Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“I’ve left the recipe for lunch on the table for you. Oh, and the breakfast dishes have not been done, so I suppose you will have to take care of those as well-”

“Fuck’s sake, Ed,” I snap, “I’m getting to it! Enough with the nagging, already.”

My outburst takes us both by surprise. I hadn’t even realized what I was saying until the words were already out of my big, stupid mouth. Ed’s eyes have widened, and his shoulders have tensed up. Unfortunately, it’s a pose that I recognize: I’ve hurt his feelings. (Of course I have. What other possible outcome could there be for yelling at your boyfriend unprovoked?)

Guilty, I start casting about for an apology, but Ed speaks up again before I can. “Is everything all right, Abel?”

“Fine,” I mutter, turning my back to him and stepping up to the sink. Of course Eddie’s worried about me, even though I just yelled at him . That’s just how he is; but after that little display, I don’t feel like I deserve his concern right now.

Truth be told, everything is not daijoubu; I woke up with a massive headache, which is probably at least partially to blame for my shitty behavior - not that that’s any excuse. Though for once, the headache isn’t my fault (‘least, I don’t think so). Rather than the familiar hangover, which feels like a rubber band squeezing my brain, this one is more like a knife stabbing clean into my fucking skull. Every movement makes pain flare through my head, and just standing up feels totally draining.

Right now what I’d really like to be doing is lying in bed with Ed cuddled up behind me, maybe watching some video or whatever to keep my mind off the pain (though, I’m not sure if that’s possible, what with my mind being where the pain is ). But Eddie’s just about to rush out the door - he’d gotten a message from that old wannabe seductress Hortense about a tree near the pub being dangerously close to falling. Seeing as he’d heard that one before, Ed was pretty skeptical about the whole thing, but Hortense sent him a picture (which he’d shown to me as well): the thing really is being held up by a tiny little splinter.

So, Eddie’s been in a state all morning, rushing about trying to sort things so he can go take care of Hortense’s problem without abandoning Mrs L. That’s where I come in - Eddie’s asked me to prepare her lunch for her, and wash up afterwards. I’m not all that skilled in the kitchen, and I can think of plenty of things I’d rather do than scrub dirty dishes. But Mrs L and Eddie have been nothing but good to me, and Eddie never asks me to do anything; the least I can do is help them out here.

So, gritting my teeth against another pulse of pain, I turn the sink on and begin to go at the breakfast dishes. Aware of Ed still hovering behind me, I half-turn and say, “Best get going. You don’t want to keep old Hortense waiting.”

“I suppose you are right.” Ed sighs. “I will see you this afternoon then, Abel.”

“Yeah, see you soon. Don’t let that woman sink her claws into you,” I call as he leaves, hoping that my parting remark will lighten the tension between us, but he doesn’t respond.

He doesn't even kiss me goodbye. Whether because he thinks I want the space, or because he doesn’t really want to after I snapped at him, I dunno, but it makes me feel even shittier. Ed is pretty much my favorite person on the entire planet, but you wouldn’t think it from the way I treat him.

I’ll have to apologize to him when he gets back. And I’ll make sure I do a nice, proper job with these dishes too. Thankfully, they don’t actually take all that long. Once I’m finished, I join Mrs L in the living room, where she’s knitting something. (I feel like socks are the stereotypical old lady knitting project, but it looks too big and squareish to be socks. Could be a blanket, maybe? Or a really big scarf.) She smiles at me as I flop down onto an armchair (although, I’d really rather lie down, but I’m worried I wouldn’t get back up anytime soon if I did).

We chat idly for the next hour or so, about Ed and her kids and my childhood, mostly. I actually really enjoy talking to Mrs L. She’s pretty cool, for an old lady - maybe the coolest I’ve ever met. She always listens to me, no matter what it is I’m going on about, and she doesn’t scold me for using foul language, so I always feel like I can talk freely around her. Come to think of it, she may be my second favorite person on the planet. Not too many people give me the time of day like her and Ed always do.

When lunchtime rolls around, I drag my feet a bit - I know standing up is gonna aggravate my headache, which has calmed down some since I’ve been sitting - but I can’t let Mrs L go hungry. Or myself.

As promised, Eddie had written down the recipe for me on a sheet of paper. I’ve never actually seen his handwriting before, and it’s kinda funny: it’s just as insanely neat as I expected, but it’s also really large, and there’s a few places where he’d scrunched up the end of a word as he started to run out of room. It reminds me of Kea’s little-kid handwriting, which I saw plenty of hung up on the fridge when we were young (mine, not so much. I guess at that point childish handwriting had gotten old? Or maybe mine was just illegible).

But Eddie’s handwriting, anyway, is readable just fine. While I’m not much of a chef, the recipe is simple enough (and Ed’s instructions are thorough enough) that I’m able to prepare it without any problems. The finished product looks decent, if I do say so myself. I take a picture and send it to Ed.

Check it out 🔥🔥 think I could make it on hell’s kitchen?

I check my phone a few times while Mrs L and I eat, but there’s no response from Ed. Knowing him and his phone usage ( disusage , more like), he’s not ignoring me intentionally, but I’m still a little disappointed. We’re not fighting, really, but I’m hung up on our botched interaction from this morning. I can tell it’s going to hang over me until I can clear the air. That’s how it always goes, when I do something to piss Ed off.

“Are you anxious to hear from Edmund, dear?” Mrs L smiles kindly at me when I look up from my phone yet again. She had, of course, sussed out what was bothering me during our long conversation. It was somewhere between me telling her about a childhood field trip to the zoo and her telling me about her daughter Leda’s apparently disastrous first-ever date (though I can’t for the life of me remember now how all of these topics linked together).

“Ah, yeah. Sorry if I’m being rude,” I say sheepishly.

“Not at all, dear. Why, if we’d had this technology back when I was a girl, I’m sure I would have been much the same waiting to hear from Frank. But don’t get yourself worked up about it! I’m sure Edmund will reply soon enough. Or, failing that, it won’t be long before he comes back.”

“Yeah, I know. Thanks, Mrs L.” It's not like she's said anything groundbreaking, but she’s so totally confident that all will be well between me and Ed that I can’t help relaxing a bit. Mrs L really does have a way of making you feel better just by talking to her; it’s like, the complete opposite of being around my mum.

She reaches out and pats my hand. “You’re quite welcome.” As I help her stand up, she frowns at me. “Abel, you look rather tired, dear.”

“I am a bit, yeah.” Right on cue, my head throbs again, and I wince.

“I think a nap would do you good,” she suggests. “I know you were meant to do the dishes, but it’s not the end of the world if they go unwashed for a few hours. It’s not like they’ll grow legs and run away!”

“That’s true…” I really wanted to get everything done for Eddie, but my head is fucking killing me, and since Mrs L has given me permission to slack off… “I might just do that. Thanks, Mrs L.”

“No need to thank me! Get some rest, dear.”

I pile the dirty dishes in the sink, promising myself I’ll get to them after I wake up, and drag myself upstairs. Once I’ve collapsed in bed, I pull the covers up over my head to block out the sunlight.

I must’ve been right proper knackered, because when Ed pulls the covers back from my face it only feels like it’s been a few seconds - and, from how shitty I feel, it may as well have been.

“Abel?”

“Nn…” I try to look at him, but the sun coming through the window feels like a fucking laser beam. Eddie must notice my discomfort, because he adjusts his position, placing his broad shoulders between me and the sun.

“What are you doing in bed at this hour? Are you all right?”

“I'm-” Peachy keen! is what I mean to say, or something else stupid like that, which would inevitably lead to some sort of conversation about what peaches have to do with anything, and what they’re so keen about, or something else goofy like that, and keep the questioning off of me. But just the one word makes me wince. I don’t remember having a sore throat when I fell asleep. Nor, come to think of it, did the light make me want to gouge my eyes out.

“I… don’t feel so hot, actually,” I admit. God, the raspy voice doesn’t even sound cool like it does on most metal singers.

Eddie rests his hand on my forehead. “Really? You feel quite warm to me…”

“No, it’s… oh, never mind.” I’ve never been able to get him to understand any idiom before; no way am I gonna be able to do it in this condition.

Brow furrowed, Eddie adjusts the blankets (not that they really needed it, but seeing him fuss like that is kinda cute). “How long have you been feeling ill for?”

“Ah, I dunno… I guess since this morning?”

“This morning?” Ed looks concerned. “Forgive me, Abel. Had I realized you were unwell, I never would have asked you to undertake so much of my work.”

“Ah, no-” Shit, maybe I should’ve just lied. The last thing I want is for Eddie to feel guilty. “It wasn’t so bad this morning, and besides, I really don’t mind helping you out.”

“Still, if I had paid closer attention to you…”

“Hey, c’mon, Ed, don’t beat yourself up over it. I’m fine, really.” I don’t sound fine - or feel it, for that matter - but that’s not Eddie’s fault. Hell, I didn’t even realize this morning that I was sick like this.

