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The storm outside was growing louder and louder, pouring until a bit of rainwater had even begun to spill into the tent. The howling winds and restless thunder kept both Adda and Worshipper awake. Being completely selfless when it came to the well-being of Adda, he’d given up all of his blankets and most of his jackets to the other, claiming he didn’t mind the harsh climate. Skeptically, Adda eventually accepted the items, opening his arms in an invitation for Worshipper to get under the blankets with him.
Later in the night, after ensuring that Adda was fully asleep, Worshipper got up and made his way out of the tent. He sat in the rain, looking up at the clouds and feeling as each of the cold droplets of water pressed against his face. Each bead of water kissed his scars until he was soaking wet. It was a coping mechanism of sorts—immersing himself in something uncomfortable so that he’d forget about his feelings and the predicament the world found itself in. He listened to the sound of thunder and watched as a distant flash of lightning struck down a tree. Storms had become far more frequent since the deity had made itself known, as expected. Shit, he thought, I’ll have to change clothes now.
Sighing, he stepped into the tent and removed his jacket, throwing it onto a makeshift clothing rack that he and Adda had forged a few days prior. He trusted that Adda would stay asleep, so he removed his shirt without standing behind the clothing rack. As Worshipper slipped on his new, dry shirt, he shivered. It was probably just because of the cold breeze, but a part of him couldn't help wondering if standing out in the rain would have a longer-lasting impact on him.
After changing his clothes, Worshipper slid back under the blankets with Adda, shivering despite the warmth around him. It never felt like enough, no matter how close he pressed himself against Adda. His face flushed, unbeknownst to himself, as he curled up further against Adda and tugged the blankets toward himself. His breathing shallowed, finding it harder to take deep breaths for some reason. He could still breathe, but it was limited and weak. Subconsciously, Adda must have noticed. He pulled Worshipper closer, burying his nose in the other’s honey ginger hair.
Eventually, Worshipper was pulled into the soft embrace of sleep, his breathing evening out. He dreamt unpleasantly that night, his mind shifting through almost every terrible memory he’s ever had and somehow making some of its own that were worse than what he’s actually experienced. He dreamt of the cult and the first time he’d gotten a strike, he dreamt of the day they’d burned that horrible brand into his skin, and worst of all, he dreamt of the day he planned to leave Adda. At some point, probably around 2-3 AM, he woke up in a cold sweat. He was trembling, incredibly warm, but all too cold at the same time. Willing himself to fall back asleep, he clenched his jaw and pulled away from Adda.
I’ve never needed anyone before, I won’t need them now. He thought to himself, Besides, this is just a fever. I’ve dealt with so much more all on my own. I don’t need him.
By the time morning rolled around, Worshipper still did not feel better. His body ached, and every move felt like being hit with a 50-lb weight, yet he persisted. They would have to make another long journey today, and on a mission like this, there was no room for sickness. Oftentimes, he woke up before Adda, and this time was no different. Reluctantly pulling himself out of bed, he headed out of the tent and started up a campfire. He’d make oatmeal.
His shirt clung to his skin uncomfortably, making an already irritating situation worse. The heat of the fire at least cleared his sinuses a bit, allowing him to appear much healthier by the time Adda groggily got up and headed out of the tent. He always wore the same-looking clothes to bed every day; a black T-shirt and sweatpants, sometimes shorts. He was always weirded out by the way Worshipper just slept in whatever he'd worn the previous day.
“G’morning.” Adda yawned, moving to sit by the fire. “What’s for breakfast..?” he leaned his head on Worshipper’s shoulder, staring blankly at the boiling pot dangling over the campfire. Worshipper opened the lid, allowing Adda to peer inside and see the oatmeal. He was avoiding talking. He had tried to earlier and learned that his voice was absolutely wrecked. If he tried to talk right now, Adda would most definitely find out he was sick. If Adda found out he was ill, he would force them to stay put for the day to take care of Worshipper’s fever. They couldn't afford to stay back for a day, they needed to push forward.
“Aren’t you going to change? You’ve been wearing those clothes since last night.” Worshipper sheepishly nodded, getting up and entrusting that Adda would keep an eye on the fire. Adda eyed him suspiciously, curious about why he wasn’t talking. He had also noticed that the other felt a bit warm, but he was always like that—-warm—-so he brushed it off as nothing. Maybe it was worth noting.
