Angelo sighed. “How about the ground just swallows mewhole?”
“You’ve fucked me seven ways from Saturday three times now. The world isn’t going to end if I take your shoes off for you. I’ve got plenty of trackies you can sleep in; we’re about the samesize.”
“Will you stay withme?”
It was Dylan’s turn to blink. “Hmm?”
Angelo mauled his bottom lip with his teeth. “I don’t want to be in your bed withoutyou.”
Dylan hadn’t given his own sleeping arrangements much thought, but leaving Angelo alone hadn’t crossed his mind either. He squeezed Angelo’s leg. “Of course I’llstay.”
He helped Angelo out of his shoes and jeans and then dressed them both in soft sweatpants. Crawling into bed together felt a little surreal, but once they were settled?—facing each other, hands clasped?—reality kicked in, and the reason they were huddled up in Dylan’s bed returned in the form of Angelo’s soft, painedgroan.
“Shh.” Dylan rubbed his shoulder. “It’sokay.”
Angelo shook his head slightly. “It’snot.”
“It is. Just tell me how to helpyou.”
“You can’t helpme.”
“I cantry.”
“It won’twork.”
“You won’t convince me of that until you tell me what’swrong.”
Angelo closed his eyes. For a while, Dylan took it as his cue to mind his own business, but then Angelo apparently returned to the present with another soft sigh. “I haveME.”
“ME?” Dylan’s brain worked to recall where he’d heard the term before. “Is that like chronic fatiguesyndrome?”
“It’s the same, as far as I know. Just a differentname.”
Dylan scanned his brief encounters with clients who suffered from CFS. He hadn’t had one for a while, but the last woman he’d had to visit at home because she’d been unable to get out of bed. “How long have you hadit?”
“A year or so. I’ve got some rare, fucked-up version of it that comes and goes... relapsing and something or other. I can’t remember.” Angelo’s words slurred together, and he closed his eyes, his face a study in pained concentration. “Relapsing and remitting. I suppose I’m lucky. Most people with ME are like this all thetime.”
“Do you feellucky?”
“Only withyou.”
Dylan smiled and rolled onto his back, gently coaxing Angelo close enough to lay his head on Dylan’s chest. With the lights low and the duvet tucked around them, Angelo finally relaxed. Dylan carded his fingers through his hair and hummed an old Iron Maiden song, and Angelo fellasleep.
* * *
It was nearly dawnwhen Dylan eased Angelo off him and slipped out of bed. All night, he’d laid with Angelo and listened to him breathe, all the while itching to grab his phone and google the ever-loving shit out of whatever was making Angelo flinch in his sleep. At six a.m. he could wait nomore.
In the kitchen, he boiled the kettle for more tea that no one would drink and logged into his MacBook. The NHS page on CFS/ME came up at the top of the search and he clicked on the link. A list of symptoms for myalgic encephalomyelitis came up: Extreme exhaustion, muscle and joint pain, brain fog?—confusion, memory issues, slow thinking?—and blurred vision. Migraines, depression, and crippling viral symptoms. Any combination was possible, including all at once, and the list of treatments was woefully short, both in content andsuccess.
Dylan swallowed thickly. Angelo’s life was hard enough, but withthis? Jesus. It was a wonder the man was still standing?—but he isn’t standing, is he? Dylan took a deep breath and clicked on another link, and another, and another, but none made him feel any better. Angelo’s condition was brutal and cruel, and even if he recovered from this relapse, another would never be far away.This can’t be it.But the more Dylan searched, the more disheartened he became, and he gave up in the end and returned tobed.
Angelo hadn’t moved, and he didn’t stir as Dylan slipped back under the covers. Dylan pulled the duvet up around him and held his hand.I’m sorry this has happened to you.But what now? For all the research Dylan had done on Angelo’s symptoms, he’d forgotten to look up what he could do tohelp.
Common sense told him to let Angelo rest for as long as possible, feed him, and keep him hydrated. Comfort him and do whatever he could to make his life easier. But would Angelo let him? Dylan would have to wait for him to wake up before he knewthat.
Which didn’t happen until midmorning. Dylan was considering breakfast when he felt Angelo’s gaze on him. He turned his head and met Angelo’s weary stare. “Allright?”
Angelo blinked slowly. “I thinkso.”
