Archive of Our Own ^beta

“Um…hi, Mrs. Karim? Yeah, this is Lucy, um…Anthony’s girlfriend? We were just wondering…well, we had to leave rehearsal early because he wasn’t feeling well, we’re at urgent care, but they want to send him to A&E and we sort of need a ride-”

Lockwood dragged his hand over his face and blew out a long exasperated breath that immediately turned into a congested cough. This was not how he wanted today to go. 

They were supposed to be in rehearsals for Nutcracker, it was his senior year and they had both gotten leads. He’d been feeling kind of rundown, but that was fine, it wouldn’t be the first time he’d danced while he wasn’t feeling well. Most dancers dealt with that at some point, rehearsing or performing while they were sick or injured. Just a fact of life, the show must go on, he couldn’t let people down, that sort of thing.

Except it didn’t seem like a normal cold that he could just push through. His lungs seemed to ache more than usual; he had to dig his old asthma inhaler out of the back of his medicine cabinet and use it when no one was looking. And then it ran out (in the middle of class, no less), and the nurse at the school clinic had seemed rather alarmed about his condition when he went to get a new one. She’d told him to rest, that she would write him a note to excuse him from classes and rehearsals. He took the note but kept going anyway. It was his last year of Nutcracker as a student, he couldn’t let the rest of the cast down, especially not Lucy.

It wasn’t until just now that everything backfired. He’d been coughing nonstop during rehearsal, popping cough drops and chugging water like crazy, until he ran out of water and left the studio to go refill it. And of course a bad coughing fit hit him out of nowhere, and of course he ended up coughing so hard he puked on the floor, and of course Lucy just had to follow him in time to see the carnage.

The situation only got worse from there. Lucy had immediately panicked, asking him a million questions that he was too out of breath to answer, and dragged him back into the studio to tattle on him. Despite his protests that he could definitely stay and finish the rehearsal, but their teacher had sent him away, insisting that he needed to get checked out first.

Lucy had dragged him to the urgent care down the street while he insisted that it was probably just a sinus infection, that they would just give him some antibiotics and he would go to bed early and then he would be ready for rehearsal the next day. Except the nurse at the urgent care seemed a little more concerned than he expected, and after taking his temperature and listening to his lungs rattle and wheeze said that he needed to go to A&E and have his stupid lungs X-rayed.

And now Lucy was on the phone with Anjuli Karim to ask for a ride, despite his protests, and everything was falling apart around him. Plus, he was missing rehearsal.

Lucy handed him his phone back. “She said she’ll be here in twenty minutes.”

“The Karims live thirty minutes away.”

“She said twenty. And she’s bringing George.”

Lockwood huffed in irritation, but it turned into another cough. Lucy immediately picked up the bottle of water the nurse had left for him but he shook his head. His throat felt like he’d swallowed glass and drinking water sounded like pure torture. “It’s just a sinus infection,” he said. “You didn’t need to call Anjuli.”

“We need backup, Lockwood,” Lucy said. “She’s your legal guardian, we’re only seventeen, and we have to get you to A&E.”

“You could have just called an Uber-”

“We need an adult,” she said firmly. 

He looked at her, her coat tossed over her leotard and skirt and her mouth pressed in a tight line and her arms crossed over her chest, and his shoulders sagged. “I’m sorry,” he said, reaching for her hand.

Her mouth tightened further but she took his hand and squeezed. “I knew you weren’t feeling well,” she said. “I saw you using that asthma puffer.”

“I just thought it was a cold or something,” he said. “I’ve danced sick before, it’s never been that big a deal before.”

“It has been a big deal before, but you’re a stubborn idiot and you shouldn’t have pushed yourself then and you shouldn’t push yourself now,” Lucy said. She held his hand in both of hers, running her thumbs over his knuckles, her touch gentle despite the snap in her voice.

“Everything is going to be fine,” he told her. “We’ll go to A&E, they’ll check me over and send me away with a bunch of antibiotics, I’ll skip a rehearsal or two to rest, and then I’ll be fine.”

She bit her lip. “I hope so. Drink your water.”

He tried to oblige, taking the smallest sips imaginable from the plastic bottle and trying not to wince until he heard Mrs. Karim’s voice in the hallway. It was a relief and a new dread all at the same time- relief because he knew she would help him and take some of the stress off of Lucy, dread because now they’d have to go to A&E, one of his least favorite places in the world.

“Anthony, poor thing, what happened?” Anjuli said as she bustled into the room. 

“Just a sinus infection, I think.”

George followed his mother, hands in his pockets. “You look like shit, Lockwood.”

“Appreciate that, George.”

Anjuli brushed his hair back and kissed his forehead. “Oh, azizam, you’re burning up.” she said.

“He was at 38.9 the last time they checked his temperature,” Lucy said, her arms still folded tight across her chest.

“Poor thing,” Anjuli said, clicking her tongue. “Let me talk to the nurse and see what’s going on, and then we’ll get over to A&E as quick as we can.” She hurried out to the hallway, squeezing Lucy’s arm as she passed her.

George sat down on the edge of the examination table. “What happened?” he said.

“Bad cold.” “They think he has pneumonia.”

Lockwood glared at Lucy and she glared right back. “Ooh, the lovebirds are fighting,” George teased. “Don’t feel bad, Lucy, this is how he always is. In denial about being sick or injured, until he’s too far gone.”

“I’m not that bad, George.”

“I’ve literally known you since you were born, you are that bad.”

Anjuli hurried back in, pecking at her phone screen. “All right, darling, we’re going to head out now,” she said. “They’ve already called ahead so they’ll be ready for you.” She handed her phone over to George. “Text your father, will you? Let him know we’ll be gone for a while.”

“It’s just X-rays, how long will that take?” Lockwood protested.

“It might be a bit more than that.”

Lockwood frowned. “What do you mean?”

George handed the phone back to his mother. “Dad’s been informed. Come on, Lockwood.”

“I can get up by myself,” he said, but the room seemed to spin as he pushed himself up and he was grateful for George’s arm around his shoulders. Lucy was by his side in a second, slipping her arm around his waist. 

He had to lean on them both on the way to the car; for some reason he felt oddly lightheaded and his legs wobbled under his weight. Outside the early evening air was sharp and cold, cutting through his lungs and making him wheeze. He was out of breath by the time they helped him into the backseat, fumbling around for his inhaler.

Lucy dug it out of his coat pocket and pulled the cap off. “You never told me you had asthma,” she accused.

“It’s mild,” he wheezed between puffs.

George twisted around from the front seat. “He’s had it since we were kids,” he said. “It’s usually mild, unless he has…oh, I don’t know, a cold or something...”

“Georgie, stop teasing Anthony,” Anjuli said. “Let him rest.”

He wanted to insist that he didn’t need to rest, but his whole body ached. Slowly he dropped his head to lean against Lucy’s shoulder; she adjusted to make him more comfortable and wrapped her arm around his, tracing gentle circles on his inner wrist. Her touch was light and soothing and eased some of the pressure building in his chest.

The A&E waiting room seemed busy but they whisked him off to a triage room immediately. A nurse had him take off his coat and took his vitals and asked a million questions about his medical history. Talking made him cough more and Anjuli ended up answering half of them for him while Lucy kept holding his hand and offering him tissues when he hacked up phlegm.

The chest X-ray was a humiliating experience. Since he was a minor only Anjuli could go with him; he had to change into a hospital gown and attempt to hold his breath while they took the images. That was easier said than done, every time they told him he could breathe it turned into a cough that made black spots pop in his vision. They offered him a wheelchair when he was done and he turned it down, a decision he started to regret when he had to shuffle all the way back to triage.

Lucy and George were curled up together on uncomfortable plastic chairs watching a movie on his phone when he got back. “X-rays done,” he said, attempting to sound cheerful even though his voice came out in a painful croak.