“I would not say you are fine, ” Ed says (dammit. He called my bluff), “but you do not appear to be dying, at least.”

“Heh, I sure hope not. I can’t die before seeing Ghost in concert, after all.”

“Oh, that is coming up, isn’t it…” Ed briefly strokes my hair (God, it feels really nice). “Then, I shall have to get you back on your feet sooner rather than later. Do you think you could manage some soup?”

“Oh…” That reminds me of my neglected chores. I reach out and grab his wrist before he can walk away. “Eddie, I’m sorry, I never did-”

He’s already shaking his head before I can finish. “Do not concern yourself with the dishes. All you must do for now is rest, so that you can recover swiftly. And I assure you that I will do all I can to hasten it.”

I can’t help chuckling. “Hehe. You’re such a gentleman.” I don’t think I’m worth all this trouble and extra work for Eddie; but he can be pretty stubborn when he wants to, and I don’t feel up to arguing. “Alright, then.” I let go of him, but before he leaves the room, he leans down and kisses my forehead. I feel my cheeks grow warm. God, that’s embarrassing… hopefully he can’t tell it apart from the fever flush.

“I love you.” His voice is so tender it hurts.

“Love you too, Eddie.” I call after him when my wits return to me.

Chapter Text

As promised, Eddie acts the part of my nurse for the next few days. By the time the evening of our trip rolls around, I’m right as rain. 

“You are all such old souls,” I remark to no one in particular.

Marnie snorts softly. “Ain’t that the truth,” she mutters, but it’s not so quiet that I can’t hear. Ed has responded similarly to me in the past (with different phrasing; I don’t think Ed is capable of saying a word like “ain’t”), and this repeated refrain has started to needle at me. It feels like an in-joke, one that the three of them are all in on while I’m left in the dark.

I’d guess that it has something to do with Lizzie and Eddie’s childhood. They’ve never told me anything specific, but the two of them speak and act so similarly weird  - and plus, they knew each other before me - that I’m certain they must have been raised together in the same cult. (Or maybe it’s not really a cult; I asked Ed once if he grew up in one, and he said he didn’t think so. But then again, I don’t think most cults go around advertising themselves as such.) Ed’s always vague and cagey when the subject of his childhood comes up, and though I’m dead curious, I’ve never pressured him to talk about it. He’d never do that to me, after all, and I don’t want to touch a nerve if I can help it (and, since I apparently often can’t, best I steer way clear of this one).

But Marnie knew Ed and Lizzie before I’d met any of them, and I get the feeling from the way they all talk sometimes that she knows something about it. Honestly, the thought that Ed’s cousin knows more about his childhood than I do really bothers me…

… but like I said, it’s not my place to pry. If Ed doesn’t want to talk about his dark, tragic backstory with me, then it’s none of my business. So I force away my irritation, setting my phone aside so I can check out the jigsaw puzzle the three of them are working on.

“Jeez. You guys have been at this for like, what, two fucking hours? And this is all you have to show for it?”

“It’s only been an hour, tops,” Marnie retorts. “Besides, maybe it would go faster if somebody actually helped us instead of staring at his phone the whole time.”

“I quite agree!” Lizzie chimes in. “You have no room to comment on our abilities, Abel, when you are not participating yourself. Why not join us, if you’re so anxious to see the puzzle completed?”

“I don’t need to!” I gesture to the box. “The picture’s literally right there, so what’s the point in working my ass off to put it together myself? Besides, Ed is a good enough puzzler for the both of us - isn’t that right, Ed?”

“Hm?” Ed, who has been quiet up until now, looks up from the pieces scattered in front of him, brow furrowed. “Oh, well… this colorful portion is actually proving quite troublesome. And it doesn’t help that there are so many oddly shaped pieces.” He holds one up so I can see it.

“Oh.” I didn’t think I could possibly have any interest in this puzzle, but… “That’s… kinda fuckin’ gnarly, actually.”

“Gnarly?” Lizzie frowns. “That piece looks smooth on all sides to me.”

“It’s slang, Lizzie.” Marnie sighs, then shoots me a disdainful look. “Slang that you only hear in, like, American surfing movies.”

“And what’s wrong with that? Maybe I wanna be a surfer dude! Can’t you picture me balancing on a board, catching some waves?”

Eddie casts me a dry glance. “You don’t even like swimming in the ocean.”

“In England! It’s way too fucking cold here. But all the American surfing movies take place in like, Hawaii or whatever. I’d totally give surfing a try there.”

“And wipe out every time, probably,” Marnie says. “Isn’t it actually pretty hard?”

“Well, I wouldn’t know until I tried! But I don’t think wiping out would be so bad, when the water’s so nice anyway.”

“Alas,” Ed cuts in (“alas”. He’s literally funnier than any comedian and it’s not even on purpose), “we’re only going as far as Manchester, so I do not think there will be many surfing opportunities in the near future.”

“Ah well, I’m sure I’ll live! Seeing Ghost in concert beats surfing any day.” Marnie rolls her eyes (I’ve been real fucking annoying about it), but even she doesn’t rain on my parade. They all know how excited I’ve been about this, particularly Ed, who has been subjected to my Ghost playlist enough times that I’m shocked he hasn’t gone either crazy or full fanboy.

Even though concerts aren’t really his scene, he’s gone to a few with me. I really do appreciate that he’s willing to do that for me; it’s why I’m sitting in the living room with these three and their jigsaw puzzle, rather than going out and doing something fun. I’m bored out of my mind right now, but Eddie really does enjoy puzzles (for some reason), and he deserves the chance to relax before I drag him into the high-stress environment of a huge concert.

“Speaking of,” Ed says, getting to his feet, “Abel and I ought to turn in. We’ve a long drive tomorrow, on top of the concert, so best to get ample rest.”

“Already?” Lizzie looks disappointed.

“It’s not even 9pm,” Marnie points out.

I’m pretty surprised too. Eddie may be an old soul, but he doesn’t go to bed all that early, and I know he was looking forward to hanging out with Marnie and Lizzie this evening. I glance at his face; he looks pretty tired. Maybe he ran himself ragged doing extra chores and the like for Mrs L, knowing we’d be away all weekend. Kind of pointless, given that Marnie and Lizzie will be here to look after her, but it’s very Ed, to be all gentlemanly towards the womenfolk. (I don’t think I’ve ever actually heard him say “womenfolk” before, but it feels like an Ed-ism.)

“Eddie’s right, though,” I say, linking arms with him. “Gotta make sure we get our beauty rest, so we look our best in all the pictures we send you guys.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Marnie rolls her eyes. “Whatever. See you guys tomorrow morning, then.”

“Yes!” Lizzie chirps. “Rest well, both of you!”

We say our goodnights to the girls. As Eddie and I head upstairs, I can’t help noticing he looks relieved. I nudge him in the side with my elbow. “You tired?”

“Yes, I am,” he admits, bringing a hand up to his temple. “And I have a bit of a headache, actually.”

“Your head hurts?” I frown. That sounds unpleasantly familiar. “You haven’t picked up my cold from hell, have you?”

“Oh, I hadn’t considered that… I suppose it is a possibility.”

“I sure hope you haven’t.” The thought is actually kinda concerning; I was pretty miserable for a few days there last week. “I can’t promise I would look after you even half as well as you did me. I mean, I wouldn’t mind doing it, don’t get me wrong, but I’ve never had to before, so…”

Ed smiles wryly. “Well, there’s a first time for everything, yes?”

“I guess so. You’ll just have to be patient with me, then.”

“As long as you do not ignore me entirely, I am sure you will do fine.”

“That easy, huh?” In other words, even I shouldn’t be able to screw it up.

 “Really, all I had to do was keep you comfortable.”

There was more to it than that, I think, but I don’t argue the point with him. “Well, fingers crossed you’ll feel better in the morning, yeah?”

-----

With the aid of our early night, Ed and I are up and at ‘em the next morning. It doesn’t take long to pack, say our goodbyes, and get out the door. I really do enjoy car trips with Eddie; since he does the driving, I can chatter away about whatever without worrying about anything else (and sometimes he’ll even respond to me!). 

After about an hour of driving, we pull off and stop for lunch at some local burger place. Halfway through our meal, the door, which I have my back to, opens. Ed pauses eating, his mouth agape, before snapping it shut and looking away. But then his eyes flick back up, and away again, and up again…

It looks like he’s trying to discreetly check out some hot chick, only Ed never checks out hot chicks - or hot guys, or even me, his boyfriend of debatable hotness. Just how fucking hot is this person, anyway? Should I be worried?

I turn around to look - and then grin. There’s a girl and a guy behind us: the girl dressed in a pink wig and cat ears, and the guy (although, maybe I shouldn’t assume, given his - their? - outfit) in purple twintails and, you guessed it, cat ears.

I turn back to Ed. He must know what’s in store for him, because he looks soooo over it before I can even open my mouth.

“What’s the matter, Ed? Cat got your tongue?”

