Archive of Our Own

December 2019

He already had a bad feeling about it when he was still at work.

Since getting discharged 3 days ago after Alzie’s long hospitalization, he and Als had an arrangement that he would constantly be texted every hour just to make sure James knew Als was okay. Alzie was still malnourished, and his respiratory system had taken quite a big hit after the meningitis-pneumonia combo (with septicemia too, no less), so his condition was still precarious.

The doctors before warned that even if the infection was over and Albert was up from his coma while starting his recovery, he was still very much at risk for recurring infection or infection of other kinds. So James was bracing for the possibility of Als getting worse again.

For the first day, Als was simply exhausted and lying down on the bed all the time because he wasn’t strong enough to get up, but no other problem yet. James got texts every hour like they both agreed on, just as he did from the personal nurse Als’ father hired to take care of him when James was at work.

When he went home, Als still looked pale and exhausted, and his skin felt cold because of his malnourishment after battling severe pneumonia and meningitis for over a month. The nurse, named Ms. Lanley, said Als threw up twice, but he was reassured that it was simply because the meningitis still had lingering effects despite the infection itself being over. Als turned his head stutteringly to face James, giving a small and shaky smile while croaking he was okay. James hugged him tightly but gently too at night until they both fell asleep with Als on his chest.

In the morning of the second day, James slipped an arm behind Als’ back like usual, as he did in the hospital before and at home yesterday, to curl Als into his embrace, kissing the top of the black-haired head then saying, “Call me if you need anything, okay?” Als responded with a small nod into his chest, nuzzling his face there with a slight smile that James could feel against his skin. He tried not to think about the fact that Als felt a little warm again. After all, Als signed to him (he couldn’t talk, after all) that he was okay, so James still went to work while getting texts every hour.

But he stopped getting one at around 2PM, and by that time, he started to worry again. He went home to Als lying flat on his side on the bed, with Ms. Lanley saying Als threw up again four times today and refused to eat anything, not even a spoonful of plain water. When he knelt next to the bed facing Als, he saw the younger man’s eyes flutter open and Alzie couldn’t really smile like this morning, even if James could tell that he was trying. His eyes looked quite red and shiny like he was almost crying.

He put his palm on top of Als’ head to caress him gently, and he saw Als wincing weakly, making his hand dart away quickly because he thought he was hurting his fiancé. Als croaked no, without any sound, and stutteringly reached for James’ hand again, but he could only move his hand up to his wrist hanging over the edge of the bed, then he squeezed his eyes again.

Even simply holding out his arm was an exertion to him.

James’s hand went back to Al’s head to caress him, frowning at the rising temperature he could feel under his palm even with Als’ thick hair between his skin and Als’ scalp. He decided to pull his arm away to direct the back of his palm to the younger man’s neck and forehead.

He wasn’t wrong. Als was having a fever again.

Few hours later, he slipped a hand under Als’ body to sit him up only to have the black-haired man moaning in pain.

“I need to get something in you, or you’ll get sick again,” he tried to cajole Als after he brought him a small bowl of warm soup. Als kept turning his head away whenever James tried to move the spoon near his lips.

At night, he had to prop up Als’ body with his own chest while holding a bin pressed under Als’ chin. His precious fiancé was vomiting into it, coughing painfully after he heaved each time. His palms weakly and gingerly held onto James’ more muscular forearm, squeezing it slightly every time he heaved into the plastic bin. At the sight of Als’ pale and bony fingers contrasting his own arm, he couldn’t help feeling a piercing ache in his heart on behalf of the man in his arms.

So in pain. So sick. So helpless and frail.

Als kept wincing deeply in pain with tears streaming down his face. He was too in pain and exhausted to fully cry, but it was clear to James that Als was in agony. James was pretty much handling him like a ragdoll because he didn’t have an ounce of energy to keep himself up.

James didn’t sleep the rest of the night, watching Als breathe stutteringly with a pinched face, coughing weakly once in a while. At one point, he had to turn Als’ head quickly to the side since the bin was too far, feeling really guilty because the fast movement clearly added more headache to Als as shown by his shriek and squeezed eyes, but James had to because Als was throwing up again, and he didn’t want Albert to choke on his own vomit.

Back in the morning after cleaning up everything, and before James went to work today, he was thinking about calling his boss to take a day off to take care of Als, but he already took too many days off, his boss said regretfully. Besides, it was Friday, so this was the last day of work for this week if he really needed to stay with Als. He was hoping their personal nurse would be enough until he got home from work.

Except, Ms. Lanley texted him at around 3 PM with a picture of a thermometer showing the number 104.6. He couldn’t focus the rest of his workday and immediately jumped up like he had a spring on his chair at 4:56 PM. He immediately jogged to the parking lot to get to his car. He was sure he broke at least 2 speeding laws at several points on his drive home, but he didn’t give a shit.

He tried to unlock his front door and push his thumb at the fingerprint reader, but he was doing them too quickly and sloppily, so the door stayed locked with the scanner annoyingly beeping out to tell him that his finger was unrecognized. He got frustrated and almost broke the door, but he succeeded in opening it in the end. He immediately strode with wide and fast steps to the bedroom, passing the nurse who said god knows what to him.

He was single-mindedly focusing on seeing Als.

Once he pushed open the door, he could just tell something was deeply wrong. His heart immediately sank before he even saw Alzie clearly.

As he stood over the bed, he saw the blanket bunched up over Als’ body with his face turning to the left slightly, eyelids bruised and cheeks wet. There was red dusting on the cheeks, clearly from the rising fever again, and his lips too were red despite being dry and cracked. James knelt down with an agonizing twist in his heart, his own face falling into devastation and protectiveness.

“Als, baby,” he gently whispered to his fiancé’s ear, “hey, can you hear me?”

Even without any response, he knew that Alzie was delirious again. The younger man kept wincing and whining in pain, shaking his head side to side weakly with eyes barely opening.

“He threw up three times today,” Ms. Lanley told him, giving a plunging sensation in his gut, “didn’t eat anything either.”

He clenched his jaw in fear.

“Alzie, hey,” he tried again, one hand automatically going to the top of Als’ head.

It felt wet with warm sweat, and the skin was scalding hot.

Als groaned again, saying ‘no, please, no’ while weakly squirming on the bed, ‘don’t.. touch… please…’

This was really, really bad.

“Als, baby, hey, no, hey no one’s hurting you. You’re with me,” he got closer to Als’ ear while the other man kept weakly throwing his head side to side, “You’re safe with me.”

He tried reassuring Als for a while, but it was clear his fiancé couldn’t hear him. Not really.

Fuck it. He was definitely taking Als to the hospital again.

