The fluffy, sniffly conclusion to the first installment of this universe. I have so much more planned out. The first chapter of the sequel has been posted s/12942309/1/Let-This-Moment-be-the-First-Chapter, I can't wait to hear what you think! Thank you for being a part of this journey. As always, I am so grateful for reviews and for you taking the time to read what I create. I love this Alexander and John so much. I can't wait for you to see what's next for them.

-M W

The voice ground against my headache, loud and cheery. I nested further against John's sleeping form. John's sleeping form. A voice coming from behind me. Wait...I opened an eye against the advice of my vertigo and saw Lafayette through a haze of dizziness.

"Bonjour, mes amis! I have medication and food for you."

John stirred and grunted, "I'm sleeping."

Lafayette made a noise in reply and handed me pills and a glass of juice, I sat up and took them gratefully, he poked John and gave him his own dose, John was less grateful about it, blinking blearily. Lafayette set a tray down at the end of the bed.

"Scrambled eggs and toast, see if you can tolerate, and I will bring you more, good luck."

"You really didn't have to-" I started to protest his kindness.

"Nonsense, it is what friends do, no?"

He's my friend? File that shit away to unpack later. Friends? I have those now?

"Thank you." John held up a thumbs up and let himself fall back against the mattress.

Lafayette closed the door behind him and John finally propped himself up, he still looked like hell. Skin pale and sunken, eyes still glassy though his fever had broken during the night, breathing through his mouth, his red, chapped nose offering little airflow. His hair was a mess.

"Good morning, querido. How are you feeling today?" I looked at him through my own tired, watery eyes.

He just shook his head and dropped his head against my shoulder. I wrapped my arm around him and picked up a piece of toast, taking a cautious bite.

"Nice of Lafayette to bring us breakfast."

"He owes me." John said, picking up his own piece of toast.

"What do you mean?"

"Remember the morning after the night at the club when you met Hercules?"

"Yeah."

"Herc wasn't always around."

"Oof, fair point." I imagined college nights of John holding back hair, ferrying advil, hauling Lafayette from the floor of the bathroom to his bed.

"You feeling any better today?"

"Maybe a little. Just want to sleep. Need coffee."

"No coffee, coffee is bad for sick people." He coughed and blotted his watery eyes with a tissue.

"Not coffee is bad for 'this people'."

"My head hurts so bad. Do you think the room is spinning?"

"The room is definitely spinning." I agreed and took another bite of toast. John leaned harder against me, his personal sense of gravity shifting.

"Laf makes really good eggs. We should eat some of them." His voice was a wet slur.

I steeled myself to the idea of food and tried a small bite, I could sense on a meta level that they probably were delicious, but in the last day and a half, my taste buds had abdicated. I took another bite, the food actually working to settle my stomach. In this moment, I was fine owing Lafayette. It wasn't my 'hair-holding' debt he was repaying. John managed a few forkfuls of eggs and a whole piece of toast.

"Alright, I gotta take a piss and I'm only getting up once, what do you need?" I braced myself to stand, the room tilting slightly.

"Um…" he thought, "more water." He handed me his glass.

I sat his glass on the breakfast tray and picked it up before shuffling to the kitchen where I filled up his water glass, catching Lafayette's attention.

"I'll fuck with the dishes later." I told him.

"Not a worry, I am going to see Hercules, but we will bring you Chinese food later."

"Deal. Thanks for breakfast." My resolve to protest his promise of lunch was eviscerated, the sickness stripping me of my formidable brand of self-loathing reclusiveness.

"Absolutely, you will call if I am needed."

I nodded and took a drink of John's water, noting that the coffee pot was empty, I don't think I can fucking stand long enough to make a pot. My headache worse from the lack of caffeine, lack of nicotine, I shuffled to the bathroom. Fucking forgot his water, I made it back to the kitchen, then back to bed. John was burrowing himself under the blankets.

"You're cold?" I looked at him in disgust.

"Freezing. You can't possibly be hot?"

I handed him his water, stripped out of his hoodie and handed it to him, "burning the fuck up." I wiped my forehead.

He yanked his hoodie on and nested back into the blankets. Still too hot, I pulled my shirt off and kicked my sweatpants off and joined him in bed, staying far away from the blankets.

"We can watch a movie." He told me, gasping a breath every few words.

"Don't care." I was exhausted from my journey between the bedroom, kitchen, and bathroom, sweat dampening the hair on my chest.

"So cold." He shivered.

"I'm so… hot." I patted his hip, trying anything to make him feel better without aligning myself with his calescent body.

"This was the worst goddamn week,"

I snorted against the gunk in my throat and swallowed hard despite the burn and agreed with him, "pretty shitty."

"You're the best. Thank you for coming."

"Well… yeah… where else would I be, not like I do other shit except work. Shit, I need to follow up with Adams on my article."

"You could have just stayed home. Like most guys who never gave a shit about me."

"John, I give at least three shits about you." I rubbed his hip with more vigor.

"Damn… I think that's the most romantic thing you've ever said to me, Alex."

"Don't go and make it a fucking thing." I squeezed my eyes shut, trying to still the room which had re-commenced its spinning.

He rolled to face me, and snuggled up against my side, "stop, can't, too hot." I rolled away from him. We fell asleep like that. When I woke up again the drive for a cigarette too bad to ignore. I forced myself up and out of bed, to the pocket of my messenger bag, one blessed smoke left, I put it to my lips, and stepped outside, sitting on the metal slats of the balcony. I lit the cigarette and felt my lungs spasm as the smoke hit them. I wheezed and hacked, but then the nicotine hit and I relaxed marginally, the headache becoming more manageable. I went back inside and curled up with John. I felt him start to move.

"Okay?" I asked, eyes shut.

"Yeah, gotta pee. You want something?"

"Coffee."

"No, you definitely can't have coffee."

I hated myself for the whine in my voice, "but, I need it."

"Bummer." he held onto the door frame as he crossed the threshold.

When he came back he checked his phone sitting on the edge of the bed, "what do you want for lunch? Egg drop soup?"

"And hot and sour soup." I added.

"Just soup?"

"Lots of soup. All the soup."

"Okay, weirdo."

Lafayette woke us from another nap with food, brandishing two quarts of soup for me, soup and a takeout box for John. We sang our praises to Lafayette and he disappeared again. I drank some of my soup from the container and John picked at his noodles. After eating what we could handle I held John against my side, our clammy foreheads touching. John fell back asleep first.

The sun was lower through the curtains when I woke up again, I pulled it together enough to check my email, of course Adams had something to say and wanted me to make revisions to the article. I had to type them out on the tiny goddamn keyboard on my phone as my laptop sat abandoned in my empty apartment. I sniffled pathetically while I plotted a million alternate universes with varying degrees of telling Adams off, punching him in an alley, writing an exploitative tell-all, going full Office Space, going full Fight Club. I sent the revisions in an email to him, grumbling and in a worse mood. John shifted beside me.

"You're working?" John cleared his throat and sneezed several times in a row.

"Just had to get a revision to Adams. Go back to sleep."

He wrapped his arms around me and I put my phone away, losing it in the sheets.

"You're really good at taking care of everything." He whispered to me, clearly he's delirious with fever. Me, good? Good at balance? Certainly, you have the wrong Puerto Rican asshole, my friend.

"What are you talking about? You're ridiculous."

"No. No. You're working, you took care of me. You're the best, Alex."

"Well, you took care of me, too." No one's done that for me since my mother.

"'Cause I love you."

"I love you, too." I kissed his head and nuzzled against him, finally feeling a little bit better. Better from the sickness, better from my demons, better because I had John.