Quentin est malade

"Did you hear?" The irritating little merde who sat behind Jean tapped him on the back. "Ton copain is in the infirmary."

"What?"

"Deaf, as well as gay? Tsk, tsk, Jean Kippelstein." A wicked smile spread over his shitty face. "Julien Quentin's in the infirmary. Something's wrong with him."

Jean bolted from his chair. The whole class stared at him. "Where are you going, Jean?" his prof de maths asked him.

"To Julien." He grabbed his bag and cloak and ran out of the classroom.

"You didn't have to ditch class for me." Julien smiled weakly from the bed he was lying on.

"That's right," the nurse added "You should be in math."

"No. I'm not leaving him."

"Well, in that case, you should probably bring him home. And call the doctor. I'm not quite sure what's going on. It's not a normal sickness."

Jean tenderly brushed back the hair stuck to Julien's pale face. "Let's go, dear." He glanced up at the nurse. "Should he be walking?"

"No. Use this." She opened the closet and pulled out a rickety rolling chair. That's going to collapse any minute, Jean thought, and hurt my sweet Julien.

"Are you sure that's not going to break?" The nurse shrugged, then landed a solid kick to the frame. The chair remained intact.

When they were back home again, Jean helped Julien into the bed. He undressed him and changed him into silk pyjamas, then wrapped him in layers of thick blankets. Jean called the doctor and Francois and Mme Quentin, made chicken soup, applied cold compresses, and emptied the barf bucket regularly. The doctor took his sweet time to arrive, and that irked Jean. But what he said when he came was worse.

"I don't know what's wrong with him. Never in my life have I seen such an illness as this."

"Well, what can we do?" Jean spoke in a hushed tone, urgently. He glanced quickly towards Julien in the bed and saw him hunched over the barf bucket again.

"Keep him warm and give him plenty of fluids. If his temperature rises above 40, call me again."

"That's it? That's all you have to say?" Jean said, infuriated. All he can do to help my poor Julien is this? Little piece of shit.

"Yeah. Pretty much." The doctor shook Jean's hand. "And if you have any sisters," the doctor added, "please do set us up."

Every day that passed, Julien got worse. The doctor was summoned multiple times. The washroom became clogged with the amount of vomit they were pouring down the drain. Julien had a ghostly pallor and his fever never broke. They tried everything, from morphine to codeine to teas and herbal supplements to alcohol. Nothing worked.

Mme Quentin did not come back for her son. Francois and his heavily pregnant wife visited, once, but were quickly warned away by the doctor. "If your wife catches this illness," he cautioned, "she and the baby will be finished." Finally, as night was falling on the seventh day, the doctor took Julien's pulse one last time.

"I'm afraid, Jean, that he will not make it through tonight."

"You've got to be kidding me." A familiar knot of fear settled in Jean's stomach. He hadn't felt anything like that since… since the war ended.

"I'm sorry." The doctor picked up his briefcase. "I will send for the priest to perform the last rites and I'll come back in the morning to collect his body."

"No." Jean's entire being had turned ice cold with dread. "You will not send for that damned priest and you will not collect his body in the morning! Julien is not going to die! DO YOU HEAR ME? HE'S NOT GOING TO DIE."

The doctor patted Jean's hand comfortingly. "I'm sorry, Jean. I won't call for the priest, if that's what you two want. But I thought you should be warned about what will probably happen tonight." He turned and left the flat.

As the night progressed, Jean never left Julien's side. He whispered to Julien, even though he knew it was futile, because Julien was unconscious. Julien's breaths grew shallower, his movements smaller, and when Jean pressed his ear against Julien's chest, his heartbeat was fainter. Slowly, it was sinking in. Julien will not live. He will not win against this illness. I will have lost him by morning. As the sky outside grew even darker, Jean became sure that every breath Julien took was his last. He couldn't move from his position at the side of the bed. He didn't want to. He wanted to spend all of what little time they had left together at his side. His stomach twisted in cold fear and his eyes welled with tears. This is it. We had so little time… only a few months to be happy together. Jean stroked his hair and pressed his fingers against his burning lips.

"Je t'aime. Aujourd'hui, demain, toujours. It was always you, Julien." A tear rolled down his cheek and onto the sheets below. "You can go now. Don't be afraid. I'm here so you go now and be happy. I'll see you later." He kissed Julien on the forehead. As he lifted his head up, a burning hand grabbed onto the hair above the nape of his neck and held tight.

"It will always be you, Jean," said a hoarse whisper from beneath him. "I'm not dying. I'll live. Just for you."

As if a miracle had occurred, the sky began to turn pale pink, casting a weak glow of sunlight about the room. Jean felt Julien's forehead covered with a thin sheen of sweat, and breathed a sigh of relief that the fever was breaking.

"It will always be you," Jean whispered back.

"C'est un miracle!" The doctor proclaimed. "I've never seen a recovery like this!" He pressed his stethoscope against Julien's chest yet again. Jean rolled his eyes. What a loony. Julien returned his look with a small smile.

"Come on, it's been a week and you're saying the same thing yet again."

"Well yes, Jean. At this rate, he might be fine to go back to your college in a week or two!"

Hearing this, Julien groaned. "No, please, I am so totally fine with where I am right now."

"Jean! Jean! You're disrupting my sleep patterns, yet again!" Julien sighed and pulled himself closer to Jean. He brushed his sweaty hair back with his hand. "Jean, wake up!"

"NO, PLEASE. SPARE HIM!" Jean screamed into the night. He jerked upwards, his eyes wide open. "Oh, god, Julien, the nightmares." He buried his face in Julien's chest.

"I know and I'm here for you."

"I'm sorry."

"Don't be. You did nothing wrong." Gently, Julien traced the planes of his back. "Talk to me. Please. I want to help you."

"I don't think you could…" He sighed. "I don't think anybody could."