“We’re going to ER,” he shortly said to the nurse, which she nodded to.

As he looked at Als’ dry lips, he remembered something. Make sure he is well-rested, in a clean place, eats enough, and wears mask outside since he is immunosuppressed now. There are many airborne pathogens he can contract, the doctor in the previous hospitalization said. Good thing that reminded him, so he darted to the bedside table to pull out one disposable mask from the box and loop the strings around Als’ ears. Hospital infection was how he got the previous pneumonia-meningitis to begin with.

James would rather not have Als stuck in a perpetual cycle of infections and hospitalizations any longer.

After the mask was worn, James looped Als’ right arm behind his own shoulders, his own arm going to below Al’s head and the other below the knees. He tried not to panic too much when he felt how light Als was, immediately up into his bridal-style carry without any struggle on James’ part. He focused on carrying Als out with the black-haired head against his chest so that Als’ head didn’t loll around uncomfortably. The nurse was trailing behind him while closing doors, taking Als’ medications, grabbing anything else they might need, then locking the front door behind them eventually.

He didn’t really care about people surreptitiously staring at him in the elevator as he was carrying Als in his arms while on their way down. He didn’t really have enough space in his brain to think about how weird it might be to see a grown person being bridal-carried like a baby instead of being put in a wheelchair if that person were sick. James forgot about it and didn’t feel like going back up.

Besides, Als was wearing his glasses, a medical mask, and was wrapped in a thick blanket anyway. Nobody would recognize him; certainly not with how sickly and fragile he looked now compared to when he was still active on screen and on stage as a musician and actor in Hollywood.

Whatever.

He almost crashed into another person also exiting the elevator when the doors opened, and he simply whispered out ‘sorry’, but not lingering. He immediately walked to the spot where he parked his car, the nurse opening the door for him.

They laid Albert down on the backseat while struggling to put the seatbelt around him. They had to, since James knew he was going to go speeding on the way to the hospital. Eventually, Ms. Lanley sat on the back too, Als’ head on her lap, and James hit the gas to go as fast as he could.

Once he arrived in front of the ER door, he parked hurriedly right there, although he angled his car a little to the side so that the ambulance could still get in. He went back to the passenger’s seat to unbuckle the seatbelt roughly and quickly, immediately hauling Als into his arms again.

Some people yelled at him because of his parking, but he threw a look at his car over his shoulder and thought that there was enough space for other cars to go. He’d deal with the proper parking later. He simply strode fast again into the sliding doors of the ER, coming straight for the triage nurses’ station.

“My fiancé is badly sick. He was in a coma for meningitis and pneumonia for almost a month before, and he’s getting pneumonia again. Admit him.”

The nurses didn’t even get to ask him what the problem was, stunned by the fact that James didn’t miss a single beat to say it with a firm, no-nonsense voice, and the words uttered without pause. Ms. Lanley simply stood behind him, seemingly letting James take the lead.

“His temperature is 104.7 and he threw up over 15 times within 72 hours,” he added again just as firmly and steadily when the nurses stayed quiet and dumbfoundedly staring at him.

It was only then did the nurses move quickly move to take over, telling someone to get a bed ready as they walked straight to ER triage area. When a bed came rolling near them, they helped James put down Als there. Als’ head lolled weakly to the side, and he didn’t move or make a sound at all when deposited to the mattress, already ceasing to squirm and croak in pain halfway through the drive there. If he didn’t flutter his eyes open slightly before closing again, James would think that Als was unconscious.

The nurses paused for a split second when they saw Als’ face. If it was because they recognized him as a celebrity, they certainly didn’t say anything.

They immediately wheeled Als into one of the patient admittance sections, pulling the drape open quickly then pulling it closed again just as quickly. An emergency doctor seemingly materialized right next to James, but maybe that was because he was too focused on looking at Als’ face.

Alzie’s eyes stayed closed, and he was quiet, except for his stuttering breath and wheezing sound each time he inhaled and exhaled, coughing weakly and repeatedly.

There were a lot of machines and tools being wheeled or carried in, cables, tubes, sticky tape, monitors, and whatever else. It starkly reminded James of the time over a month ago, when Als had to be put on a ventilator because he tried to drown himself in the bathtub, then surviving the attempt only to get acute and severe pneumonia-meningitis combo until he went into a coma, both of which required him to have a lot of scary machines and tools attached to his body.

And now it was happening again.

James staggered, the firmness on his face dropping and he breathed shakily. Als had to be rushed to hospital so many times this year. Yet, each time never ceased to terrify him more and more.

Somewhere in the background, Als’ personal nurse was talking to the other hospital nurses and the doctor, taking over when it comes to explaining and discussing the situation, filling in the gaps of information that could not be read by the machines and nurses’ or doctors’ examination alone.

“Sir, Mr. Dennison?”

He inhaled deeply, blinking his eyes.

“We have some questions about your fiancé. You’re the medical proxy, right?”

He blinked several times with slowly parted lips before looking up to face the doctor standing in front of him.

“Um…” he gulped deeply and painfully, “…ye… yeah. Uh. Yeah. I… I am.”

“We already have his files from his hospitalization last month, but we still have some questions. We also need you to sign some patient forms. Are you okay to do that?”

James stared at the doctor, now the one dumbfounded and staring blankly.

“Patient forms, sir?” one of the nurses tried this time, holding a writing board with some serious-looking papers clipped by the clipper on top of the board.

He breathed shakily again and gulped, nodding at her while reaching out his arms.

“Yeah, sure,” he murmured.

He received the board with some patient forms’ papers on it, his right palm shakily grabbing the pen that the nurse held out for him.

Before he started reading, Ms. Lanley bent down to get closer to his ear.

“I need to park your car. The keys?” she said to him quietly.

He exhaled and turned to her, gulping again with a somewhat confused nodding. He still reached into his pants pocket with a trembling hand to get his keys out and give them to her in the end.

Ms. Lanley then disappeared, and he absently answered the questions from the doctor and the nurses while he read the forms and signed them, eyes not really focusing on the letters enough to really take in what was printed there.

It was standard. He didn’t need to pore over it again, so it was fine.

The doctor took off the hearing plugs after palpitating Als’ torso with the other end of his stethoscope, seemingly gathering enough information already. No one was hesitating in admitting Als immediately as an inpatient, certainly not into the ICU either. They didn’t even need to ask James about it beforehand, already fitting a patient bracelet around Als’ extremely bony wrist, the appendage lolling around weakly like a marionette with its strings cut.

He remembered the color of the bracelet as the color for the more severe cases patients, ones who needed round-the-clock supervision. Als wore that last month when in his previous hospitalization.

