bamboo doesn't grow in dark spaces. [80K Words / Complete]

chapter seventeen, part two.💚

Case was pulled from his sleep by the telltale pang of inflamed lymph glands. He sniffled, his nose congested by something other than crying, and reflexively swallowed. The pain at the back of his throat flared, confirming he was sick. He stayed in bed, wallowing in his own discomfort for a few minutes; except he couldn't stand the inertia any longer, restlessness tingling through his limbs. He stripped, throwing his musty clothes into the hamper, and hopped into the hot shower fully naked. The steam and blend of citrus and mango soap would hopefully clear his senses. His face may have been clogged with mucus, but his mind was clearing. The stagnant swamp-brain was washing down the drain.

The voice re-emerged, like finding a beloved plaything left out in the rain, now caked in mud and ready to be washed and brought home.

Sir has been so worried about you, cooed the voice. He's been taking such good care of you, hasn't he?

Case dressed himself in fresh clothes and underwear. Brushed his teeth, the spearmint toothpaste also helping to reinvigorate him. Toweled his hair, recalling his mother's wisdom that wet hair could lead to a cold. The shower and self-care helped, and for a shining moment Case was motivated enough to take charge and tackle the day. He unfurled the yoga mat, but when he tried to get into position his body ached in the wrong places. He sprinted from one end of the basement to the other, but he only made it halfway across the small space before the exertion triggered a deeper pain in his still-sensitive anus. Gary the Rat was quiet, so he didn't even have something to talk to—other than himself. Whatever motivation he'd had quickly waned, and Case soon ended up back in bed.

By the time the metal door screeched open overhead, Case's body was wrecked with his mystery illness. His calf muscles ached, his nose was so blocked he had to breathe out his mouth while sitting upright, and his throat was on fire. Groggy and achy, Case waited until Sir was at the side of his bed before he forced himself to move. He sat up, sniffled, sinuses rattling and leading into a chesty cough.

Sir pressed two fingers under Case's jawline, as if checking his pulse. After a beat, he pressed the back of the same hand to Case's warm cheek then his clammy forehead. Without a word, Sir turned on his heel and left the basement.

Huh. Guess he draws the line at fucking someone when they're sick.

Case sat with the odd turn for a moment; more than anything, he was relieved Sir wasn't mad or was going to make him do anything. He settled back onto the bed, resigning himself to more sleep. The metal click-clack came sooner than normal, probably because Sir was already done with him. Case found his usual microwaved chicken-and-rice, along with a plastic mug filled with something hot. Case inhaled the steam, catching the sweetly-sour, mouth watering scent of lemon-honey tea.

See? the voice wheedled, as Case settled on the bed, the hot mug clasped between his hands. He does care. He likes you, Casey. He genuinely likes you.

Case took a sip, puckering at the sourness of the lemon; he swallowed, and the hot honey soothed his inflamed lymph nodes. Home comfort, just like his mother used to give him.

The overhead door screeched open.

Case paused, the mug hovering at his lip for a second sip. Why was Sir coming back? He wasn't coming back for intercourse, was he?

Sir came to the bed. He sat on the edge of the mattress, capturing Case's toes under his thigh. "Here," he said, holding out a closed fist.

Case opened his palm, allowing Sir to pass him a teal capsule-pill. The Oxy Sir occasionally gave him was a white tablet. This looked a lot more like NyQuil.

"Take it," Sir prompted.

Case knocked back the pill, swallowing it with a mouthful of hot tea. The capsule traveled down his esophagus. The acidity from the lemon clung to his teeth.