Chapter Text
It’s mid-November when the flu begins its annual rampage around the UW campus. He’d thought he’d might escape this year, seeing as he no longer shared a room, no longer spent time in the thick air of the steam room with a bunch of coughing rowers, but it caught up to him, nonetheless.
He made it through the end of the week, feeling groggy and cold and rather short-tempered through each practice, but by Saturday he felt horrible, his body protesting strongly to the lack of rest. He wished immediately that he were back home; he wished he was small again so he could curl up in bed and let his mother bring him a glass of warm milk, comb his sweaty hair from his face, and scratch his back until he fell asleep. But as it was, he wasn’t home. He’s alone in his drafty, cramped graduate apartment with nothing more than a tin of fish and a can of corn on the small shelf that served as his pantry, both of which sounded appalling at the moment. He could cry for how far away the dining hall seemed, then, but he knew an empty stomach would only increase his nausea and make a later trip outside immeasurably worse, so he put on as many layers as he could find and trudged outside in the misting, cold rain to towards the warmth of the hall.
He barely made it onto the main path, however, before he looked up to see a familiar face huddled under a coat, waving shyly. Bobby looked down, unsure if he was really glad to see him or not but feeling a feverish sort of giddiness settle in his stomach.
When they got close enough to speak, though, Don’s usual sweet frown deepened into something else. “Geez, Bobby, you look terrible.”
“Hey, Donny, good morning to you, too,” Bobby grumbled, crossing his arms over his chest.
“You shouldn’t be out here like this.”
“A man’s gotta eat hasn’t he?”
Don moved closer, waving him back down the path towards the apartments, “I’ll bring you something.”
“I’m already out, I can—”
“Come on, Bobby. Save Our Bodies, right? I’ll bring you some food.”
“You shouldn’t use your money on me.”
“I want to,” Don said, as if it was nothing, as if it were the clearest thing in the world.
Bobby blinked at him, “What if I don’t want you to?”
“Well…” Don said, looking unsure for only a moment before squaring his shoulders again. “It’s my money.”
“I’m your coach now, Donny. You shouldn’t argue.”
“Far as I knew, you coached the freshmen.”
Bobby snorted at that and shook his head; he couldn’t help it despite knowing that he was quickly losing this argument.
Still, he looked up at Don seriously. “You don’t need to catch this, Don. It’s no fun, and I’ve seen you sick already. That was plenty.”
“I really don’t care. We don’t have any races coming up. If I get sick, I’ve got time to recover. Besides, when I was sick, I remember you telling me to shut up and sleep, you know.”
“I don’t believe you remember any of that, you were so out of it.”
Don shook his head, meeting his gaze, “I remember.”
Bobby snapped his mouth shut, feeling his cheeks begin to warm. “Okay,” he agreed finally. “Okay, fine.”
Don was right, of course. By the time he got back to his room and climbed into his chilly bed, he was shaking so badly, so lightheaded, he couldn’t imagine how he would have made it all the way to the dining hall and back. He closed his eyes and tried to ground himself as he waited for Don to arrive, thinking of Supreme Court cases from A to Z starting with Allgeyer v. Louisiana, Brown v. Houston… until his breathing slowed and the room stopped spinning.
“’S open,” he muttered when he heard a knock at the door.
“I brought you some toast,” Don said, “And a few things for later. I can always go back, though. I wish there was a better way for me to bring you something hot to eat.”
Bobby pushed himself up in bed slowly and gave a weak smile, “Thanks, Don. Toast is perfect.”
Don nodded, finding a plate and handing the simple breakfast over to Bobby before setting his bag down on the floor and gesturing to it uncertainly. “I brought my books. Thought I could stay with you for a bit and study, but… If you’d rather be alone…”
Bobby sighed. He hated people seeing him like this. It made him feel small in a way he didn’t often feel these days. It made him feel weak and made him worry that people might start to see him differently, but he hated being alone even more. Besides, if anyone were to judge him in the moment, Bobby couldn’t ever really imagine it being Don.
“Not falling behind this semester, are you?” Bobby asked in answer.
“No.”
“Good,” he said, gesturing to the chair at his desk, “Well, you know I’m not ever gonna tell you not to study.”
“Okay.”
“What’re you reading, then?”
“Civil engineering. We’re uh, we’re focused on bridges right now.”
“Is it interesting?”
He shrugged, “I guess.”
“Read it out loud?”
Don looked over at him, cheeks turning pink for some reason. “I don’t really think it’s that interesting…”
“I’m just looking for a distraction here, Donny.”
“Right. Okay.”
Bobby nibbled slowly on the toast as Don began to read, his voice soft and crackling as he listed out key aspects of cantilever bridges, stopping now and then as he paused to write something down.