When he sobered up from his dissociation, he saw that Als already had some oxygen-dispersing tubes going into his nose, and also IV drips attached to his hand with some medical tape plastered to the back of his thin palm. The bluish-green lines were starkly visible on the ashy skin, so James was sure the nurse didn’t have any problem at all finding a vein and inserting the IV needle in when James wasn’t paying attention.

They told him they would be bringing Als into the ICU now, and to inform Als’ personal nurse to meet them there.

He stood up shakily and nodded, walking alongside the medical professionals while they were wheeling Als out of the ER area, along the hallways, then to the ICU section of the hospital. He tried to text Ms. Lanley on the way, but his fingers shook too much. He eventually decided to just text her when they got to the area Als was going to stay in.

James kept standing and staring at Albert’s face, even once they arrived there and properly pushed the bed inside their pseudo-room covered by the thick, tall drapes.

One of the nurses cleared her throat, inviting James to look up at her.

“We will bring him meds and take blood and other samples for cultures later.”

James simply nodded.

“You can press that button if you need us before we come back,” she said again, chin nodding to the wall where an assortment of plugs and buttons were located, but he knew she specifically meant the big emergency button.

He’d been going in and out of hospitals often enough for Als’ health issues to know the ropes of hospital stays.

Still, as the nurses left him alone with Als’ fragile body on the bed, looking at the weak and half-conscious face with almost translucent eyelids, he couldn’t help but think that he was still not ready for this. Not used to this.

He was never going to get used to this.

***

The nurse frowned while holding Alzie’s left elbow down with her left palm and a syringe in her right hand. Als was now wearing a patient gown, his thick hoodies and sweatpants shed and kept by James in the bedside table drawer.

James could see the dark red liquid in the syringe going up along the lines of volume measurements, but it stopped before it got too far into the plastic tube. Even James knew that amount was nowhere near enough for blood test sample, especially if they wanted to do full chart of it. The blood also looked almost too dark, but maybe he was just biased with preconceived notion after the nurses said that they had a problem with drawing Als’ blood.

Als was already pricked several times in his right elbow, the back of his left palm, and now his left elbow, but apparently his blood was so thick that the nurses had a hard time getting enough sample because of his dehydration. They couldn’t prick the back of his right palm, of course, since that’s where his IV drips were attached to, and so the blood would not be viable.

Als kept throwing his head back and forth gingerly with small winces and almost soundless whimpers every time he was punctured anew, weakly pulling his hand away. His eyes weren’t fully opened, but James could still see that they were glazed and moist, red with fever and pain. It was clear Als wasn’t cognizant.

Eventually, the current nurse trying to draw Als’ blood—after all the others failed—gently pulled the syringe needle out and put a folded gauze on the point of entry. It's devoid of flowing blood typical of needle puncture on a vein. Only a dark red and almost dry looking dot on the skin was visible as a sign that Als just got his blood (unsuccessfully) drawn.

“We’ll get a doctor in, all right?” she asked him with professional but pleasant voice, “I think we’ll need to draw blood from his legs.”

She turned the syringe upside down as she talked, screwing the needle attachment loose to replace it with some plastic tube, appearing like the sample tube but wider. 'Transfer device', he thought he heard it was called. She did more things with the contraption, now with the sample tube inside the transfer device, then he saw the scant blood they collected flowing into the glass sample tube.

Once the blood was fully deposited into the sample tube, the nurse threw everything else into a biohazard trash box they brought in before scribbling what he could only assume to be Als' blood sample information on the label.

“Yeah, okay,” James replied with a small and polite smile.

He thanked them as they pulled open the drape to walk out. They returned his smile, one by one disappearing from Als’ area until the last one closed the drape again.

He inhaled and exhaled deeply, feeling both the physical and emotional exhaustions settling into his bone. Ms. Lanley had gone home after parking his car and returning his keys since her work hours were over, just as the contract she had with Als’ father dictated. James was now the only one left to take care of Als in the hospital.

He put one palm on top of Als’ head to caress him, hoping it was calming to the younger man even if he was delirious and unaware of his surroundings now. James then bent his left elbow before placing his left arm on the bed. He stared at the oximeter attached to Als’ ring finger.

There should have been the titanium ring with 7 sapphires on that finger.

He looked down with grief in his heart.

Well, there was nothing he could do about that now.

He looked at the digital digits shown on the small screen of the oximeter itself, showing the number 88%—the reason for Als having to have his blood taken in the first place. Since Als’ SpO2 level was below 92%, which was a much lower level of blood oxygen than normal, the hospital needed to test his blood oxygen more accurately with the blood sample—also because Als had a history of septicemia and had no spleen, so other infections were likely too. The nurses and the doctor wanted to detect if there was any as early as possible before they got worse.

Als gasped in pain, pinching his face and turning it to the left again. James saw other medical tapes with gauzes under them, plastered on several spots on Als’ inner forearms, elbows, inner upper arms, and the back of his left palm. He wondered if those wounds still hurt despite the needles already out.

James shushed him soothingly, whispering sweet nothings to Als’ ear and hoping he could discern James’ words somehow.

“Sshh, it’s okay, baby,” he kissed Als’ temple as he said it, “no one’s hurting you anymore, okay?”

Als croaked something incoherently before hacking his chest with deep coughs.

“Hey, sshh, don’t talk. You’re gonna hurt your throat again,” he whispered to Als, one palm gently but firmly squeezing the bony shoulder with all sharp angles.

Als croaked again, suspiciously sounding like he was calling out James’ name while trying to get away from something.

‘St… sto…p, pl… ease… help… Ja… James…’

“Hey, hey, I’m here. No one’s hurting you, okay? You’re safe.”

Als kept whimpering senselessly, his head moving again side to side weakly while one on his hands grabbed a fistful of the blanket to grip it tight. James tried again to soothe him with gentle words, but Als kept shaking his head with a choked sob and tears falling to his temples.

He couldn’t handle it.

He rose from the chair, pressed a button on the bedrail to put it down, then sat on the edge of the bed. He swooped one arm below Als’ burning and thin body to gently put him in his embrace.

“Hey, no one is hurting you, I’m here,” he muttered them to the top of Als’ head, his lips against the sweaty black strands, “you’re safe with me, okay? I promise.”

Als still sobbed, his shoulders shaking weakly. Each time he sobbed, he immediately hacked his chest in a succession of painful coughs again, wincing his face deeply while his palms fisted James’ shirt.

“Aghrrr,” Als moaned again, new waterfall of tears flowing onto his cheeks.

He pushed his face onto James’ chest, almost like he was hiding it there, then shrieked loudly.

James couldn’t help wincing at the loud voice and the suddenness of it, but quickly put his palm back onto Als’ shoulder again to gently rub it up and down. Als continued sobbing, wetting James’ shirt with his tears.