“I believe it’s my eyes that these cats have captured,” he counters. Surprisingly smooth, actually. I think he must’ve finally heard that one enough times to get a handle on it. “I have seen costumes like these on Halloween and such, but it is winter now - nearly spring.”

“There’s probably a con in town.” Anticipating his question, I continue, “It’s like - I dunno, like Halloween but for nerdy adults, I guess? And some teenagers, too. People dress up like those two are, and there’ll be events related to the games or shows or whatever.”

“I see…” He still looks pretty confused. “Then, those two are dressed up as characters?”

“That they are! Genshin Impact, I think.”

“What is Genshin Impact?”

Oh my god, the way he over-enunciates it is totally priceless. “What, don’t tell me you haven’t heard of Genshin, Eddie? Have you been living under a rock?” Eddie usually stays pretty cool, but I know how to read his microexpressions; he’s pouting now, hehe. “It’s only the hottest new gacha game on the market!”

“Gacha…?” He pronounces that very carefully too.

“Gacha, yeah. You know, where you pray to RNGesus and pull for your waifus? Your best girls?”

“My… what?” That last sentence, I think, has totally overloaded Ed’s old-fashioned brain. None of those words are in the Bible, after all (except for Jesus, but he’s gone and been turned into some sort of cyborg deity).

“Your waifus! Or husbandos, if you prefer.” I aim a light kick at him under the table. “Hey, Ed, am I husbando material? Would you whale for me in the gacha?”

Ed closes his eyes and sighs deeply. I snicker, enjoying his exasperation, but when he opens his eyes again he looks very serious (not that this is unusual).

“I do not see why I would need to “whale” in the “gacha” for you,” (he doesn’t make air quotes with his fingers, but I can hear them in the way he speaks) “when I have you already.” The way he says I have you sends a little thrill through me. Eddie’s pretty mild-mannered, but he can be surprisingly possessive at times; this is barely a hint of that, but I don’t mind the reminder. “But I suppose you can be… “husbando material,” if that’s very important to you.”

“Aw, Ed…” I can’t help laughing out loud (it is abso-fucking-lutely impossible to take him saying that seriously), but my face is warm, and my smile is real. “I’m flattered. You can be my husbando too, then - though, I’m pretty broke, so I can’t promise I’d whale.”

“Right.” Ed shakes his head. “Are you nearly finished? We ought to get on the road again soon, if we’re to make it in time.”

“Oh! Right.” I was so busy spreading the gacha gospel, I’d forgotten all about my burger. It happens a lot (the forgetting my food part, not the gacha gospel part), but since I can put it away pretty quick when I’m not running my mouth, it’s NBD. By the time I finish a few minutes later, Ed’s still got about a third of his own burger left.

“Come on now, Ed. Chop chop,” I tease him. “We ought to get on the road again soon, if we’re to make it in time.” I pull out my best Ed impression for that one, and it’s not half bad, if I say so myself.

Maybe it’s a bit too good, because Ed gets to his feet. “We can go, if you’re ready.”

“Oh-” Shit, have I rushed him? “No, it’s alright, Eddie, take your time. I really don’t mind waiting for you to finish. I was only teasing.”

“I know. It is alright.” He shoots me a smile, and he doesn’t sound upset; still, something doesn’t quite sit right with me, though I’ve no idea what. “I have had plenty. Do not worry.”

“Right…” We clear our trash away and head back out to the car. The strangeness of the moment passes once we get to driving, and soon enough I’m chattering away as Ed nods along, as usual. But still, I can’t quite get it out of my mind.

Chapter Text

Eddie stays pretty quiet throughout the rest of the drive, and the hotel check-in, too. It starts to get to me. I don’t mind talking (that’s an understatement - I never fucking learned to shut up), but I’m used to Ed’s matter-of-fact or confused or occasionally sarcastic commentary sprinkled in. He’s only ever quiet like this when I’ve done something to upset him.

Which is, of course, a lot more frequent than I’d like it to be; I at least think I’ve gotten better about apologizing to him, though it’s still excruciating every time, facing up to those sad blue eyes.

We get dressed for the concert on opposite sides of the bed; him pulling on clothes borrowed from me while I turn the day’s events over, trying to pinpoint where exactly I’d fucked up. Eddie rarely says anything outright (I guess he worries he’ll upset me, because of course he does), but he’s pretty transparent when he’s upset - and in general, really.

I can usually tell immediately by the way the atmosphere between us goes all wonky, but this time it felt like more of a slow slide into wonkiness. It’s got me puzzling over what went wrong (and we’ve established I’m not a fan of puzzles). The only thing that I can really think of was my stupid little Ed impersonation back at lunch; but I really didn’t mean anything by it, and I’ve said stuff to him that was way more mean-spirited that he didn’t so much as flinch at.

I flirt with the idea of apologizing - it can’t hurt, can it? Though, if I apologize for the wrong thing it’d be clear that I haven’t the foggiest fucking idea what I’ve done wrong, which might make him more upset. And I really didn’t think he was narked about that, at least not at first. Besides, is it even fair for me to have to apologize, when I’ve not done anything wrong?

Damn. Maybe I’ve not gotten better about this as much as I’d like to believe.

“Abel?”

I start. This is the first time Ed has initiated the conversation in hours.

“Yeah?” I turn to face him. He’s fully dressed, and sitting in the chair next to where I’d dumped all my makeup stuff. “Oh! I nearly forgot, hehe.”

I’m cheered by the idea of getting Ed all gothed up - and by the fact that he wants me to - but my good mood evaporates when I get the light on his face so I can see what I’m doing. He looks pretty rough: pale, but with a pink tint to his cheeks (and I’ve not touched him with a single brush yet).

“Hey, Eddie…” I speak softly. “You feeling alright, mate?”

“I am fine,” he says, a little too forcefully. “The concert begins soon. You had best get on with it, if we’re going to make it in time.”

I’m not convinced. I reach for his face, the same way I would to hold it steady so I can make him up, but I let my fingers brush Ed’s cheek, then move up to his forehead. He stiffens at my touch, but just as soon relents and leans into it, knowing the jig is up.

“You’re coming over all feverish, Ed.” I feel guilty; I’d spent all this time worrying over what I might or might not have done rather than just asking Ed what was wrong, or even just, I dunno, fucking taking a look at him. “You can’t go to a concert like this.”

“But we did come all this way,” Ed tries. “It would be a shame not to go.”

“You’ve got a headache, though, yeah?”

“Well…” Eddie looks away.

“It’s gonna be hella loud, Ed, you know that. Lights’ll be real bright too. It’d be torture.”

He sighs. “I suppose you make a good point…”

It’s kinda sweet that he looks so cut up about it, because I know it’s only on my account and not his that he cares about this concert in the first place, but I don’t want him to feel guilty on top of feeling poorly.

“...We can stay in,” I tell him, attempting to quash my disappointment. But it must show in my voice or in my face, because he shakes his head.

“I would not want you to miss the show on my account.”

“I can’t just leave you here by yourself,” I protest, though maybe not as vehemently as I should. “You dropped everything to look after me last week. It would be pretty shitty of me if I didn’t return the favor.”

He frowns. “I do not remember dropping anything.”

“Heh.” I shake my head. “I mean, you prioritized looking after me over everything else.”

“Oh, I see.” Ed considers for a moment. “I can understand your wishes, but I did not miss out on anything last week, whereas this concert will not happen again. If you do not go, there may not be another chance. And I would feel awful if I were to be the cause of you missing out.”

“I guess so…” The notion of leaving him behind doesn’t quite sit right; but he’s such a bleeding heart, I know he really would feel awful if I stayed behind for him. (And, TBH, the tickets were not cheap. It’d be a bit painful if neither of them went to use.) “Then… you’re sure you’ll be alright on your own for a while?”

He nods. “I will. Go. Have fun.”

“If you’re sure…” I lean in for a kiss, but before I can press my lips to his, he turns his head to the side.

“I am most likely contagious.”

“Yeah, but you probably caught it from me. I’m pretty sure I can’t catch it back.”

“I would rather be safe than sorry.”

“Fine.” It just makes me sad, that I not only don’t get to bring my boyfriend to see Ghost with me but can’t even properly kiss him goodbye, but he’s got that look in his eye that tells me he’s not going to budge. So I relent and kiss his fever-flushed cheek instead. “Eat something while I’m gone, yeah? D’you know how to order room service?”

“I am certain I can figure it out.” He smiles, though it looks forced. “Do not worry, Abel. I will still be here when you get back.”

“You’d better be,” I joke - but it comes out flat, faced with Eddie’s forlorn expression.

-----

The show’s really fucking cool, genuinely, but it feels like a bit of a letdown, standing in the venue all by myself like a loser with no friends. (Which might be exactly what I am, come to think of it. I don’t really hang out with anyone my age other than Ed.)

The pyrotechnics for the opening were totally fucking sick 🔥🔥🔥 I text him right after the show starts. I can find you a video later, I’ll bet someone took one

Some of these girls are going WILD over Daddy Emeritus lol is the 💀 look really that attractive??? I text him after the first few songs.

