Knock knock.
The first instinct is to push deeper into the couch, away from the sound. But everything hurts, so he doesn't.
Knock knock knock.
He grasps for a pillow, puts it over his head, and several blank moments pass.
Knock knock knock knock knock knock knock knock –
Steve groans.
He glides down from the couch, squeezing his eyes shut at the onset of pounding pain combined with the knocking that feels like it's drilling a hole in his head. As the first shocks of movement pass, he proceeds to the entrance.
He opens the door to the icy air and a familiar grin, all bundled up between layers of woolen scarf and cap.
"Dustin?" Steve croaks.
"Steve!..." Dustin begins happily, then he grimaces. "Shit." He takes in the figure standing in front of him, his gaze settling somewhere around the top of Steve's head. "Are you out of hairspray? Is that why you've been missing school?"
"I'm sick, asshole." It's more words than he's said in days, and each of them hurts. "How do you know I've been missing school?"
"Nancy told Mike."
Nancy, his mind goes.
Nancy noticed he wasn't there.
She's been worried about him?
She hasn't called.
Maybe she's afraid it might give him the wrong idea, and doesn't want to hurt his feelings. She could have called if she wanted to, he would have been totally fine –
"… and we figured you were sick, but we were still kind of worried so I thought I'd come over and see what's wrong."
A warmth that has nothing to do with fever mingles with the frustration at having to stand upright and talk. Steve smiles.
"Aw, thanks, man. But you could've just called, you didn't have to bike all the way over here in the cold."
"You know, I was going to," Dustin begins, "but then I thought – no. Steve is my friend. When my friend Steve is sick, he deserves my undivided care and attention. Nothing can stop me from helping my friend Steve. Neither snow, nor rain, nor the blistering gloom of Indiana winter –"
"Alright, what do you need?" Steve sighs, rubbing his eyes. He longs to go back to the couch, lie down and never get up again.
"What?"
"Is it coins for the arcade? Is that why you're here?"
Dustin gasps.
"You think I came over to get something from you? I am hurt, Steve," he says, placing a hand over his heart. "Seriously, I just wanted to check if everything's okay. Plus your parents aren't home so you need someone to look after you."
"How do you know my parents aren't home?"
He shrugs. "They're never home. That's what Nancy said."
"Okay, Nancy needs to mind her own business, and you need to leave because you'll get sick –"
"She's just worried about you, now are you gonna move already?" Dustin says, talking over him. "It's freezing out here, want me to get sick too?"
"Yeah, how about don't come in then? There's a bunch of germs inside."
"I can't take care of you from the outside, Steve."
Dustin pushes past him and proceeds through the hallway, taking off his jacket but swinging the backpack right onto his shoulders again. After some brief processing, Steve goes after him.
"You think I need a thirteen-year-old nurse taking care of me?" he calls to Dustin's retreating form. "I'm fine," he says, voice breaking. "I'm totally –"
A coughing fit doubles him over.
Dustin turns around and approaches him. "Sure you are, buddy." He pats him on the shoulder. "Where's your teapot?"
Clutching at his chest, Steve gestures towards the kitchen and Dustin leaves in that direction. When he manages to follow, he finds the kid still standing at the door, apparently in shock and not venturing inside. It takes him a few moments to realize the reason.
Steve has always thought his family had too many dishes, and at this moment, every single one of them is dirty and resting in the big double sink, comprising a mound high enough to reach the wall cabinets. It's almost impressive, on one hand, Steve thinks, feeling his cheeks burn with embarrassment. It's got to be some kind of record.
"I'll, uh, wash these," he mumbles, scratching the back of his neck.
"No, you're not doing anything," Dustin says. "Go lie down, I'll make the tea. Go." He shoos him away. "I'll manage."
Teetering between not knowing whether this is actually happening and what's going to happen next, Steve walks to his living room in a stupor and falls back on the couch. He puts both hands over his pounding head and massages it, but the ache seems to increase by the minute.
Through waves of pain, he can hear Dustin rummaging through the kitchen, saying things like "How can you not have any tea? Tea is the shit when you're sick – chamomile, okay, here's chamomile. Chamomile's good, but you want thyme," and "Your fridge is like completely empty. How are you even alive?" and the wonderful "I brought some of mom's chicken soup, I'll heat it up after the tea is done." After several barely conscious moments, he hears the kid return from the kitchen and feels him sit next to his feet.
"The tea is almost ready," he says. "You okay?"
Feeling like his head might explode, Steve nods into the pillow.
"So where are your folks?"
"At our place in Pennsylvania," he mutters. It's another half-hearted attempt to save their marriage by spending time in an empty and expensive house, and Steve finds that he doesn't really care anymore. At least not today.
"Oh," Dustin says. Then, "When are they coming back?"
"Dunno. Next week, I guess."
Dustin says nothing.
"This house is pretty huge," he says after a while. "Do you have any rooms you don't use?"
Steve turns on his back, wincing. The room turns together with him, and keeps turning.
"Yeah, some spare guest rooms. Why?"
Dustin shrugs, his eyes traveling the walls and the ceiling.
"Just making conversation."
Steve stares at him.
"You're acting weird."
"I'm always weird. That's a part of my charm." He grins.
Steve is just about to respond, when a sudden movement behind Dustin makes him jump.
"Whoa – what was that?"
"What was what?" Dustin asks. His face is a portrait of innocence, but in one brief moment, Steve is sure he saw a flicker of panic.
"Your backpack moved."
"No it didn't," he says.
"Dustin, I just saw it move –"
"Shhhh, you're hallucinating because of the fever." He procures a thermometer from somewhere and sticks it into Steve's mouth.
Steve spits it out. "I am not hallucinating, now you better tell me what's going on or I'll -"
Dustin puts a hand over Steve's forehead.
"Dude, I'm serious, you're burning up," he says, and looks worried. "I think your temperature's pretty high. How are you feeling?"
Steve winces; the consequences of sudden movement start catching up.
"My head hurts. And my throat." He rubs his eyes. "Honestly, I feel like shit."
"How about you take the temperature and I'll go get the tea."
Steve lies back down, gingerly placing his head on the pillow. He feels like he's just forgotten about something important, but his brain is too warm and heavy and remembering becomes too difficult. He puts the thermometer into his mouth and closes his eyes.
He wakes up, as the thermometer is removed, to a world of pain.
"Son of a bitch. Okay, take this. This'll help."
Somehow, a bit of water makes its way down his throat, and something that feels like a pill of some sort.
He sleeps.