In the tent, Worshipper nearly collapsed. His body had been crying out for a break and he’d only barely had a chance to give it one. Luckily, he stumbled towards the inflatable mattress and was able to use it to cushion his fall. ‘Have to.. Change..’ He reminded himself, struggling to get off of the bed. Once he finally made his way to the clothing rack, he pulled off his now dry coat and some dark brown pants. After using all his energy to change, he sluggishly dragged himself out of the tent again, forcing his face to form a proud and cocky smile the way he usually presented himself.
“Took you long enough.” Adda murmured as he handed Worshipper a bowl of oatmeal. He’d finished up the meal while the other had gone off to change. Greatfully, Worshipper accepted the bowl, taking a seat a little further from Adda this time. He couldn't afford to spread his infection to the other man. Adda shot him a quizzical look, to which Worshipper responded with his usual playful grin. Adda rolled his eyes and spooned a heap of oatmeal into his mouth, his cliff-faced expression never changing. Worshipper narrowed his gaze, giving Adda another teasing glance
Inside, Worshipper’s body was slowly breaking down on him. It ached more and more as time went on and he had to stifle a rough, wet cough every few minutes. Adda was starting to notice, he knew he was. Luckily, Worshipper was very experienced in acting perfectly fine. He was good at playing this game. Clearing his throat, he spoke up, “Today we should head further North. If we take minimal breaks, we should reach around what used to be [REDACTED].”
“Then we’re almost there.” Adda mused, a ghost of a smile making its way to his lips. He directed his gaze to the floor, pursing his lips as he thought about the rest of the way to the safe land. The conditions of the world were getting worse, the storms were coming harder and the earthquakes were more frequent. The flames were getting bigger and the diseases were spreading like wildfire. Adda was almost entirely sure the sole reason he hadn't caught deathly ill yet was because he was travelling with Worshipper; a boy God would never dare harm directly. He clenched his fists, his thoughts suddenly interrupted by a curt sneeze. Shit, he thought, I spoke too soon. He’s sick, isn’t he?
“Ah.. Excuse me.” Worshipper quietly apologized, pressing his hands into his lap in embarrassment. Illness was always looked down upon in the cult, it was seen as God punishing you for something you had done. It was shameful. He knew now that if those beliefs were true, he’d be on the brink of death with disease; he had much to atone for. Adda looked up from the floor, wearing that same deadpan expression as always. Nothing seemed to faze him, sometimes it kind of scared Worshipper. He uttered a small ‘bless you’ and went back to picking at the oatmeal.
By lunch time, they had travelled about 13 miles since breakfast. Usually, they were able to travel much further, but something seemed to be slowing Worshipper down. Adda knew exactly what it was, he knew Worshipper was sick, but he also knew that no matter what he said, Worshipper would go on anyway. It would be a futile effort to try and get the other boy to rest for a day. He started questioning his choices around the 11th mile when Worshipper had started to seem like he’d been run over with a truck.
“Hey, Felix? Are you okay?” Adda stopped in his tracks, turning to face Worshipper. He tended to use a different name for Worshipper each day, since that’s what the other boy seemed to prefer. Today he decided on Felix for him. Worshipper cocked his head to the side, giving him a curious smile before taking a step closer and tousling Adda’s neatly kept hair.
“Don’t you worry, my dear partner. I’m perfectly fine.” He grinned wider, trying his hardest to keep up the act just long enough until Adda dropped his suspicion and kept walking. It was like trying to sing a crescendo while running out of breath, and unfortunately for Worshipper, he didn't have very good breath control. The last thing he saw before blacking out was Adda’s usual expression shift to a worried, panicked one. He saw his eyes widen and his mouth open slightly, enough to let out a small gasp before rushing to catch him.
The next few hours were a blur. He faded in and out of consciousness inconsistently, confused and disoriented. He remembered during one of his conscious episodes—-or, looking back on it, maybe he was dreaming—-he saw his old friend, No. 94, sitting at his bedside and smiling at him. He couldn't see her face clearly but he could immediately tell who she was by the daisy settled in her hair. She always wore it, it was her signature piece. At some point, they had matching ones. He remembered calling out to her, reaching out for her hand, but before he could grab it he fell unconscious again. When he woke up again, she was no longer there.
