"I told you," I huffed, shaking my head.

"Told me what?" Clayton asked, wrinkling his eyebrows.

"It wasn't the camping," Bryce declined. "It's just the Chemo."

"Bryce, you don't run a fever because of the Chemo," I declined. "You're sick."

"What are we talking about?" Clayton asked.

"You had one job!" I said, turning to glare at him. "Make sure Bryce stays healthy."

"I did the best I could," Clayton defended, holding his hands up in mock surrender.

"Well your best wasn't good enough."

"He's a big boy, he can take care of himself."

"He was on Chemo in the middle of the woods, you should've-"

"Can you two take this somewhere else?" Bryce questioned. "I'm trying to have a fever in peace."

I crawled into his bed next to him, placing a kiss on his burning forehead. "I'm sorry babe." I glanced up at Clayton. "I'm sorry that you have a halfwit for a best friend."

"For the last fucking time, it's not my-"

"Out!" Bryce ordered, pointing to the door. "Both of you."

I raised my eyebrows at him.

"Unless you two can control yourselves, you're going to need to leave," Bryce amended.

Clayton disappeared from the room.

"Looks like we know who the mature one is here," I sang.

Bryce just rolled his eyes, turning up the volume on his TV, which was currently blasting Hairspray for the thousandth time.

Clayton reappeared a few minutes later, tossing Bryce a cool rag. "Put this on your forehead."

Darn it.

"Looks like we know who the smart one is here," Clayton shot at me, with a smirk.

"Shut up."

"It's not my fault I actually put Bryce's needs before-"

"Can you please?" Bryce groaned, giving the two of us pointed looks. "I'm trying to watch my movie."

"Is it really even watching it anymore?" Clayton questioned. "You know the damn thing by heart."

"That's irrelevant. I'm tired, my head hurts, and I want some peace. So you two either need to figure it out or get out."

I glared at Clayton before snuggling up close to Bryce, focusing my attention on his overplayed movie.

"How was your beach trip?" Bryce questioned, as Clayton lied out across the foot of his bed, using Dawson as his pillow.

"Amazing," I gushed, a smile spreading across my face. "Everything I hoped it would be."

"How was running the camp by yourself on Friday?" Clayton questioned.

"Ran smoothly. We did an Art project in the afternoon, followed by indoor games and then a movie until the parents came. So ha."

"I promised Brian a dollar if he spilled his apple juice all over the floor more than once."

"You jerk!"

"Well did he?"

"Yes, like six times."

Clayton cracked up, and Bryce whacked him with a pillow.

Silence settled over the room for a few moments.

"Oh, and Mr. Larkin?" the teacher questioned on the movie. "Perhaps you'd like to share with the rest of the class Patrick Henry's immortal last words?"

"Kiss my ass?"

"I'd want those to be my last words," Clayton piped up. "Imagine how badass that would be. People forever ask, what were Clayton Johnson's last words? And you have to say kiss my ass."

This time I threw a pillow at him.

~*~

"Here, drink this," Regina advised, handing Bryce a mug of tea. "This is ginger tea, which would help."

"I don't like ginger tea," Bryce muttered, before taking a sip.

And then making a face.

Regina reached over and kissed his forehead. "It should help reduce the fever. Can you suffer through it?"

"I guess."

"Come on Dawson," Regina said, giving his collar a good tug.

He refused to budge.

"He won't go out mom," Bryce declined.

Dawson refuses to leave Bryce's side when he gets sick.

"The dog hasn't been out in hours," Regina said, wrinkling her nose. "I don't want him to have an accident."

"The dog doesn't shit on the carpet mom. If he needs to pee, he'll go."

"Bryce!" I said, reaching over and lightly whacking his arm.

He just shrugged.

"Drink your tea and check your attitude," Regina said, giving him a look before heading out of the living room and back towards her room.

"Drink this for me?" Bryce suggested, holding out the mug towards me.

"No sir. I'm not interested in getting sick, and I am interested in you getting better. So drink up."

He made a face, taking another sip of his tea. "I hate this stuff."

"Well man up."

"Don't tell me what to do."

I just rolled my eyes, chuckling as played with his XBOX remote, his game currently on pause.

"My head hurts," Bryce complained.

