There were a few good things about being sick; one of those things was how Dexter was always there to cater to Saracen- grudgingly, or so he pretends. "I'm hungry, Dex!" Saracen would sometimes call, and Dexter would make him something to eat. Still, Dexter pretended to be annoyed, though Saracen knew it was an act. Today, though, Saracen was too sick to take advantage of Dexter. All he wanted to do was sleep, but his body did not. So instead, he lay, with a throbbing headache, and drenched in cold sweat, staring blankly at the wall. Dexter had offered to turn the television on, but Saracen was too tired to watch. Not only was he unfocused, but the television was overstimulating. His sickness must have been bad, he realized, because Dexter was acting truly concerned. His brows furrowed, and his eyes searched Saracen's face for any sign of liveliness. There wasn't any.
Dexter sat beside Saracen, his hips pressing against Saracen's chest. He brushed a hand across Saracen's cheekbone."Hey," he whispered, "How are you feeling?" Saracen said nothing. His eyes flickered on and off, trying to keep his eyes open. It was extremely difficult to meet Dexter's eyes.
"Are you cold?" Dexter asked gently. Saracen grunted, his way of saying yes. Dexter leaned down into Saracen, and slid beneath the blankets. "No-" Saracen choked, struggling to speak, "You'll get sick." Just speaking those words made Saracen breathless. He rolled over in a coughing fit. Dexter waited until Saracen was composed enough to lean back into him.
"I won't get sick," Dexter muttered, "I never get sick." This was true. No matter how many times Saracen had gotten sick, Dexter had never caught the illness. In fact, during their centuries together, Saracen had only seen Dexter sick once. In knowing this, he snuggled into Dexter. Dexter wrapped his arms around Saracen, gently so as not to hurt him, or cause him any more breathlessness.
As the night drew on, Saracen got worse. He was drenched in cold sweat, shivering more than ever. "I'm freezing," he muttered, so Dexter pulled more blankets onto them. There was nothing more for him to do. He had already given Saracen as much as he could to alleviate his symptoms. All he could do was hold Saracen and hope to god that he would be okay.
Eventually, Dexter said, out of the blue, "I'm not going to leave you, ever. If I had too, I'd stay here with you forever."
"I know," Saracen whispered.