“I’m sorry you’re hurting, baby,” he whispered again onto his fiancé’s head, “I’m sorry. I’ll do anything to take it away.”

He knew Als probably couldn’t hear him, not clearly at least, but he kept whispering soothing words and hoping it got through to Als’ awareness somehow.

Als pushed his face deeper and shrieked again, one shaky hand going up to his head to squeeze it. He choked out whimpers and sobs, clearly having some kind of severe headache or even migraine.

The drape is suddenly being pulled hurriedly and loudly, revealing several nurses (some the same as before) and a doctor, judging by the different looking scrub, who was not here before.

“Is there something wrong? We heard him scream,” one of the nurses asked him urgently. They brough a shallow plastic pan with syringe, pouches, glass tubes, and whatever else he couldn’t discern in his panicked state.

He looked up at the nurse with worried (and maybe even scared) face, hands still tightly gripping Als’ arm as the younger man continued crying and coughing.

“I don’t know. I think it’s migraine. It’s so sudden.”

The doctor went around the bed to its left side where Als was facing if he wasn’t nuzzled into James’ chest.

“Can you help me to face his head this way?” she said to James, referring to Als’ face so that the doctor can inspect it. He simply nodded.

“Als, hey, look this way a bit,” he tried to gently say to Als, but Als didn’t budge from hiding his face.

James tried several times, and eventually chose to softly turn Als’ head with his hand. Als had his eyes squeezed.

“I’m sorry about this. I just need you to open your eyes for a little bit, okay?” the doctor said to Als, also gently. Probably following James’ lead.

She raised one arm with fingers ready to pry Als’ eyelids open. When she managed to, Als wailed again, but at least she got a few seconds to light her tiny flashlight into his eyes. Als blubbered and begged. For what, James didn’t know. Maybe to be left alone and not have light forced into his eyes on top of his headache.

“Well, his eyes are reactive, but his pupils are a little more dilated than normal. It is likely to be migraine.”

She faced James again.

“You said he got meningitis, right?”

James nodded with arms still furiously rubbing Als’ back and squeezing his shoulder once in a while.

“We’ll need to do lumbar puncture to take his cerebral spinal fluid sample on top of his blood sample.”

She looked at Als again, his appearance pitiful with wet and wildly ruffled hair and tears all over his face.

“We’ll give him paracetamol and sedative a little bit to calm him down. I don’t think we can take any sample when he is like this.”

“Yeah,” James answered absently, “okay.”

The nurses and the doctor left again for a few minutes only for her and another nurse to return with some syringes without needles. The nurse urgently pulled Als’ right hand to screw one of the syringes to his IV attachment on the back of his palm.

Als kept trying to pull his hand away, so James swallowed down his pity and held Als’ thin wrist tightly to make sure it didn’t move around until the plunger of the syringe hit the stoppers on its side. The nurse unscrewed it again to replace it with another one, doing the same thing until the second medication was fully entered into Als’ bloodstream.

“We’ll wait for 10 minutes and see if he calms down, all right? We’ll come in here again to check.”

And so began one of the most stressful ten minutes of his life.

***

There was a brand-new doctor again now, since the previous nurses tried again to draw blood from Als’ arms and it still didn’t work. The new doctor was apparently tasked to draw blood from the more difficult body parts. To minimize the chance of blood clot, they said. That’s why they needed a more specialized medical professional, like a doctor rather than general phlebotomists.

They had tried again several times on Als’ lower body parts like the ankles, but that didn’t work. Apparently, the dehydration was so bad that their only option now was around the thighs.

James didn’t think too much about it, staring at the doctor as he prepared his tools and reached towards the top of Als’ blanket. He pulled it down and pushed up the patient gown, practically opening up Als’ private parts. He didn’t realize that Als was not taking it well until he started hearing Als groan deliriously again, shifting his body as if he was trying to get away from whoever was touching his lower body.

The doctor and the nurses immediately grabbed Als’ legs to stabilize him, making it worse. So Als stirred his body again and pulled his legs up to curl up and get away. His whining got louder, and James heard him say ‘stop… please… don’t touch me’ again.

“Doctor, can we—”

The medical personnels didn’t heed James, the doctor murmuring to the nurses to hold Als’ legs harder. He was probably more focused on making Als stay still so that he didn’t accidentally hurt or injure him. Which made sense, of course. If James wasn’t so concerned about Als’ rising fear due to his trauma worsened by his fever delirium, he would even help them keep Als still.

But he looked up again to Als’ face which started getting wet again with a fresh wave of tears. Als struggled even more, seemingly stronger than what he should have been capable of with his sickness. His moan of pain and panicked garbling got louder too.

“Doctor, ple—”

The nurses pushed down even more with the doctor’s face furrowing deeper. When James wasn’t looking, the doctor apparently put on his gloves and was now touching Als’ legs higher near the groin. A nurse even pushed at Als’ abdomen and right upper arm to keep him from moving further.

“I think we need—”

Als’ cry got louder and clearer, instead of just tearful murmuring like before.

“Please… stop… don’t hurt…”

Als coughed, interrupting himself. The doctor and the nurses only glanced for a split second to Als’ face, then they were back to trying to draw Als’ blood from his thigh.

“Stop, doc, nurse, please let go,” James tried to tell them pleadingly.

They didn’t listen to him and kept pushing Als down. Eventually, the doctor’s hand touched Als’ upper inner thigh with the alcohol swab.

Als screamed, and he screamed loudly.

The doctor and the nurses let go of Als’ strongly struggling body in shock, the skeletal physique almost jumping off the bed from the touching hands. Some of them even tried to cover their ears while the others winced at the sudden loud voice. Even James pulled his head away with a deep wince, not expecting Als to have enough energy inside his body to scream and trash his body like that.

Once they all got his bearing, the medical personnel started pushing at Als’ body down again, presumably to keep him from falling off the bed.

“Stop! Stop! Let go!” James now finally instructed firmly.

The nurses looked at him as the doctor did, their faces subtly annoyed and upset.

“Mr. Dennison, you know we need to—”

“Just let go of him for now. He has PTSD,” he now interrupted the nurse firmly with his own irritated look.

The doctor sighed, clearly tired and desperate for an easy patient.

“Yes, we know, sir. We saw his file—”

“From sexual assault,” he interrupted again, with yelling and louder voice this time, now angry at the medical personnel’s insistence on forcing a treatment.

They finally leaned back, hands loosening from Als’ body. They saw his glaring face and were clearly feeling uneasy and awkward from it.

