs were burning right now, it wouldn't last but a few hours.

He hadn't tried to move his left arm yet this morning and as Dad lifted it he was excruciatingly reminded why. It was frozen to the shattered core. Rolling the bandages around it tightly, the man made him a makeshift cast.

"I think it's broken..." The teen muttered. Dad didn't seem to hear him.

When Dad finished doctoring, he made to take the things back to the kitchen but before standing shot a careful glance at his son's face. The Boy didn't cower from it or look away, so it was the father who edgily cut his gaze elsewhere, briskly making for the door.