“No talking,” Anjuli told him sternly. “Lie down, darling.”

He didn’t feel well enough to argue and he was grateful for George helping him lie down on the bed. The room was starting to slowly rotate and tilt like a carnival ride and closing his eyes didn’t help much. 

The nurse came back to take bloodwork for a barrage of mystery tests and recheck his vitals, only to discover that his fever had climbed up to 39.3. “I’m going to start you on an IV while you wait for imaging,” she said. “You’re dehydrated and I don’t like that your temperature is going up.”

“Do I have to?” he rasped.

“ Yes. ”

He hated shots and needles and IVs, but Lucy held his hand the whole time and that helped a little. Once the IV was placed it was a little better, but still slightly terrifying and uncomfortable. George sat close by and held his phone up so he could see the screen, but he couldn’t pay attention to the movie, drifting slowly in and out. It was the first time in weeks that he’d really allowed himself to slow down and rest, and slowly he was realizing how awful he felt. The only thing he was fully aware besides the sensation of I feel so sick of was the strong scent of antiseptic and the gentle warmth of Lucy’s fingers curled around his. 

He was barely awake when the doctor came back. “Are you the boy’s mother?” 

“Legal guardian, his parents passed away when he was six.”

“Oh. Oh, well…we have the X-rays back, and it does confirm pneumonia.”

The rest of the conversation blurred in his ears. Pneumonia was bad. Really bad. Like…can’t go to school, can’t rehearse, can’t perform kind of bad. “I can still dance though, right?” he mumbled, trying to blink some of the cobwebs out of his brain.

“Dance?” the doctor repeated, puzzled.

“He’s a student at the Fittes Ballet School,” Anjuli explained. 

The doctor glanced down at his stack of paperwork. “Oh, no, I’m afraid dancing is out of the question for the time being,” he said. Lockwood’s hand twitched in Lucy’s grip. “Actually, looking at the film and his test results, it might be in his best interest to be admitted.”

“To the hospital?” Lockwood sputtered.

“Would there be another option?” George said.

Lockwood let go of Lucy’s hand and pushed himself up despite her protests. “But…we’re in rehearsals, we have performances-”

Black sparks crackled in his vision and the room tilted around him. “Anthony, stop it,” Anjuli scolded, catching him by the arm to keep him from sliding off the examination table. “You’re going to fall if you’re not careful. Here, Lucy, you hold onto him, sweetie.”

His vision swam as Anjuli shifted him over towards Lucy and his head fell against her shoulder. “Stop being so stupid,” Lucy said, wrapping her arms around him.

His heart was pounding so hard he could hear his blood thumping in his ears. “Luce, I don’t wanna stay in the hospital,” he mumbled into her neck.

“I know you don’t. Sh.”

He tried to stay still and focus on breathing, but he could barely get air in his lungs. Lucy stroked the back of his neck, trying to soothe him. He didn’t want to calm down, he wanted to hear the conversation between Mrs. Karim and the doctor, but they had stepped a little farther away and were discussing something in hushed tones. Discussing him, probably.

“I don’t need to be in the hospital,” he said. “I just…I just need a little rest. I can take a day off.”

“Mate, you need a week off,” George said.

“I’ve never missed a Nutcracker before. I’ve been in the Nutcracker every Christmas since I was five.”

“Lockwood-”

He hated that his eyes were watering, but he couldn’t catch his breath and his throat was on fire and the IV was a constant annoyance taped to the back of his hand. “I can’t miss it. I can’t. I can’t be stuck in a hospital when I’m supposed to be performing-”

Lucy pressed a kiss to his forehead. “Breathe, Lockwood, breathe,” she said softly. “It’s okay.”

It wasn’t okay, but he closed his eyes and tried to breathe, for her sake. His fever was making chills crawl up and down his spine and the only thing that kept him from completely losing it was the warmth of Lucy’s body pressed against his.

“All right, darlings, we have a plan,” Anjuli said. She patted his knee. “Anthony, you’re going to come home with me and George, I’ll be looking after you.”

“What about school?”

“Don’t worry about school, I’ll handle that conversation.”

He tried to swallow and winced when it made his throat burn. “What about dancing?”

“No dancing, I’m afraid. Not until you’ve gotten the all clear from the doctors.”

He tried to force his fever-addled brain into doing the math. They had just started full runs, they were supposed to start tech and then dress rehearsals in week. If he got enough rest and the antibiotics kicked in fast enough, he might make it for the last dress rehearsal and then be able to do the run. At the very least, the show was running for a full week, he could at least make a performance or two. Maybe a matinee. And then he could take the rest of the winter break to fully recover and then be ready for the spring semester.

“...did you hear any of that, Anthony?”

He raised his head from Lucy’s shoulder, rubbing at his eyes. “Huh?”

Anjuli clicked her tongue sympathetically. “Poor baby,” she said. “Once that bag of IV fluids is finished up we’re going to take you back to school to grab your things and drop off Lucy, and then Georgie and I will take you home. All right?”

Rest for a week at the Karims’ house, back to dance in time for the last rehearsal, finish out the run. “Yeah, all right,” he said.

He went back to drifting in and out as the IV kept dripping into his veins, faintly aware of Mrs. Karim making phone calls and talking back and forth with George about what they were going to do with him. Lucy ended up climbing onto the bed with him, curling herself around him so his head was pillowed on her collarbone. 

“I’m sweaty and gross, why are you cuddling with me?” he mumbled.

“Yeah, between the fever and the post-rehearsal you’re not doing so great,” she said, half-laughing, but she kissed his temple. “You’re going to be all right, you know. Even if you miss the whole show you’re not going to lose your spot in the company after you graduate. Everyone knows you’re a shoo-in. Stop worrying.”

He kissed her collarbone. “I’m not worrying.”

“Yes, you are. I can tell.”

He exhaled slowly. “I’m only going to let you win this argument because I’m sick.”

“Well, at least you’re admitting you’re sick, so I’ll take that.”

He half laughed, too congested to actually make a sound, and closed his eyes. By the time the nurse disconnected him from the IV he was half asleep, the fluids and the medicine making him sleepy and pliable. George and Lucy had to help him down and hold onto him as he stumbled towards the car, his legs too unsteady to support him on his own. 

The next thing he knew the car was parked outside his dorm; George and Lucy were gone and Anjuli was speaking quietly on the phone in Farsi. He pushed himself up, wincing at the crick in his neck from falling asleep against the window. “Whatsit…where’s-” he slurred, squinting in the harsh white floodlights of the parking lot. 

Anjuli paused her conversation, glancing back at him. “You’re all right, azizam, stay where you are,” she said. “George and Lucy just ran in to grab some of your things. And I’ve already called the school, they know you’ll be out of classes for a while.”

He dragged his hand over his face. His mouth felt like it was stuffed with cotton and he’d never felt so cold in his life. “But…but what about-”

“Don’t worry about anything, if something gets forgotten I’ll send George to pick it up tomorrow when he gets out of school,” Anjuli said. “Lie still, darling.”

He slumped back against the door, wrapping his arms around himself and trying to keep his teeth from chattering. Despite the heater and his coat he felt like he was going to freeze to death. All he wanted was to be back in his dorm room and tucked into his own bed, but that wasn’t an option.

George and Lucy came back in what could have been ten minutes or an hour, he wasn’t exactly sure. “I think we’ve got everything, I swear we packed half his room,” George huffed as he heaved an old dance duffel and a backpack into the boot of the car. 

Lucy climbed into the backseat and pushed his pillow behind his back. “Text me if we forgot anything,” she said. “I’ve got your favorite hoodie and a bunch of your pajamas. And your phone charger.”

“Did you grab-”

“Yeah, of course I did,” she said, and he was glad she could read his mind. Her hazel eyes were wide with worry and he hated that he was causing that. “I’ll call you before rehearsal tomorrow, okay? And text me whenever you can, keep me updated.”

