=Dave's POV

To say I was fucking worried would be the understatement of a lifetime. I was really, really fucking worried. I sat at the kitchen table all night, beating myself up about the whole situation. Even if John hadn't wanted me there at all, I should have at least offered to stay and take care of him. But I'd felt so powerless in the moment that I had trouble unsticking the right words from mouth. It doesn't bother me that my plans for the evening were tarnished. Hell, it doesn't even bother me that the poor guy got sick in the first place. What bothers me is that I know he's lying to me.

I yank my shades from my face in frustration. My forehead meets my arms and I close my eyes, trying in vain to relax. John is ill and I feel like there's nothing I can do about it. When we met I knew he looked too skinny. At the time I hadn't let it bother me much. Maybe he was just naturally as small as he is short. Hell, even I have a wicked fast metabolism to bear with nowadays. Although, since that first day, it seems like he's gotten impossibly skinnier. Is he eating enough meals every day? Is he eating at all?

A familiar hand gently grasps my shoulder. "You okay, little man?"

I lift my head up; Bro is suddenly next to me, concern obvious in the tone of his voice. I sigh and stare at the scratched surface of the table. It would be no good to keep this from him. After all, we had vowed to be honest with each other ever since we left our parents. "No, not really." I dig my nail into one of the cracks, tracing its outline with the tip of my forefinger.

Bro pulls out the bar stool across from me and takes a seat. He removes his shades, like we always do whenever there's something serious to be discussed soon. He gazes at me expectantly with his peculiar orange eyes. "What's up?" He says. Its meant to be completely casual, but deep down I can feel his apprehension. The thought makes me feel guilty.

"There's this guy," I hesitate. He senses my doubt and let's down his cool persona, lightly touching my arm. I've never told him about my appeal for the same gender, though I'm assuming he's kind of figured it out by now. I haven't found the strength to tell him on my own yet. "I met him earlier this week and everything was going fine." The words rush out of me. It feels good to spill my guts to someone who will listen. "Tonight we went to the movies and it was awful, man. He got really sick."

Bro nods and I continue to pick at the counter. "Dave, I'm sure he's all right. Don't worry too much."

"But it wasn't the normal kind of sick you'd catch from a bug." I continue, now looking at him. "I think something's really wrong. Like, he's not eating right or-" I stop and run my hand through my untidy hair. Simply talking about this is hard. I can feel my heart racing wildly in my chest. I want to say that what John's going through reminds me of myself. I, too, used to delve in bad habits.

"Have you heard anything from him?" Bro questions.

I shake my head vigorously. "No, man. He hasn't sent me any messages or nothing."

Bro leans back and folds his arms. I can tell he's taking time to consider the circumstances, which I admittedly appreciate. He's the only person in the entire world I can openly talk to like this. But it hasn't always been this way. Before we moved away, we were distant and cold to each other; a product of how we were raised. To be honest, back then it felt like my older brother was absent from my life most of the time. I used to think he hated me, although I aspired to be like him a lot. He's always seemed so headstrong and quick witted, but he's shown me a completely different side of himself since we've become closer. A side that's more tender and kindhearted than I ever thought possible in someone like him.

"Dave," He pauses. I actually feel a tiny bit nervous about what he's gonna say next. "You obviously care about this guy, and that's totally cool, man." I notice the slight smile upturning his lips, but its not meant to be cruel. "I think you should go see him tomorrow morning to make sure he's okay and shit."

The weight in my chest lifts a little. "A-Are you sure? I mean," I release a long breath that I didn't realize I'd been holding. "I don't even know if he wants to see me anymore, Bro."

"Well, little man, the only way your ever gonna know is if you find out yourself." His smirk isn't hidden now. I think he's actually sort of happy for me. It leaves me at a temporary loss for words. I glare at the table and absently rub the long sleeve covering my abused wrist.

He notices instantly. Bro clutches my shoulder a second time and squeezes it reassuringly. I stare at him uncomprehendingly, searching his face for the answers that I need. But he just stares back, and behind all that determination, I see sorrow. "Just be there for him, okay? Like I was for you." With that, Bro scoots back out of his chair in silence and leaves the kitchen. I sit there for a long time, my scars itching uneasily.

0-0-0-0-0

It's Sunday morning and it feels like its a sin to be out of bed this early. I'm so drowsy from my severe lack of sleep from the previous night that I have to choke back yawns every two minutes. Alas, I force one foot in front of the other and hike down the sidewalk to John's house. I'd caught the earliest bus possible out of my neighborhood to be here and by god am I going to make sure he's all right before I leave again. I cast my eyes upwards towards the parting clouds left behind from a terrible storm last night. I breathe in the fresh Spring air as sunlight breaks through and lights up the world. My chest swells with hope. I can do this.

I'm standing in front of his house before I know it. It's a small two story with chipped blue paint and several pane glass windows. I wonder if its too soon to knock. He might not even be awake yet. I grit my teeth and climb the porch steps as I had done with John in my arms yesterday, each step creaking in my wake. There's a lamp on near the window, so someone's gotta be awake right? I feel sickly nervous and my chest is tight. I push open the screen door and raise my fist to knock. Well, here goes nothing. The knocks seem louder than usual in the quiet morning air. I hear timid footsteps on the inside; someone pushes a frilly curtain out of the way to see me. I wait with baited breath.