Als kept crying, choking out tears with small voice now that all of his remaining strength was used up from his scream and trashing body. He was back to murmuring pleadings and whimpers of pain and fear. James had his palm on top of Als’ head again to caress it, murmuring calming things as Als continued sobbing weakly.

“It’s okay, no one’s touching you anymore, okay? No one’s hurting you.”

Als still sobbed and moved his body to the side shakily, still trying to get away, but he settled more and more as James caressed him continuously with soft and calming words, or maybe he ceased his movement because there was no more energy inside his body. Als finally stopped shifting around and crying, only wincing and breathing shallowly with wheezing sound.

James sighed with closed eyes, now feeling guilty about being rude to them.

“I’m… I’m sorry. That was uncalled for,” he apologized, face softening as he looked at the medical professionals around him. “It’s just… he wouldn’t want to be touched there.”

The doctor sighed deeply too and pulled his hands away to hang them on his sides.

“Can we maybe, I don’t know, try in few hours?” he offered to them.

They looked at each other, the doctor looked at him again with a small nod.

“Maybe we need to wait until his IV alleviate his dehydration enough for us to draw blood in normal places.”

“Thank you,” he said gently with a small smile, hoping that it made up for his previous rudeness.

The doctor took off his gloves and put them in the biohazard trash box, then nodded to the nurses to get them to leave with him. The last nurse finally pulled the drapes again behind him to completely close Als’ area.

He sighed again.

He was tired, but he reminded himself that there was no way it could rival the pain that Als was going through right now.

***

At 10 PM, two nurses were back again, and no doctor from the three before. There was no doctor at all in sight, actually. It might mean they considered Als’ case to not be too urgent now. Or there were not enough doctors to handle the whole ICU section, so they were spread thin.

Since it’d been just a little over three hours, the nurses tried again to draw blood from Als’ arm, and it worked this time, even if they had to prick several spots to get enough blood sample. Als was either asleep or unconscious considering there was not a single peep or movement from him, and his swollen eyes were shut.

He had been in the last three hours that James watched him.

James simply stared at the nurse’s hands currently holding Als’ arm and the blood sample tubes, while the other one was preparing the tools and writing on the labels each time the first nurse was done with a sample tube.

Once the nurses collected 5 vials, one of them lifted another tube (made of plastic this time) and a giant cotton swab. She opened Als mouth to swipe the back of his throat for bacterial culture, making Als cough hard again. The nurses froze to watch Als intensely, just as James did, until Als finally stopped coughing and took a deep, shuddering breath with a wince as if it was impossible for him to push some air into his lungs. After that, the nurse put the cotton swab into the plastic tube and closed the lid, telling James that a doctor would be coming in soon to do lumbar puncture.

James readied himself. He knew Als was afraid of it.

When the female doctor from before showed up again with a different nurse, she told him to put Als on his side and curl his body up so that the spine is elongated and easier to work with. As if the realization and fear pierced through Als’ deliriousness, his dark grey eyes fluttered open then widened. James immediately held Als’ thighs and arms down while the nurse helped by pushing down the shoulder.

Als whimpered and sobbed again as the needle entered his back, trying to trash his body again.

“I’m sorry, baby, I’m sorry. I know it hurts. I’m really sorry.”

Als wailed again, and he kept steady even if he felt horrible for forcing Als to endure it. The doctor and the nurse were also more ready now to handle Als’ unpredictable reactions to their treatments.

Als gasped deeply when the doctor slowly pulled the needle out of his spine, his eyes rolling into his skull. They immediately panicked, thinking that the lumbar punctured somehow damaged an important nerve, so they walked out after informing James that they were getting additional nurses and paging a neurologist. James was losing his shit as he was waiting, his own fear drowning him as he looked at Als’ slack face.

It felt like an eternity before a crowd of nurses and the female emergency doctor from earlier showed up, now with the neurologist James was familiar with because of the previous hospitalization. They fumbled with Alzie’s body, pushing him so that he laid on bis back. His arm and head just flopped to the side in his unconsciousness.

The neurologist shone a light into Als’ eyes with his own flashlight and checked Als’ back again to check the site of lumbar puncture entry, pushing fingers onto his wrist and tensely looking at the monitor repeatedly.

Thankfully, Als winced again with a croak after few minutes, so they all audibly sighed—including James—and slumped their backs in relief.

The neurologist said Als most likely passed out simply because of the lumbar puncture pain, so he prescribed low dose morphine on top of higher dose of fever reducer, but he will check in again in the morning to see if Als’ nerves were still functional and that the fainting was truly just a reaction to overwhelming pain.

James dropped down onto his chair again with closed eyes while trying to even out his breathing.

He tried not to fall asleep the rest of the night so that he could keep watch on Als, but between the high-adrenaline last few hours and not sleeping yesterday night, he found it hard to not succumb to exhaustion, so he fell asleep with head bracketed by his crossed arms on the bed next to Als’ body.

He only slept for a bit before his panic and nightmare jolted him awake again, coincidentally when a nurse came in to administer said pain med and fever reducer, and probably some antibiotics, into the IV line.

It didn’t help. Als’ temperature only dropped 0.5 point at dawn, so they brought in one of those blue liquid pouch compresses to be put on Als’ neck. The good thing was, when the neurologist came in again in the early morning and did reflex test with one of those medical hammers, Als’ body reacted.

No nerve damage, at least.

It went on for two nights; routine nerve check, breathing check with James putting Als’ body against his chest so that the pulmonologist could check by listening to his back, more meds, more oxygen dispersion adjustment, more pained weeping, more puking, more temperature check, and who knows what else. Als’ breathing still produced wheezing noise and his temperature didn’t go down, neither did his blood oxygen level go up.

They also put him on nasogastric feeding eventually to compensate for the lack of food going into his body and frequent vomiting.

At least, they didn’t detect septicemia or meningitis from the tests like before, and the bacteria causing Als’ new wave of pneumonia was still the same as his previous hospitalization, so they kept the same antibiotics up. The doctors were all hoping at some point it would be helpful and effective enough to gradually heal him. They had no other “weapons” in their arsenal.

The worst thing was that despite knowing it was needed at this stage, James started to grow testy and resentful of doctors and nurses coming in late at night or early morning to have routine checks as his weariness and his own headaches grew, and the guilt he felt for feeling irritated compounded his already low emotional state.

God, he needed a break from it all. He couldn’t keep going like this.

At one point, he leaned his back against his palm with his elbow on the bed, feeling like he couldn’t support his own head and sit up straight. He needed to get Als’ sisters, or friends, here. Or his own cousin, Ronald. Or his mom. Or Als’ parents. Or Ms. Lanley and then pay for the off hours himself.