He nodded. “I’m so sorry, Luce.”

Lucy threaded her fingers through his hair at the nape of his neck and leaned in to kiss his forehead. “Don’t be sorry, just get better,” she said. “I love you, okay?”

“I love you too,” he echoed. “Can’t you kiss me goodbye, properly?”

She kissed his forehead again. “Not while you’re contagious. Now go home and sleep.”

He nodded reluctantly, already missing her so fiercely that it hurt worse than the ache in his lungs. Through the window he saw George hug Lucy goodbye and caught a glimpse of her last wave before she disappeared back into the dormitory. 

“All right, Anthony, let’s get you home so you can get to bed,” Anjuli said. “Do you need anything?”

He needed to be back at school, making post-rehearsal tea with Lucy in the dorm kitchen, mentally preparing for finals and rehearsals and performances. Oh, god, he forgot about his end of semester exams. “What am I supposed to do about finals?” he said blearily.

“They’ll be rescheduled,” Anjuli said. 

George twisted around in the front seat. “I’ll help you study if you need to catch up,” he said.

He must be sick if George was offering to tutor him. But he didn’t feel awake enough to crack a joke, and instead he leaned back against the window and closed his eyes.

The drive passed in a daze and he was barely awake when they made it to the house. George had to help him inside and up the stairs to his room. Originally that bedroom had belonged to George’s oldest brother Andrew, and then it had become Jessica’s when their parents died and they went to live with the Karims. He’d shared George’s room back then, until she passed away and he started sleeping in her bed, and then just stayed there. Even now, eight years after her death, he’d never taken down the collection of playbills and autographed photos and her first pair of pointe shoes that she’d hung on the wall. 

“Mum is in absolute despair that she doesn’t have the chance to change the sheets or wash the duvet, but I told her it’s more important that you get to lie down,” George said as he flipped on the lights and dumped his bags on the floor. “Do you need help changing? You look like you’re about to keel over.”

Lockwood hugged his pillow to his chest, trying to make his eyes focus. “No, no, I’m fine,” he said. Lucy had made him put on his warmups over his rehearsal clothes when he was abruptly forced to leave rehearsal; it was a struggle to get out of his joggers and hoodie and George hovered, not very subtly, as he changed into a well-washed oversized tee shirt and flannel pajama bottoms.

“You need anything? Water, or tea? Dinner?”

He couldn’t even think about eating anything. “I just want to lie down,” he said. 

“Yeah, that’s probably for the best,” George said. “Mum’s picking up your antibiotics first thing in the morning.”

“Uh-huh.”

“I’ll be down the hall if you need anything. Well, I mean, you knew that. But if you can’t make it down the hall, just text me. Okay?”

He had to look like he was on death’s door for him to worry like this. “I will. Thanks, George.”

With his last dregs of energy he tossed his pillow onto the bed and crawled under the covers, pulling them up to his shoulders and trying to fend off the fever chills prickling over his skin. George stayed just long enough to plug in his phone and turn off the light.

Lockwood shifted around, trying to get comfortable against the fever aches in his muscles, but his pillow felt oddly lumpy. He reached under the pillowcase and pulled out his childhood blanket. Lucy read his mind and knew he’d want it, and he loved her for it. His mother had knitted it before he was born, and she and his sister had painstakingly stitched purple violets along the edges. The texture was soft and familiar and reassuring, and he hugged it to his chest as he sank into a thick feverish sleep.

The next…two days? Three? He wasn’t entirely sure, but the time passed in a fog of fever dreams, coughing, and cups of tea that turned tepid before he could swallow them down. Usually he was a light sleeper, but that was all he seemed to do was sleep, he barely even roused when George made his usual racket getting ready for school.

Anjuli checked on him like clockwork, keeping to a tight schedule. She woke him up to make him take his new antibiotics and brought him water and tea. Eating more than a few bites of toast at a time was too much to manage, even though she despaired over how little he ate. It just seemed like too much, his throat hurt too much to swallow and his stomach turned at the thought of food. 

Lucy texted him regularly; he tried to reply when he woke up from yet another dazed nap and could focus enough to put words together. She called him after her classes and before rehearsals too, even though his voice was too tired and raspy to carry on much of a conversation. It took all of his energy to pretend that he was feeling better, that the ache in his lungs was receding and his fever was on the verge of breaking. Most likely he wasn’t very convincing, but she graciously went along with it. A few classmates texted him too, plus Holly and Flo, and he kept responding with the same things. Just a mild case of pneumonia, he was on the mend, he’d be back in time for the show.

The third afternoon (maybe fourth?) of his stay at the Karims’ house he got a phone call he didn’t expect, but as soon as the number came up on the screen he forced himself to sit up and clear his throat, trying to pull the threads of his brain back together so he could sound like a functional human for the short term. “Hello?” he said, hoping he sounded somewhat normal.

“Anthony? It’s Madame McVey, how are you?”

Of course he knew who it was, Madame McVey was the artistic director at Fittes, she’d taken the job after retiring from being a principal ballerina in the company. “I’m…I’m fine, how are you?” he asked.

“You’ve missed the past few days of school so I wanted to follow up,” she said, brisk and formal. “I understand you’re off campus temporarily?”

“Yeah, yeah, um…the doctor said I might be contagious and that I would do better resting outside of the dorms,” he said. He decided to leave out the bit about almost being admitted to the hospital.

There was a soft rustling of paper from the other end of the line. “We got the notes from your doctor. Pneumonia, hm?”

He raked his hand through his hair. “Yeah, pneumonia, unfortunately.”

“That is unfortunate, especially this close to the Nutcracker opening,” she said. He winced, plucking anxiously at a loose thread on the quilt. “Your health is the most important thing, of course, but I did want to follow up. Is there any possibility of you making it in time for the performances? Most dancers wouldn’t be able to catch up, but I know your skills and your talent. If you think you can make at least the last dress rehearsal, I think you could still do the run.”

Oh, he wanted that so badly. “I think so,” he said. “I’ve been resting, staying on top of my medications. Stretching when I can.” Okay, so that part was a lie, he barely had enough energy to shuffle down the hall to the bathroom, but she didn’t need to know that. “I still have a few more days till final dress, so as long as I keep improving I think I can make it.”

“I would truly like to see you here,” Madame McVey said. She paused, and when she spoke again there was a gentle shift in her voice. “Really, though, Anthony- you’re doing all right? Do you need anything?”

Unconsciously he wrapped the edge of his green blanket around his fingers. “Yeah, I’m okay,” he said. “I mean, I’ve been better, but…I’m okay.”

“That’s good,” she said. “I don’t want to keep you on the line too long, you need your rest. It’s part of my job to follow up with ill students, it’s just…” Her voice trailed off. “I’ll keep in touch with Anjuli. Tell her to let me know if there’s anything you need. And don’t worry about finals, I’ll make sure they’re rescheduled once you’re better. Just take it easy, all right? Even if it means you miss the show.”

He had zero intentions of missing the show. “Yes, for sure,” he said. “Thanks, Aunt Elizabeth.”

“You’re welcome. Talk to you soon.”

He hung up the phone and leaned back against the pillows, his gaze falling on the wall of photos Jessica had pinned up on the walls years ago. There was a snapshot of his mother and sister and Elizabeth McVey tacked up in the collage, taken before he was born. She had been one of his mother’s closest friends in the ballet company as they climbed the ranks from the corps to soloists to principals. Celia had even made her Jessica’s godmother. For most of his life he’d just known her as Aunt Elizabeth. Now most of the time she treated him like any other student, to avoid accusations of favoritism, but sometimes there were moments where it was like she was part of his family still.

He shuffled back under the covers, the fever chills settling back in now that his adrenaline was dropping. The short phone call had sapped his energy and he coughed into his pillow as he attempted to get comfortable. I just need to get better in time for the last dress rehearsal, he told himself. I’ll do whatever Anjuli wants, I’ll sleep, I’ll take my meds. I just need to make it.