By the time he woke up for good, he was lying on a cot in a quickly set-up tent, dazed and listening to the sounds of another storm raging outside. He let his head loll to the side, staring absently at Adda as if he were looking through him. “G’morning.” Worshipper murmured, trying to force a small grin. He was greeted by Adda jumping out of his seat with an irritated expression, slamming his fist against the other’s chest. “Easy there, I’m not the best at breathing right now~”
“You idiot.” Adda huffed out under his breath before continuing again, louder this time, “What were you thinking? I knew you were sick but I thought if you were ignoring it like that, it wouldn't have been that bad. I don’t know what I was thinking, trusting you to have any sense of self-preservation.” He lightly whacked Worshipper on the head, causing the other boy to wince and bring a hand to his head in pain. Adda’s expression faltered slightly before signing again. “Sorry.”
“It’s fine.” Worshipper grinned through clenched teeth, trying not to let himself get too annoyed. He’d been through this before. He always got angry and violent when he was sick; it was a defense mechanism, but he couldn't afford to lose himself right now. Not with Adda, not with this man who was oh, so much like her.
Adda’s gaze softened as he noticed this, wanting to do something to allow Worshipper a sense of ease, but he wasn't sure what he’d be comfortable with. He considered reaching out to pet the other’s hair, but with his past, he’d likely lash out if someone tried to touch him while he was in such a vulnerable state. He reached out his hand halfway, offering Worshipper to hold it if he wanted to. He didn't really expect him to, he had a habit of avoiding affection when he was ‘weak’ like this, as if to prove he didn't need it. As expected, Worshipper turned away from the hand being offered, not even bothering to look at Adda anymore.
“Do you.. Need anyth—”
“No.” Worshipper quickly interrupted, his voice sharper than usual. He bit his lip, slightly regretting the tone he used. He couldn't see Adda’s expression, but he chose to believe the other boy brushed it off, just like he did with everything else life had to throw his way. He coughed into his sleeve, his free hand finding its way to his pocket and clutching onto the cloth buried inside. It was an unfinished gift from No. 94, one he often used to regulate himself. He hated that he needed it. With a shaky breath, he closed his eyes and drifted off to sleep again.
Adda pursed his lips, switching out the rag lying across Worshipper’s head. Will you ever stop putting up an act around me? He dropped his head into the other’s lap, his countenance softening into an expression he never showed anyone—-worry. He always tried to get Worshipper to let his guard down around him, but he never seemed to do the same in turn. Of course, neither did Worshipper. The two kept up a closed-off front around each other with an underlying, reluctant air of care around them.
Worshipper was back in that familiar in-and-out-of-consciousness state; he’d be dreaming of No. 94, blink, and all of a sudden Adda had taken her place beside him. They resembled each other so much. The same raven hair, brown eyes, inexpressible face, and a kind yet quiet personality; they were basically the same person. He supposed that was why he had grown such a liking towards Adda, he was just looking for No. 94 in him. He didn't have to look very hard with the way Adda acted. He wouldn't be surprised if he’d called out to Adda by No. 94’s name—-or, one of her names—-during one of his conscious/unconscious episodes.
“Mary..?” Worshipper called out, reaching towards Adda, dazed and confused. Adda shifted his gaze towards the other with a nettled expression, tightening his grip on the sheets.
“Which one of your girlfriends am I supposed to be now?” He bit back a snarl, turning around to stir something Worshipper couldn't see. Worshipper rubbed the sleep from his eyes, sitting up and staring at Adda as he tried to process who he was.
“..You’re not..” Worshipper muttered, grimacing as he realized what he had said right before. Shit. His expression quickly switched to a defensive and dangerous one as he noticed Adda reaching for him. “Don’t touch me!” He shouted, lashing out and backing up against the wall, raising his arm protectively, his other hand wrapping fighting around the dagger in his garter holster. “I’ll kill you… if you do..” He looked like a scared animal with wide eyes and a vicious snarl
“Relax, I’m trying to help you.” Adda put his hands up in surrender, sighing and leaning back against the chair. “I was gonna take your temperature.” Worshipper only narrowed his gaze at this, taking a shaky breath and lowering his arm. He didn't want the other’s help. He didn't need it and he wouldn't take it.
“Give up on helping me, I won’t accept it”.
