"So you built it yourself," Mateo says. "Probably for Harper, first and foremost, but you needed it, too. And when you got sick, it was the only home that mattered, no matter how far away you were."
I almost mention that I’d once wondered whether I still belonged here, but that was so many years ago on a night I don’t want us to remember now. I start coughing again anyway. I take off my towel and push it against his chest. Then I return to my bedroom and dig through my suitcase for anything to wear. Packing hadn't been a priority when I was self-medicating with a heavy pour of cough medicine. Even now, I'm clammy and shaky and desperately need to lie down. Careful not to whine, I find sweatpants and a t-shirt, and I pull them on without briefs. It must have taken me a while to do that much. I turn around to find Mateo wearing his joggers, water and meds in his hands, and my bed so much neater behind him.
I take the pills and water from him and swallow with one large gulp. "I don't think the emptiness was intentional—Harper and I just aren't here as much anymore—but I won't pretend it's unfamiliar."
Mateo looks frustrated by that. Then I shiver, and he reaches for me like I can't make it those few feet on my own. I let him get me settled, propped up on a couple of pillows and the covers pulled up to my chin. He sits on the edge of the bed and pushes his fingers through my hair again, and it feels so fucking good.
"Do you think you'll be able to get some sleep?" he asks. "Do you want tea or anything?"
"No. I'm not even sure we have any here."
It's the wholeemptything. He nods. "I can pick up some stuff tomorrow."
Even buoyed by the thought that I'll see him tomorrow, my breathing takes a turn for the worse. I curl up as I roll onto my side and cough again, losing his touch when I move. Blinking up at him, I find his hand and almost beg him to stay as close as possible. I need to ask the questions that have been on my mind since he walked into my room.
Or since last July.
"Do you still talk to Logan?"
"Yes," he says, his fingers tight around my hand until he relaxes to hold me there.
"Does he visit a lot? Or do you go to see him?"
Tighten. Relax. "Actually, he—" Tighten. "His job relocated him a little over a year ago. He's closer now, so we can—it's easy to visit whenever."
"Are you guys together?"
"Yes and no."
"Where were you when Harper called tonight?" I ask.
Relax. Mateo takes a deep breath I envy. I slowly tug his hand higher so it's back on my head. I'm needy, and he'll touch me the way I want him to, and even though he doesn't have to tell me the truth, I can't think of a time he hasn't. For a second, I almost let go and take my question back, but it's already too late. I wait instead.
"I was at Logan's."
I close my eyes and focus on how much my chest hurts. I think everything will be okay as long as neither of us says anything else. It's tempting to fall asleep like this—and I know I need the rest—but I'm so fucked up. I make one miserable sound after another. Mateo doesn't pull away from me, and I'm shaking again, ruined by a feveror the fear that he'll be gone as soon as he thinks I won't notice.
Everything might be okay if we don't say anything else, but I can't keep him here that way. "Does he know where you are?"
"Yes."
"Does he expect you to come home tonight?"
"It's not my home," he murmurs. "And no, I don't think so."
I nod beneath his hand, but I feel myself slipping away. Antibiotics and Tylenol won't knock me out—they haven't been in my system long enough to doanythingyet—but the combination of the hot shower and Mateo's presence has relaxed me more than I could've imagined. I cough some, but even those are weaker now. While I'm suddenly having trouble finding my voice, I panic less when he stands up. Now that I know he's not expected back in his boyfriend's bed, I can listen to him return to the bathroom without trying to follow him there.
I'm not convinced I could get out of bed even if I wanted to.
He's probably only gone for a few minutes, but I haven't opened my eyes. Mateo crawls into bed, still shirtless and destined for a night of very little sleep by my side. He's spooning me as comfortably as he first did years ago, and he presses a hand to my forehead. I don't know whether he's satisfied by whatever he feels there, but he kisses the back of my neck. I feel the chill from a dock in Upstate New York when I mumble just loud enough for him to hear.
"Please don't leave me again."
He leaves eventually, but only so he can crouch next to the bed and nudge me awake with more water and meds. I fall back asleep after that. When I wake up again, Mateo isn't in my room at all. There's a mug of tea on my nightstand, hot enough that I can see the steam.He hasn't gone far, and I strain to hear him above the nasty sounds from my chest.
I give up when I cough for about a minute straight, but my chaos is enough to bring him back to me. I look up to see him leaning against my doorframe. Attempting to read his expression gets me nowhere, and I say the first thing that comes to mind.
"Nice shirt."