Chapter 4

Kyle made his best attempt to ignore what felt like a growing fever, for he had a bounty of chores and studies to occupy him. But when the Necronomicon's pages were becoming soaked from the boy's sneezing, the book insisted on giving him a diagnosis.

"Bloodshot eyes, sore throat," the former Book of the Very, Very Sick listed the symptoms—both the ones he could tell and those that Kyle informed him of. "You're looking even paler than usual, and then there's the sneezing—might I see my bookmark again?"

Kyle retrieved the bookmark from under his tongue, where he had been ordered to place it.

"530 degrees?" The book's droopy eye-holes widened, and immediately Kyle spat out the rest of the paper thermometer—which had been torn away and left in his mouth after saliva weakened it.

"750!" The Necronomicon—who had seen griffins fight dragons in various unicorn dance clubs—was baffled.

"And I feel like every bit of it," Kyle rasped, his eyes falling out of focus and alignment. He took out his wand, and with a beam of magic, led the lazier eye back into place with the other. "And clearly it's progressed during the diagnosis, which is…?"

"The wizard flu, dear boy." With his—um, lack of—eyeballs, the book directed a quilt onto Kyle and telekinetically placed both boy and blanket onto the crimson couch. "Stay in bed."

"Watch the palantir," Kyle weakly told the Necronomicon, and essentially trembled into sleep.

Waking and drifting off again. Again and again. It seemed to go on all day, but the cuckoo clock showed different.

"Only noon…? The wizard flu will last all day," he whined, raspy. "Necronomicon, haven't we any elixirs?"

"One for fever, but it may be expired."

"So am I," Kyle groaned.

He hadn't a clue that his palantir alarm heralded the answer to his fevered prayers, and he groaned again at hearing it.

"Who is it, Necronomicon?"

"Ah, it's your suitor coming to call on you again," the tome announced.

"Ugh, won't he leave me alone?" He rose and shambled down the hall, the blanket draped over him. He shakily made his way down the stairs and to the front door.

"I knocked this time!" Fanboy beamed proudly once Kyle answered the door.

"I'm not at all in the mood for you again so soon," Kyle said. "You were just here, you know. I may be sick, but I'm not delirious enough to think that it's been two days already."

"You're sick?" The fan slid the blanket off his friend's head to get a better look at him, smoothing down the hair that the blanket messed. "Whoa, you do look bad. Well, at least I'm here for you, sweetie!"

"No! I remember how things were when I had chicken pox. Good intentions or not, you're counterproductive and less than gentle."

"Aw, I'll be good," Fanboy pleaded. "I'll take good care of my wizard."

Kyle sighed, remembering that the previous night his rambunctious ninny had proved he could be gentle. "Well, the Necronomicon can only do so much. Okay, but you must be careful. I'm feeling quite frail."

"Yay! Lemme help you to bed." The superhero wrapped his arms around his treasured Brit and walked him up to his living room.

"You know, I can still walk on my own," Kyle told him as he sat down on the couch and was tucked in by his doting caretaker. "The wizard flu hasn't yet gotten that bad."

"Why would you have the wizard flu?" Fanboy seemed confused.

"Because I'm a wizard! How many times must I tell you?" Kyle huffed in frustration. But then he realized something. "Wait, you admitted it! You called me your wizard!"

"I was playing along," the fan-child admitted. "I wanna be a supportive boyfriend. If my sweetheart says he's a wizard, then I'll agree he's a wizard. If you insist you're British, then I'll say you're British."

"Boyfriend?!" the other child yelled at the top of his lungs, though the hoarseness diminished much of the effect. "You gave me no time at all to decide how I felt about you. I only asked for two days! You already assume I'm your boyfriend, but it hasn't gotten through your head that I'm a wizard?" He became a little dizzy from the outburst. "And now apparently I don't seem British to you?"

"I just kinda thought you might've been faking that accent," Fanboy said sheepishly. "And your cards are marked. I don't know who you think you're fooling."

"I don't even do card tricks…" said Kyle, rather confused.

But Fanboy had already drifted from the subject. "What do you want for lunch?"

"Don't you dare try to serve me another of your atrocious entrees."

"This time you can tell me what kind of British or other kind of food you want," Fanboy knelt by Kyle's bedside (or couch-side), looking surprisingly attentive.

"Very well," Kyle twirled his wand, causing a British cookbook to rise from the bookcase and float in front of Fanboy. "But this time, do follow a recipe."