"I know dear. You've only told me six times in the past minute or so."

I stood up off of my position on the floor.

"Why don't you try closing your eyes?" I suggested, heading back towards his room and grabbing a pillow.

He did as I suggested, and I tucked a pillow behind his upright head as he continued to sip his tea.

"Now relax," I suggested, as I un-paused his video game.

He'll never know.

I didn't know what I was doing as I moved his character around on GTA. I've seen him play it thousands of times, but I don't know anything about video gaming.

Oh my God, someone is shooting at me.

What do I do, what do I do?

How do I make this guy run?

Crap, I died.

I glanced over at Bryce, who still had this eyes closed, a cool rag pulled across his face.

Good.

Somehow I walked out of a hospital, money disappearing from my supply.

That's good though. At least I regenerated.

I began to walk aimlessly around in circles, trying to figure out how this game works exactly.

"What are you doing?" Bryce asked me, after a few minutes of silence.

"Huh?"

"You're really quiet."

"I'm just chillin'."

He just hummed, sipping on his tea.

I managed to figure out how to steal someone's car, a giggle escaping my lips.

"You're up to something," Bryce stated.

"Sorry," I apologized. "Just read a funny thing on Twitter."

He didn't say anything, and I began to drive the car, trying to bite back my laughter.

I stole a car. I feel so bad. Maybe I should go return it? Is the guy still there?

Or maybe I should rob a store.

Can I even do that?

I parked the car on the side of the road, hopping out in front of a store.

I don't even know how to use my gun. But I do know how to punch.

I went inside, walking up to the guy behind the counter and punching him.

That didn't work out too well.

"Oh no, oh no," I muttered, running out of the store and looking around for my stolen car.

This was going south, very fast.

"You're playing GTA?" Bryce's voice deadpanned.

"I'm going to die!"

He chuckled.

And then I was shot.

"I give up on this stupid game."

I paused the game, glancing over at Bryce, who was smirking at me.

"I tried."

"You ruined my game."

"You only died twice."

"Twice? You killed me twice?"

I just smiled at him, making my way over to the couch and plopping down next to him. "How're you feeling?"

"Not so good."

"I wish you hadn't gone camping."

"Can I get a kiss?"

"I don't wish to get sick," I declined. "But Dawson will give you one."

"I don't want a Dawson kiss."

"Well then I can't help you."

The front door opened, and a few moments later Clayton appeared in the living room.

"Why are you always here?" I pouted.

"I could ask the same thing about you," Clayton stated. "How're you feeling?"

"Shitty."

"Swear jar," I whispered.

Bryce just rolled his eyes.

"So I guess that's a no on the party tonight then?"

My eyes widened, and I let out a groan.

I totally forgot about the party tonight.

"You guys can still go," Bryce offered.

I just shrugged.

I hadn't seen Bryce in a couple of weeks practically. Even though he was sick, I was enjoying spending some quality time with him.

So I could skip the party. Even though it was supposed to be the party of the summer.

"Anderson's going," Clayton commented, taking a seat in the armchair. "I'm supposed to pick him up."

"Isn't he 16 yet?" Bryce questioned.

"Yeah, but you have to have a car to drive."

"I'll stay here with you," I offered. "And you can teach me to play GTA."

Clayton laughed, tossing his head backwards. "You're going to need more than one evening to do that. And a lot more patience than what Bryce has."

"Attack," I whispered into Dawson's ear.

"That dog loves me."

"Will you take him out for me?" Bryce asked Clayton. "He won't leave my side, but I don't really feel up to it."

Clayton nodded, half-forcing Dawson to go outside with him.

I ran my fingers through Bryce's hair, and he laid his head on my shoulder.

I kissed the top of his head, accepting the fact that I was probably going to get sick. It's the inevitable fate of having a sick boyfriend.

I'm sure the same would go if I were sick. Though I probably wouldn't let him get sick, seeing as though he's on Chemo and all.

"I step outside for 30 seconds," Clayton commented, following Dawson back inside.

"I don't feel well," Bryce whined.

Clayton just rolled his eyes. "I have to run to the store for my mom before the party. Need anything?"

"Those little lollipops that look like bears but are actually throat lozenges," Bryce said, his head still buried in my shoulder.

