Skips A Beat ::Wattys2016::

Chapter 11

We sit on the couch at my place, Michael curled up into my side, and my arm around him. He's half asleep. It's been a rough night for him, he got up every hour to puke, and the one time he couldn't breathe afterwards. So, instead of going to school today, I'm staying home with him. He moans, and I'm not sure if he knows he did or not.

"What's this?" He asks, his voice scratchy.

"Spongebob, Kitten." I say, looking down at him. He nods, closing his eyes again. I run my hand through his matted hair. He's sweating a lot. "Kitten, do you need to change again?" I ask him softly, he hums sleepily. I brought a small pile of clothes out here since he already sweated through two shirts. I take his shirt off, throwing it over to the other seat, I'll wash it later. He sweated completely through it. I tug a new tank top onto him. I pull him back into me, and cover him with a blanket.

I watch a lot of Spongebob before Michael starts to wake up. I mean a lot. He sits up, pulling the blanket around himself tightly. He still looks tired. Tired and hot. Not hot like attractive (which he still is), hot like...overheating. I stare at him for a while before speaking up.

"Are you okay?" I whisper, nudging him with my elbow lightly. He nods, his green eyes hazy. "Are you sure?" He nods again.

"What day is it?" He asks randomly.

"The 21st..." I say, slightly confused.

"Right, because," He shivers, "Because of my birthday. Yesterday."

"That's right." I say, keeping my eyes on him.

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I finish up my English homework, looking over at Michael. He's been sick all day again. So far, being 18 for him isn't that awesome. He doesn't even get to vote, because there's no elections, or buy lottery tickets, or cigarettes. It's really boring for him so far.

I grab my phone, Googling the fuck out of everything. Body failure, Sepsis, losing brain density, everything. I even got to a page about asthma. I'm paranoid that he's not actually sick, and that this is the beginning of the down hill slide. I don't want it to be. Most of my research is just saying that he's only sick, and I need to take a chill pill, but I have no chill.

"Lukey." I hear Michael whine. I look up from my phone.

"Yeah?"

"I really, really, really want popcorn." He looks over at me with his glazed green eyes.

"Why popcorn?" I ask, chuckling. He doesn't even get popcorn at the movies. It's not exactly his favourite.

"I don't know." He pulls his bottom lip between his teeth, ripping the soft skin.

"I can get you popcorn, we just don't have any here." I start to get up. "Are you coming or staying?"

"Staying."

"If you need me, call me. Don't do anything you know you can't. If you feel like you're getting sick again, the bucket's at the side of the couch. Mom should be home before I get here and-."

"Stop worrying and go." Michael says, half smiling up at me.

"Right, I love you."

"I love you, too."

It only takes me a few minutes to go get the popcorn for him from the local store owned by a batshit crazy old lady. I head back up the steps to my apartment, unlocking the door. I don't see him in the living room, it's just my mother, so I drop the bag off in the kitchen before heading down the hall to my room.

I open the door slowly, sticking my head in. I smile when I see Michael curled up on my bed. He has one of my shirts on. It's big on me, but it's huge on him. The gray fabric wraps down around his thighs, covering up any traces of the boxers he's wearing. He moves, stretching out on the bed, pulling my pillow closer to him. I lean against the doorway for a while, smiling at him. I don't know how I got lucky enough to spend even this short amount of forever with him. I don't know how I was picked to be loved by this angel. I think that's the problem. He's too perfect for this world, and heaven wants him back. His hair falls perfectly away from his face. God, he's so beautiful.