OKAY, LISTEN UP!

Slightly: Whoo, boy.

Shut up, you. The 365 day thing was T-R-Us's idea, in case nobody got that. Please forgive me for not putting that disclaimer in the first chapter. Don't eat me.

Shoutouts!

T-R-Us: Grazie. Glad you liked it!

blackblood: Uhm...Yeah, that's what Davick is.

Slightly: DAVDid and jaCK.

Be nice to the reviewers, Slightly.

Unknown-Dreams: Grazie! I'm usually really bad with details; I tend to put my stories in dialogue form.

January 2

Specs was lying on the bed, covered in sweat. His face was flushed, and he had abandoned his tee shirt entirely. Dutchy stepped out of the laundry room, having just loaded up a washer of clothes, and picked up the thermometer lying on the bedside table.

"Open," he instructed. Groaning, Specs lifted his tongue, obediently, and closed his mouth over the metal tube. Dutchy, meanwhile, was running water over a washcloth. He placed it on Specs's forehead, and Specs gave a sigh of contentment as cool droplets of water trickled down his temples.

He gasped, slightly, as he felt wetness on his chest and stomach, but he relaxed, quickly, as Dutchy cooled off his flushed skin. The thermometer beeped, slightly, and Dutchy plucked it from Specs's mouth, resting the cloth on Specs's bellybutton.

Thankful that Dutchy could not see him blushing, due to his flushed skin, Specs waited, patiently, as Dutchy inspected the thermometer. "102.4," he informed Specs, grimly. Specs groaned.

"I'm going to positively die of boredom, Dutchy," Specs groaned. Dutchy laughed.

"We can watch a movie, or something," he said, grinning, lopsidedly. "Can you move?" Specs thought about it, but his muscles ached. He shook his head, despairingly. Dutchy bit his lip, then slid one arm around Specs's waist, and the other under Specs's knees.

"Dutchy!" Specs yelped. "You can't carry me!" Dutchy snorted.

"Please, Specs. You insult my manliness. You weigh eighty-five pounds!"

"I do not!" Specs said, indignantly. "I weigh eighty-seven pounds."

"Oh, well, excuse me!" Dutchy said, sarcastically. "Eighty-seven pounds!"

"And don't you forget it!" Specs said, sternly. Then he giggled. "Actually, I weigh ninety-two pounds, but nobody believes me," he giggled. Dutchy rolled his eyes.

"Yeah, okay. What movie do you want to watch?" Specs shrugged, as Dutchy set him down on the couch.

"Let's watch RENT. I like that one," he said, stretching out on the couch. Dutchy popped it in, and disappeared into the kitchen. He returned with a sopping wet washcloth. Gently, he lifted Specs's head, and sat down, resting his head in his lap. Dutchy clicked 'play,' and then proceeded to wipe at Specs's forehead as they watched the movie.

For a second time that day, Specs blessed his fevered face.

January 2

"We should probably drop in on Sputchy," Dodger informed her best friends. She was sitting on Race's countertop, munching on slightly stale potato chips. Racetrack and Davvy both gave her a funny look.

"Sputchy?" they said in unison. She shrugged.

"Well, it's Specs and Dutchy, but they're practically together. Best friends, and secret lovers. Either way, they go hand-in-hand. I was just too tired of calling them Specs-and-Dutchy all the time. Sputchy is so much easier!" She paused, thoughtfully. "And more fun to say." Davvy rolled his eyes at his sister's antics.

"You are so weird, Dodger..." he muttered. She grinned, cheekily.

"No, but seriously, we should check in on them." Racetrack nodded in agreement.

"Yeah. I need to drop by anyway. Gotta make sure Dutchy doesn't accidentally kill Specs, or something." They laughed, appreciatively.

"Well, let's at least call, first. Common courtesy, you know," Davvy lectured. Dodger rolled her eyes, but she reached for the phone, anyway.

Ten tries later, she set it aside. "No one's answering," she said, stating the obvious. "Sputchy must be asleep."

"We'll try back later," Race offered. But they didn't reach Specs and Dutchy until three o'clock that afternoon.

January 2

Specs awoke to the phone ringing, ceaselessly. Groaning and uttering obscenities in the phone's general direction, Specs lifted his head from Dutchy's lap and clicked the 'talk' button.

"Hello?" he said, groggily, resting his had against the armrest.

"Finally!" came Dodger's exasperated voice. "I've been trying to reach you for ages! How're you feeling?"

"Like crap," Specs replied, sitting up. He looked, guiltily, over at Dutchy, who was asleep sitting up.

"Yeah, you sound like it. Is Dutchy awake?"

"No. Sound asleep," Specs replied, coaxing said sleeper's body into a lying position. Dutchy squirmed and curled up, clutching at Specs's boxers, which would have been very awkward, had he not been asleep.

"Yeah, okay. Race and Davvy are with me—"

"When are they ever not?" Specs interjected with a grin.

"—so we'll probably drop by in an hour or so. Make sure you're decent." Specs laughed and said goodbye to her, then hung up and looked down at Dutchy.

"What am I going to do with you?"

January 2

Dutchy opened his eyes, blearily. Specs was sitting, Indian-style on the floor, his back against the couch in front of Dutchy's head, so that Dutchy could smell his shampoo. Mmm...Apples...

"How long have I been asleep?" he asked, and Specs jumped a foot in the air.

"Geeziz..." he gasped. He regained his composure, then answered. "Beats me. I only woke up an hour ago." Dutchy sat up. "Dodger called. She said she and Davvy and Race would probably drop by." He glanced at the clock on the microwave. "They should be here right about now."

On cue, the doorbell rang. Dutchy jumped up, running his fingers through his hair, and pulled open the door. He was immediately tackled into a hug by Dodger, accompanied by a chorused cry of "DUTCHY!"

"Hey, guys," Dutchy said with a grin, prying Dodger off of him.

"Hey. We're just checking up on the nurse and his patient," Racetrack said, grinning.

"You haven't killed Specs, have you?" Dodger asked, seriously. Dutchy looked indignant at the very thought.

"I most certainly have not! He's alive and well and in my living room." They bounded into the living room, where Specs was still sitting on the floor, reading.

"He lives!" Dodger gasped, dramatically. Specs looked up.

"I'm trying to read," he said, irritably. Dodger sat down next to him and neatly snatched the book out of his hands.

"Yes, but your friends are here to give you company in your time of illness, thanks to Dutchy!" she said with an accusing glare.

"Hey, it's not my fault he got a fever!" Dutchy said with his hands held up, though he didn't look sure of himself. Racetrack laughed.

"Of course not, Dutchy. He was bound to get a fever sometime."

The five friends were soon sitting in a circle on Dutchy's floor, laughing and joking, and enjoying their last day of Christmas break as much as possible. But, sadly, they had to part that evening, after a fine dinner of macaroni and cheese, leaving Specs and Dutchy to enjoy an awkward night.