Clayton let out a long sigh, clearly resisting the urge to roll his eyes. "You're serious?"

"Why wouldn't I be?"

He shook his head. "Fine."

"Thank you!" Bryce called after him.

Clayton muttered something incoherent, the sound of the front door closing behind him.

"You have throat lozenges in the cabinet," I reminded Bryce, as I continued to run my fingers through his hair.

"Yeah, but they're not in the shape of little bears."

~*~

"No," Bryce declined. "No, you have to shoot him."

"I can't shoot him. He didn't do anything to me."

"You're on a mission. You have to shoot him."

"That's so mean."

"That's part of the game babe."

I handed the controller to Bryce. "You shoot him."

He rolled his eyes, pausing the game. "Let's watch Hairspray."

"How did I know that's where this was going to end up?"

He checked his phone as I went back to his room to retrieve the movie.

"What's the matter?" I asked, plugging the movie into the DVD player in the living room.

"Clayton still hasn't texted me back."

"I bet he forgot."

"It's not even about my little bears anymore. Why didn't he text me back?"

"Because he's at a party." I kissed his cheek as I sat back down on the floor in our mess of pillows and blankets. "Relax babe, he'll text you after."

"He didn't text me before."

"You sound like a worried parent."

"Well maybe I am."

I took a sip of my Arnold Palmer, raising an eyebrow at Bryce. "What would you like me to do?"

Bryce let out a long sigh, flashing me an apologetic smile. "Sorry. I just don't feel well, and I guess it's making me a little cranky."

"You're allowed to be a little cranky with a 101 fever."

"Hey, it was 100.8 last time."

I laughed, shaking my head. "Oh, excuse me."

And then Bryce's facial expression changed, and he disappeared from the living room.

"Bryce?" I called out.

And then I heard the sound of him throwing up.

Oh.

I waited a few minutes, and then Bryce reappeared, collapsing on the floor.

"I'm sorry," I said, sitting down next to him and rubbing his back.

"I said that I didn't feel good."

"I know," I said, lying down next to him.

The movie started up, and Bryce pulled me in close to him, resting his chin on a pillow as the opening scene came up.

I don't even know why we bother plugging in the movie anymore. I'm sure that Bryce could act out the entire thing.

I could feel my eyes slipping shut as the movie continued to play, Bryce's grip around me relaxing as well.

I could sleep like this every night, snuggled up next to Bryce Harrison.

And then there was a knock on the front door.

My eyes shot open, as did Bryce's.

His mom wasn't here. She'd gone into the office, promising that she was just a phone call away if we needed her.

"Did you hear that?" Bryce whispered.

I nodded, just as another knock came on the door.

Bryce pushed himself up off the floor, going to investigate.

I tip-toed to the door behind him, my heart pounding in my chest.

Who was at the door at 11:42 PM?

"It's about damn time," Steven huffed, as Bryce opened the door.

"What are you doing at my house?" Bryce groaned.

"We have a situation."

I felt a little more awake than I had just a second ago.

"What kind of situation?" Bryce asked.

"Well I tried asking Clayton where he lived so I could get him home, but he kept giving me your address-"

"Why are you driving Clayton's car?"

"He's basically past out in the passenger seat. He got wasted at the party and-"

I felt my heart practically stop in my chest; Bryce's eyes widening.

Clayton did what?

"I told you there was something wrong," Bryce snapped at me, before following Steven out to the car.

Now wasn't the time or place.

But he'd pay for that later.

Bryce and Steven helped support Clayton, bringing him to the front door.

"Take him," Bryce ordered, looping Clayton's arm around my shoulder before disappearing inside.

"Where's he going?" Steven asked me.

Probably to throw up.

"Come on," I said, with a sigh.

Clayton was only half-coherent, and I'm not even sure he knew where he was or what was happening.

"Let's take him to the guest bedroom," I said to Steven.

We passed by the bathroom in the hallway, and Bryce was indeed puking.

"Gross," Steven said, his nose wrinkling.

I just rolled my eyes.

I used my foot to kick the handle open for the guest bedroom, the two of us getting Clayton onto the bed.

We left, and I flipped off the lights behind us, closing the door.

Bryce joined us the living room, biting his bottom lip as the three of us stood in silence.