He was tired. He didn’t want to be resentful of Als. Being sick wasn’t his fault.

One of Als’ sisters called him after he sent a text few hours later.

“Hey, sorry for asking. I know I should be car—”

“Same hospital?” Als’ older sister interrupted, no hesitation in asking where she should go get Als.

James sighed a bit in relief. “Yeah. Same hospital as before.”

“Good, I’m getting the jet now. I’ll see you in few hours.”

“Thanks for coming here, I know I’m his fiancé… and medical proxy. And should be taking ca—”

“James,” Nina interrupted again, “he is my brother, okay?”

He sighed again deeply. “Yeah, you’re right.”

“You need to rest too,” she added, “I bet you look like shit right now.”

He chuckled.

“I do, actually.”

“Thought so,” she told him lightly, “and you should have told us from the beginning. You have terrible hero complex.”

They talked a little more to fill her in on what had been going on, and she said she would inform the rest of Als’ family and James should inform Als’ friends and his own family too, just in case more people can help watch over Als.

A little over two hours after they ended the call, he saw Nina pulling the thick drape curtain bringing an overnight bag.

“That’s fast,” he said with narrowed eyes.

“Told you. Used one of the jets.”

Oh, yeah.

James forgot sometimes that Als’ entire family, not just Als as a Hollywood A-lister, was also sickeningly rich from their generational multi-billion dollars family company.

Nina put her bag on the floor then put her hands on her hips with a pointed stare at James. He furrowed his eyebrows.

“What?”

After a while of staring at him silently, she finally said, “Damn. You’re really not lying. You do look like shit.”

James unexpectedly bellowed laughter, feeling lighter than he did in a few days.

Half an hour later, he was in the parking lot after Nina promised that James would be the first one to be informed of any change in Als’ condition. He prepared to drive home, excited for a few hours of wink without feeling guilty for once.

***

He went back to the hospital in the morning of Sunday, walking languidly and feeling fresh and rested for once. Although there was still nightmare making him jolt awake at night and check his phone frantically. There was no call or text for the rest of the night. Nothing was getting worse, at least.

He saw Nina pacing around the front of the drape curtain with serious voice and concentrated look on her face. She waved at him silently and continued talking to the speaker, so he simply pulled the curtain to enter Als’ bed area and pulled it close again.

Few minutes later, she entered again.

“Good that you’re here,” she simply said as she was still looking at her phone with furrowed eyebrows.

“You need to leave?”

She looked up at him with a regretful face.

“Yeah. Emergency meeting. Sorry.”

“No, it’s okay. I’m good now to watch over him,” he reassured her with a smile.

“I told Ariana and our stepmother to fly here instead. And Ms. Lanley will start working again tomorrow, right?”

He nodded, fascinated by her fast and busy movements. He wondered what kind of business matters rich people like her were concerned with. He often saw Als acting like that too before this whole 2019 mess began.

So many agents, business managers, lawyers, and clients to talk to.

“They’re gonna be here quite late, though. Or tomorrow morning. They’re flying from New York.”

“Oh,” he simply replied.

“I still have time to kill now, but my jet will be ready in an hour, so…” she now raised her wrist to look at her fancy watch, “…I’ll leave in probably half an hour.”

He sensed that she might have more to say, considering her biting her lower lip and looking guilty herself.

“I’ll try to get it settled and come back again today, okay?”

He told her it was fine. He was feeling okay enough to accompany Als by himself.

Just as she said, in 30 minutes, she finally slung the strap of her overnight bag and powerwalked out as she talked on the phone again about whatever financial mumbo jumbo she was dealing with, and so, James was alone again.

He stared at Als once in a while when he heard a croak or saw a movement from the sickly body on the bed, ready to act if there was anything Als needed. Other than that, the day was pretty dull and uneventful as it was interrupted once in while by nurses administering meds, changing the IV bag, taking his blood pressure, or tinkering with the tools attached to Als while a pulmonologist and a neurologist visited one at a time throughout the day to check for his condition and see if there was any development.

He had to prop up Als’ body again with his own so that the pulmonologist could listen to his breathing, and at some point, Als threw up again. He tried not to panic too much because Als was on nasogastric feeding, and he was at least not getting worse. His temperature even went down to 103.5, either from the compress on his neck or the fever reducer, or the antibiotics working well against his sickness.

But Als was still delirious and not cognizant, so he couldn’t help his worry anyway.

He tried to check his emails, work or personal. Then some social media accounts. Or YouTube to fill his day with something. Anything.

Eventually, things were pretty boring for long enough that James could focus on watching some random podcast and chuckling once in a while.

His focus was immediately pulled away from the screen when he heard Alzie croaking again. He saw Als’ eyes fluttering open.

They were still moist and red, but James saw a little bit of focus in them.

He straightened up with a tentatively spreading smile.

“Baby?”

Als blinked slowly several times with a small wince and a deep, dragging breath while coughing a little. His eyes shifted to the side towards James.

“Ja…me…s?”

The voice was small and stuttering, pulling at his heartstring and making feel more tender towards his lover.

“Yeah, it’s me,” James replied gently, face getting closer to Als with a hand going up to card through those black strands again. “How are you feeling?”

Als eyes moved to look up again, scrunching his face in pain at the bright light.

“Whe…re?”

He could see the crestfallen expression on that thin and gaunt face. He knew Als hated going to hospital. A whole year of going in and out of it would make anyone resentful.

“Hospital,” he said softly, hoping that his calming voice would make Als less upset.

Als groaned with his eyes squeezed, and when he opened them again, James saw tears flowing to his temple.

“So…r…sorr…y.”

Als bit his lower lip with a tormented look.

“Hey, no, don’t,” he reassured Als again, “you didn’t do anything wrong. You’re sick.”

“Bu…t…”

James shushed him as he stood up to kiss Als’ forehead.

“Don’t worry, okay? It’s all right. I promised to take care of you, and I will. You’re not a burden.”

Als bit his lip deeper and it trembled, so James put his thumb there to pull it away from Als’ teeth.

“You’re gonna hurt yourself more, don’t bite that.”

Als searched his eyes, so he put on the gentlest smile on his face while he kept caressing Als’ head.

Eventually Als smiled too, saying “thank you.”

“You’re my everything. You don’t have to thank me. I’ll do anything for you.”

Als looked less stressed out and upset as time went on with James telling him about his sisters visiting, and also his other friends too that James informed.

James talked to him a little more calmly and softly, feeling light and not tense in a long time. They even talked about their time in the past before things went wrong this year without feeling sad and mournful. They giggled and chuckled once in a while with James trying to limit it so that Als didn’t cough again.

When Als’ eyes closed in sleep and not fainting, James let out a relieved breath.

