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“What did I do to deserve this?”
Flint’s voice was so roughened up, it was impossible to hear the lilt in his voice as he tried to ask the question. Volkner sat hunched by his bedside in a chair as Flint laid lifelessly against his pillows. He pressed down a wet towel over Flint’s forehead with his free hand and scrutinized a thermometer in his other.
“Maybe you should stop kissing so many people,” Volkner muttered, squinting at the digital screen. “101.”
Flint shot up, offended, a few knots in his back crackling as he did so. “Hey! You know that you’re the only person I’ve been—” Volkner tried to push him back down, and to his surprise, actually found it easy, thanks to the coughs that immediately followed his outburst. Flint groaned and held his head, shutting his eyes.
Volkner sighed, amused in the slightest. “I know. I need to stop messing with you when you’re sick. It’s pretty bad of me.”
“Pretty bad—”
“Funny, though.”
“I’m dying, Volkner,” Flint insisted, opening his eyes to glare at Volkner. The Gym Leader concealed his mouth to hide the twitching grin he couldn’t stop from forming. “Volkner, I’m literally dying. You will lose three people at the same time if I die.”
“Flint, you’re not dyi—”
“Your best friend.” Flint started, counting on his fingers. He squinted as he looked at them, clearly sensitive to the light. “You will lose your best friend. That’s one. You’ll also lose your boyfriend. Two. See, I have two fingers up.”
“I can see that.”
“Don’t interrupt me.” He paused to hack away a few more times and accept the glass of water Volkner pushed up against his lips. After he swallowed, he continued counting. “Three... Your very devoted sexual other half.”
“That goes hand-in-hand with boyfriend, Flint.”
“Not necessarily, no.”
“Okay, Flint.” Volkner already knew that in situations like these, Flint was impossible to budge. Now that he was sick too, the cause was even more pointless. Volkner reached over to grab the tea kettle on his bedside table, pouring it into Flint’s favorite Chimchar mug.
Displeased, Volkner murmured, “Idiot,” and held out the tea for Flint. The sick Elite sat up in the slightest, just enough to allow his upper body room for drinking, and grabbed the mug by the handle, lightly blowing over it.
Volkner rubbed the back of his neck, anxious. “I hope you don’t actually have mono. That means I have mono.”
“That means I fucking—” Flint coughed violently again, and Volkner steadied his mug. “—Caught it from you, then!”
“Or, it could have been dormant.” He paused, then added, “You’re the only person I’ve ever kissed, Flint.”
“N—” Flint stopped. Volkner gave the mug back to him, surprised to find that his hands wouldn’t grasp it. Confused, he looked up at his face, and found a pair of wide gray eyes staring back at him.
“What?”
“You… haven’t?”
“I thought you knew this,” Volkner replied, his voice quiet. “I thought I had told you.”
Flint was silent. Volkner grabbed Flint’s hand and lightly coiled it around the mug handle. His blue eyes stared down into the liquid as he spoke again.
“I probably did tell you. You just don’t remember,” Volkner said.
After wrapping Flint’s fingers around the mug and making sure he was steady, he pulled his own hand away.
Then, Flint grabbed it again, and brought the back of his hand to his lips, gently kissing it.
Volkner blinked, surprised by his tenderness.
“You’re gonna get me sick—”
“I would take care of you every second if you got sick,” Flint said, holding the blonde’s hand in his, thumb lightly stroking over his fingers. “I really would.”
Volkner was taken aback. A light flush rose up into his cheeks as he stared at their hands. “I know you would,” he responded. “You already have.”
“So don’t worry.”
Volkner had a list of reservations against Flint’s last comment, but he sighed them off, knowing again that there was no point right now. Besides, his words were actually too sweet to ruin.
Slowly, Volkner leaned in, and while Flint thought he was going to replace the wet towel on his forehead, the blonde leaned in to kiss Flint’s warm forehead. He pressed his lips for several seconds before letting go, and he noticed Flint smile.
Volkner slowly pulled his hand away from Flint’s. “I didn’t know cough syrup made you a romantic.”
“Me neither,” Flint replied, suddenly yawning. Volkner took the half-drunken mug from Flint’s hands and placed it on the table.
“You should sleep. Sleeping will make you better faster, you know.” Volkner stood up, pushing the chair away. “Do you want anything else?”
“Yeah,” Flint immediately replied.
Surprised at his immediacy, Volkner crouched down. Flint motioned him closer, and although confused, Volkner leaned his ear in closer.
“Suck my d—” Flint whispered, and instantaneously Volkner shot up, ready to turn around and leave. Flint shouted, grabbing his wrist.
“Volkner! Stop! I’m serious! Please!”
“Why would I—”
“You said any requests! It’s not my fault! I would suck your dick as a last request if you were dying!”
“You’re NOT dying!”
“Volknerrrrrr,” Flint whined, lying down, looking up at him with twinkling, big shiny eyes that looked extraordinarily youthful. “Volknerrrrrrr…”
Stressed, Volkner rubbed his temples and let out an exaggerated sigh. Through gritted teeth, he spoke, “Sleep makes you feel better. You’ll get better if you sleep more.” His cheeks reddened as he continued. “Maybe, when you’re not sick anymore, I’ll—”
Flint got the message.
“Alright! I’m going to sleep so I can get better!” Volkner glared at him, and, perhaps impressively, Flint laid down and immediately began snoring.
Volkner watched him, paused for a bit as he began thinking, and then rolled his eyes, annoyed at himself.
Once he was sure Flint was actually sleeping, he brought the seat next to Flint’s bedside once more. He reached out to grasp Flint’s hand, curiously watching his face as he lowered his head onto Flint’s pillow. The sound of Flint’s even breathing made Volkner close his eyes, drifting peacefully asleep beside him.