Bobby set the plate down on the nightstand when he finished and sunk back down into the mattress, letting his eyes flutter closed to the sound of Don’s voice.
It was comforting in a way that scared him to think about. In many ways, it almost felt like home, but that was a dangerous thought. He’d known since he’d figured himself out that there was no use getting so attached to things he couldn’t have, but here, exhausted and aching, he couldn’t find it in himself to resist the comfort. He pulled the blanket up to his chin and turned his head into the pillow, letting talk of bridges lull him to sleep.
He didn’t know how long he was out when he awoke with a thick cough, turning on his side and curling in on himself as his lungs tried to tear themselves from his body. It had seemed for a while that he might have avoided getting a cough, and now that it was clear he hadn’t, the frustration hit him like a wall. He felt awful.
Don was no longer reading aloud, but Bobby knew he was still there when there was a scrape of the chair being pulled towards the bed and then a gentle touch of a hand on his back.
Bobby squeezed his eyes shut, feeling suddenly exposed and emotional and alarmingly like he might cry as Don’s fingertips began to scratch a steady rhythm through his shirt.
“You remember,” Bobby said hoarsely once he’d caught his breath
“Mm hm.”
“I thought you wouldn’t.”
“I’m glad I do.”
“Why?” Bobby asked desperately, and it came out pained.
Don was quiet for a minute, nothing but the soft scratch of his hands on fabric. When he spoke, it was almost a whisper – soft and aching, “Because I care about you, Bobby.”
“Fuck,” Bobby muttered, choking down a cough but unable to stop the shiver that wracked his frame.
“You were so… kind when I was sick. I just – you deserve the same.”
Of course that’s all it was. Of course, Don was just a good friend – the kindest guy he’d ever met – but that’s where it ended. He felt a tear slip out, so miserable and unable to hold it back. He pressed his hands hard to his eyes and breathed harshly.
“Bobby?” Don asked, concerned. Bobby could feel him leaning closer to try and look at his face.
“I’m sorry.”
“For what?”
Bobby shook his head, unable to stop the confession now that he’d started, “I care about you, too, Don. Too much, and I – I just…”
“What are you saying?”
“I shouldn’t—”
“Bobby,” Don pleaded, “Please tell me what’s wrong.”
“I’m scared you won’t… that you won’t like me anymore.”
“I really doubt that, Bob.”
Bobby pressed the heels of his hands so hard against his eyes that he saw sparks. Don’s free hand reached over to touch his wrist, not pulling his hands away from his face, but more like an ask for him to be gentle with himself.
Bobby took a shaky breath. “I care about you in ways I really shouldn’t as… as another guy.”
He tensed as he said it, and for a single moment, the hand on his back faltered in its rhythm, but then Don seemed to recover, and he didn’t pull away.
“So do I, Bobby.”
“What?” he asked, in disbelief.
Slowly, giving Bobby every chance to pull away, to ask him to stop, Don slipped his hand beneath his shirt. The feeling of his fingernails against bare skin left him shuddering. It was like a cool breeze across the lake in summer, like hot chocolate and Christmas carols – something so comforting he never wanted it to end.
“I like you so much I – I get this stomachache just thinking about you, and—"
“And what?” he asked, breathless now.
“And to think you’re here now saying you like me? Bobby at first, I thought I just liked you because you were a great teammate and a great cox, but you’re the best guy I know, and… well, it’s a lot more than that. I think you’re smart and funny and beautiful—”
“Beautiful?”
“What?” Don asked, seeming surprised that Bobby would even question it. “Yeah, Bob. I feel crazy every time I look at you.”
Bobby wiped at his face, wondering if he’d wake up tomorrow and realize this was all a fever dream but starting to smile despite himself. “Coming from the guy who should be on the front of a men’s magazine.”
“I like you, Bobby.”
“Jesus fuck, I like you, too.”
Don laughed lightly, a little hysterical sounding, and leaned in, pressing his forehead against Bobby’s burning cheek. “When you’re better, maybe I could take you out somewhere? A movie, or, wherever you want, really.”
Bobby let out a slow breath and closed his eyes. “Yeah, I’d like that a lot.”
Don carded a hand through Bobby’s hair, his other still sure against his back. “Okay.”
“Do you have anywhere you need to be later?”
“No.”
“Would you stay?”
“’Course. Scoot over, then.”
Bobby did as best he could, and then Don finally did stop the gentle scratch of his fingernails but only to lay down behind him instead, chest to his back and arm draped heavily around his waist.
“Get some more sleep,” he said with a soft kiss to Bobby’s temple, “I’ll be right here.”