Miss you bb 🥺 I text him halfway through my second pint.

It’s close to 1am by the time I get back to the hotel. I stumble a bit as I cross the threshold to our room; it’s dark, but I’m also a bit tipsy.

A bit, my ass, I think scathingly to myself as I trip again over who-the-fuck-knows-what. I might as well admit to myself that I’m pretty properly sloshed. When Ed’s with me, it’s easier not to drink so much. He warns me off the stuff (understandable, given his first two experiences with Drunk Abel), but I also like spending time with him enough that it’s not a fucking drag to go without a pint or two while we’re together.

And, honestly, I’m afraid that if I drink past the point of no return in front of him again, I might put my foot in my mouth and say something totally unforgivable. It would be my worst nightmare, losing Eddie because I’m too much of a thoughtless dick to stop myself hurting him - and with my track record, it’s not all that far-fetched of a nightmare.

Given all that, it’s become pretty much second nature to keep it to one drink, if that, when I’m with Eddie. But without him by my side at the concert - nor anyone else to talk to, for that matter - I’d felt a bit down, and didn’t really know what else to do with myself besides knock a few back. Thankfully, I know my limits (for real this time - I spouted that bullshit to poor Eddie several times), so while my coordination has gone to shite, I’ve managed to keep my wits about me and make it back to the room in one piece.

I stagger over to the bed, where Ed is sleeping soundly (somehow, my banging about the room didn’t wake him), ready to crawl under the covers and try to get ahead of the hangover that I’m probably in for tomorrow.

But as I sink down onto the mattress, although my eyes are bleary with alcohol and exhaustion, I notice that Ed is still wearing the fit that I’d dressed him in for the concert. There’s a lot of little pointy bits on it - studs and the like - and I know how much Ed prefers simpler clothes like that goddamn red flannel of his (how that thing hasn’t disintegrated in the wash yet is a mystery to me).

Why hasn’t he changed out of his concert clothes? From the looks of it, he crawled straight under the covers right after I left and hasn’t moved since then. I grab his shoulder, intending to wake him, but-

“Jesus fuck .”

“Hm?” Ed blinks at me, groggy. “Abel?”

Ed’s usually warmer than I am (it’s nice for cuddling), being so tall and all, but this is something else. “You’re like a fucking furnace , Ed.” Even through his clothes, it’s clear that he’s warmer than he was when I left. I feel his forehead; it’s damp with sweat.

“I’m alright…” Ed averts his eyes and tries to turn his face away. Usually, I like seeing him all red-faced and embarrassed (he’s so fun to mess with, because I can always get a rise out of him no matter how many times I pull the same stupid shit), but there’s nothing funny about the way he looks now. His face looks washed out beneath the feverish flush, his eyes sunken; he looks an awful lot like a zombie for someone who’s been sleeping for five fucking hours.

“No, you’re not,” I sigh. “You’re sick, Eddie - really sick, by the looks of it. Did you even eat?”

Ed’s guilty silence answers that question for me.

I go to stand up. “Right, I don’t think they do room service at ass o’clock, but I’m sure there must be a corner shop or something-”

“No.” Ed’s grip on my wrist is surprisingly strong, given his current condition. “You should not go out alone at this hour, especially given your inebriation.”

That last bit needles me. “I’m not that -”

“You are slurring.” His voice cracks in the telltale manner of a sore throat. Much as I want to, it would be pretty shitty of me to keep arguing with Ed when he’s in a bad way - and he does have a point; this is the big city, not Fenchapel, and muggers probably abound at this time. Sensible as always, Eddie is.

“If you say so…” Reluctantly, I sit back on the bed. “You sure you’ll be alright, Ed? It’s been hours since you last ate.”

“I am not hungry. But I’m sure I will be quite alright after a few more hours’ sleep.”

That troubles me even more, but I guess there’d be no sense making the trek to the nearest place open 24 hours for food only for Ed to turn his nose up at it. Still, there must be something I can do for him - I don’t want to be a completely fucking useless lump of a boyfriend.

“Alright, but… can I at least get you some water, then? Help you change into your pyjamas, maybe?”

“That would be appreciated.” Ed smiles, but it’s wooden, without any of his usual sincerity.

I nod (though he’s already let his eyes close) and give him a quick pat on the shoulder. “Hang tight, then. I’ll be right back.”

And I really would’ve been, if I hadn’t drunk so fucking much at the concert. I don’t want to turn the light on with Ed in such a state, so I stumble about the dark, unfamiliar hotel room like the world’s most incompetent thief. It takes me an age to locate the cups, another for the bathroom; and I spill like, half the fucking cup onto the beige carpet on my way to bring it back to him.

Getting Ed changed out of his clothes is even more of an ordeal, though that, at least, is partially on him. (I’d never thought undressing my boyfriend could ever be so… unsexy. Being over six foot and hung like a horse, his bare body usually never fails to get me going; but when he’s sluggish and burning up and I have to half-lift him off of the bed with my limp fucking noodle arms to get the pants past his ass, it sort of sucks all the sex appeal out of seeing my boyfriend in the nude.)

By the time I finish, it’s nearing 2am, and I can’t be arsed to change my own clothes. Instead, I just shrug out of my jacket before collapsing into bed beside Eddie, wrapping my arms around his chest and hooking my leg over his. He leans back into me with a sigh; it sounds sad, and not knowing what else to do, I kiss the nape of his neck. I feel like I ought to try and sit up a bit longer, make sure there isn’t anything else he needs… but the long day is catching up to me, and my senses are still dulled by drink. Despite my best efforts - which, of course, are never enough - I feel myself fading.

Chapter Text

As I’d expected to, I wake up the next morning with a bitch of a hangover, but I discard any thoughts of moping around all woe-is-me when I see the state Eddie’s in.

He’s curled up into a tight ball, his arms wrapped around his middle, his back pressed as close to my chest as he can get; but none of this stops him from trembling with fever chills, despite the sweat still beading on his face. He’s shaking so bad I can hear his teeth clacking against one another.

“Aw, Eddie…” I breathe, shocked by what a turn he’s taken. His symptoms started out similar to mine, but I don’t remember being like this. I squeeze his hand, and he cracks his eyes open.

“Ngh…” Only to close them again immediately. “Abel…” He practically whimpers my name. I’ve never heard Ed sound so… well, pathetic. That’s usually been my role, to sob and cry into his chest like a little bitch, while Eddie comforts me. If I’m being honest, I might have fantasized once or twice about our roles being reversed, and being able to take care of Eddie for once… but seeing him like this, sick and sad and in pain, I can’t imagine I could possibly make him feel better.

Still, it can’t hurt to at least try and hold him. I wrap my arms around him and nuzzle the nape of his neck - it’s scorching hot against my face. “Eddie?” I speak in a whisper to avoid aggravating my headache or his. “Shit, I’m sorry you’re so sick…”

“Mm,” is all he says.

We were meant to return home today, but he’s obviously in no condition to drive. “D’you want me to drive us home?”

“I just… want to sleep…”

He… doesn’t seem entirely lucid, which worries me. I have half a mind to drag his sick ass to the car and drive us home anyway - I’d feel a lot better about all this if Ed were safe in his own bed. But I have serious doubts about my ability to carry a man who’s over a foot taller than I am (were the extra three inches really necessary? I feel short enough on a daily basis already), and I’m not too sure about driving, either. I know how to drive, really, and I only got in a wreck the one time because I’d been drinking… but I haven’t been behind the wheel since then, and I’d never forgive myself if I got into a wreck with Eddie in the car.

So, hunker down in the shitty hotel it is, then.

“Hey, Eddie, I’m gonna go out and get some stuff, alright?” I reluctantly start to pull away from him.

His eyes fly open. “Do you have to go…?” Of course now he’s alert. Damn, he really looks like he might cry.

“I’ll be right back, I promise. Cross my heart and hope to die.” I immediately regret saying that.

“Please do not die, Abel…”

“I won’t, I won’t. Take it easy.” I rub his back. “It’s just a figure of speech.”

“There are so many of those,” he mutters, sounding cross, and closes his eyes again.

“Heh.” There’s my Eddie. “Here’s another one for you, then. Hang tight.”

“You said that last night, but I do not feel like hanging is a good idea.”

“Fair enough - sit tight, then.”

“Why must it always be tight…?”

“Honestly? I dunno. Don’t worry about it.” I ignore the pounding in my head and hurry to the bathroom, where I wet a cloth with cold water. Ed flinches when I lay it on his forehead, but doesn’t protest. “Just try’n rest, Eddie, yeah? I’m gonna run out and get you food and meds and shit, and then I’ll stay with you til you’re feeling better. Sound alright?”

“Mm…” He hardly reacts when I lean down to kiss his cheek. God, kissing him right now is just making me feel worse - it just reminds me how ill he is - and I can’t imagine it’s doing much to help Eddie, either.