No vomiting within 12 hours, and Als was conscious again.

He was tentatively hopeful that night.

***

He never understood why hospitals always did this.

It had been two days after Als started becoming cognizant again, although it still wasn’t always a stable recovery. In those two days before going to work and after coming back, James found that the nurses and doctors had a predictable but annoying schedule of visiting Als in the middle of the night and at dawn, consistent with what he found during Als’ previous hospitalizations.

What good did it do to constantly wake up patients while sleeping just to have routine "check-up", which usually just ended up resulting in, "oh yeah, the condition is still the same, we'll check again later?"

Wouldn't it be better to let them rest, which helped their recovery much more than pointless checkups?

He could rationalize doing it when Als was so sick and delirious, but not now.  James was starting to think it was a bureaucratic thing rather than medical, and without regard for the patient or their family. Or a deliberate attempt to specifically piss him off because Als’ sisters said they didn’t get visited by the nurse or the doctor too often during the day. Or maybe he was just tired and testy.

James sighed.

Als was laying on his back, although his head was turned slightly sideways to his right. He still had those panda-eyes bruises around his eyes while his skin looked almost white and somewhat dry. The blanket was up to his chin, and despite the supplemental oxygen dispersed through the silicon tube going into his nose and plastered on his skin, the stuttering breathing was still visible with how irregular his chest movement was.

When the nurse and on-duty ICU doctor entered their area after opening and closing the drape curtain, James was softly combing Alzie's hair with some hair moisturizing product that Als used to use when he was still actively working in public. James wasn't really sure what was good for Als, so he just stuck with what Als had before.

He discovered in the last few months when Als was starting to get badly sick that the younger man liked having his hair played with, as long as it's not too hard to the point of giving pulling or tugging sensation. James thought it was adorable (when Als wasn't on the verge of death, of course), and he didn't mind doing it.

Lately, Als' fever and all of the pain in his body made it extremely hard to rest and be calm even without delirium, and James was willing to do anything to help him. It wasn't hard anyway, not to mention the act was calming even for himself too.

"Evening, Mr. Dennison."

"Evening, doctor," James replied while pulling back to straighten up.

"He sleeps a lot these days, doesn't he?"

"Yeah," he nodded to the doctor with a small smile directed to the medical providers.

"That's really good. Seems like he is getting better, being comfortable enough to rest."

Sure, if only all of you don't constantly try to wake him up all the time, James thought sarcastically while keeping his expression pleasant.

"All right, can you help him up after this?" the doctor said again, referring to their routine check-up process where James would wake Als up and help him sit up so that the doctor can check his breathing again with stethoscope on his back. The nurse was also ready with his automatic blood pressure taker and infrared thermometer.

James leaned forward again to put his lips near Als' left ear, one palm on the black hair again to card through the strands.

"Babe, hey," he whispered quietly while he moved his palm to Als' shoulder to shake it gently, "come on, wake up. The doctor is here."

It took quite a while for James to shake Als' shoulder to the point that he was slightly worried Als was unconscious again, but the bony body below his palm finally shifted and stirred slightly. The bruised, almost translucent-looking eyelids on the skin-and-bone face fluttered open slowly and squeezed almost in pain, then blinked several times before Alzie looked like he was truly awake.

The head slowly turned so that the fragile face finally looked at James.

There was a surge of protectiveness in him when he looked at how vulnerable and startlingly young Als was.

Als' eyes were still half-lidded while the parts of his eyes that were supposed to be white were red and glassy with fever instead. There was slight swelling on the underside of his eyes—which already looked dark and bruised with exhaustion—considering the many times Als silently cried when the occasional wave of pain overwhelmed him. The lips were dry and pale, losing almost all of their color, while the sharp cheekbones that used to look mesmerizing and alluring just made him look thinner instead.

James could also see the deep exhaustion still blanketing the sickly body, so James gently squeezed Als' shoulder to offer a little bit of comfort and emotional support.

"Hmm…" Als groaned lowly as he was trying to look at his surroundings. "Wha.." he then croaked, voice so quiet, almost completely soundless.

"Yeah, sorry, the doctor and the nurse need to check on you," he said softly again to his bleary-faced fiancé.

Als squeezed his eyes again, and he realized that his badly myopic fiancé couldn't see without his glasses.

"Wait," he said quickly as he reached over the bed to the bedside table and grabbed the glasses, "here."

He opened the sides of the glasses and helped put them on Als' face. It was sliding down slightly considering Als lost so much weight since the last time he went to his optometrist, and they didn't have time yet to buy another pair that fit.

He gave Als a moment to situate his vision, but he felt kind of bad for the doctor and the nurse who had been waiting for over five minutes for them, so he walked to the side to let the nurse approach the bed.

"All right, Albert. I'll take the temperature first," he said while facing the end of his handheld thermometer to Als' forehead, causing red dot to appear on his forehead.

The tool made a noise that sounded quite worrying, rapid beeping lasting for few seconds with the nurse's furrowed eyebrows accompanying it.

"Hmm, it went down, but still 102.7."

James looked at Als' face with worry, while Als just closed his eyes with labored breath.

"Okay, now the blood pressure."

The nurse now gently pulled down the blanket to reveal Als' emaciated body under the patient gown, which immediately caused his body to shiver and his eyes to flutter open again. His body continued trembling slightly at the exposed cold.

The nurse ignored it, and James had to remind himself that these medical personnel knew what they were doing, and they weren't intentionally making Als cold or hurt. James watched on as the man pulled Als' left arm out before putting the blood pressure cuff around it and pulling it up to above Als' elbow.

There was a painful clenching sensation in James' heart when he saw how thin and ragdoll-looking the arm was, completely at the nurse's mercy without any movement on its own. The hand was put back down again before James could think about it too much.

The nurse fastened the cuff with the velcro around Als' skinny arm, causing a slight wince on the young, sickly face. When the nurse pressed the button to start the machine, Als didn't react anymore, even while the machine caused it to balloon up and squeezed the part above his elbow.

James absently thought about the fact that the machine was so new to him, or maybe he just hardly went to the doctor for his own medical needs these days and didn't notice it gaining popularity. He remembered going to the doctor when he was a kid, and both nurses and doctors had to use manual blood pressure reader with stethoscope on the elbow to read someone's blood pressure, physically pumping the fabric around the patient's arm and carefully looking at the needle pointing at the numbers.

He wondered what other health-related procedures would be taken over by automatic machines in the next five years. Hell, maybe a surprising number would be taken over in just a year or two.

The nurse and the doctor sighed looking at the screen.

"74/56."

Holy fuck.

"That's low, still," the nurse said, almost like he read his mind. "Did he eat today?"

