fever high. [blane & n] (Patreon)

synopsis: Blane is the type of friend who never gets sick. N is the type who gets sick from being coughed on. featuring N's dog, Radar.

Blane doesn't get sick. They've gotten close, hacking up phlegm and sniffling horrors that they would rather not repeat, but they've never had a day where they've been bedridden, shivering from a fever with a voice so hoarse they could barely rasp a greeting.

Blane has never been sick, but they know firsthand how horrible it is through [N].

As it is, they stand outside their partner's apartment, shuffling through their bag for the spare key that [N] lent them in case of emergencies like these. It's past noon on a Saturday, a time when [N] would normally be walking their dog, Radar. But Blane can hear the dog shuffling inside, whining lowly in the distance.

Blane saw it coming the moment [N] developed a tickling in their throat on Thursday. Their partner had denied it, coming into work on Friday with a bout of sneezing that even they couldn’t deny.

This morning, [N] texted Blane with a simple 'I have a fever' and promptly passed out, judging by their lack of response. It was enough that Blane had gone to a local restaurant to buy some soup (two servings, since they were going to force [N] to have it for dinner too) and headed straight to [N]'s apartment.

Blane finds the key and slots it into the keyhole. At the same time, they hear Radar perk up and begin to run to the door. Blane has just enough time to put down their bag before the dog is on them, climbing their legs and nuzzling their chest.

"Hey buddy," Blane greets.

Radar circles them a couple of times and Blane gets the hint, following the dog down the hall to [N']s room. It's dark, curtains drawn and the door only open because Radar busted out. They lean down to give the dog a couple of pats and, satisfied, Radar gives Blane a kiss and plods over to their bed beside [N]'s.

Blane has seen [N] sleep dozens of times. The hunter seems to be in the running for the worst sleep schedule, because at no point in the day will they not nap. On their desk, during lunch break, on the car ride home on the days Blane drives them to work—even if it's for a mere minute, [N] will find a way.

It's a talent, really.

In theory, seeing their partner like this shouldn't surprise them. The slow rise and fall of [N]'s chest. The small puffs of air that they blow out of their mouth. No, what scares Blane is the shuddering. The light sheen of sweat on [N]'s forehead, the furrowed eyebrows even in their sleep.

Blane hesitates and takes a step forward. They're about to muster up the courage to shake their partner awake when Radar barks, causing [N] to shift. Blane's shoulders slump in relief as brown eyes meet emerald.

"Blane?"

Blane can't help how their lips slip into a smile. "Hey."

"You—" [N] struggles to get up and Blane reaches forward to tell them to not exert all their energy. Their partner glares at the words but must be too exhausted to argue, because all they do is fall back into their cushions. "What are you doing here?"

Blane gestures to the bag. "Got you some soup. I figured you'd have some medicine in your cabinets, but if you don't, I can go pick some up."

[N] squints. "Soup?"

"Soup," Blane repeats. "Spelt S-O-U-P. Usually served hot, though I'm sure there's the odd version here and there that's meant to be cold. Good for colds and warming up. Ever heard of it?"

"Don't be a smartass."

"Don't get sick."

[N] rolls over. Coughs. "Not my fault that I got coughed on in the elevator. IAOS pays well for their employees to take sick days. You should be asking them why they decided to come in and give their disease to me." They cough again. "Ugh, this is awful."

Blane frowns. "When was the last time you took your meds?"

"Uh, about when I texted you."

They wince. It'd been several hours since then. "Take some with your soup then. I got it from that local store that you love so much. I'll go warm it up for you and get you a glass of water. Do you have a thermometer somewhere? We should take your temperature."

"You'll find it with the medicine," [N] answers. They're already starting to nod off again, if the slow drawl of their words is any indication.

Blane debates waking them up again, but eventually decides to let them rest for the short time it takes them to prepare their lunch. They get up, gesturing Radar to follow as they head for the door, the Golden Retriever happily complying.

Just as they're about to leave, however, they hear [N] croak out a soft word.

"Blane."

"Hmm?"

[N] shifts again, tilting their head up just high enough to meet Blane's eyes. "You're my best friend."

Blane stiffens and watches as [N]'s head falls against the pillows again, promptly passing out. They want to ask [N] what they mean, if they really meant it, if they're saying this simply because of fever-induced hallucinations or because Blane, cold-hearted Blane, made the small effort of getting their partner soup.

But it's [N]. Of course they mean it. Of course they would say something that shatters Blane's world right before falling dead asleep.

Down the hall, Radar whines for Blane to catch up. They force their legs to move and shut [N]'s door softly behind them.

They only planned on staying for an hour or so, but after making soup, they can't find it in themself to leave. They find themself at [N]'s bedside until past midnight, where they eventually curl up with Radar in a pile of blankets and dog toys.

It's where [N] finds them the next morning. The photo is still somewhere in their camera roll.