It occurs to me as I’m crossing the hotel lobby that we were supposed to check out this morning, so I ask at the front desk if we can extend our stay (we can, thank god, though the receptionist is a total cunt about it. I’m sure you hate your shitty job, lady, but it’s not like you even had to stand up to do what I asked you). Then I walk to the nearest corner shop, where I load up on bottled water, meds, and food I hope I can get Ed to eat: crackers and the like.

When I make it back to our room twenty minutes later, Ed hasn’t moved, but the cloth I’d put on his forehead is warm. (I don’t bother replacing it. According to a Google search I did when I was out, that can actually make things worse. Real bang-up job I’m doing here.)

I dump my haul onto the nightstand, then climb back into bed next to Ed, who immediately cuddles up to me. He's not usually so quick to get in my personal space (not like yours truly); it would be cuter if I wasn’t so worried about him.

“Hey, Eddie.” I run my fingers through his damp hair. “Can you sit up for a bit?”

“...Must I?”

“I know, I know. But you can’t drink water or take any medicine lying down like that.”

Ed groans, but with my help, manages to maneuver himself into a sitting position - well, more like leaning, really, with his head resting against my shoulder. I have to open and hold the bottle for him; his hands are shaking too badly to do it himself.

He swallows the fever reducer obligingly enough, but he only gets through a little bit of the water before he lays back down, winding his arms about my waist and burying his head in my lap.

“Hang on, Ed - can you eat something first?” A shake of his head. “Please?” Another shake. I’ve half a mind to drag him upright again and force-feed him; but Ed was never that rough with me when I was in his position. Besides, I’m not all that hungry myself, being hungover and all, and I don’t want to be a hypocrite. So I relent, cracking open my own bottle of water that I take small sips of, and settle in to lie with him for a while.

I watch random videos on my phone to pass the time, nibbling on crackers here and there, but most of my attention is on Ed. Between my occasional attempts to get him to drink more, he sleeps, but not all that well, by the looks of it. I stroke his hair and rub his shoulders to try and ease his discomfort, but a fat lot of good it does; he’s still restless, tossing about with his forehead pinched. Guess it’s in Ed’s nature to be a worrywart even in his dreams.

A few hours in, he begins to mutter in his sleep. I can’t make out everything (it doesn’t entirely sound like he’s speaking English?), but I catch his sister Leofe’s name, Mrs L’s name -  even my name. When I hear that, I can’t help but shake him awake, though I’d meant to let him rest.

“I’m here, Eddie. I’m here, like I promised you. It’s okay.” It is not remotely okay.

His eyes peel open, taking much longer than they should to focus on me. “Abel…?”

“That’s right.” I stroke his burning cheek with my thumb. “Still recognize me, huh? I’m flattered.”

My poor attempt at a joke falls flat; Ed’s face blanches suddenly. “Abel…” he repeats, his voice sounding choked. I don’t quite realize what’s going on until he brings a shaking hand to his mouth.

“Oh, shit-” I maneuver Eddie off my lap (carefully) before I scramble off the bed (far less carefully) and make a grab for the bin. I barely get it under his chin before he’s retching, losing his - well, not his lunch. He’s not eaten anything in… fuck, it must’ve been twenty-four hours by now.

“God damn it,” I whisper, holding my breath and trying to watch Eddie without looking at the puke. It’s not like I’ve never seen anyone vom before, but it’s different when it’s myself, and when it’s dark, and when I’m drunk. Now, there’s no pounding music to distract me from the sound of sick (though, really, it’s mostly water) hitting the bin, and the weak light filtering through the curtains illuminates the scene in all its gross detail.

Honestly, it’s like, pretty fucking nasty. Ed can’t help it, I remind myself firmly, my hands shaking as I try to keep the bin steady. Come to think of it, Ed had to watch me puke, what, the third or fourth time we’d ever seen each other? And he still wanted to hang out with me after that - hell, he still wanted to go out with me after that. He’s a better man than I am (though of course, I knew that already).

Eventually, he pulls his head back, collapsing back down onto the bed. I wince when I catch sight of some puke still clinging to his chin, and use a corner of the blanket to wipe it away (hey, I’m not the one who’ll have to deal with the laundry).

“Shit, Ed…” I palm his forehead, which is just as hot, if not more so, than before (though, it’s no longer soaked in his sweat - is that a good thing?). Some fucking good those meds were; though, I guess it’d be hard for them to have any effect, swimming around the bottom of the bin like they are now. “God, what I wouldn’t give to switch places with you. I mean, I’m sure I’d be fucking miserable - I know you are - but at least I wouldn’t be stuck with the most incompetent carer in the world looking after me.”

Sometimes I fancy myself smarter than Ed, given the weird holes in his general knowledge. Sure, his cluelessness with pop culture is funny, but it’s not really all that important. But there’s also quite a bit of academic-type stuff he doesn’t know. I’d always been average at best in school, but Eddie makes me look like a star pupil by comparison. (Poor Ed did not hear the end of it when I found out he didn’t even know Henry VIII and his six sorry wives - though I’m sure he had ‘em down by the time the Horrible Histories song had looped for the twentieth time.)

But the reality is that Ed has far more practical knowledge than I do. Cooking, cleaning, doing things with his hands. Taking care of sick people. I guess that was the sort of knowledge they emphasized, in that cult he was raised in…

A terrible thought occurs to me, and I forget to breathe for a moment.

“Hey, Ed?” I gently attempt to rouse him; when he doesn’t stir, I prod him a bit harder.

Nothing. If he weren’t breathing I’d say he was as still as death.

“Ed.” My shaking grows more insistent. “Eddie, wake up. Come on now, open your eyes. Eddie. Eddie! ” By now I’m shaking him in a way you should probably never shake a sick person, but I might as well be across the room for all it’s doing. He doesn’t even bat a fucking eyelash.

“Eddie…” I’ve started to plead, now; whether with Ed or some higher power, I’m not entirely sure. “Fuck, Ed, c’mon… Sweetheart-”

(I’m not usually one to go in for cutesy nicknames. They all sound so fucking unbearably corny to say out loud, seriously at least; I really only break them out to tease Ed, or over text where I don’t have to hear my own voice saying something so cringe. But I’m starting to grasp at straws - if he’s not responded to his own name, maybe this will, I dunno, shock him into hearing me?

But really, I’m not being as rational as all that. At this point I’m just desperate.)

“Sweetheart, please wake up, please… Shit…” My voice is trembling now, my hands along with it.

I’m reminded suddenly of something I said to Ed once, a while back. It was during one of the embarrassingly many breakdowns I had in front of him - this one, on the bank of the lake deep in Fenchapel’s forest. I told him that part of me wished that my sister had been sick, rather than dying suddenly, so that I might’ve had time to come to terms with it. But Ed’s unresponsive body is a grim reminder that disease isn’t always a slow killer.

I’m about two seconds from feeling for a pulse when - fucking finally - his eyes flicker.

“Ed?” At the sound of my voice, he opens his eyes further. “Oh, thank fuck, Eddie…” My eyes are stinging, I realize; I swipe at them with my sleeve - now is not the fucking time to fall to fucking pieces -  and then I cup his face, blazing like an angry sun, between my palms. He blinks up at me with unnaturally bright eyes.

“Nn… s’everything all right?” He makes as if to sit up, but he doesn’t get very far. He’s too weak. Fuck. My physically active, six-foot-whatever boyfriend is too weak to fucking sit himself up in fucking bed.

I take a deep breath to try and calm myself. “I have an important question for you, Eddie.”

“Oh… ‘ll ‘ndeavor to answer it t’ the best’f my ability…”

Even though he’d rather drift right back into dreamland, I’m sure. His brain must be totally fried, the way he’s talking right now; but because I’ve asked him, he’ll do it. He’s really too selfless for his own good - but maybe that’s for the best, given he’s utterly incapable of looking after himself right now anyway.

“D’you know if you ever got vaccinated as a kid? Y’know, against like, measles and all that other shit?”

“Vack-sin…?” His gaze is faraway and clouded over - and maybe I’m just imagining it, but do his pupils look larger than usual? Under normal circumstances, he’d frown at me and scrunch up his nose the same way he does when I make a reference to some show or song, or use a non-literal turn of phrase. But instead, he just looks sort of spacey, and after a few seconds his eyes start to slide closed again.

“Shit.” That wasn’t exactly an answer, and even if he did get all of his vaccines, the fact that Ed can’t even answer a simple yes-or-no question is not a good sign. I’ve never seen Ed drunk before - and probably never will - but he reminds me right now of the few times I’ve seen someone even more hammered than me at some party. It’s fucking scary, let me tell you, seeing a person that out of it; even more so now, with Ed (as always) stone-cold sober.

I run my hand through his hair (though it’s less a token of my affection and more a nervous tic) as I try to consider my options. Maybe I’ll try the wet cloth again - it must be of some help, given how common it is? - and it’s about time he got another dose of fever reducer, which should do him good, if I can manage to get him to take it…

I’m pulled out of my head when I realize the silent hotel room is no longer silent. Eddie’s breathing has grown noisier - and far faster. Alarmed, I look down at him; his dry lips are slightly parted, his chest heaving with panting breaths like he’s an Olympic fucking sprinter. At first I think maybe he’s having some sort of panic attack, a nightmare or something. But his eyes are half-lidded and expressionless; his (definitely too wide) pupils stare blankly ahead at fuck all.

