’The house is a mess, ack! Why is he here now?! Weren’t you supposed to be acting like the perfectly average guy?’

Myles set his backpack down, then walked over to Blake.

"Lie down."

For a second, it was like Blake forgot about the dizziness but, of course, his brain caught up again, and he practically dropped onto the bed.

"Why are you here? Shouldn’t you be at school...?"

Unzipping it open, Myles pulled out some... groceries.

"Hey, what’s with all that? I can’t accept—"

"Did you throw up?"

Blake raised an eyebrow, covering his face for a moment.

’Um... how does he know that? Do I smell like vomit or something?’

Then he felt the blanket being gently pulled down.

"Then rest for a bit. You’ll have to eat later."

Myles walked into the kitchen, grabbed a glass and a bottle of water, and set them on the bedside table.

"Still, you’ll need to drink a lot."

It wasn’t bad, being taken care of like this so gently, but... it definitely made him feel a little guilty.

Blake barely had the energy to keep his eyes open, but he could still hear it: the quiet, constant sounds of Myles moving around the apartment.

Then, he heard a faint rustle of fabric as an extra blanket was draped over him. The mattress dipped slightly as Myles adjusted it, making sure it covered him properly, tucking it just enough so it wouldn’t slip off.

Blake cracked one eye open.

"You don’t have to..." he muttered, voice hoarse.

Myles didn’t even pause. "You’re cold."

Before Blake could thank him, he felt a soft brush of air pass over him. A second later, the room felt different, much cooler and fresher.

Myles had opened the window.

"Hey—" Blake tried to push himself up, immediately regretting it as his head throbbed. "It’s cold..."

"It’s stuffy here," Myles replied simply.

Even if Blake was a little out of it, he watched.

Myles moved quietly, picking up stray clothes from the floor, folding what could be folded, setting aside what couldn’t. Empty bottles disappeared. Wrappers vanished. Things were straightened, aligned and cleaned.

Blake opened his mouth once, like he was going to tell him to stop, but the words never quite made it out.

Instead, he just stared.

’Since when is he like this...?’

The room, which had felt suffocating before, slowly started to feel livable again.

His eyes grew heavier.

The sounds blurred together, the faint clink of objects being moved, the soft steps across the floor, the occasional creak of something being adjusted.

His head hurt.

His stomach still twisted uncomfortably.

But somehow, it was quieter now.

"...you really don’t have to..." Blake murmured one last time, though it barely came out intelligible.

There was no answer this time. Or maybe there was, and he just didn’t hear it.

Because the next thing he knew, everything slipped away.

***

When Blake woke up again, the apartment was quiet, a bit too quiet.

For a moment, he just lay there, blinking slowly, trying to piece together where he was.

Right.

Home.

Sick.

Myles...

The thought snapped into place just as he felt something warm press gently against his forehead.

He flinched slightly, eyes focusing.

Myles.

He was standing right beside the bed, one hand resting lightly against Blake’s forehead, his expression as unreadable as ever.

"...what are you doing?" Blake croaked.

"Checking your temperature."

Blake stared at him for a second.

"So? Am I any better than before."

"Yeah."

Blake let out a small breath, sinking further into the pillow. He did feel a little less awful. The headache wasn’t as sharp, and the nausea had dulled into something more manageable.

Myles pulled his hand away and reached for the glass on the bedside table.

"Drink."

Blake pushed himself up slightly, wincing as his body protested, and took the glass. The water was cool, not too cold and he drank slowly, careful not to upset his stomach.

Still, it felt good since he hadn’t realized how thirsty he was.

Once he finished, he handed the glass back, exhaling softly.

"...thanks."

Myles nodded once, setting it aside.

"Are you hungry?"

Blake immediately shook his head.

"No." He paused, then reconsidered. "...well. Not really. But, I think I could eat a little."

"I’ll cook later, then."

Later.

Blake frowned slightly at that.

There was something about the way Myles said it, so matter-of-fact, like it was obvious he’d be staying, that made something twist in his chest.

Guilt, probably.

"...why are you here?" Blake asked again.

Myles didn’t answer right away.

For a second, Blake thought he might ignore the question, but then...

"You live alone."

Blake blinked.

"And?" he prompted.

"And you’re sick."

"...so?"

Myles looked at him then, like the answer should’ve been obvious.

"I didn’t want to leave you alone while you were struggling."

That, Blake’s breath caught slightly.

It wasn’t even said with any particular emotion.

Just his simple, straightforward way.

"Oh," Blake said, because he didn’t know what else to say.

Something warm continues to grow in his chest, easing some of that lingering discomfort that had nothing to do with being sick.

"...you didn’t have to," he added weakly.

"I know."

That wasn’t what he expected.

Blake blinked again.

"Then why—"

"I’m good at chores."

"...what?"

"So there’s no reason for you to feel guilty."

Blake held that stare for another beat.

And then, he laughed.

"You—" he tried, failing to get the words out properly. "You’re saying that like it’s a qualification."

"It is."

That only made Blake laugh more.

God, his head hurt, but somehow it was worth it.

"...you’re unbelievable," he muttered, still smiling.

After a moment, he reached out, lightly poking Myles’ knee.

"Still... thanks."

Myles’ gaze dropped to the hand.

Instead of brushing it off, he caught it.

Blake blinked in surprise as Myles turned his hand slightly, examining it.

"What are you doing?" he asked.

"Your nails."

"...my nails?"

"They’re in good condition."

Blake stared at him like he’d just said something completely absurd.

"Okay?"

"They indicate your overall health isn’t too bad," Myles continued, still inspecting them. "No discoloration. No brittleness."

Blake let out a weak laugh.

"You’re seriously analyzing my nails right now?"

There wasn’t even a hint of embarrassment.

Blake shook his head, still smiling faintly as Myles released his hand.

"Do you feel more like eating now?"

He considered it for a moment, pressing a hand lightly against his stomach.

"A little," he admitted. "But my stomach’s still... not great."

Myles nodded once, like that was exactly what he expected.

Then he turned and walked out.

Blake watched him go, the faint clatter of movement coming from the kitchen a moment later.

For a second, he just lay there, staring at the ceiling.

He really stayed...

Not just stayed, but cleaned, took care of him, acted like it was the most normal thing in the world.

Blake let out a slow breath.

"...idiot," he murmured, though there was no real bite to it.

A few minutes later, Myles returned.

This time, he was carrying a tray.

Blake blinked, pushing himself up slightly to see better.

On the tray, there were simple things.

A small bowl of applesauce.

Sliced bananas.

Plain oatmeal.

Nothing heavy. Nothing greasy.

Just, easy on the stomach.

Blake’s lips curved into a small smile.

"...you really thought this through, huh."

Myles set the tray down on the bedside table.

"Yes."

Before Blake could reach for anything, Myles moved closer, placing a hand lightly on his shoulder.

"Sit up."

"I am sitting—"

"Properly."

Blake sighed but didn’t argue, letting Myles help him adjust until he was sitting more upright, the pillows arranged behind him for support.

"...there," Myles said.

Blake glanced at the tray again, then back at him, a hint of amusement in his expression.

"So," he started, picking up the spoon, "are you going to feed me too?"

Myles paused.

He actually paused.

Then he looked at Blake.

"Should I?"

Blake blinked.

"What?"

"Do you want me to?"

Blake stared at him for a second and then laughed again, nearly dropping the spoon.

"No no, I’ve got it," he managed between breaths. "I can feed myself."

Myles nodded, accepting that immediately.

Blake shook his head, still smiling to himself as he scooped up a small bite.

"...you’re something else," he muttered.

Then he took a bite.