The two of them stumbled into the apartment. Kicking off their shoes at the entrance, they made their way to Andrew’s room.

Andrew was still trying to ignore his injuries, insisting he was fine. But Julien could feel how weak and unsteady he really was. The moment the adrenaline wore off, Andrew would be on the floor.

He could only be grateful for the lack of stairs.

Helping Andrew sit on his bed, Julien finally let him go.

He felt numb, and both of them were exhausted, but he couldn’t go to sleep just yet.

“I’ll go get a rag.”

They were both filthy, and Julien didn’t want to imagine the sorts of infections that could cause. He left the room and grabbed soap, a rag, and 2 basins, filling one with water before coming back.

This is going to be a little awkward.

“Take those off, I’ll help you wash up.”

Andrew still wore his original pants despite how dirty they were, with a mixture of dirt and dried blood caking its surface—but his shirt was unsalvageable, so it was replaced by a thin paper gown from the hospital.

Andrew hesitated, but thankfully he didn’t put up a fight. Not that Julien would’ve listened right now anyway.

“Thank you.”

Andrew slowly removed everything except for his boxer briefs—with Julien stepping in to help where he was struggling. He made sure to keep his eyes from travelling where they shouldn’t, looking at his bandaged wounds instead.

He hissed at the sight.

Andrew's chest was wrapped in bandages, and both his left shoulder and side were covered in large plasters. Even if Andrew was now on painkillers, it could not have been comfortable.

Julien wet the rag and used it to wipe Andrew’s face, followed by his arms, his neck, then what was exposed of his back. He hesitated before bending down to wipe Andrew’s legs and feet, slowly working his way up before stopping just before Andrew’s thighs.

He can probably wash here without reopening his wounds, right?

Glancing up at Andrew, Julien handed him the rag.

“For your… more sensitive areas.”

While Andrew wiped himself down, Julien picked up the clean water basin and sat behind him—supporting the basin at the base of his neck with one hand while rinsing his hair with the other.

Now at least one of them was clean.

Julien lowered the basin, but he didn’t leave the room.

He wanted to apologize to Andrew, yet somehow the words failed to find purchase on his tongue.

But that was just an excuse.

He was stalling.

“...Where are your clothes?”

Andrew put the rag down and pointed towards a suitcase on the other side of his bed. Julien leaned over the bed and rifled through its contents, searching for something loose enough to not aggravate Andrew's wounds.

What could I even say?

Andrew watched him for a while, then he lowered his head.

And he apologized.

Andrew, to him.

“I’m sorry.”

Julien paused.

“...Why would you be sorry?”

Julien sat up, placing Andrew’s pants on the bed and unbuttoning the button-up he grabbed.

Andrew looked at him.

“I was negligent.”

Julien helped Andrew put his better arm through the sleeve.

“You weren’t.”

He put his other arm through, earning a small frown of discomfort from Andrew.

“I was… I’m the one who should apologize.”

He left the shirt unbuttoned and backed away, leveling Andrew with a regretful look.

“I…”

Julien squeezed his eyes shut.

“I’m sorry.”

For a lot of things.

Julien picked Andrew’s dirty clothes off the floor and threw them into the nearby laundry basket. Then he collected the water basins, ensuring none of the water fell on the floor.

Julien sighed.

“Don't apologize. You didn’t do anything wrong.”

Julien furrowed his brows, as if contemplating saying something else, before leaving for the connected bathroom.

You were just doing your job.

He dumped the dirty water into the tub before returning to help Andrew who was struggling to lay down. With that, Julien turned to leave.

Andrew grabbed his arm.

“You didn’t either. Do anything wrong.”

Julien felt the weight on his shoulders grow heavier.

Pursing his lips, he gently peeled Andrew’s hand off before walking away.

“Don’t forgive me.”

He left the room and shut the door.

—

Julien had trouble sleeping that night. He thought he was exhausted, but evidently, not exhausted enough.

He reached for his phone, but his hand grabbed at nothing but air.

That’s right.

It wasn’t there. Andrew probably still had it in his pants pocket.

Sighing, he rolled onto his back and stared blankly at the ceiling.

Who exactly was he? Julien didn’t know, but his head was disgustingly clear now that there was no more fight or flight left in him.

It’d be wrong to continue being suspicious of Andrew. Even if he hid things from him, he was never antagonistic, and that only made Julien feel worse.

I just…

He knew what drove him to it, but saying what the problem was—even just to himself—would be like admitting that he had a problem at all, and Julien wanted to convince himself that he didn’t.

Even if everyone could already see that he did.

His thoughts ran away with him—and without him realizing it—the sun rose on a new day.

At the very least, his dreams were silent.

And maybe that’s why he didn’t notice it at first.

