The Ribbon Campaign

eight || of radios and sickness

Looking around his apartment, I notice that there's a knitted blanket thrown over the couch and a pillow on the ground. "Were you sleeping?" I ask.

Bryce nods. "Yeah. I don't know, these things always hit me overnight." Running another hand over his face, he says, "Maybe I shouldn't always leave the window open at night. It gets really cold."

I frown. "Why do you then?"

"The air quality in this apartment is kind of stuffy," Bryce explains absentmindedly, "So I try to open my window at night and air it out. If it's stuffy I can't sleep." Bryce's voice is thick and heavy, dripping with exhaustion.

"Well look where that got you," I snort.

Bryce doesn't get offended. Instead, he just shrugs. "Better deal with this for a couple of days then deal with insomnia every night."

I purse my lips. No one should be living that way and gambling with their health like that. I know I can't comment on it, though, so I just turn away from Bryce and allow my eyes to scan the cluttered apartment. "Did I leave my backpack here?"

Bryce's eyes narrow as he goes deep in though. "Oh shit, yeah. Sorry, I would've brought it to school but I just woke up."

"Did your mom at least call the school?" I ask as Bryce leads me to the kitchen.

Bryce nods. "Yeah, she did." He scoops up my backpack off of the kitchen floor, handing it to me. "Here you go."

"Thank you," I sigh in relief, refraining myself from engulfing my backpack in a tight hug.

"Nervous for tonight?" Bryce asks me as he pours himself some water from the sink.

"Insanely."

"I can come, if you want," Bryce offers, turning to look at me. His green eyes are sobered and dull from his cold, missing that bright sparkle he usually has. But besides that, Bryce still has the same small smile on his face that he always wears and the same horrendously handled hair on his head.

I raise an unimpressed eyebrow. "Bryce, you're sick."

"So?" he counters. "I want to come. I helped you with the speech, I want to hear it be delivered."

I shake my head. "Bryce, I know you're tired. Don't make yourself go."

"I want to, though. I'll just take some Advil and be totally fine."

"Bryce..."

"I'm going," Bryce finally states, cutting me off. "No arguments."

I sigh heavily, deciding there's no point of continuing to try and prove my point. Bryce is just way too stubborn.

x

Bryce tries to look decent, he really does. When I come to pick him up, he's showered, his hair is still pointing up but thankfully in only one direction and his outfit doesn't consist of only sweatpants and a worn out shirt. He still looks sick, though.

"I'm going, mom!" he shouts as he gets ready to step into the corridor. I raise an eyebrow- his mother is home.

"Alright, sweetheart! Text me when you're on your way home!" A gentle voice calls back before Bryce nods and shuts the door behind him.

"Your mom's home," I state once we begin to walk down the corridor.

Bryce doesn't reply verbally to my statement, instead choosing to just nod. We don't speak again until we're climbing into the car. Ryan and Caiden are sitting in the front, trying to decide between radio stations.