"So can someone explain to me what's going on?" Steven finally asked.

"No," Bryce deadpanned.

I elbowed him. Hard.

"You'll have to ask Clayton," Bryce amended. "Another day."

Steven let out a frustrated sigh. "Well how do you expect me to get home?"

"Drive?"

"With what car?"

Right.

And then Bryce did something I never expected him to do. He went out into the foyer and came back with the keys to his car.

"I swear to God Anderson, if you fuck up my car, I'll end your life," Bryce said, handing his keys to Steven.

Steven just stared at Bryce.

As did I.

"Okay," Steven agreed, slowly. "Dude, you drive a BMW. Do you realize that?"

"Don't make me second-guess my decision."

Steven slowly took the keys, his eyes still wide. "I'll bring it back tomorrow."

"You better."

And then he left.

"Are you insane?" I whisper-shouted, as the front door closed.

"Well it wasn't like I was letting you leave," Bryce reasoned. "And I'm not using the car anytime soon. And I wasn't kidding, if he does anything to my car, a scratch, a dent, a chip in the paint, I'll run him over with it."

I just shook my head, picking up my pillow from the floor.

"Where are you going?"

"To the back room," I informed him.

"Why?"

"Because you snapped at me earlier."

"I was upset," Bryce complained. "Don't leave."

"I was worried too," I informed him. "As much as Clayton pisses me off, I don't want to see him like that. And it wasn't my fault."

He wrapped his arms around me, pulling me close to him. "I'm sorry, okay? No, it's your not your fault. And I'm sorry I made you feel that way." He kissed the top of my head before releasing me. "I just wish I knew why. Why did he go out and get plastered tonight?"

"Maybe he just got caught up at the party?" I suggested, still hugging the pillow to my chest.

Bryce shook his head, pressing his lips together. "Clayton doesn't drink to party. He drinks to forget."

I furrowed my eyebrows, tilting my head to the side. "What do you mean?"

Bryce stared at me for a few moments, chewing on his bottom lip.

"You don't have to-"

"Clayton started drinking at a young age," Bryce started, cutting me off. Probably before he could change his mind. "Because of Clyde."

His biological dad.

"And he'd do it to forget," Bryce continued. "He figured out that if he drank just enough, it gave him the ability to forget for a little while."

The classic by-the-book case of an alcoholic.

"But, you know, you build up a tolerance to alcohol. So he'd need to drink more to get the same effect," Bryce continued. "And then he was doing it practically all the time. Morning, afternoon, evening, all the time. Just to forget. And that's when I figured it out."

"What'd you do?" I asked, quietly.

"I asked him about it. He denied it. A couple of weeks went by, and then I did something that Clayton still doesn't know about to this day."

I raised my eyebrows and Bryce was quiet for a few moments as he scratched Dawson behind the ears, chewing on his bottom lip.

"I told Taylor," Bryce admitted, glancing over at me. "Clayton thinks it was bad luck on his part that this parents caught him. But they knew."

"You did what a good friend should do."

"I don't regret it," Bryce declined. "I just feel shitty that he doesn't know."

"Why don't you tell him?"

"Because it was so long ago now, it feels irrelevant." He let out a long sigh. "His parents, fuck."

"What about them?"

Bryce just picked up his phone, typing out a text and sending it. "They like for Clayton to come home after a party. And they don't really go to sleep until he does. Two years sober and they're still super protective."

Well, it wasn't two years sober anymore.

"He's going to be..." Bryce trailed off, but I picked up his drift.

When Clayton woke up tomorrow, he was going to be in for quite the shock.

~*~

"Coffee?" I offered to Bryce.

Between the two of us, we hardly got any sleep last night.

Bryce was up half the night puking his insides up. And I was too worried to sleep.

My second sleepless night over Clayton Johnson. What is this world coming to?

He shook his head.

"Would you like me to make you some tea?" I offered.

"I think I'd puke it back up."

Possibly.

"I think the worst of it might be over," I said, with a half-smile

But I wasn't too sure of that.

I sat on the couch, my legs crossed and the TV blaring the morning news.

Regina had been home this morning to check up on Bryce, and then had gone back out to pick up a prescription that his doctor had called in, as well as a few other ingredients for some home remedies.