When he went down to Andrew’s room to check on his condition, he responded just fine.

When he came back with a glass of water and some leftovers Andrew had made before, he still seemed ok.

But when Andrew dropped his spoon into the bowl in his lap, Julien realized that something was wrong.

Andrew was running a fever.

—

It was another few hours before the doctor Julien called made her way to his apartment. An unfortunate consequence of the holidays.

“Have you tried fever-reducers?”

“I gave him acetaminophen an hour ago.”

She took his temperature and frowned.

“Why didn’t you go to the hospital? His temperature is already at 39 C.”

Julien shook his head.

“It wasn’t when I was here earlier. The medicine isn’t working.”

He paced around the room.

“Do you think it’s an infection?”

She removed Andrew’s bandages, inspecting his injuries before making a puzzled face.

“I doubt it’d take this quickly if it was. How did you say he got hurt again?”

Julien shook his head.

I haven’t asked yet.

“I don’t know, why?”

“Did he get a rabies shot when he was in the hospital?”

Rabies?

Julien stopped pacing and came to look as well. He frowned.

What attacked you yesterday?

Andrew’s wounds were an angry red, and the marks that Julien thought were scratches on his left side were actually the remnants of a giant bite mark, like something tried to take a chunk out of him and failed.

Notably, some of the stitching on his side and chest had reopened.

“Probably?”

I can’t say I was paying that much attention.

She redid the stitches and covered his wounds back up.

“It could be an allergy, did they not check before they gave it to him?”

Julien frowned.

“I doubt it. They’d be the first to lose out if they forgot to check something as important as that.”

She stared at Andrew for a while longer before taking his temperature once more.

For now, he was stable.

“I can bring you an IV or two to keep him hydrated, but if he gets any worse, I’d go back to the hospital.”

She looked up at Julien.

“Then again, you can’t force someone to accept treatment they don’t want.”

Julien shifted uncomfortably.

“I guess you can’t.”

She scanned him for a second before patting him on the arm.

“It’s good to see you’re doing alright. I’ll see you in a bit.”

Do I look alright to you?

Julien almost said that out loud but he held his tongue and simply watched her leave. She quietly shut the door behind her, leaving Julien and Andrew alone once more.

Andrew had a grimace on his face like Julien had never seen before, and Julien reached down to massage the wrinkles from his brow. He couldn’t help but sigh.

I just can’t catch a break can I?

—

Andrew’s consciousness faded in and out. He felt hot, like the flames of Halos himself were engulfing his body. Yet, he was also so, so cold, like he was slowly rotting away from the inside out.

It hurts.

He felt like he was dying.

No.

He would trouble so many people if he died.

Yet there was nothing he could do to prevent it. He didn’t even have the energy to look at the door as Julien entered, a fresh basin of water and an IV bag in hand.

Andrew heard more than saw Julien change one bag of IV fluid for another. The creaking of the metal pole, the drip, drip, drip of fluids, and Julien sitting down in a chair beside his bed—the legs scraping against the floors at the movement.

His grimace intensified.

Duelen los oídos. (My ears hurt)

He wasn’t entirely sure how much time had passed since the attack, but Julien looked like he hadn’t slept properly in days. His lilac eyes were bloodshot, his face was scrunched up into a troubled frown—and it was all because of him.

What a joke.

Andrew wanted nothing more than to sit up and reassure him that he was fine, but any attempts to move were eaten away by the hungry flames, leaving him at Julien’s mercy.

Julien wrung out a rag and put the cool fabric on his forehead, then took another and placed it on his neck. When Julien swept Andrew's hair out of the way, Andrew felt a brief moment of reprieve—before it disappeared with his touch.

Strange.

Andrew almost wanted to grab his hand and keep it there, but that wasn’t like him at all. He could only feel regretful that he’d ever even considered such a thing.

Being sick did weird things to the brain. More than that, it made one crave company to stave off the pain.

Andrew winced as another wave of agony shot through his body.

He could no longer keep his eyes open. 

Did you feel like this too, Vivi?

His heart ached as he relapsed into a deep slumber.

—

Time seemed to move at a crawl as Andrew continued to battle the fever.

Julien didn’t sleep a lot during that time, his mind buzzing with a sort of unease he couldn’t quite place. As a result, he kept himself busy by spending most of his time in Andrew’s room, only ever leaving to take care of himself or the puppy.

Andrew’s fever seemed to peak more at night anyway, so it was a better arrangement overall.

And on the day of the New Year, as fireworks sounded off in the excited city below,

Julien walked into Andrew’s room with a fresh rag, moving to replace the one on Andrew’s forehead.

But Andrew was no longer laying down.

His fever had finally been broken.