When I place my hand over his heart, it beats a mile - hell, make that three miles - a goddamn minute.

“Shit,” I whisper. “Shit, shit, shit. Fucking - shit .” I am so out of my depth - I knew I was, but I didn’t realize how bad - that I’m in danger of drowning. Though between the two of us, I guess Eddie’s the more likely to end up a corpse.

Chapter Text

I’m not entirely sure how I managed to get Ed from the hotel room to the car. Pure fucking adrenaline, I guess, though I’m paying for it now; my neck and shoulders ache something awful.

But I can’t bring myself to care about that, not when I’ve been sitting in the hospital room with no news of Ed for half an hour now.

Dragging Ed to the car, driving to the hospital with him slumped in the passenger seat, it’s all a total blur… I vaguely recall rushing into the reception area and babbling something about my boyfriend (God, is that the first time I’ve ever called Ed my boyfriend in public? Of course he wasn’t even there to hear it) and then watching a bunch of paramedics or whoever carry him out of the car strapped onto a fucking stretcher. Carry him away like pallbearers with a corpse.

I’d stood frozen to the spot for who knows how fucking long, clenching my fists and teeth and trying not to cry, before somebody tapped me on the shoulder and told me all nice and gentle that I needed to move my car.

I managed to not explode at them, and to park the car without crashing it or crying; when I asked at the reception desk if I could see Eddie, I was told no, not right now. That damn fucking near did it, but seeing as I’m sober (for once) I managed to reel in my emotions.

I’ve been sitting in the waiting area since then, and I’ve probably turned my phone on and off again about ten times. It’s the only distraction available, but it’s not done me any good; I can’t possibly focus on cat pictures or eldritch idols when Eddie might be fucking dying somewhere in this building right now.

Is he dying? Maybe it’s not so bad as all that - but then, they’d let me see him, wouldn’t they? What was it they’d said when they carried him away again… “Male, early 20s, hyperpyrexia”?

I pull out my phone (again) and open up Google. My search history pops up in reverse chronological order, a mocking reminder of just how fucking incompetent I am:

“how to take care of a really sick person”

“what food is good for sick people not soup”

“what food is good for sick people”

“what brand of fever medicine is the best”

“how to take care of a sick person”

God. Fucking idiot. I should’ve just brought him here in the first place and saved us both the trouble of my failed attempts to take care of him.

I swipe at my eyes and type in “hyperpyrexia” - hopefully, I’ve spelled it right - then click on the first result.

Hyperpyrexia is a condition where the body temperature goes above 41.5 degrees Celsius.

Fucking hell. Was it really that fucking bad? How long had it been that fucking bad?

I scroll further down the page, skimming the article until I come to a list of symptoms of prolonged hyperpyrexia; the further down the list I get, the more I feel like I might hurl. Extreme confusion. Loss of consciousness. Dry, hot, red skin. Widened pupils. Seizures. Rapid, shallow breathing.

There’s only one thing on this list that I hadn’t seen - but then, maybe I’m just too fucking stupid to notice a seizure when I see one. Or maybe he’s having a seizure now, wherever he is, while doctors and nurses stand over him shaking their heads and wondering why his shit idiot boyfriend didn’t bring him in sooner.

If hyperpyrexia progresses further, it will ultimately lead to organ failure and dea-

I throw my phone to the ground, startling the family sitting a few chairs down from me, and bury my face in my hands.

Fuck . Oh God, I could really lose him. Eddie could fucking die today and there would only be me to blame for it.

Eddie himself’d never blame me, of course. He’d say it wasn’t my fault I didn’t know, that I did my best. But I didn’t really, did I? I left him sick and alone while I swanned off to a fucking concert and got drunk off my ass, then staggered back in such bad shape that he wouldn’t let me go out and buy medicine for him. Maybe I ought to have just gone anyway - if he’d taken medicine earlier, it might not have got to this point - hell, if I hadn’t gotten drunk, he’d never have stopped me going in the first place.

Though, if it hadn’t been for me, Eddie never would’ve gotten sick at all.

I know he picked this shit up from me, even if it’s hitting him way worse. I should’ve kept to myself til I was recovered. Shit , Mrs L was probably exposed to whatever I had, too, and an eighty-whatever-year-old is gonna be a lot more frail than a twenty-whatever-year-old. Do I even know how old Ed is? What kind of fucking person doesn’t know how old their boyfriend is?

I jump when my phone buzzes against the floor, the familiar strains of Death Becomes Her’s guitar screaming through the speakers. I used to change my ringtone more frequently, to whatever song I was into at the moment, but I haven’t changed this one for a while. It makes me think of Ed: how he asked me about it, the first time he heard it, and how we went to the concert together. Now it just makes me want to scream.

I scoop my phone up off the floor, intending to end the call, but then I see who it is. It’s Marnie.

God, what the hell am I gonna tell Marnie?

I accept the call, and before I can even get a word in she’s screaming in my ear, all pissed off. Normally, I’d be narked, but I don’t have the energy.

“Abel! Where the hell are you two? You were supposed to be back by now! Gran’s worried sick about you!”

“Marnie…” My voice cracks, and the other end of the line goes silent.

“...Abel?” she asks, more quietly this time. “What is it? What’s happened?”

“It’s- It’s Eddie, he’s… Shit, Marnie.” The tears have been a long time coming, but finally, I can’t stop them spilling over, faster than I can wipe them away. My voice wobbles as I continue. “He-He’s sick. R-Really bad… like, hospital bad.”

“Oh my God…” I can’t see her, but she probably has a hand to her mouth. “Shit, Abel, I… I’m sorry I yelled at you. God. Do you know…?” She trails off.

“They said, um, hyperpyrexia - which, I-I dunno, I looked it up, it- it looks like a fancy word for a really h-high fever - but I-I haven’t heard anything since they took-” My throat closes, and when I try to speak again, only a sob comes out.

“Oh my God, Abel…” Marnie sounds close to tears herself. It’s not any help, but I can’t really blame her. I mean, what the fuck else are you supposed to say when your cousin’s boyfriend is crying into the phone about how your cousin is dying?

“W-Wait, Marnie!” I managed to get myself under control enough to speak, though tears still pour down my face. “Mrs L, is- is she okay?”

“Gran?” Marnie’s voice rises in confusion. “Yeah, she’s fine. Why?”

“You’re sure ?” I press her.

“Totally sure. She’s right here, d’you want me to put her on…?”

Fuck, I really do, actually - with my boyfriend on the brink of death, Mrs L might be the only one who could possibly make me feel better - but what the hell am I supposed to say to her? Telling Mrs L that her grandson is going to die and it’s all my fault might just kill me.

“No, no, no, that’s alright,” I say quickly, shaking my head sharply even though she can’t see me. “I just- I just thought, I dunno, i-if she was sick too-”

“Don’t worry about Gran,” Marnie soothes. “Lizzie and I are here with her. You just- just focus on you and Ed, yeah? I’ll - I dunno, I’ll see if I can send someone over there with you.”

“Right,” I say absently, feeling empty. Send who? “Th-Thanks, Marnie- fuck, I’m sorry I didn’t call you before, I-”

“It’s alright , Abel, really. Listen, take care of yourself, yeah? Drink some water and all.” Marnie being upset before didn’t help, but now that she suddenly sounds all calm, I feel like I might snap at her. How can she be, when Ed is…

“Right,” I manage again. “Bye, Marnie.” I end the call before she can respond, then shove my phone in my pocket before curling up into a ball on my chair and bawling like a baby.

-----

I don’t know how long it’s been. My tears have long since dried, but I don’t feel any better than I did - matter of fact, I feel worse. My head is pounding and my mouth is dry; I’m probably dehydrated, but I’m shaking so bad I feel like I might collapse if I so much as think about standing up. That’d probably be because I haven’t eaten in… I’m not sure how long.

Well. What’s the point anyway. Ed has been without food and drink for even longer than I have.

“Abel!” My head instantly snaps up; I’m on high alert before I consciously recognize who the voice belongs to. “My God, what an awful sight you are. Here.”

My mother stands in front of me, scowling, a makeup wipe in her outstretched hand.

I stare at her in disbelief. My mother, here? Why? How?

She shakes the wipe at me impatiently. “Don’t just sit there staring. Wipe your face. You don’t want to break out. It’ll take an age for your skin to recover, and it’s bad enough as is.”

Lol. Lmao. Of course.

Mechanically, I take the wipe and run it across my face a few times. It comes back filthy. I’d not stopped to think about it (I’d not stopped to think about anything, besides Eddie), but I never washed my face the night of the concert, being drunk and all.

