8. Chicken Noodle Soup
Frank bunched up a t-shirt to his mouth and for what seemed like the hundredth time that day, coughed into the cloth. His throat was raw; his chest on fire. He looked down at the shirt, surprised there wasn't a trail of blood left behind. The force of the hacking felt strong enough to rip apart the tiny bronchioles inside his lungs that struggled to expand with each breath.
He lay back down onto the bed, giving in to the exhaustion. The past two days had taken everything out of him. Sleep was his only solace.
. . .
Frank woke to a pleasant, cooling sensation on his forehead. He relaxed into the touch with a sigh of content. When he opened his eyes, two light-brown orbs of concern stared back into them.
"Fever hasn't gone down," said Bill, extracting his hand. "How're you feeling?"
"Like I'm being repeatedly run over by an army of trucks," he rasped, barely able to recognize his own voice.
Bill frowned at his words. "I brought you some soup, if you can stomach it."
Frank nodded and with some help, sat up in bed. The rich aroma of the broth reminded his stomach that he hadn't eaten anything substantial in days.
He sipped a small spoonful from the bowl, and smiled up at Bill. "Tastes just like mom's chicken noodle."
"Don't get too excited," said Bill. "It's from the can."
"Yeah but when you haven't eaten—" he didn't get to finish the sentence as a new round of coughing almost knocked the bowl out of his hands.
"Easy there," said Bill, placing the bowl to the side. "Too salty?"
Frank shook his head as the coughing fit slowly subsided. "No. The soup's fine. It's just any food that touches the back of my throat seems to set it off."
"Try this." Bill held up a glass of water. "You're getting too dehydrated. Drink as much as you can."
Frank nodded, and took a sip. It seemed to go down okay. He took another.
"I think I'm going to lie back down," he said, handing the glass over weakly.
"Want some company?"
"I don't want to get you sick, too."
"I don't mind," said Bill. "I'm tired of choppin' wood all day, anyway. Could use a quick nap." He lowered himself next to Frank on the bed.
Frank turned on his side and snuggled up next to Bill as the other man pulled the blanket over him.
"Maybe we can just stay in bed all winter," he said dreamily. "You, me, a couple of cans of soup. We could make it."
Bill chuckled lightly at his comment. "That sounds nice."
"Really nice," Frank agreed, drifting quickly back to sleep.
"Let's get you better first," Bill said softly.
Frank said something into his pillow that was too mumbled to decipher.
Bill placed his palm on Frank's forehead again.
"Get some rest," he said to the man beside him. "I'll be here when you wake up."