Sick

Rickie paused in the doorway, glancing around the room. "You have good taste. Or maybe capitalists just know how to enjoy life," he said with a wry smile.

Azriel felt his lips twitch upward at that. "Maybe both."

He left Rickie to explore the room while he made his way to his own bedroom. He quickly retrieved the pajamas he had set aside for Rickie, two new sets he’d bought just for him. It felt strange to prepare for his arrival like this, as though he was setting up a guest room for someone he didn’t know anymore. After all, they hadn’t lived together in years, and so much had changed between them in that time.

When Azriel returned, he handed the clothes to Rickie with a curt, almost formal gesture. "Wear these for now. I’ll arrange for someone to buy you more clothes tomorrow."

Rickie nodded, though something in his expression made Azriel pause. The way he accepted the pajamas without protest spoke volumes. Rickie was always independent, always proud. It was part of what made him so difficult to deal with at times.

Azriel stood by the door as Rickie inspected the bathroom. "You looking for something?"

Rickie didn’t answer right away, walking from room to room, checking each bathroom as though searching for something specific. When he found it, he smiled like a child in a candy store. "A bathtub," he said, his voice almost gleeful.

Azriel blinked. "A bathtub?"

Rickie shrugged. "Not all the rooms have them. This one does."

Azriel smiled faintly, the kind of smile he reserved for moments of unexpected warmth. "Alright. You found your spot."

Rickie grinned, obviously pleased with his find. "Perfect."

Azriel turned to leave but paused, listening for the sound of Rickie settling in. He had never imagined that they would be sharing space like this again. Time had passed, and yet Rickie seemed to be the same boy, the same young man with the same energy. The same demands.

Azriel sat back against the wall of his bedroom, feeling the ache in his body, the dull cough rising in his chest again. He rubbed his knees slowly, grimacing as he reached for the medicine bottle on the bedside table. The medication did little to ease the pain, but it was better than nothing. He swallowed a few pills, his gaze lingering on the half-empty glass of water beside him.

Rickie, on the other side of the wall, had already prepared his bath. The sound of water running made Azriel think of quieter days, simpler moments before everything had become so complicated. After a few minutes, there was a knock at his door.

Azriel’s head snapped up, and he opened the door to find Rickie standing in the hallway, a towel wrapped around his waist. His eyes were a little frantic, almost sheepish.

"Do you have bath lotion or shampoo?" he asked, his voice slightly embarrassed.

Azriel raised an eyebrow. "What happened to the ones in your room?"

"I couldn’t find them," Rickie admitted. "Only face wash and a toothbrush. I need something for the bath."

Azriel blinked, and for a moment, he felt a rush of both amusement and something else something softer. You haven’t changed at all, he thought, and despite everything, it warmed him.

Azriel suddenly remembered that there were only toiletries next door.

"I should have a new one here," he muttered under his breath.

Turning toward the bathroom, he walked in, Rickie trailing behind him. The bathroom was slightly larger than Azriel's room, its clean, sterile feel doing little to ease the unease in his chest. Azriel opened the upper cabinet, finding only an unopened bottle of facial cleanser. He sighed and crouched down to check the lower cabinet. Sure enough, there were fresh bottles of bath lotion and shampoo.

As he straightened up, a wave of dizziness hit him his vision blurred, and his body swayed. His head felt heavy, as though it was filled with cotton, and for a moment, everything around him seemed to shift. The sensation passed almost as quickly as it came, but it left him unsteady on his feet.

Rickie, who had been right behind him, reached out and grabbed his arm to steady him. “Hey, you okay?” he asked, his voice laced with concern.

Azriel blinked, trying to clear his head. His pulse was hammering, his senses on edge. Something primal was stirring deep inside him, but he pushed the feeling down, forcing himself to focus.

"I'm fine," he replied, his voice tight. "Just a bit of hypoglycemia. Nothing serious."

But even as he spoke, he could feel his body betraying him. A cough surged from his chest, rough and persistent. He couldn’t suppress it, and his stomach twisted in a familiar, uncomfortable way.

Rickie frowned and pressed his hand to Azriel's forehead, his brow furrowing as he felt the heat radiating off him.

"You've got a fever. Where's the thermometer?" he asked, his tone no longer just concerned but authoritative.

Azriel nodded toward the cupboard downstairs. Rickie quickly helped him out of the bathroom and into the bedroom, his steps measured as if trying to avoid making any sudden moves that might make Azriel worse. Despite the discomfort, Azriel couldn’t ignore the subtle tension in the air the scent of Rickie’s aftershave, the warmth of his skin so close. It made his pulse race in a way that had nothing to do with the fever.

Rickie hurried downstairs, leaving Azriel alone for a moment. The silence felt heavy, like a warning. Azriel shifted uncomfortably on the bed, his body hot and aching in all the wrong places. He tried to breathe through the discomfort, but it was getting harder to ignore the changes. The fever, the headache, the gnawing hunger it all pointed to something bigger. Something dangerous.

Rickie returned moments later, the thermometer and medicine in hand. He quickly took Azriel’s temperature, then looked at him with a mixture of concern and caution. “38.5°C. You’ve got a pretty serious fever.”

Azriel swallowed, the sharp heat in his throat making it harder to concentrate. "It’s nothing, really. I’m sure it’s just a cold." He gave a weak smile, trying to dismiss Rickie's worry.

Rickie wasn’t convinced. “You’ve been dizzy too, right?”

Azriel nodded, the movement slow, deliberate. He didn’t want to admit it, but Rickie was right. Something was off, and it wasn’t just the fever.

Rickie’s gaze shifted to the small medicine box. “I’m going to get some anti-inflammatory meds for the fever. But we need to check your blood pressure too. Let me do that first.”

Azriel didn’t argue. He watched as Rickie methodically grabbed a blood pressure cuff from the medicine box and wrapped it around his arm. Despite his weariness, Azriel could feel the tension in the air, an undercurrent of something unspoken between them. Rickie was too close. The scent of his skin, the soft rustle of his clothing, were all too sharp. Too intoxicating.

Rickie squeezed the cuff and inflated it, then listened closely through the stethoscope. His brow furrowed as he examined the readings. "55 over 90?" he muttered under his breath, as if trying to make sense of it. He looked at Azriel. “Your blood pressure is way too low. Do you often feel dizzy like this?”

Azriel swallowed, trying to remain unaffected, but the dizziness was there again. The tightness in his chest. The urge to run.

"Not often," he managed, though his answer didn’t sound convincing even to him.

Rickie didn’t press, but he seemed unconvinced. His eyes narrowed, and his hands moved to remove the cuff, replacing it with a thermometer again. “You’re running a fever and your blood pressure’s low. I’m not sure if this is a virus or something else, but it’s not good.”

Azriel’s pulse quickened. There was nothing else it could be nothing Rickie could help him with. The moon was rising soon, and with it came the hunger, the burn, the ache that never quite went away.