Over the next few days he did his best to be as well-behaved as possible. He took his antibiotics without complaint, he slept as much as his coughing would allow, he forced himself to muscle down the soups and teas and sports drinks that George and Anjuli brought to him. When the brain fog cleared enough to let him think clearly he stared at the ceiling and ran through his choreography in his head. He’d been cast as the cavalier for his last Nutcracker, opposite Lucy’s Sugarplum, which meant he had to remember two different duets and a solo variation. But he’d been learning to pick up choreo since he was old enough to walk, so as long as he could get his body to cooperate he should be fine.

Unfortunately, his body seemed utterly uninterested in cooperating.

Lucy kept him updated with every technical rehearsal, telling him about how the show was progressing. He hadn’t told her exactly that he was planning on making it to final dress and doing the run, he wanted to surprise her. The image was bright in his thoughts- walking onto the stage while everyone was warming up, grinning broadly at her while she ran to him in excitement. Not to mention how satisfying it would be to see Bobby- his understudy- scowling at him as he realized he wouldn’t be going on after all.

But he just didn’t feel like himself yet. His fever wouldn’t break, his appetite was gone, and his lungs ached. He couldn’t stop coughing. Nighttime was the worst, he could only sleep for an hour or two at a time before he woke himself up hacking and gasping. He hoped no one else noticed, but at least once a night he was vaguely aware of Mrs. Karim pressing another glass of water or cup of cough syrup in his hand. Sometimes it helped enough to let him sleep, sometimes he laid awake shivering and coughing until the pale winter sun started to peek through the blinds.

In his wildest daydreams he thought he could make it to an earlier rehearsal, that he’d be well enough for tech, or at least a couple of practices, but he knew deep down he couldn’t quite make it. But the morning of the last dress rehearsal dawned, and all he wanted was to make it there and get through it. If he could just get there, he could push through, he knew it.

He pulled himself out of bed and shuffled down the hall to take a shower; the hot steam helped loosen some of the pressure in his chest and unleash more of the congestion that kept him from taking a deep breath. That’ll help , he told himself. See? Better already. 

He dressed in loose joggers and a soft tee shirt, rolling his shoulders as he mentally prepared himself to try warming up. So far all he’d managed in the past week were a few stretches and doubtless his muscles were going to protest once he actually tried dancing, but he would take it slow. Well, slower than usual, at least.

Sure enough, he felt stiff and sore as he rested his hand on the back of a chair as an improvised barre and started going through some of his exercises. This is nothing , he told himself. You’ve been doing this since you were five. You did a production of La Bayadere with the stomach flu. Just focus.

It wasn’t that bad. Could have been worse. And sure, his lungs were protesting and his muscles were burning, but he just had to get back into the swing of things. Activate his muscle memory. Once he was back to normal he would call an Uber to get over to the theater and get there just in time to put on his costume.

There wasn’t a lot of space in his room to walk through his variation, but he figured he could at least manage a few turns and jumps if he was careful. He turned up the volume on his phone to hear the music better and tried to take a deep breath before he started. Unfortunately that just made him cough; he had to wait for the fit to pass and restart the track.

Marking the variation took more effort than he expected. And he wasn’t really dancing, it was just marking , why was it so difficult? His body knew the steps, he didn’t have to worry about that part, but it felt like he was in slow motion.

The second time through felt worse. He tried a jump- just a small one- and the air seized in his lungs. He had to stop for a second to catch his breath, and then had to think about where he was in the music to pick up the steps again. You can do this , he told himself sternly. You can’t miss the show. You’ll let Lucy down. You won’t get into the company.

“One more time,” he mumbled to himself, even though his vision was starting to get oddly hazy. “One more time, then take your meds and then you can head over.”

He knew the steps, he knew the music, it all made sense in his brain, but now it was like his legs weren’t listening to him. The burn in his muscles distracted him enough that he didn’t notice the burn in his chest until suddenly he was wheezing, air struggling to break through the swelling in his throat.

Not good. Not good at all. He stumbled over to his desk, digging around in searching of his inhaler, he couldn’t remember where it was. Oh god, he needed it, he couldn’t breathe.

The door banged open. “I’m not knocking because I’m pissed , Lockwood, I’m trying to study for my chemistry final and I can’t focus with all the damn thumping,” George announced. “For the hundredth, millionth time, you know you’re not allowed to practice in your room, you can go to the cellar or the garage but you can’t-” He paused. “Lockwood?”

The room was hot. When did the room get so hot? “Do you…see my inhaler?” Lockwood gasped out.

George dug around the clutter of used tissues and half empty cold mugs on his dresser. “Where’d you put it?” he said. “Goddammit, Lockwood!”

He sank down on the floor, his legs couldn’t keep him upright any longer while he needed to put all of his focus on breathing. George swore as he rummaged around in his nightstand. “I can’t believe you were trying to practice while you’re sick,” he said as he ripped the cap off his inhaler and forced it into his hand. “You’re a moron, you know that?”

Lockwood pressed the button and tried to take a deep breath, the sound rattling in his throat. George crouched down beside him and pressed the back of his hand against his forehead. “Jesus, you’re burning up,” he said.

“I don’t feel hot,” he mumbled.

“Use that thing again,” George said. “Is it helping?”

He nodded. It wasn’t. It wasn’t helping at all, and the lack of oxygen was making him dizzy. George scrutinized him, frowning as his glasses slid down his nose. Lockwood tried not to look at him and took a third hit off the inhaler.

“It’s not helping, is it?” George said. He squeezed Lockwood’s shoulder. “You dummy. Mum ! Mum, come here!”

Lockwood shook his head, attempting to tell him that it wasn’t so bad that he needed to yell for his mother, but he couldn’t get any words out. “What? What’s wrong?”

“Anthony’s asthma inhaler isn’t helping!”

He closed his eyes and leaned back against the bed. I need to go to rehearsal. I need to go to rehearsal. I need to go…

“Anthony, azizam, what happened?” Anjuli asked, pressing her blessedly cool hands against his cheek and then his neck. “Just breathe. George, where’s his inhaler?”

“He’s already used it three times and he’s still doing that gasping thing. His lips are turning blue.”

Anjuli spoke to George quickly in Farsi; he’d picked up a little of the language after living in the Karim house for the past eleven years, but at this point he wasn’t sure if he would be able to understand English. George scrambled up from the floor.

“Anthony, sweetheart, we’re going to take you to A&E,” Anjuli said, smoothing his hair back from his temples like a mother might. “George is getting your shoes and your jacket and we’re going take you right now.”

“No,” he whined, desperate to protest. “No, it’s…it’s the last dress rehearsal, if I can make it…then I can do the show…”

He could barely get the words out and he couldn’t finish the sentence before he broke down in a harsh cough, sharp enough to blur his vision. “You can’t do the show,” Anjuli said, gently but firmly. “You’re too ill. Come on, let’s get your coat on you.”

He felt his hope slipping through his fingers as George helped him into his jacket and his trainers. This wasn’t what he wanted at all. He was supposed to bounce back, he was supposed to show up to the theater as a big surprise, he was supposed to make Lucy happy and his teachers proud. He wasn’t supposed to get bundled into the back of the car and driven to A&E, coughing so hard that the Christmas lights passing by were just blurs of color. 

The waiting room was crowded and reeked of antiseptic so strong that it made his eyes water. At least it made for a good cover story. George sat next to him while Anjuli got him checked in, jiggling his leg anxiously and watching him like a hawk, his inhaler clutched in his hand in case he needed it.

“You really thought you could make it to rehearsal tonight?” George finally said. “You have pneumonia and you thought you could manage a full show?”