Fanboy took the book and opened it. "Aw man, I can never read these foreign books."

"It's in English," Kyle groaned, realizing it was going to be a long afternoon.

Fanboy trotted away to the kitchen, where he soon called, "Kyle, what does 'two-slash-three' mean? Can't they make up their minds whether it's two or three?"

"That's two-thirds, Fanboy."

"What? I need math to make food?"

Kyle's head had begun to throb by the time Fanboy was asking who "Kim" was, and as it turned out, he was just reading an abbreviation for "kilometer" (Kyle was afraid to ask of what the recipe needed ten kilometers). Fanboy was confounded that "one cup of sugar" still counted as one cup even after it was poured into the mixing bowl ("What kind of magic makes it do that, Kyle?").

Lunch was delayed another fifteen minutes when the young fan went home to fetch a board game because the recipe told him to dice some vegetables.

But despite all the trouble, Fanboy finally entered the living room with a covered dish, the napkin over his arm and his graceful gait making it seem he was roleplaying as a waiter in a five-star restaurant.

"Your food, sir," he presented the dish and napkin. "My apologies for the wait."

Kyle smelled the food as well as he could with his stuffy nose, but it was still a mystery. "Here goes nothing." He reached for the unknown meal, but Fanboy promptly pulled it away.

"Uh uh uh; I said no lifting a finger. Put those fingers down."

"What? How shall I eat?"

"Close your eyes," the fan produced a spoon. "I wanna surprise you."

Kyle groaned, but finally caved (and coughed). He closed his eyes and allowed Fanboy to spoon-feed him whatever he had made.

It was sweet and zesty, with just the right amount of seasoning. Rosemary and a little lemon…

"Turkey penne-noodle stew? With fairy-dust broth?" Knowing he was right, Kyle opened his eyes. "My governess always used to make that for me when I was ill."

"Comfort food," Fanboy seemed thrilled that his sweetheart was enjoying the meal. "Is it doing the trick?"

"Too soon to say," Kyle admitted, and his caretaker insisted on feeding him more.

"It sure did a trick for me," Fanboy mused. "Once I could get the fairies to actually give me some dust, that stuff kept making the noodles dance out of the pot. But it's not the first mindless seasoning to play mind games with me…"

Kyle's eyes widened as his stomach began to contract. "You…didn't neutralize it before putting it in? The warning in the cookbook was in bold type—oh dear…" He grabbed his abdomen and broke into a sweat.

His haphazard "nurse" looked sheepish. "I…didn't know what 'neutralize' meant…?" He watched as Kyle's skin cycled through nearly every color imaginable. "Should I skip the atomic peach tarts then?"

After violently emptying his stomach for thirty minutes (fortunately making it to the bathroom first) and brushing his teeth, Kyle staggered, weak-kneed, into the hall where a worried Fanboy waited.

"I'm sorry, buddy." His bottom lip was trembling. "Are you doing all of that shivering because of me?"

"No, I'm rather certain I got all of the fairy dust out of my system," Kyle answered hoarsely. "The wizard flu is just progressing." He shook. "I'm…ch-chilled…" He did not have the strength to walk back to the couch, but the increasing chattering of his teeth prevented him from communicating that to Fanboy. Luckily, when his legs gave out and he supported himself on his friend's shoulder the superhero took the hint and scooped him up.

"Fanboy is here for you, my dear!" He valiantly carried the little sick one to the sofa and tucked him in—on one side only. Just as Kyle wondered why one side of the blanket was left open, Fanboy answered by getting in and making himself comfortable next to him. This involved Kyle being momentarily squished against the back of the couch, but once Fanboy settled down and wrapped his arms around his wizard, it was all worth it. The young hero was warm as could be, soothing the chills that afflicted the conjurer.

The two snuggled blissfully; Kyle tucking his head under Fanboy's chin so as not to transmit any contagion from face to face. Both were quickly lulled to sleep; they woke now and then from their nap and nuzzled each other. Each time he noticed Kyle shivering, Fanboy kissed the top of his head until he was still.

What relaxed Kyle the most was feeling he was in caring hands—those of his boyfriend.

Author's Note: "'I just kinda thought you might've been faking that accent,' Fanboy said sheepishly." I don't know how clear it was, but that was kind of a reference to Jamie Kennedy (Kyle's voice) having an American accent in real life…So in a way, one could say Kyle does have a fake accent.