“Why are you being so stubborn? First you pass out on me, then you call me a bunch of girls’ names, and now you’re acting like I’ve betrayed you and plan to do it again!” Adda huffed, pushing himself up from the chair and shouting at Worshipper. This only served to provoke him more, causing him to lash out in turn, which caused a fight to break out between the two boys. It probably would have gone on forever were it not interrupted by a rough coughing fit that nearly suffocated Worshipper. Adda immediately forgot all about their argument at the sight of his friend, doubled over and coughing up blood. Even after he finished coughing, he stayed close to the ground, slumping against the wall and resting his head on his knees. “Sorry.” Adda mumbled, reaching out to rub Worshipper’s back but quickly deciding against it.
“No need.” Worshipper confirmed, biting his lip and coughing—-softer this time—-into his fist. Adda gave him a soft glance and offered his hand. A reminder that he was always there, no matter how far Worshipper pushed him. With a reluctant sigh, he leaned against Adda. At first, it was stiff and clearly forced, but after a while, he melted into the touch. Adda was surprised at the jump from snarling at even the thought of being touched to completely allowing himself to lean against the other. He glanced at the blood on the floor, then gazed back at Worshipper. That blood had come from him, from his lungs. That couldn't be good.
After a few minutes of silence, Adda took a deep breath and spoke again, stern but gentle, “I know you don’t like the idea of being vulnerable, but please, let me take care of you this once. I promise I’ll never bring it up again.” Without turning to look at Adda, Worshipper nodded and gave a small ‘okay’. They continued on in silence for a few moments until eventually, Worshipper fell asleep again. Adda took the opportunity to clean up the blood and make some food for when the other woke up. He moved Worshipper back to the cot, carrying him bridal-style, and then rolled up his sleeves and got to cleaning.
It wasn't that hard to clean up the mess since it was relatively fresh and hadn’t had time to soak into whatever material tents were made of. He mixed some of the rainwater collected in a bucket with vinegar and applied it to the soiled area. After he finished, he washed his hands and headed to the makeshift kitchen area. Normally, Worshipper would cook since his meals tasted better—-to Adda, at least—-but he was currently incapacitated. Adda didn't mind returning the favor of cooking every once in a while, and whenever he did, he tried to make the best meals he could. Tonight was no exception.
During that slumber, Worshipper didn't experience the half-conscious/conscious back-and-forth he’d been experiencing for the past few hours. He stayed fully asleep the entire time, not even dreaming. It was peaceful and exactly what he needed. When he woke up, he was greeted by the warm aroma of soup. Weakly, Worshipper sat up and walked towards the kitchen, leaning against the table, and decided to watch Adda cook. He didn't say anything, just observed. When Adda finished the soup, he poured a bit into a bowl and turned around with the bowl in his hands. He jumped at the sight of Worshipper behind him, not expecting to see the other at all.
“When did you wake up?” Adda exhaled, handing Worshipper the bowl of soup. Worshipper only shrugged, gently sipping the broth while sitting on the floor, completely disregarding the table right beside him. Adda followed his lead, taking a seat on the floor and launching into a conversation about nothing in particular. Usually, Worshipper was the one who filled the silence, but since he wasn’t in the best shape right now, Adda would fill all his roles in their dynamic. It was definitely unusual and strange to act a part he had no experience playing, but he made it work. Worshipper seemed to agree.
After the meal, the two boys went back to bed, not falling asleep but just lying there and talking about whatever came to mind. It seemed to take Worshipper’s mind off his illness, so Adda kept it going. Worshipper was much more silent than usual, it almost scared Adda. The ginger usually never went more than 5 minutes without talking unless something serious had happened, in which case sometimes he would speak very minimally for a couple of days. After a while, Worshipper noticed that Adda had fallen asleep, since the noise had faded out.
“Thank you.” He murmured, hesitantly reaching out to grasp the other’s wrist. He lay on the opposite side of the cot yet never let go of Adda’s wrist, wanting to hold onto a fraction of him despite keeping distance. After a while, he fell asleep too, the coughing finally subsiding enough to get a good rest. In his sleep, he curled up beside Adds again, tangled in each other’s arms. They always seemed to end up like that, no matter how far apart they slept. They both pretended to be annoyed by it, but secretly, it was comforting. It was like the universe itself was promising they would stay together. Maybe they would, but that was something to deal with later. Right now, all that mattered was that they were safe in each other’s embrace.
“Good night, Adda.”