Lockwood stared at the clock on the wall across from him. Quarter to six. Dancers would be arriving to the theater in their warmups, carrying their water bottles and energy drinks and dance bags, buzzing with excitement. The earliest arrivals would already be starting their hair and makeup, getting ready to put on shoes and costumes. And he wasn’t there.

“Yeah,” he finally said, his voice barely audible. George sighed heavily and squeezed his arm.

They brought him back to triage in short order; the nurse seemed concerned about his vitals and pulled Mrs. Karim aside to talk to her. “That can’t be good,” George said. He folded his arms, tapping his fingers nervously. “Want me to text Lucy? I feel like she ought to know what’s going on.”

He shook his head immediately and then regretted it when his head pounded. “I don’t want to distract her before rehearsal,” he said. “She needs to focus.”

“She’ll want to know, Lockwood.”

“I’ll tell her later.”

George rolled his eyes. “Stubborn idiot,” he said, but Lockwood could still hear the note of exasperated fondness in his voice.

“They’re going to give you a nebulizer treatment and give you some fluids,” Anjuli said as she hurried back into the room. “They’re concerned about the albuterol not helping enough, you need something stronger. Just take it easy, okay? They’ll be right back to get everything started.”

Taking it easy was the last thing he could possibly manage at that point. They wrestled the strap of the nebulizer mask over his head and forced it over his nose and mouth; it tasted horrible but it at least seemed to take some of the pressure off his lungs. The IV was worse, and he knew he was squirming like a child as the nurse tried to set it up, but he hated the feeling and all he wanted was Lucy there to squeeze his hand. George and Anjuli were there, of course, and that helped, but he wanted Lucy so desperately that it hurt more than the ache in his chest.

The nebulizer treatment seemed to take forever and all he could think was how much time was passing. Rehearsal was going on without him. Lucy was going to dance with Bobby instead of him. He was letting everybody down. He was letting himself down. 

The nurse removed the nebulizer mask but the IV fluids still needed to process. At some point George offered to let him borrow his headphones, but he didn’t care. He didn’t care about anything anymore.

At least his lungs didn’t hurt so much by the time he was cleared to leave. That was the only good thing. The nurse still seemed concerned about his congestion and his fever, but all he could think about was that they’d be starting act two. Briefly he considered asking if they could drop him off at the theater, but he knew both Mrs. Karim and George would hit the roof.

The car ride home was silent other than his occasional coughs. Anjuli sent him straight up to his room once they got back, telling him she would bring up a cup of tea in a little bit once he was settled. George followed him to his room, lingering in the doorway.

“I don’t care if it pisses you off, I’m texting Lucy,” he said. “She needs to know.”

Lockwood kicked his shoes off and shrugged. At least Lucy wouldn’t see the text until after the run was over. George stood there for a little while as he struggled out of his coat, dropping it on the floor, then eventually backed away. He crawled into bed, pulling the covers up around his shoulders, unable to muster the energy to turn on the TV or look at his phone.

Eventually, though, his phone started to blow up. He watched in a dull daze as Lucy’s texts, consistently misspelled as always, flooded the screen. He knew she was worried, he knew she wanted to talk to him, but he couldn’t bring himself to text her back. 

The texts changed to calls that he didn’t answer, she must be heading back to her dorm after rehearsal. Please just assume I’m sleeping, he thought. Ask George for an update. Something. 

Then the unanswered calls turned into unanswered FaceTimes. He rolled onto his back and stared up at the ceiling. His phone kept buzzing and he let it.

Finally his phone paused and he let out a slow measured exhale. Hopefully Lucy would give up, and he could talk to her in the morning when he had the energy to put his brave face back on for her.

George barged into his room. “Yeah, he’s awake, he’s just moping around,” he was saying to the screen of his phone. “Here, Lockwood, you’re giving Lucy an aneurysm. For the love of god, just talk to her.”

He pushed himself up on his elbows in surprise. “George, what the-”

George set his phone down on his bed, using a tissue box to prop it up, and switched on the lamp. “There you go, just tell me when you’re done so I can get my phone back,” he said, and he vanished.

Lockwood hesitated. The last thing he wanted was for Lucy to see him when he was this sick, he had to look awful. 

“Hi,” Lucy said in a small voice. She was sitting on her bed in her dorm room, dressed in her favorite pajamas, her hair freshly washed but the last traces of stage eyeliner smudged around her eyes. “I’m sorry for telling on you to George, I was just…I was worried.”

Lockwood raked his hair off his forehead, hoping he didn’t look quite as awful as he felt. He wanted to end the call so she couldn’t see him, but she was clutching her battered little rabbit plush in her lap and her eyes looked so wide and sad. “I’m so sorry, Lucy,” he said.

Lucy winced. “Oh, shit, Lockwood, your voice,” she said.

“It’s not that bad,” he lied. “Sounds worse than it feels.”

“George said you had to go to A&E and get a nebulizer treatment. That sounds pretty bad.”

“My lungs just decided to crap out on me, that’s all,” he said, trying to keep his voice light. “It helped a lot, I’m feeling a lot better.”

His attempt at a lie didn’t convince her at all, he could tell. Her mouth tugged down in a sad frown. “So you’re not doing the show,” she said.

It was a statement, not a question. He slumped farther against the pillows, unconsciously reaching for his green blanket. “Yeah,” he said. “They said I could do it if I could make it to at least one rehearsal, but…well, guess that isn’t happening.”

Lucy dropped her gaze, her fingers idly fidgeting with Miss Rabbit’s soft well-worn ear. “It’s better that you rest, I don’t think I’ve ever seen you this sick.”

“I’m going to be fine, it’s just…” His voice trailed. Yeah, he was going to be fine, but he wasn’t fine in time to perform. “I’ll come to see you, though. I promise.”

“You don’t have to, not if you aren’t feeling better.”

“No, no, I will,” he said. “I promise. I might not be able to dance, but I can at least manage to make it to the theater and see you.” He smiled at her, desperately wishing he could erase the sadness from her expression. “You’re dancing Sugarplum, that’s a big deal and I need to be there, even if I can’t be your Cavalier.”

Lucy made a face. “They’re putting me with Bobby again,” she complained. “I hate that they pair me with him when I can’t dance with you.”

“Well, this’ll be the last time,” he said. “Unless they decide to cut me from everything in spring semester, which they might if I’m missing all of Nutcracker.”

“They won’t do that,” Lucy scoffed. “You’re already cast in the January recital, I’m sure you’ll get a lead in the spring show, and then we’ll have senior showcase. And you know they want us to do the Manon bedroom pas de deux again, maybe the Carousel one too.” She smiled at him. “And besides, you know you’ll have a spot in the company once you graduate. You don’t have to worry about it.”

“I’m not worried about it.”

“Yes, you are, you can’t lie to me.”

He laughed, but the laugh turned into a cough and Lucy’s frown faded. “It’s late, you should get some sleep,” she said. “Rest your voice, that sounds like it hurts.”

“It doesn’t, not really, it just sounds bad,” he tried to tell her, but his voice came out thin and strained. “You should sleep too, you just had classes all day and then rehearsal.”

“I will.”

He smiled at her. “I love you.”

That brought a little of the light back into her eyes. “I love you too.”

“I’m going to come see you dance, I swear,” he promised.

“Only if you’re better.”

“I will be,” he said. “Goodnight, Luce.”

He ended the call and adjusted against the pillows, trying to get comfortable. His lungs still ached, but now he had something to work towards. If he could just get better enough for Anjuli to let him go see the show, everything would be okay. 

That, however, was easier said than done. He brought it up the next morning to Anjuli when she came to bring him breakfast and check his temperature, but she only said “we’ll have to see, azizam .” And it didn’t seem too encouraging when she frowned at the readout on the thermometer, and sighed when she came to get his dishes and saw that he’d barely touched his oatmeal.

