A/N: This is just a short little ficlet I've had in my head for a while. It has very slight slash, and also mentions of self-injury. If you don't think you can handle either of these subjects, please don't read. Also, all characters belong to all-powerful Joss Whedon.
Andrew pushes the thick cotton blanket down to his waist and pushes his sweaty blond hair off his forehead. Next to him on the mattress, Jonathan is curled up in a ball under the blanket. Andrew raises himself up onto one elbow to peer over Jonathan's shoulder at his face. The smaller boy is almost soaked in sweat. Andrew presses the back of his hand gently against Jon's forehead, to the burning flesh there. He grabs the edge of the blanket and pulls it down. And stops.
One of Jonathan's arms is tucked against his chest, but the other is lying on the mattress, forearm up, revealing a word. A word, carved into his skin. NOTHING. The sight makes Andrew feel sick, and he sits up slowly. Jonathan shivers in his sleep and tries to pull his arm back in. Andrew catches his wrist before he can move to far. Slowly, he stretched both arms out on the mattress. On the other forearm, another word has been cut, more shakily. ALONE. Jonathan shivers again and tries to move his arms back against him. Andrew lets go of him and slowly lays back down.
He pulls Jonathan closer, so they're pressed together, back to chest, and he wraps an arm around the smaller boy, softly stroking the words on his arm. Jonathan whimpers in the back of his throat, and the sound is so uncharacteristic that it really surprises Andrew. After a minute, he leans his head forward and places a soft kiss on the back of Jonathan's neck.
"I love you, Jonathan," he whispers softly. Jonathan doesn't hear.
