Lovely Bastards (BxB) (MxM)

Chapter 14 - It Hurts to Die

A/N: Just a heads up, guys. If anyone reading is especially frightened of COVID-19, you might want to approach this chapter with caution, because it contains descriptions of someone suffering from a respiratory illness. Right now might not be the optimal time to publish it, but this is just how the story goes. (So stay safe, and my love to all of you.) 

The first thing Kit used to do when he came home from school was to hold his breath and listen.

He turned the key as carefully as possible and paused inside the door, scanning the floor for shoes, dirt, plastic wrappers, anything. Staying completely still, he strained his ears for sounds.

Then he sniffed, turning his head, checking for any change in the air. An open window maybe, or smoke, food, sweat, sick... 

Today, there was a stuffy dust smell, sour sickbed smell masked by antiseptic, everything quiet except for faint, shallow breathing. No sign that anything had changed since he left for school - late again - that morning. 

Nothing was out of the ordinary.

There had been a time when noticing those small signs had been extremely important. They could tell him, at a glance, things like:

How many people were in the house? Were they drunk, were they high, were they hungry? Which room were they in? 

Back then, he'd only had a few seconds to slip away unnoticed if his mother had company or if she was having a bad day. Bad days had been more common than good days by the time Kit started middle school. 

He walked in with his shoes on, shrugging off his hoodie but keeping his shoulder bag on in case he needed something from it.

They rented a one room apartment with a shower room and separate kitchen where Kit usually slept. He headed straight into the living room slash bedroom and took note of the old TV on mute, the open blinds, rumpled blankets and throws.

His mother watched him from her sickbed, it's metal frame propped up against the wall and still managing to take up most of the small room. 

She looked the same as she had that morning. Something inside Kit tensed and relaxed simultaneously at the sight.

Still alive.

"Still alive, I see?" he greeted her casually.

She raised one slim, golden eyebrow. "Barely," she acknowledged. 

He smiled and set to his tasks, shifting into a sort of brisk professionalism. Taking her pulse, temperature, blood pressure. Listening to her lungs and feeling her feet to see if they were cold. 

"How's the pain?"

"Getting worse. Seven."

"Hm." 

Kit gave her another round of pain meds (she could still swallow, even if it made her grimace) and promised her a few skin patches after her shower.

Then he coaxed her to drink some more water, hoping he wouldn't have to give her an IV drip. There was good reason trained nurses were supposed to set them. But if she got dehydrated or couldn't swallow any more...

After doing a few quick calculations on his phone, he wrote down the amounts in a notebook he kept by her bed. He had done it so many times before, the motions were almost automatic. 

Still, it never hurts to double-check everything. 

He had to take into consideration her current weight, dosages, time passed and the different times the various active substances she was on took to metabolise, her tolerance, temperature, and so many other factors...