He threw all his energy into being as well-behaved as possible. If he needed to prove that he was recovering, then he would do it. He slept as much as he could, took all of his antibiotics without making a face, tried not to make it obvious that he was picking at his meals (his appetite was long gone). But he couldn’t shake his cough or the congestion, and while his temperature slowly started to go down, it stubbornly refused to break.

First he missed opening night. Then the next two nights. Then more time ticked on, and the show was nearly at the end of the run, and he was barely allowed to move from his bed to the living room couch, much less leave the house. He texted Lucy before every performance and called her afterwards, but it wasn’t the same. If he couldn’t be onstage with her, he needed to see her dance.

And then there was one show left. He did the best he could, but it wasn’t enough. That night, after his post-performance call with Lucy, he laid awake staring into the dark, his eyes burning with tears. It was childish to cry, but he had never felt so lost or so upset before. It felt wrong to not be there, and even more wrong to feel like he wasn’t supporting Lucy the way she deserved. His last thought before crying himself to sleep was I hope nobody heard any of that. At least he would never own up to it, or tell Lucy.

But the next morning his temperature was the lowest it had been in a week, and he dragged himself out of bed to join George at the kitchen table for breakfast in his pajamas. Anjuli was busy at the stove, but when she saw him her eyes softened. “Anthony,” she said. “You’re feeling better?”

“Much,” he said. And it wasn’t a lie, he still didn’t fully feel like himself but he at least felt better than he had the night she’d met them at A&E.

She pressed the back of her hand against his forehead and hummed. “Well,” she said slowly. “If you promise to bundle up, and you promise to come straight home and go right to bed afterwards…I suppose you could go-”

He was up and out of his chair before she could finish her sentence, hugging her tight in excitement. “I will, I swear, I’ll get so much rest tomorrow!” he promised.

Anjuli patted his back. “Just take it easy today, sweetheart,” she said. “And George is going to watch you like a hawk.”

George pointed his spoon at him. “You’re damn right, I will.”

“ George Casper. ”

Lockwood did his best to obey. He spent most of the day resting and trying to eat as much as his stomach would allow, but the excitement kept him buzzing. After debating back and forth he decided to not tell Lucy he was coming to the show until the last minute, but he did sweet talk George into stopping on their way to get her a bouquet of flowers- delphiniums, in her favorite shade of blue, flanked with glossy dark leaves and delicate sprays of white babies’ breath. 

It felt wrong to go to the theater as a patron, rather than going around to the actors’ entrance, but there was something electric about being part of the audience, surrounded by audience members in their holiday best eager for the performance. He wasn’t as dressed up as he would have liked, especially since Anjuli had insisted that he wear his warmest jumper rather than the jacket he preferred, but at least he was out of the house. 

“You’re doing all right?” George asked once they were settled in their seats.

“Yeah, yeah, fine,” Lockwood said. “Here, lean in. I’m taking a selfie to send to Luce.”

He knew she would probably have her phone on her dressing station, playing music while she finished her stage makeup, and sure enough he got her excited reply to the photo seconds later. He couldn’t help but beam. 

It felt wrong to be in the audience and not in the wings, watching the show unfold from the stage. Even as a little kid he rarely watched his parents and sister perform from the house, he was usually tucked away next to the stage manager so he could watch them from a safe point. This felt especially strange, he’d been in the Nutcracker every Christmas from the time he was five, he should be up there instead. 

But the ache in his chest was ever present; he had to muffle coughs a few times and the congestion made his head hurt. At least he was there, he made it, and the adrenaline and the excitement helped him forget for a little while.

Neither George nor his mother forgot though. The second the curtains closed for intermission and the house lights came up Anjuli turned to check on him. “How are you feeling?” she asked, squeezing his knee. 

“Fine, I’m fine,” he said. 

George flipped through the program and frowned. “I didn’t see Lucy at all. Did I miss her?”

“No, Sugarplum doesn’t show up until the second act,” Lockwood said. He sighed, which turned into a cough that he attempted to swallow down. If he hadn’t gotten sick, he’d be backstage with her right now, making sure he was warmed up enough, checking his costume, getting ready for his entrance. Kissing Lucy for good luck before they went out there.

Anjuli touched his cheek lightly. “You look a little flushed,” she accused.

“It’s just warm in here, I feel fine,” he said. “And I swear I’ll go right back to bed the second I get home.”

She frowned and he could tell she was second-guessing her decision to let him come, but at this point nothing could tear him away. His heart was beating quicker by the time the curtain opened for the second act, he knew Lucy had to be fighting back nerves. She always got nervous before a performance, even if she knew her piece so well she could dance it in her sleep.

There was a bit of applause at her entrance and his heart swelled with pride. Lucy was radiant, the quintessential ballerina in her sparkling tutu and pointe shoes. There was something electric about her dancing, not just the mechanics of her steps but a way she seemed to listen so closely to the music and connect to it. She had confided in him so many times that she wasn’t confident in her own talent, but even if she couldn’t see it, he could. Lucy was meant to be a dancer.

Of course, it wasn’t the same to see her partnered with Bobby instead of him (and it just wasn’t fair ) but as long as he focused on Lucy it didn’t bother him quite as much. He also found himself so caught up in watching her that he forgot everything, including how awful he still felt.

Even though he wasn’t dancing himself, the adrenaline kicked in at full-tilt. By the time the final bows were over and the curtain closed, all he could think about was about was grabbing the flowers and running out to the lobby to see Lucy.

The dancers were all lined up, waiting to greet patrons and friends and family as they exited, but he only had eyes for one person. She stood at the end of the line, politely shaking hands with a couple of faculty members, but as soon as she turned towards him her eyes lit up.

“Lockwood!” she cried, and he pulled her into the tightest hug he could manage, not caring that he was crushing her iridescent tutu or the bouquet of flowers. All that mattered was that she was warm and solid and real in his arms, her chin resting against his shoulder and her fingers tangling in his hair. He closed his eyes.

“Jesus, Lockwood, let Lucy breathe, ” George laughed. “You’re going to crush her.”

He let go of her reluctantly, pressing a kiss against her temple. “You were incredible, Luce,” he said.

“Ugh, I don’t know if incredible is the right word, I think I only did one of those gargouillades properly,” she groaned. 

“I don’t know what that is, I thought you looked good,” George said.

Anjuli kissed Lucy’s cheek. “You were so lovely, darling,” she said. “You should be very proud of yourself.”

Lucy turned a little pink. “Thank you,” she said. 

Lockwood slipped an arm around her waist and pressed the flowers into her hands. “I’m so sorry I wasn’t there to dance with you,” he said. 

“I’m just glad you’re feeling better,” Lucy said, burying her nose in the pale blue blooms and breathing in the light clean scent. “And that you were able to come after all.”

He hugged her a little tighter and kissed her temple again. “I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

By that point most of the audience had poured out into the lobby, and he was distracted by classmates and teachers coming up to talk to them- congratulating Lucy, asking him how he was, catching up on what he had missed. There was so much happening that he didn’t even realize how much time had passed.

“Are you coming to the closing night reception?” Lucy asked. 

“I’d love to-”

“It’s late, Lockwood, and I’ve got my first final in the morning,” George interrupted.

Lucy bit her lip. “Oh, damn. I forgot about exams. Mine start tomorrow too.”

“I can help you study over FaceTime,” Lockwood promised. Originally they had planned to study together- Lucy’s academics had improved since the year before, but she still struggled and stressed herself out way too much. “And I bet I can rope George into helping too, at least for the complicated math parts.”

“I happen to enjoy the complicated math parts,” George said.

Anjuli checked her watch. “It is getting late, Anthony, and you did promise to go straight home afterwards.”

“I feel fine-”

“ Anthony .”

He didn’t want to leave at all, but he kissed Lucy’s forehead and pressed his cheek against hers. “I love you,” he murmured in her ear. 

