brooks & hale ✔️

brooks

twenty six ;
b r o o k s

BROOKS FELT LIKE SHIT.

And to make matters worse, he didn't even have his phone to distract him. His parents had returned home on Sunday evening to find the house a wreck, from the ravages of the party the day before. Adam had been too hungover to get off his ass to clean it, Brooks had been feeling too crappy at that point to even consider it, and Inkeri was in Finland.

Amanda and John flipped at the mess. Like, seriously flipped their shit. After a lot of yelling and flying objects and angry words, which really hadn't helped with his headache, they'd grounded both Adam and Brooks, as well as taking their phones away as punishment. Never mind that Brooks had absolutely no say in the party, forget even wanted it to happen; his parents had punished him regardless as if it was all his fault.

And then, because he was nothing if not unlucky as hell, he'd ended up with the flu.

He'd been pretty much camped out in his bed for the past three days, surviving off cereal so he didn't have to cook anything with his bathroom thankfully a couple steps away, but he figured he had to actually venture into the kitchen for something more nutritious even though the thought of eating made him feel even more sick. He didn't even have Inkeri's homemade comfort food to make him feel better, and it didn't really help that he couldn't even cook an omelette without burning it.

He crawled out of bed, trying not to upset his unsteady stomach by moving too fast, and pulled on about ten jumpers because he was fucking freezing. He then dragged his aching body down two flights of stairs, which protested the entire way, and found Adam already in the kitchen. He must have just gotten back from school, because he was still in his uniform and had thrown his bag down beside the table.

"Oh," he said, glancing up from his book at Brooks. "You're still alive. Barely," he added, eyeing up his undoubtedly sorry state. If he looked anywhere near as bad as he felt, then he must have looked pretty terrible.

"Thanks," Brooks muttered, his voice rough and scratchy from too much coughing. "Your concern is touching."

"Whatever."

Brooks trudged over to the fridge and peered inside for something to eat. There was literally nothing in there that didn't make him feel nauseous. Weren't you supposed to eat mushroom soup or something like that when you were ill? He didn't know how to make mushroom soup. Usually, Inkeri made him Finnish food when he didn't feel well and was probably the only one who was actually comforting. Brooks missed her.

Brooks left the fridge after deeming it useless and poured himself a glass of water. He managed a couple of sips before pressing the cool surface to his flushed face. After a couple of seconds of consideration, he upended the glass over his head. "What?" he said defensively, at Adam's have-you-lost-your-mind stare. "The water's refreshing. And soothing, too."

"The fever's made you delirious," Adam said, shaking his head. "Just make sure you don't come anywhere near me while you're all infectious and gross. It's bad enough I have to put up with Reed."

Brooks, who'd closed his eyes to enjoy the cold trickle of water down his temples, snapped them back open to stare at Adam. "W-what?" he said nervously. "Um, what about Reed?"

He tried not to think too much about Reed, or the bizarre fact that he'd taken a break from hating his existence to kiss him. He'd just deal with it the same way he dealt with all his problems; ignored it until it went away, and if it didn't, he'd just run away from it. It seemed to have worked pretty well for him the past seventeen years of his life.