“I could never ask him to do that.” That would be the same kind of selfishness they always accused me of back as a kid. It’s the type of thing the clan could never forgive me for. My stomach clenches again. “It doesn’t matter anyway. It’s not… it’s not what this is about. I just wanted to get the milk powder.”
“Boy, you wake me up at 2 a.m., you better make time to sit and give me the gossip.” Kroy rolls his eyes and finishes his drink. “He even know you’re coming?”
“Uh, no. Now that I think of it? I sent a quick message but…”
Kroy stands, scoffing and taking our dishes to the sink. “I’ll message Egbert to unlock the shop. You go help your man.”
I don’t bother trying to correct him and rush out the door into the night.
Egbert meets me at the door of the shop, half dressed and too asleep to really question why I’m there. Thank the Gods becauseI don’t think I’m ready for another grilling from a pseudo-father figure right now.
“Think he’s asleep. Gave him tea two hours ago. Shoulda knocked him out, but he’s in for a rough couple of days. He warded me from going in so I don’t catch it. Could kill the idiot that brought the damned charm in.” Egbert grumbles behind me up the stairs. I only grunt with his sentiments and up the pace, taking two stairs at a time.
If he’s asleep and comfortable enough, I reason with myself, I’ll just leave the milk powder and the instructions, and I’ll leave.
I repeat my self imposed deal to myself as I part ways with Egbert and make my way into Willan's apartment. Slipping my way easily through the dark, I go straight to Willan's room and know immediately, I’m not leaving.
Sweaty and clammy, he’s asleep on his black silky sheets, writhing uncomfortably.
“Oh, shit.” I don’t mean to say it, it just slips out.
It’s shocking to see him so completely wretched. Being sick is an extra special hell for beings. Unlike humans, who seem to get sick at the drop of a hat, beings rarely get sick. So when they do go down, they go down hard.
“Nik’lo?” Willan’s voice is dry. His lips already look cracked. “Wha’ doin’ here?”
His hair is a matted mess of half unwound braids when he lifts his head to blearily try and look at me. It’s too much effort, though, and his head drops heavily once again with a prolonged groan.
I’m beside the bed quicker than a blink, climbing on carefully so as not to rock him too much.
“Wanted to bring you the tea. Where does it hurt?”
My hand hovers over his bare chest. I’m too scared to touch him in case I somehow make it worse. If it’s rare for beings to get sick, it’s rarer still for vamps, so I’m not scared about catching itmyself. It’s just been so long since I’ve been anything other than perfectly healthy, I’ve kind of forgotten what to do.
Willan groans pathetically, and I let my hand drop gently to where his chest meets his belly, where the sheets are all tangled up.
“Everywhere.” He grumbles, his face scrunching up.
“Do—do you need a doctor? Or—” Willan's hand blindly pats around his chest until he finds my hand, covering it with his and squeezing weakly.
“Gods, you feel good.” He mutters. “Need tea.”
I smile and pat his chest, his hands falling off mine and flopping to the side. He’s snoring by the time I get to the door, but I make the tea anyway, if only to make myself feel better.
Willan has enough herbs to fill sixteen apothecaries, I swear to the Gods, so it takes me a while to get the tea made and then clean up the mess I’ve made. I also made too much, being completely out of practice at this shit, so I have to waste even more time digging out something to put it in. I say a little thank you to the Gods when I find a large travel mug in his cupboards with a ‘keeps drinks hot for eight hours!’ sticker on it. At least then, I tell myself, he can have some more when I’m out for the day.
My trip back to the bedroom is painfully slow with the overfilled mug. The warm, lightly spiced chocolate scent tickles my nose, reminding me of a hundred different memories at once and giving me a funny sense of déjà vu. Willan is still sprawled on his back snoring when I push the door to the room open, but he rouses when I walk in, and even though his eyes are open and he’s trying to push himself up on to one elbow, he’s still somehow snoring.
And that’s how I know I’m completely fucked, because even congested and sweaty and disgusting, with his hair a mess andred puffy eyes, my stomach still does a little flip when I see him. He’s still utterly beautiful.
He runs a hand through his hair, wincing when his fingers snag on the snarled mess. “Youarehere.” His voice is still croaky like he’s dying of thirst. “I thought I was hallucinating.”
Exhausted from the little effort he’s exuded, he slumps back to the bed, a weak smile on his lips.
“I’m sorry I woke you up.” I keep my voice soft, carefully placing the mug on the bedside table and sitting on the edge of the bed.
“Worth it. Wasn’t sleeping well anyway.”
My lack of experience in nursing someone who’s sick makes me fidgety. With no other real reference, I do what my mum always did to make me feel better when I was a kid. Careful to not pull on any knots, I stroke his hair back from his forehead, tucking it behind his ear.