She hugged him tight and kissed his cheek. “I love you too. Go get some rest, I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”

He brushed his lips lightly against hers and let go of her reluctantly. She looked so forlorn as she waved goodbye, hugging the bouquet of blue delphiniums to her chest.

It was so much colder outside than he expected, sharp enough that his breath caught in his lungs and made him cough. “You all right?” George asked.

“Yeah, yeah, just cold,” he gasped out. He coughed hard, trying to force his lungs to work properly. “It’s freezing out here.”

“We’ll get you home and back to bed,” Anjuli said. “You’re going to rest all day tomorrow, understand? I hope this wasn’t too much for you before you’re fully recovered.”

“It wasn’t too much, I swear,” he said.

But his adrenaline started to fade during the car ride home; he found himself slumping against the door, his temple resting against the cool glass of the window. Maybe Mrs. Karim was right, maybe it was too much. He didn’t even realized he’d dozed off until they were parked, and he was so tired he couldn’t manage to get out.

George took him by the arm and helped him unfold from the backseat. “Come on, Lockwood, work with me here,” he said.

For some reason his legs felt like jelly. “Sorry,” he mumbled.

George kept a firm grip on him as he helped him inside. The transition from warm car to freezing outside to warm house made his lungs constrict and he broke into a coughing fit so intense that he had to stop and lean against the wall.

“You all right?” George asked anxiously.

Lockwood nodded, unable to speak as he tried to catch his breath. George rubbed his arm lightly, which meant that he must sound awful if it was moving George into physical touch, and he forced himself to regulate his breathing before starting the climb up the stairs to his room. He changed into his pajamas in a daze, leaving his clothes on the floor, and crawled into bed without turning out the lights or plugging his phone in. Cold shivers were beginning to crawl up and down his spine and all he wanted was to hide under the covers. He wanted to sleep, but he couldn’t get comfortable and he couldn’t seem to get warm. 

Eventually he must’ve fallen asleep and someone must've checked on him, because he woke himself up coughing in a dark room, and when he checked his phone for the time it was charging. Briefly he thought about texting Lucy, but he couldn’t stop coughing and his phone slipped from his hand.

The lamp on his nightstand switched on. “It’s all right, Anthony, just breathe,” Anjuli said, rubbing his back. He coughed for what felt like an hour but might’ve been just a minute or two; she held a tissue over his mouth and kept running her hand up and down his spine. His whole body ached and it felt like the right side of his chest was on fire.

Dimly he was aware of a thermometer slipping under his tongue, and he tried to hold still until it beeped. Anjuli mumbled under her breath in Farsi before pressing a couple of pills and a cup of water into his hand. It was nearly impossible to swallow but he did his best to choke them down.

“Try to go back to sleep, azizam ,” she said as she helped him lie back down. He must be running a fever, because she draped a cool damp flannel over his forehead before tucking him back under the covers and slipping out of the room. At first he thought he was definitely going to fall back asleep immediately, but he laid there in the darkness for a while instead, shifting around miserably and trying to swallow down the ache in his lungs until he finally, mercifully dozed off.

He drifted in and out for a while through the usual early morning noises of the house- Mrs. Karim making coffee, Mr. Karim leaving for work, George clattering around while he got ready for school. Light was starting to filter through the blinds when Anjuli looked in on him again, and he started awake at her cool hand against his cheek.

“I think your temperature’s gone up,” she said. “Here, sweetheart, let me check.”

She didn’t tell him what the outcome was, but judging by her grim expression it couldn’t be good. “What is it?” he tried to mumble, but his voice came out thick and garbled.

“Sit up for me, Anthony,” Anjuli said, adjusting his pillows briskly. He tried, he really did, but pain shot through his side and he winced. “What? What’s wrong?”

He pressed his hand against his ribs. “Side hurts,” he managed to eke out.

“Your stomach?”

He shook his head. The pain was higher, sitting closer to his heart, but he couldn’t explain himself. Anjuli smoothed his hair back from his forehead. “Stay right here, sweetheart, I’ll be right back,” she said.

Moving wasn’t an option at that point. He leaned back against the pillows, the room swimming gently around him even with his eyes closed. The pressure on his right side didn’t alleviate.

“All right,” Anjuli said. “I called your doctor and he’s able to see you as soon as we can get there. Let’s get you up and dressed.”

Leaving the house sounded like the worst possible activity he could think of, but he managed to dress himself in joggers and his sweater from the day before without much help. His trainers stayed untied, but he was able to shuffle out to the car and crawl into the backseat, barely remembering to buckle his seatbelt between coughs.

Thankfully Mrs. Karim brought him to his regular doctor and not A&E. He did feel the slightest bit silly to be seventeen at a pediatrician’s office, but at least Dr. Blake had known him since he was a baby and he didn’t have to deal with meeting anyone new or rehashing his entire medical history.

The whole appointment felt like a fever dream. Almost immediately he was bustled off for another round of X-rays, which was even more of an ordeal than the first, and then he was whisked back to an examination room and jabbed in the elbow so he could get an IV plugged into his arm. He faded in and out, vaguely aware of being poked and prodded while Anjuli answered all of the questions for him. At one point they took bloodwork and made him cough into a cup- the coughing was easy, stopping the coughing fit was next to impossible. 

“...I shouldn’t have let him leave the house last night, it was so cold, but he was so upset and I felt terrible-”

He wanted to tell Anjuli that it wasn’t her fault, that it was his fault for insisting, and even then he didn’t regret it, he got to see Lucy and that was more important than anything else in the world to him.

“We’re still waiting for the bloodwork to come back, but looking at the film of his lungs it might be in his best interest to admit him.”

That did get him to move. Lockwood propped himself on the elbow that didn’t have an IV taped to it. “I don’t want to go,” he mumbled. “I’ll…I’ll stay in bed, I’ll rest, I just…don’t want to go to the hospital.”

“Anthony, sweetheart, lie back down,” Anjuli said, patting his hand. “We’ll do our best to keep you out of the hospital, I promise.”

He rubbed his eyes. “I hate hospitals.”

“I know, I know. Sh, lie back down and close your eyes.”

Lockwood lost his balance and flopped back, the paper of the examination table crinkling under him. He didn’t want to sleep, but it seemed to tug him under anyways.

It might have been Anjuli talking Dr. Blake out of it, or maybe his bloodwork results weren’t that bad, but they let him go home with a new antibiotics prescription and strict instructions to stay in bed. That wasn’t going to be much of a fight; he could barely make it back to the car and when he got home he didn’t have the energy to change clothes. Instead he crawled under the covers still in his joggers and jumper, staying conscious just long enough for Anjuli to give him the first dose of the new medications before he passed out.

The rest of the afternoon crawled by in a thick, overly warm daze. At one point he heard George slam the door and shout a greeting as he came home from school, followed immediately by Anjuli shushing him, but at that point there could be an entire herd of elephants in the house and it wouldn’t keep him awake. Mrs. Karim looked in on him regularly, checking his temperature and forcing him to sip water or an electrolyte drink that tasted like pure salt. She brought him dinner, chicken soup with a homemade broth and a couple pieces of thick toast, but he could barely manage a few mouthfuls. His stomach felt oddly upset, churning and twisting unpleasantly, which at least was a distraction from the pressure in his lungs.

Anjuli came to get his dinner dishes and he croaked out an apology when he saw her disappointment at how little he ate. “Don’t worry about it,” she said. “Let me make you some tea, all right? We need to keep you hydrated.”

She turned on the television for him and brought him a big mug of chai nabat- her typical solution when he and George had been under the weather when they were little kids. Usually the sweet, spicy drink reminded him pleasantly of childhood and feeling comforted and cared for, but now he could barely choke it down. He did his best, though, he wanted to please her and it would probably help to get something in his stomach.

George knocked lightly on his door later that evening, poking his head in without waiting for permission. “Hey, mate, I was…whoa. You look awful.”

“Thanks, George.”

