I met Chris Colfer on Sunday. That is all.


Previously

After everything that had happened with my dad, the name had slipped. Cooper rarely addressed me by my name at all anymore, and when it was it was never the nickname. He usually took his time in spelling out each letter, one by one. It meant so much that he was back to using Yellow again.

Even if it did mean that he was avoiding the question.

"Go back to bed. I'll get you a glass of water."

I hugged him before I stepped past him, smiling on my way back to bed.


Having Coop back was better than I could have imagined. He took care of me, bringing me meals and drinks, sitting on his bed answering emails on his laptop whilst I slept and sitting on my bed brushing my sweaty hair off my forehead when I was awake.

Because he was always there, mum was able to get on with what she needed to do. I saw less of her, but I knew that she was worrying about me less, and I was glad of that. I had always caused her enough stress, and that was something that I always hated. When I was younger, I always dreamed of getting rich and having enough money to take her to California, maybe even buying a house there for her, so she could relax in her retirement. As I grew older I grew up, and that fairytale land crumbled. I had no idea what I wanted to do in order to earn my millions.

On Thursday, as I woke up I felt a weight sitting behind me on the bed, a hand on my shoulder. I snuffled into my pillow, presuming it was Cooper, though his hand felt older, rougher. I woke slowly, not sensing a rush. My head still pounded and my stomach wasn't right, but I was getting better. Hopefully, I could be back at school in the next few days.

I blinked my eyes open and turned on my side a bit to see my brother sitting next to me. I smiled at him, pushing my curls off of my damp forehead before my vision swam into focus. My dad.

I sat up sharply, feeling his hand fall off my shoulder. I instantly regretted it as my stomach spasmed. I clutched at it and my dad sprang into action, grabbing the bowl from the floor and holding it out for me. I couldn't bear it if I disgraced myself like that in front of him. I held my breath and willed my nausea to pass. After several seconds, it did, and the bitter taste in my mouth faded. I dropped my hands and nodded slowly to my dad, letting him know it was okay for him to put the bowl down.

He did, and then brought his hands up, trying to speak to me. "How well feeling you?"

I smiled softly. Unlike mum, my dad had never tried as hard to learn how to speak to me. I leant over and opened my bedside drawer, pulling out a worn notebook and a new pen, handing it to him before replying, "I feel a bit better, but still not well." I looked at Cooper's bed to see it made. I pointed. "Where is he?"

My dad scribbled away on a page in the notebook before turning it around.

He's downstairs. I offered to take over for a while. Your mother has gone shopping to buy you some more medicine. Would you like anything?

I read what he'd written and then did a universally known sign; I shook my head.

Well I shall let you rest, then. And get better. :)

He added a wobbly smiley face to the end of his last message, like an uncertain afterthought, but it made me smile. He was trying. "Thank you," I whispered before letting my eyes drop closed again.

I felt him stand from the bed and then a hand running through my loose curls before footsteps made their way out of my room. I felt them stop by the door, and if I opened my eyes I was certain that I'd find him there, watching me, trying to make amends. Maybe all wasn't lost after all.