Page 21 of Constantly Cotton
“Could you… I mean, I’m going to be asleep anyway. But could you sit with me for a minute?” Because suddenly hejust couldn’t. He remembered Cotton using those words, and they came back to haunt him now.
“You want me to sit with you?”
His eyes were closed now, and he couldn’t find any other way to ask. But he managed to free his hand from under the covers and hold it out, waiting until Cotton’s weight depressed the side of the bed, and Cotton’s grip—warm and a little moist, probably from when he was flushed and tearful—found his own.
“Yeah,” he mumbled. “Thank you. Stay for a minute. Stay.”
“Sure.”
Sleep crept up on him with the stealth of a sunset, but Cotton’s hand in his kept the chill away. He felt a soft kiss on his temple, and he didn’t worry about why this beautiful, battered angel would kiss him, or if it was right or wrong. He only smiled a little and allowed the tide of sleep to pull him under.
Well, That Was Unexpected….
COTTON YAWNEDand wandered around the tiny kitchen. What was he doing again?
Oh. Yeah. Shit. Coffee. Cream. Ice.
Blargh.
It was after one in the afternoon, and he could barely get his shit together. Finally—finally—Jason had managed six hours with only a low-grade fever. His bandages had looked cleanly bloody and not infected, and the tension level around the apartment had gone from Defcon 5 to Defcon 1.
And to celebrate all of that good healing, Cotton had gotten to sleep for a whole six hours, and his body couldn’t seem to handle all that good rest, because even though he’d woken up at eight, worked out, and showered, he was still operating at diminished capacity.
God, he could sleep for a week.
As he bumbled around the kitchen and tried to figure out how to deal with the reusable K-Cup pod so they didn’t go through all the plastic in the world, he thought about the strange dissociative feeling of exhaustion that was swamping him.
It seemed to have something to do with relief.
It was like he’d been so worried, so amped with anxiety for Jason’s well-being, that once some of the danger had passed, it was like he’d been the sick one, and he needed to catch up.
His musing was cut short when he hit the coffee cup against the sink with a clatter and swore, checking for cracks and working fiercely towake up.
“Dammit,” he muttered. This coffee cup—unlike the motley assortment of plates and silverware that sort of lived in the apartment—was actuallyCotton’s.It had been a Christmas present from Dex, who tried to give all the Johnnies guys Christmas presents, particularly if they weren’t part of their families anymore.
The year he’d given Cotton this cup, it had been the only gift Cotton had received.
And—oh shit.
“Goddammit!” There was a crack, down the side of the cup. Even as he examined it, the cup separated from the handle and crashed to the counter, where it gave up the ghost and disintegrated into eleventeen pieces, and he felt stupid, tired tears burn in his eyes.
“Cotton?”
Cotton looked up from his contemplation of the shattered coffee cup to see Jason stumble into the kitchen, in his boxer shorts and looking out of it.
“Hey,” he mumbled, frowning. “What are you doing out of bed?”
“I heard a ruckus,” Jason told him. “What happened?”
“I broke a cup.” He shrugged, feeling stupid. “It was a gift from a friend, and I’m crazy tired, and never mind. Let me clean it up, and it’ll be—”
“Hey,” Jason murmured, his hand on Cotton’s bicep comforting even if it was too warm. “What’s wrong?”
Cotton tried to shake it off—the hand, the comfort, everything—but Jason was standing so close. He’d had his own shower the night before, and he smelled good. Sleepy warm man and somebody’s expensive soap. Probably Curtis’s, he thought in distraction. Curtis had good taste in smells.
“It’s nothing,” he said weakly. “I’m tired, and stupid things are getting to me….” His voice warbled, and he hated himself. “I swear, I’m not fragile!”
And there you go. The adolescent pitch that screamed, “I amso delicate right now.”