“No, sorry, I mean…Mum said you had a rough day today,” George said, letting himself into the room. “Your right lung is all fucked?”

“Yeah, I think that’s the technical term,” Lockwood said. He rubbed uncomfortably at his ribs. “All the congestion, I guess. They’ve got me on military grade antibiotics and strict bedrest.”

“That sucks,” George said. “At least you got to see Lucy dance.” He shifted his weight and leaned against the doorway. “Which, on that topic, don’t worry about helping her study. She’s going to FaceTime with me tonight to prep for her algebra final instead of you. Probably for the best anyway, I’m a lot better at maths than you are.”

“Fair,” Lockwood said. He almost laughed, but it stuck in his throat. “Tell her I’m not really up for talking tonight, but I will be tomorrow.”

“Yeah, yeah, I’ll tell her,” George said. “I told her about your doctor’s appointment today after Mum filled me in. She says to stay in bed and do as you’re told for once. Oh, and that she loves you. But that’s from Lucy, not from me.”

“Yeah, I figured,” Lockwood said, and this time he did try to laugh but it turned into a wet, sticky cough. George silently grabbed a wad of tissues and held them out, waiting until his coughing subsided and he wiped his mouth clean. “Thanks.”

“Don’t mention it,” George said. He glanced over at the TV. “Well, I’ll leave you to your Doctor Who reruns. I’ll be up late studying, but I’m sure Mum is going to make you go to sleep in the next hour or two.”

“Fine with me, honestly.”

George offered him a slight smile before slipping out of the room. Lockwood leaned against the pillows and stared blearily at the TV. He had no idea what was going on with the episode, but he didn’t particularly care.

Anjuli brought him his next dose of antibiotics; he muscled down the giant horse pills with a grimace. They sat heavily in the pit of his mostly empty stomach and he tried not to think too much about it.

“Come on, let’s get you to the bathroom so you can brush your teeth and clean up a little bit,” Anjuli said. “I’ll get your pajamas for you. Can you walk?”

“Yeah, yeah, I can walk,” he said, although easing himself out of bed and getting his balance was a taller order than he anticipated. When he was under the covers he felt oppressively hot but without them he was freezing, and the room seemed to shift around him as he made the short walk down the hall. Walking also didn’t help the nausea intensifying in the pit of his stomach either.

He was able to change into his pajamas on his own, and splashing a little cold water on his face seemed to help at least momentarily- he felt a little more human. But then Anjuli put toothpaste on his toothbrush and pressed it into his hand, and everything started to spiral.

One second he was holding steady, leaning against the edge of the sink while he clumsily brushed his teeth, but his stomach tightened. He set his toothbrush down and closed his eyes, swallowing hard, but at that point he knew he was doomed.

Then things moved fast. He lurched towards the toilet, his vision going black, and threw up violently. Vaguely he felt Anjuli holding onto his arm, keeping him from dropping forward and striking his head. “You’re all right, Anthony, just breathe, it’s all right,” she was saying, but things did not feel all right, he was throwing up compulsively and he couldn’t catch his breath.

Eventually he didn’t have anything left to throw up and Anjuli helped him slump back against the wall, panting for breath. His vision was still dark and spotty, but the nausea had finally relented.

“Mum? What’s going on?”

“I think the antibiotics made him a little sick to his stomach. Can you get him a glass of water and a clean shirt, Georgie?”

His eyes were watering. “‘m sorry…”

Anjuli clicked her tongue, her eyes soft as she looked at him. “Oh, don’t be sorry, it’s all right,” she said. “Do you feel a little better now? Oh, I should have guessed that you weren’t feeling well, you were so pale.”

“I feel better,” he mumbled.

George crouched down on the floor next to him and pressed a plastic tumbler of water into his hand. “Lucy heard that over the phone, she's freaking out but I’ll tell her you’re okay,” he said. He looked at his mother. “He is okay, right?”

“He’s going to be fine,” she said firmly. “He’s adjusting to the new antibiotics, and once he gets some good sleep and the medicine has some time to work he’ll feel much better. Sit up a little, Anthony, let me help you.”

He allowed Anjuli to change him into a clean shirt that didn’t have vomit down the front, and George pulled him to his feet and helped him back down the hall to his room. “Don’t tell Lucy I threw up,” Lockwood said.

“I don’t know if I make that promise, you puke like a freight train.” 

“George , be nice.”

Lockwood rolled his eyes but he sort of smiled. “Tell her I love her.”

“Ugh. Gross. Now I’ll be the one to boke.”

Anjuli shooed George out of the room, then squeezed Lockwood’s arm. “All right, back to bed with you,” she said.

He obeyed. Anjuli turned off the TV and tidied up his nightstand as he tried to get comfortable against the pillows. “Thank you for…for everything,” he said. “I’m sorry I’ve been such a problem lately.”

“Oh, Anthony, you’re never a problem,” Anjuli said. She fell silent for a moment as she fussed with his sheets and blankets, not meeting his eyes. “I promised your mother that I would take care of you, if anything happened to her. We always thought that meant that…oh, she would be out of town, or she was injured at work, something like that. Not…”

Her voice trailed off. He looked down at the quilt she had tucked around him, biting his lip. “If your mama was here, she would be doing all the same things for you,” Anjuli said. “So if she can’t be here, then I’ll do it. Like I promised her.” There weren’t any wrinkles left to smooth out of his covers and she reached for his green blanket it instead, draping it over him, then kissed his forehead lightly. “Go to sleep. Your body will heal best if you sleep.”

“I will,” he said. “Thank you.”

She smiled at him and turned out the light. Sleep still evaded him for a while but eventually he drifted off, hugging his childhood blanket to his chest. His fever dreams never fully turned into nightmares, but they stayed hazy and unsettling, startling him awake more than a few times before he dropped back into unconsciousness.

Thankfully the nausea seemed to abate the next day, but he still barely ate, leery of repeating the events from the night before. Mostly he slept, obediently taking his antibiotics and paracetamol and drinking all of the water and tea that Anjuli kept bringing him. He still wasn’t well enough to help Lucy study that night, but he at least got the chance to talk to her while George held the phone. 

His progress was slow and steady. There was no way he could take his finals until after the holidays, but Anjuli helped him get his doctor’s notes in order and make those arrangements. He was also told, in no uncertain terms, that he was not going to be allowed to join the rest of the family for Christmas dinner when the time came. That he fought- all of George’s siblings (along with his sister in law and nieces and nephews) always came home for Christmas, and Mrs. Karim always outdid herself with cooking. Anjuli had to remind him that his stomach probably wouldn’t be able to tolerate much, but maybe, if he rest enough, she would allow him to rest on the couch instead of staying in bed. He still didn’t love that idea, but it was better than nothing and he reluctantly agreed. 

By the time finals week was over he was starting to feel a little more like himself, even though his fever hadn’t fully broken and his right side still throbbed and he was still coughing regularly. But he was feeling better enough to shower and change and tidy up a little bit before Lucy got home- and before Anjuli shooed him back to bed.

Nothing else seemed to matter when Lucy got there, though. He heard the front door open and close, and the chatter as George helped her carry her bags inside, and he felt like he was going to burst before he heard her quick footsteps on the stairs.

“Hey, you,” he said, grinning broadly as she ran into his room, and then he was laughing as she threw herself onto his bed and kissed him. “Ow, ow, gentle, Luce. Haven’t you heard, I’m an invalid now.”

“Shut up and let me have this,” she said between kisses. “God, I missed you.”

He hugged her tight, letting out a slow relieved breath. All felt right with the world again. “I missed you too. Just…hang on, I don’t want to cough in your face. And you probably shouldn’t kiss me like that, I don’t want to get you sick.”

“Oh, I don’t care, the show’s over and so are finals,” she said, kissing him again before adjusting to cuddle beside him. “Are you feeling better now?”

“Much,” he said, and he meant it.