The front door swings open and a man is on the other side. He's still in his pink striped pajamas, but its impossible for me to laugh at what he's wearing with so many words jammed in my throat. He examines me thoughtfully, scratching his temple and brushing back his black hair. I assume this must be John's father, and the thought makes me feel even worse. I'd never even given time to think of how his parents might react to me.

"Hello," He says, smiling politely. "What can I do for you?"

I blink and swallow whatever stupid nervousness is trying to hold me back. I need to know if John's okay. "Hi, I'm Dave. Just wonderin' if John's up."

The man raises his eyebrows in surprise. "Are you a friend of his?" He says it like its a dream, which makes me wonder how long its been since John has had a single friend visit his home.

"Yes, sir. I-"

"Dave?" John's timid voice rises from behind his dad. He steps back and let's his son stand in the door frame. It takes all my willpower to not hug him on the spot. He seems all right besides his eyes, which are rimmed with dark circles. His dark hair accentuates his pallor and makes his face look even paler. I try not to gawk at his cute baby blue pajamas, which has a tiny white bunny stitched onto the shirt pocket. John inspects me carefully, as if he's expecting me to yell at him or something. "What are you doing here?" He takes consideration of his father looming protectively behind him. "I mean, uh, I just didn't expect you to come over."

I shrug and force myself to grin. "Well, I was hoping you'd wanna hang out today, man." I mock him by taking a step backwards. "I can leave if you want me to.."

"No, no!" A blush is evident on his cheeks now, but he steps aside. He seems embarrassed and absentmindedly tugs at the bottom of his shirt. "Come in."

I notice him glance up at his dad, and he's smiling proudly back at his son. I feel at ease knowing I'm no longer an intruder in their home. John refuses to meet my eyes and twiddles his thumbs uncertainly. His dad walks away with a little skip in his step to the living room. Its obvious that he's excited that John has company.

We stand awkwardly in the hall until John mumbles. "Let's go to my room." He stalks away and I follow him with my hands in my pockets. He turns to the room his dad had went into and we begin our ascent up a short flight of stairs. I note a few more rooms before we reach his at the end of another hallway. He opens the door for me and I step in. The walls are covered in a variety of movie posters and picture frames. There's a closed chest in the corner decorated with an array of yellow stars and a desk across from that with a computer resting on its surface. The bed is a mess, and it looks like he'd just thrown the covers aside and jumped out of it only seconds ago. I stand in the middle of the room and watch him close the door.

I decide to make small talk instead of rushing into what had happened last night. "Cool posters, dude."

John smiles despite his nervousness. "Thanks, uh, sorry about the mess." He uses his foot to shuffle some video game cases under his nightstand.

"No worries."

John sits on the edge of the bed. I stay standing, silently observing him.

"Why are you here, Dave?" He sighs, but resolves himself to staring at his toes.

I feel genuinely baffled. "I wanted to check on you, man. How are you feeling?"

"I'm all right." He sniffs like he's about to cry.

I can't take it anymore. I walk over and sit next to him, not sure whether or not I should touch him. "No you're not." I tilt my head, trying to get a better look at his face, but he turns away from me. "John, you scared me to death last night." He's shaking his head now. I press on. "Please, tell me what happened."

"I'm sorry." John clutches his blankets in a vice grip. A sob wracks his body and he's shaking uncontrollably. He's crying his eyes out now. I sling my arm around his shoulder, hoping it brings him some comfort. I distantly wish that I could make him smile somehow; I hate seeing him like this. "Sometimes," His voice is a whisper. "Sometimes I don't eat."

I wince, knowing my worst fears have been confirmed. "Why?" I ask.

He shrugs. "It's stupid."

I gently caress his left cheek with my hand. He willingly allows me to turn his face towards mine. My shaded eyes lock with his own gorgeous blue ones. Tear streaks mar his face, but he doesn't try to wipe them away. We study each other; his lips look so soft. "Tell me." I speak ever so softly, using my other hand to push a stray hair behind his ear.

"I feel ugly." He bashfully tries to hide his face again. But I won't let go. I hold him tenderly, suddenly desperate to prove him wrong.

"John," I start, a smile playing on my lips from the sheer audacity of what I'm about to say. "You are the most handsomest guy I've ever seen." He looks at me in disbelief. I continue on with my heart pounding wildly. "First of all, you have these stupid freckles across your nose that look super adorable. I'm not kidding, dude. And don't even get me started on your laugh. It's kinda like a chorus of fucking angels in my head. But your smile," I beam at him. "Well, I don't think I'm ever gonna get tired of seeing it."

I feel my face heating up now. "There's nothing wrong with you, man. You're perfect to me." A weight relieves my chest as I finally get the words out. The letters hang in the still air between us. John gazes at me, tears silently cascading down his face and an obscure look playing about his face. I glance away in trepidation. I can hear him sniffling.

Then, he's instantly giggling and hiding his enormous grin behind his hand. "That's probably the sweetest thing someone has ever said to me."

All of a sudden we're happy again. The tension dissipates and leaves behind an incandescent feeling in its absence. Its something blooming in my heart that I haven't felt towards someone else in a really, really long time.

I clear my throat, but I cannot seem to stop smiling at him. "So, you promise to eat more?"

John holds out his pinky to me. The mere gesture ignites a fire inside me. What is this boy doing to my heart? I take his pinky in mine and they cross each other. "I promise."