In the morning Jesse is prepared to stay with me during the day as well, but I think that is ridiculous. 

“I’m sick. You’re not. Go to class. I’ll be fine.”

“I don’t think you should be alone. Someone should stay with you. What if you need something?”

“Jesse, I’m a grown ass human. I can take care of myself.”

He narrows his eyes. 

“I feel much better. My temperature has gone down since last night. It’s not like I’m in danger of dying from a low-grade fever.” I still feel like shit, but I’m not about to tell him that. 

Jesse frowns at me and I shut my mouth. He only agrees to go to class when I promise to call him if I pass out, which is ridiculous. How can I call anyone if I’ve passed out? 

Anyway, it's not really Jesse’s job to take care of me, which I try to communicate, but apparently he doesn’t agree. He takes my keys with him so he can come back in between classes to check up on me. 

When he’s not in the room all I do is listen to music and sleep. I can’t even keep my eyes open to watch anything or play any games.

That evening, Jesse still insists on staying in Matt’s bed overnight. But I’m not sure how much he actually sleeps there. Whenever I wake coughing in the night he is by my side, sitting in the chair that he pulled up next to my bed.

The next morning the fever is completely gone, but I feel like all my muscles are made of jello. He wants me to go to campus health services but I already know what they will say. There’s a flu that’s been going around.

The day plays out much like the day before. I sleep. Jesse goes to class with great reluctance and comes to check on me frequently. He makes me ramen noodles with chili peppers and has me drink more hot honey and ginger.

On the third day of being sick as a dog, my appetite returns and I have enough strength to sit up and eat real food. Jesse pilfers some choice selections from the dining hall. It’s not stealing. I’m paying for the meal plan.

“Are you feeling at all better?” He asks as he cleans up after my meal. Even though I told him he didn’t have to.

“Almost completely well. I told you. You don’t have to stay.”

Jesse glares at me and I stop trying to persuade him to leave me here. In fact, although I don’t need him there, I’m getting used to him staying in my room. 

My most recent symptom—a hacking cough—keeps me up most of the night. I know it wakes Jesse, too. But he pretends to be well rested in the morning. 

After returning from his afternoon class, Jesse has me remove my shirt. I expect him to hand me a washcloth so I can smell less bad—neither of us trust me to take a shower just yet. I’m not all that steady on my feet. And even the necessary trips to the bathroom wear me out. 

But instead of handing me a cloth, he rubs some oil on my chest. 

“What are you doing? What is that? It smells weird.”

“White flower oil.” His hands feel cool on my skin even though I haven’t had a fever in some time. “It’s a Filipino cure-all. I finally managed to find a store that carries it.”

It smells weird, but seems to help with the cough. I manage to sleep through the night.

I’ve never been this sick in my life. By day five I am steady enough to walk around on my own, at least for short periods of time. I’m not sure I’ve ever been sick for this long. 

“I think you might be okay for a short trip to the cafeteria,” Jesse says after I manage to make it from my bed to my desk without falling on my ass. It feels good to move around, although I am hardly at full strength. 

Jesse insists on supporting me in case I topple over. “You’re still a patient under my care, sweetie. Either you lean on me or I will carry you. It would hardly be more difficult than some of the lifts I have to do.” 

He is almost absurdly strong. He could probably follow through on his threat. 

I opt for walking on my own two feet. But walking down the stairs I realize the importance of having the extra support. A short dizzy spell calls for a brief rest on the landing. 

“Take it easy, big guy. It’s not a race.” Jesse puts his arm around my waist and drapes my arm over his shoulder.

On the way out of the dorm, we pass Jesse’s roommate Nick and some friends in the Lobby. Nick has very curly brown hair. His skin is three shades darker than a bowl of instant mashed potatoes. I’ve never seen his friends before. Or maybe I have, and never paid them any particular attention.

“Oh, there you are. I thought maybe you dropped out and left all your shit behind,” he says. “But I guess I can see what you’ve been up to.” His lip curls back as he says this.

“Yeah. Nursing me back from the dead,” I say before Nick can say something even more obviously homophobic. I already want to punch him in the mouth. And I don’t do that.

One of Nick’s friends mumbles something and grabs him by the arm, pulling him away from us. Pulling him away from me. 

I’ve been told that my pissed-off face scares the crap out of people. It is a useful attribute in these types of situations.

“Take a breath, sweetie,” Jesse says.

“How can you stand him?”

Jesse shrugs. “I’ve learned to ignore him.”