My mother takes the seat next to me and, of course, starts talking unprompted. “Iris Lennox gave me a ring - and thank God she did, or else you’d have been here all on your own with Edmund in the hospital, and no one taking care of you! I don’t understand why you didn’t get in touch with me. I know we don’t always see eye-to-eye on everything, but I’m still your mother! How can you expect me to look after you when-”

“When you never did?” Usually this is the kind of thing I would scream at my mother in a rage, but I don’t have the energy for that. My voice comes out dull and flat, and I don’t think my mother will even hear it.

But she goes quiet. Then, in a carefully measured voice, “How can I, when you never tell me when anything’s wrong?”

“You never asked .”

“That’s just not true, Abel.”

Well, alright, it’s probably not entirely true. She definitely has asked, when I wanted nothing more than to be left alone to wallow. But when it mattered? When I wanted her to see how much I was struggling, for once? She never asked. She never noticed. It felt like she never even cared.

I don’t bother arguing the point, though. After a pause, she says, “I did try to talk to your head of year. About the bullying.”

My breath stutters, and I glance at her out of the corner of my eye. “What?”

“Kea told me you were having trouble with some of the other boys in your year.” Of course Kea. “You always talked about it like it was all in good fun, but she told me that wasn’t all there was to it. So I arranged a meeting with your head of year.” My mother stares straight ahead as she speaks, not looking at me. She hasn’t looked at me this whole time. “I told him what I’d heard from Kea, but he just said that boys would be boys, and it was nothing to worry about. I wasn’t so sure, but…”

She sighs, sounding suddenly weary. “You never said anything about it. I had no idea if it was really as bad as she said, and you seemed happy enough, besides the usual teenage angst and those screamy bands you liked so much. I didn’t want to meddle.”

That would be a first , I think to myself, but I don’t say so.

I don’t know how to feel about this - any of it. I had no idea my mother had even noticed I was getting teased at school (though, I guess it was Kea who noticed, wasn’t it?), much less that she had tried to do something about it.

But she never asked me about it directly. Never told me she planned on going to my head of year about it.

I want to feel happy about it, knowing that my mother at least tried, in her own way, to help me, but this story just smacks of everything that’s ever been wrong with my relationship with my mother in the first place.

Besides, I’ve got too much on my mind right now to sort through this on top of it.

So I don’t say anything more on the subject. After an awkward silence, my mother asks, “Have you eaten?”

I shake my head, and she purses her lips. I brace for the oncoming lecture, but she just says, “Wait here. I’ll go and get something for you.”

Is anywhere even open? I don’t know what time it is, but it looks awfully dark outside. I check the time on my phone as my mother walks away - when the fuck did it get to be almost two in the morning?

I can’t wrap my mind around the idea of my mother dropping everything in the dead of night and driving all this way here, just because Eddie’s in the hospital. Part of me wants to be uncharitable and say it’s precisely because it’s Eddie, and she wouldn’t bother if it were me instead - but admittedly, I don’t honestly think that of my mother. More likely she’d make the drive just to give me an earful, all “it’s all your fault you ended up in this position” and “if you’d just made better decisions this all could have been avoided”-

Come to think of it, I’m surprised she hasn’t lain into me already. There’s been some comments here and there that I could’ve done without, but she’s not given me a real dressing-down yet.

Well. Maybe she’s saving that one for if Eddie doesn’t make it.

I can’t stop circling back to that thought, but I hold on to that if . He was still alive when they took him away, and he’s still alive now, or I’d know about it already.

My mother must have hit up the hospital cafeteria, because she returns a few minutes later with a sandwich, a bag of crisps, and a bottle of water. I didn’t think I would have an appetite (especially given the chicken is drier than any girl unlucky enough to get laid by Josh fucking Summers), but I realize as soon as I take a bite that I’m starving. I inhale the whole thing (“For God’s sake, Abel, chew your food. You’re going to choke at this rate!”) in a matter of minutes.

I work on the crisps and the water more slowly; my mother might’ve had a point, because I feel a bit sick to my stomach after eating so fast. But besides the one comment, she lets me eat in peace - as much as possible when sitting right next to me, anyway. It’s been forever since I last had to share my space with her, but I’m still all tense and shit, ready to defend myself at a moment’s notice.

I don’t really know what to do or say once I finish eating and toss my rubbish, so I pull my knees up to my chin and resume staring into space. My mother reaches out, hesitates, then puts her hand on my shoulder. It’s pretty awkward, actually - she squeezes so hard that it kind of hurts - but it’s better than nothing, I guess. I don’t shake her off, like I probably would’ve any other day.

-----

“Mum.” It feels like hours later when I speak up, but I’m pretty shite at judging time; could’ve only been a few minutes, for all I know.

She starts. Guess she was lost in her own thoughts, same as me. “What is it, Abel?”

“I’ve been thinking, um…” I toy with the hem of my shirt. Of all the possible people I could have this conversation with, my mother’s pretty low on the list, but she’s here, so…

“I’ve been thinking I should, um. Quit drinking.” I’m so quiet I can’t hardly hear myself speak, but she’s laser focused on me.

“Finally, you’re seeing sense,” she sighs. “I told you over and over that you ought not to drink so much, didn’t I?”

I scoff. “Yeah, I know you did, Mum.” No I’m proud of you for making this decision ; just you should have made this decision years ago.

“It’s not going to be easy,” she continues. “It’s not as simple as just deciding not to drink anymore. You’ll have to put in the work-”

“And what, you don’t think I can?” For the first time in days, anger at someone other than myself stirs in my chest. “Not like I ever put the work into anything else, right? Not like I ever worked helping you and Dad out in the shop, or-”

“We are in a hospital ,” she snaps. “Do not raise your voice at me here of all places, young man.”

Fucking hypocrite. But for the sake of the people around us, I bite my tongue and look away, seething. I should have known better than to bring this up with my mother.

That’s the end of that conversation, I think; but she speaks up again a few minutes later. “I’ve… spoken with some other parents,” she says stiffly. “Parents whose children had similar problems. It wasn’t as easy as just deciding to quit for them, either. Some of them tried for years.”

It takes me a moment to realize what she’s saying. Is she… what, attending a grief group? For parents who’ve lost their kids? I never thought I’d see the day she actually tried to move on from Kea.

She takes in a deep breath. “I just don’t want you to be discouraged if it doesn’t work out the first time. That’s all.”

“...Thanks for the tip, I guess, Mum.” I’d meant it to be sarcastic, but I just sound weary. My mother doesn’t respond.

Side-by-side, we watch in silence as the sky outside the windows begins to lighten.

Chapter Text

I didn’t imagine I’d be able to sleep under these circumstances, but I must’ve dozed off at some point, because suddenly my mother is prodding me awake.

“Mm, what…?” I mutter, wincing at the pain in my neck and arse from sleeping on the chair.

“Edmund is awake,” she says.

Immediately, so am I. “What!?”

She indicates the nurse standing in front of us, who smiles widely. “Edmund’s condition has stabilized, and he’s awake and alert. He’s asking for you. Abel, yes?”

My eyes sting. I blink to clear them. “Then I- I can see him?”

“You may! Please, follow me.”

I’m stiff when I rise from the chair, but my legs support me, at least. It feels like a dream state, following the nurse, when a thought occurs to me. “Hey, Mum…” I reluctantly turn back to her.

She raises her eyebrows. “Yes?”

“I, ah, never checked out of the hotel. All of me and Eddie’s stuff is still there…”

I expect a scolding, but she only nods. “I see. Give me the hotel’s address and the room number. I’ll take care of it.”

Wow. A painless interaction with my mother? And Eddie awake, on top of it? Maybe I’ve stumbled into the alternate universe where my life isn’t completely screwed up.

I swear the nurse who takes me to Eddie’s room is going out of her way to walk as slowly as fucking humanly possible. I’m tempted to start pushing her from behind. But finally, she points me to a room (with another smile. Doesn’t she see people die at work all the time? How is she so goddamn cheery? Maybe she's a sadist…) and I hurry inside.

I hadn’t quite believed that Ed was really alive and awake; not until now, seeing him with my own eyes. He still looks to be in a pretty bad way: his hair is a rat’s nest, there’s huge bags under his eyes, and even from here his lips look dry and cracked. But they lift into a smile as soon as he sees me, and I’ve launched myself from the doorway to his side before he can even say my name.

I grab hold of him as best I can from the awkward angle - and oh, what do you know. I’m crying into his chest like a little bitch, again . I thought maybe I’d avoided having another breakdown in front of Ed this time, on account of getting myself properly cried out earlier; but I’ve hydrated since then, thanks to my mother, and seeing Ed again after hours of torture…

Well. I suppose there were worse possible outcomes than this.

“ Fuck, Eddie… Shit, I’m so- so glad you’re still alive. God… I- I don’t know what I-”

“It is alright.” Eddie’s voice is scratchy, but I’m glad to hear it all the same. “I am alright, Abel.”

“Y-You’re in a fucking hospital , Ed,” I manage to choke out.

“That is a fair point… Then, I am as alright as I can be, I suppose.”