James absently looked at the tube going into Als' nose beside the oxygen-dispersing one, then up at the nasogastric food pouch connected to it.

"Just 2 or 3 spoonsful of soup, I think."

There was another wave of fear blanketing his heart at his own words. Als might not be getting worse, but his recovery was going at a snail pace.

"Did he throw up again?"

His face pinched into a look of deep worry. He thought the nausea had stopped. Yet he remembered holding up a bucket to Als's chin and the bony torso against his own chest while Als heaved painfully into it this morning. The bile was almost clear, considering he didn't eat anything solid.

"Yeah."

"You need to try getting more into him, okay?"

"Yeah, of course," he replied quietly, mind already running amok to figure out how to get more food into his sickly fiancé.

The nurse stepped back to let the doctor near the bed this time, and James stupidly continued looking at Als' fatigued face until the doctor cleared his throat.

"Oh, the breathing check, wait."

Once the slight embarrassment passed through him, he slipped a hand below Alzie's left shoulder with his palm on the back of Als' head. He pulled Als up, and halfway through, he put his other arm on the back of Als' right shoulder.

Als winced deeply while being pulled up, probably adjusting to having his head up. James could faintly feel the sudden hard and rapid pulse with the tips of his two fingers, placed right on the connection between Als' upper neck and the back of his skull.

He paused his movement until Als stopped squeezing his eyes then continued pulling him close until Als' jaw was against his own left shoulder and Als was mostly laying against his chest. It was to be expected, he reminded himself, because Als was still too sick and weak to hold his own body up with how severe his infection was and how little nutrients he consumed.

Still, James couldn't help the strong jolt of fear in his heart when Als easily leaned onto him without any discernible effort to steady himself, almost like Als just passed out on his shoulder. The warmth radiating off his fiancé wasn't a comfortable warmth either, as it was rather alarmingly strong, raising again the number 102.7 degree in his mind.

But Als shifted his face ever so slightly to bury it deeply against James' shoulder, so his hands automatically pressed against the thin back gently, rubbing it up and down with relief in his heart.

"Okay," the doctor finally said before approaching and putting the end of his stethoscope on Als’ back, "take a deep breath for me."

Als tried, inhaling slowly to fill his lungs as deep as he could, but it was still quite shallow before he coughed hard and repeatedly with a wincing face that James could feel against his clothed skin. James rubbed the sides of Als' back again with an absentminded kiss on the black hair.

The doctor waited a bit until Als sounded like he was quite stable in his breathing, then he said, "again, please."

Als inhaled slowly again, this time filling his lungs deeper before he coughed again. James automatically looked questioningly at the doctor, wondering if it was a good idea to keep making him cough.

"Just one more time, okay? Slowly."

Als pinched his face again in the crook of James' neck, but he tried again with slower speed this time.

Eventually, he managed to take in full breath without coughing, even if the breathing was slightly shaky and stuttering.

"That sounded good. Better than this morning," the doctor said as he pulled the other ends of the stethoscope out of his ears.

"He still needed supplemental oxygen. Probably a few days even after being discharged, if not few weeks," the doctor told him. Then he looked up to the opaque pouch beside the saline one. "We'll also keep the nasogastric feeding continued for a while, since we've already given the most anti-nausea dosage that is safe for him. This is the best way to still give him nutrients needed for the recovery."

"Okay," James replied, not knowing what else to say. His palms continued rubbing up and down Als' back gently, feeling the sharp angles of the shoulder blades and ridges of the spine and the back of Als' ribs.

"If you want to sleep again, go ahead. We'll check tomorrow morning so you can sleep the rest of the night."

Als didn't respond.

"Thank you," James said instead, with a smile to both men before they took their leave.

When they were alone again, James turned his face again to give another soft peck to the side of Als' head, whispering slightly, "you wanna go back to bed?"

Als took a while to answer, but he eventually nodded against James' shoulder.

"Okay," he said gently, hands moving to help Als lay back down.

Als tried moving his own arms and planted his palms on both sides of his torso, but his hands were clearly trembling too hard and too weak to support his own body, and if he kept going on his own, he was just going to fall harshly onto the bed. Which would probably give him a headache and make him nauseous again.

"It's 'kay," James assured Als softly, telling him to just let James help him.

So Als stopped supporting his own body with his hands, letting James' palm on the back of his head and another arm on his back to ease him lower to the bed. James’ movement was slow and gentle, his eyes focused on Als’ fragile face whose eyes were closed; probably because staring at the neon light would hurt the eyes and give another headache. It felt like if he touched his fiancé a little too hard, James would break the body apart and make it crumble into dust. Al’s body in his hands felt too delicate not to be handled with utmost carefulness.

Eventually, James’s backs of palms touched the surface of the bed, one on the pillow and the other on the mattress. He slipped his hands out gently, starting with the one between Als’ back and the mattress, then it went to the back of Als’ head so that his other palm can slip out as softly from between Al’s head and the pillow.

James gave a gentle squeeze on the bony shoulder once the younger man was finally laid down fully.

He could see Als' eyes blinked blearily at his face, then closed again.

"You want the glasses off?" James asked him again, almost whispering to make sure not to hurt his head with voice too loud.

Als blinked his eyes open again then nodded his head slightly, almost too slight for James to see; understandably, too fast or too hard of a head movement would give him another headache (one more thing among the extensive list of things that gave Als headache and nausea). Als then mouthed “yes”.

"Okay," James responded with a comforting smile, taking the glasses off for Als.

After he folded them and put them on their bedside table, his left hand automatically went to the top of Als' head, fingers carding through the black hair like before. Predictably, Als' eyes closed again almost in bliss, reminding him of cats bumping their heads towards a petting hand with eyes closed.

Als probably wouldn't appreciate being likened to a cat, which seemed to be his mortal enemy. James still didn't know why that was.

Surprisingly, though, Als' own right hand moved stutteringly to James' unbusy hand and gripped it lightly. He turned his head to stare at it, still with his left hand soothingly caressing Als' hair. He gripped it back more firmly and brought it up to kiss the back of the palm, careful not to push too hard at the IV insertion site. Als smiled, still with his eyes closed.

He knew that Alzie was the one who was sick right now, but that touch gave him an indescribable sense of relief that he just realized he desperately needed.

Eventually, as he kept his ministration, he felt Als' hand going slack in his hold, so he let go and crossed his one arm on the bed, palm now moving to lightly grip Als' forearm. He then put down his chin in the crook of his bent right arm on the bed.

Not long after, sleep claimed him too as he sat on the chair, for once no longer overcome with fear in the form of nightmares of Als' heart monitor going flat or the younger man's wrist going pulseless. At least for tonight.