Just like with all other sick people, you feel like shit.
The first culprit is your headaches. The migraine comes and goes, like someone had been gently hitting different areas of your head with a hammer. "Gently," but still, with a hammer.
Your throat is not much kinder to you. It simultaneously feels like you had swallowed feathers and knives. Between sneezing and the throbbing pain of you head, you would cough. You're lucky that your lungs are still in your body.
And then there was your body. When you tried getting out of bed this morning, your limbs felt like lead. Your head felt five times heavier than usual. Every step you take weighs you down as you shuffle around your apartment, aimlessly searching for a familiar warmth.
"My love,"
Mydei's warm hand gently takes your cold one. His other was on the small of your back to keep you steady if you were to fall over in your current state.
"Why are you here? If you needed anything from the kitchen, you could have texted me."
You look up to your partner's face, who looks more concerned than he is frustrated. Mydei knows that you're more than capable, but when you're sick, any small action he can take to ease your burden will be taken.
You walked here not for a glass of water, but rather because you miss his warmth.
Just a few moments ago, you had agreed to let him sleep in the spare guest room, not wanting to get him sick. You had never seen Mydei this conflicted over a seemingly trivial matter either, debating whether to remain by your side and potentially get sick, or sleep elsewhere and fret over you the entire night.
Eventually, you reassure him that you won't die because of a mild fever. There was nothing to really worry about, and you'll surely be good as new come tomorrow.
With his hand still in your own, you slowly make the short trip back to your shared room with Mydei in tow. He does not resist, knowing that more than anything in this moment, you needed him.
You go through the same procedure from before you left the room in search of him. You lie down, Mydei tucks you in and places his hand on your forehead to check your temperature. He remains seated at the edge of the bed after, waiting for you to say something. Or nothing at all. He'd stay until you have something to say, and maybe stay a little longer after that too.
"Stay," is all you manage to get out.
If you were any less delirious and exhausted from the fever, you would have known better. You were both logical people, but at your lowest and weakest, what more do you know how to do than to call out to him?
Mydei lets out a small, amused huff before once again taking your hand into his own. It was now burning hot, the blankets having done wonders to your body temperature. Despite that, you remain drawn to the comfortable warmth that Mydei always seems to radiate.
He places a light kiss on the back of your hand before brushing over the spot with his thumb in a soothing rhythmic motion. The combined quiet, warmth, and his presence lull you a little closer to dreamland.
"I thought you didn't want me to get sick," Mydei says. And that was true, except in your deluded, feverish state, you think that you want him close to you a little more than you want him to not be sick.
You respond by scooting as close to him as possible. You're sure that that was a clear enough answer.
The park was nearby and familiar, just across the street. Even as the years have passed, you both found yourselves drawn to it.
You swing your legs a little, your swing moving along slightly with the momentum. Caleb sits relatively still, perhaps deep in his own thoughts.
The sun had begun to set, leaving most of the world bathed in a serene orange. It made you feel melancholic somehow. Maybe it was a reminder that time keeps passing, making no move to stop. Your childhood has long passed, and no matter how much you may try to cling onto it, time pulls you away.
“Overthinking again pips?”
You turn to the person who had rudely disturbed your reminiscing. You pretend to look annoyed, but all Caleb gives you in return is his unchanging smile.
It seems that some things never changed after all.
“The sunset is pretty,” you say.
Caleb hums in agreement.
“Very pretty,” he says, eyes never leaving you. “You think this is a sign of us getting old? Appreciating the sun setting?”
“We’re barely halfway through university. We’re not that old.”
A gentle breeze sweeps through the area, moving tree branches and shifting the way light hits Caleb’s face.
You think your time away from home at university has changed something.
Caleb hasn’t really changed. You’re sure of that. It was the same nose and lips you were familiar with. The deep purple of his eyes, half mischief, half boyish charm, still twinkle at you all the same.
But the longer you stare at him in the dimming lights of your childhood park, you start seeing things differently. It was still the same face, though it had lost its baby fat long ago. He had gotten taller, sturdier. His voice, deeper, but it still teases you for the same things it had always been teasing you for.
It was in high school when you really started to hear people around your age call Caleb “handsome.” You laughed when your friends at school held the same sentiment about him, but at this moment, you realize:
Caleb really was beautiful.
It was you. The way you see Caleb has changed. Your realization may be belated, but the embarrassment still follows. Thinking about your best friend, childhood friend that way felt foreign, but also familiar at the same time.
Maybe you had known all along. He had always been beautiful, whether it be because he had finally grown into his features or because he remained by your side, every step of the way.