That gets a chuckle out of me, even as tears continue to drip down my face. “God, you’re so-” So Ed. My Ed, alive and contrarian, not limp and lifeless in a hotel room.

I bury my head into his chest, wanting to be as close to him as I can possibly get. Inexplicably, I find myself wishing he was wearing that awful fucking red plaid of his. I get on his case about that thing constantly, but it really is soft - much more than the hospital gown they’ve put on him over his pyjama shirt - and it would probably smell more like him, too. (He smells pretty funky, actually, like day-old sweat and antiseptic, but that’s to be expected after everything he’s been through, and I’m sure I’m no better. I haven’t changed my clothes since getting dressed for the concert.)

Ed’s body is still scary hot (I mean, Ed's always been scary hot, but I could do without the fever making that literal), and his arm drapes weakly over my shoulders. I’m glad - so fucking glad - to feel him touch me again, but it’s nothing like the hugs from him that I’m used to: both his arms wrapped around me, strong and solid, like he’s protecting me from anything that could possibly hurt me.

I lift my head long enough to see what he’s got up to with his other arm. There’s an IV tube connected to it. “They gave you an IV,” I say, rather stupidly.

“Is that what this thing is?” He frowns at it. “I must say, it feels rather unnatural. I do not see why it would be necessary.”

“W-Well.” I take a deep breath, brushing an arm over my eyes. “They had to hydrate you somehow, Ed. I couldn’t- you weren’t keeping water down, by the time I brought you here.”

“Oh.” Ed looks faintly alarmed. “I apologize for all the trouble I must have put you through, Abel. I am afraid I cannot remember what happened in any detail…”

“No surprise there. You were- shit, you were really out of it, Ed. I didn’t know how to help you…”

A tear tracks down my cheek (fuck, again ? I’m starting to get annoyed at myself; like, can you be done with the breakdown already?). Eddie, seeing it, looks crushed.

“I cannot apologize enough for putting you in that position, Abel. It seems you went through quite a lot, while I was indisposed.”

“Fuck, Ed.” I scrub my face roughly with both hands. No more goddamn tears. “If anyone should be apologizing here, it’s me. I’m the one who failed to properly look after you. All you did was get sick. That’s nothing to be sorry for.” Before he can respond, I bolt upright with a memory. “Hey, Eddie, how old are you, anyway?”

“What?” That familiar cagey expression falls over Eddie’s face, and he looks away from me for a second. “I am… around your age.”

“So you don’t know exactly.”

“...No.” He looks nervous - I feel terrible for putting him on the spot like that, but it’s overpowered by my relief at his answer.

“Thank fuck. I’m not a horrible person after all.”

“What? Why would you be… Abel, are you really alright?”

“I’m fine , Eddie, honest. Don’t worry yourself over me. You’re the one in the hospital bed, remember?”

“I am aware, but…” He hesitates. “You look awful.”

“Wow. Thanks.”

“I only meant- that is, your face- I have never seen you so- ah…”

God, he’s so cute. I shush him with a finger to his lips.

“I’m only teasing you, Ed. I’m sure I look a right goddamn mess right about now. But you’re not allowed to get mad at me for teasing, since I haven’t been able to for days.”

Eddie relaxes. “I suppose I do not have a choice. After all, you are my… husbando.”

It takes a moment for me to register what he’s just said. I laugh shakily. “What the fuck, Ed…”

And then it hits me (like, really hits me, over-enunciation and all) and suddenly I’m giddy with laughter. All the emotions of the past who-knows-how-long hit me all at once, and I’m clinging to Ed, laughing so hard I can’t breathe (crying again, too, but I’ll go ahead and call those tears of laughter). I don’t think Eddie has even the slightest understanding of what’s so funny, but he smiles fondly at me, and his grip around my shaking shoulders tightens ever so slightly.

“God, I fucking forgot about that,” I wheeze between giggles, several minutes later. “Shit, Eddie, have I ever told you how funny you are?”

“Many times over,” he says in a deadpan voice, proving my point. “I do not understand it, but I will gladly accept the compliment.”

“Heh.” I squeeze him tightly. “I love you, Eddie. So fucking much. We are getting you vaccinated after this, you hear? I don’t think I could handle this again.”

“Ah…” Eddie eyes the IV in his arm. “Is that truly necessary?”

“ Yes, it’s fucking necessary. I guess you were raised by anti-vaxxers, or whatever, but they were wrong, okay? Vaccines don’t kill you and they don’t cause autism.”

“I-” Ed blinks. “I don’t know anything about that, I just…” He glances again at the IV.

“What, you don’t like needles?”

“Not particularly, no.”

Heh. I’d never have guessed that big tall Ed would be afraid of tiny little needles. “Well, we’ve all got to face our fears sooner or later. But I’ll hold your hand the whole time, promise.”

“You will?” I’d been half-joking, but he looks so poor little meow meow, I think I really will have to hold his hand. Well, no matter. Not like that’s a hardship.

“Yeah, I will.” I squeeze his hand, then lean in to kiss his forehead. His eyes flutter closed, and he sighs in contentment. “Listen, I’ll be right back, yeah? I wanna find out how soon they’re letting you go.”

“Alright.” He sounds as if he’s drifting off; knowing how high-maintenance I am, the poor guy probably used up all his energy talking to me. “Hurry back?”

Oh, he deserves another kiss for that one. I lean in once more, then rest my forehead against his. It's uncomfortably warm, but as long as he's here and alive there'll be no complaints from me. “‘Course I will. I love you, Eddie.”

He’s half asleep, but still: “I love you too, Abel.”

-----

When we finally return home later that evening, it’s to a chorus of relief and well-wishes from Marnie, Lizzie, and Mrs L, but I hustle Eddie away and up the stairs as quick as I’m able. He’s not fully recovered yet, though he’d been discharged from the hospital; he’s still running a bit of a fever, and the doctor had emphasized “ample rest and hydration” about a dozen times before letting him go.

Eddie sighs as he sinks down onto the mattress, wrapping his arms tightly around his pillow.

“Did you miss it?” I tease, stroking his hair back from his forehead.

He opens one eye. “Miss what?”

“That pillow. Keep holding it like that, and I might start to get jealous!”

“Ah.” He lets his eye close. “Get into bed with me and you can take its place, if you like.”

It is so goddamn unfair how smooth Ed can be when he puts his mind to it. I’d been planning on taking a quick shower first, but…

“So that was your goal all along, then? Well, I can’t say no to that.” I climb in, and Eddie rolls over and wraps his arms around me instead, nestling his head onto my chest. I’m used to it being the other way around, but I readily pull him in closer to me; after all that shit, I’m prepared to be the one looking after him for a change. For a while, anyway.

I brush a kiss against his forehead. “You alright, Ed?” I murmur.

“I am alright, yes. Are you?”

“‘Long as you are, yeah. I wish you’d stop worrying about me so much, but I guess old habits die hard.”

“I am not in any hurry to kill the habit of worrying about you.”

“Damn, Ed, that’s kind of metal.”

“Is it…?”

“I think so? Maybe not, I dunno. I heard ‘kill’ and not much else. Could be the sleep deprivation catching up to me.”

“You had best get some rest, then, or you will not be able to look after me as you planned to.”

“I’m in bed with you, aren’t I?”

“And yet you are still talking instead of sleeping.”

“Hey, the two aren’t mutually exclusive! How do you know I’m not sleep-talking? I never shut up when I’m awake, so I don’t see why that’d change when I sleep.”

“Your eyes are open.”

“And how would you know that if yours weren’t open, too? Checkmate, Ed.”

“I was not under the impression that this was a game of chess. And besides, my eyes are closed. I simply took an educated guess.”

“Did you, now? You and what education?” I give his ribs a gentle poke. The corners of his lips quirk, and he halfheartedly bats my hand away.

“I daresay I have become quite the expert in you after all the time we have spent together.”

“Well, I could say the same about you, and my expertise tells me that you’re not in any hurry to go to sleep either, with the way you’re carrying on.”

“It takes two to carry on a conversation. You are just as much to blame as I am.”

I really missed this, I realize as we trade sleepy banter back and forth, our legs intertwined; just being here with Ed, talking about fuck all. It’s a simple thing, and I don’t even remember like, ninety percent of our conversations after we have them. But I’m happy - properly happy - when I’m spending time with Eddie like this.

As we get too tired to carry a coherent conversation, I trade speaking for pressing gentle kisses on Eddie’s face, from his forehead to his nose to his cheeks. And then, when I’m positive he’s drifted off and won’t scold me about germs, I bring my lips to his (gently, so I don’t wake him).

“I love you, Eddie.” I whisper, though I know he can’t hear me; the promise I’m about to make is for myself as much as it is for him. “I’m so fucking glad you’re still here. And I want you to stay here, so I promise I’ll do better from here on out - looking after you, and paying attention, and all. You’ve never let me down like I have you, so I’ll be taking a page out of your book - not literally, don’t worry. All of your favorite novels will remain intact. Anyway, I’ll take good care of you, I swear it. Starting with getting you fucking vaccinated.”