chapter thirteen

The beginning of this chapter won't make any sense if you haven't read chapter 11 & 12, so make sure to do that!

Oliver froze. Ice poured into his veins, freezing every capillary, artery, and ounce of liquid blood in his body. He felt frigid.

"W-what?" he asked.

"Does my brother," Juno said slowly, "know you have a crush on him?"

Oliver forced himself to scoff. "Excuse me?"

"Do you need me to repeat it a third time?"

"I heard you," he snapped, sounding harsher than he intended. "I just don't know why you would assume that."

"Oliver," Juno drawled, pulling out a chair and sitting down on it lethargically, "I'm not sure if you know this, but I'm nineteen years old. I'm not dumb. I've seen a lot, and I pay attention. One of the things I've been frequently paying attention to is the way that you look at my dear brother."

Oliver spluttered. Did everybody see it except Carson himself? "I don't have a crush on Carson."

"So you keep saying," she sang lowly.

Like a command, Oliver narrowed his eyes. He was beginning to get a little irritated. "I think I would know if I had a crush on a guy," he lied.

"You do know, which is why you're getting nervous."

"You sound like a fucking therapist," he muttered under his breath, before raising his voice so she could hear. "I don't have a crush on him--we're just friends. We'll only ever be just friends." He spoke the last part with a tinge of sadness. "Believe me when I say that."

Juno opened her mouth to say something else, but Oliver walked past her, taking his phone with him, and left the room, taking a deep breath after he had closed the door. His eyes were shut tightly.

"Olly?" Carson asked, stumbling into the hallway. "Have you seen Juno--hey, are you okay?"

Oliver's eyes shot open, and he smiled tersely. "Yeah. Fine. Listen, I actually got a call from my parents. They want me home."

Carson pressed his lips together tightly. He could clearly tell that Oliver was lying. "Oh. Okay. Well... drive safe."

***

Oliver thought he was getting sick, which he didn't like one bit.

Nobody likes being sick, Oliver figured, no matter how many days of school you miss, but Oliver especially despised it. He didn't enjoy having to tiptoe around life so as to not worsen himself--having to miss out on opportunities, feel like death, to be stuck in bed and have to make up all the homework he was missing. He was going to go to school anyway, until his mother all but forced him to stay home--which was saying something, because she had always told him to "suck it up" when he was a child. Oliver swallowed, feeling a sting in his throat. He coughed and sniffled, but found himself only able to breathe out of one nostril. Dizziness banged around in his head, and Oliver blinked, trying to focus his vision. His jaw ached and pulsed with pain.

Oliver opened his nightstand and pulled out the case for his glasses. He didn't really need glasses--his vision was just barely below 20/20--but his vision kept blurring together into one big smudge, so he hoped it would help. He slid his glasses onto his face and ran a hand through his hair, feeling his fingers catch on the tangled curls. Oliver let out a series of coughs that reverberated in his chest, and leaned back against the headboard, closing his eyes.

He was feeling tiredness seep into his bones, slipping out of his mouth in shallow breaths and mixing with the icy air. He pulled up his sheets closer to his chest. Was it freezing, or was it just him? His eyes were beginning to flutter shut with exhaustion. While the stinging in the back of his throat increased, Oliver didn't have any energy to go down the stairs and take the medicine.

A fucking cold. Fall was his favorite season for a multitude of reasons, but getting sick wasn't one of them.

His head was about to slump down when a knock sounded on the door. Oliver jerked awake, blinking sleepily. There was a faint alarm going off in the back of his head--he knew that both of his parents were at work, but he couldn't bring himself to care.

"If you're a serial killer," he said, his voice stuffed up and nasally, "then can you put me out of my misery?"

A boyish laugh sounded from the other end, and Oliver tensed. No please, I beg, please let it not be who I think it is, he thought.

The door opened, and Carson was leaning in the entryway.

"Fuck," Oliver spat.

Carson raised an eyebrow, a smile still dancing across his beautiful features. "Hello to you too."

Oliver cleared his throat and winced when it left his throat burning. "Sorry, I just didn't think you would be here." He sniffed again, and then tilted his head to the side in confusion. "Wait, how did you get in here?"

"Celia told me you were sick and that she couldn't check up on you because she had some sort of AP Psych test. She gave me the keys to your house and told me to come over." He shrugged, "It's the end of the day, and I have an open block."

Oliver knew very well that Celia didn't take AP Psychology, because she hated the human mind with a passion. "Well then, how'd you find my room?"

Carson grinned. "I knocked on every door until I found yours. Did you seriously not hear me?"

"This may come as a surprise to you," Oliver drawled, "but I'm not exactly feeling one hundred percent."

Carson's eyebrows creased with worry as he kicked off the entryway. "Did you go to the doctor?"

"It's a cold, not pneumonia."

A mock look of impression crossed his face. "Wow, I didn't know you were a doctor."

"Since when did you get so sarcastic?" Oliver asked, feeling his mood lighten.

"Since I've hung out with you," Carson responded. He took a step closer to the bed and Oliver threw his arms out, making him stop in his tracks.

"Don't get any closer, I'll infect you."

"Don't worry, I haven't gotten sick in like, three years."

"Must be nice," Oliver grumbled.

Carson fucking Katsaros had to be perfect and have an amazing immune system. Of course he did.

"Have you taken any medicine?"

"Only about an entire bottle of Advil."

Carson scowled, an unusual look on his sunny features. "If that's not an exaggeration, then I'm taking you to the hospital and getting your stomach pumped."

"Would you believe me if I said it was an exaggeration, then?"

"Only if it's the truth. You're a terrible liar."

Oliver felt his eyelids lower a bit. He let out another series of coughs. "I take offense to that--I'm a fantastic liar."

"Then maybe it's just me," Carson suggested.

"There are a lot of things about you," Oliver blurted out, but it hadn't registered in his head that he had done it. He slid down in his bed and yawned, letting his eyes close.

Carson chewed on his lip, a wrinkle in between his brows. "What's that supposed to mean?" he asked, only to hear no answer from Oliver's sleeping figure.

***

Carson's capabilities did not extend to being a nurse.

Being friendly, sure. A lifeguard, maybe. A nurse? Yeah, he didn't know anything about that.

Carson huffed, eyes flickering around the room. Without realizing it, a grin had appeared on his face. Oliver's room was just so him, it was hard to imagine him living anywhere else. Posters of musical legends adorned his white walls, filling in any empty space. David Bowie, Prince, Michael Jackson, the Rolling Stones, the Beatles, and more. They were layered on over one another as if there wasn't enough room for all of them, tiny slivers of white wall peeking through. His black curtains were drawn, and his bed sheets were a palette of greys and blues and blacks. A dark dresser was set in front of the bed, a skateboard peeking out from underneath it. Different items of darkly colored clothing were strewn on the floor along with his standard pair of white converse. A guitar was leaning against the wall in one corner of the room.

Carson couldn't stop smiling. If anyone had seen his room, they would've assumed that Oliver fulfilled every stereotype whatsoever, but Carson knew that there was much more to him then that.

The smile was wiped off of his face when he realized that he was lingering in the silent bedroom like a creep. He looked over at Oliver, who had fallen asleep with his glasses on. The side of Carson's mouth twitched upwards. Carson didn't know when Oliver had started to wear glasses, but they fit his face in a geeky way. The glasses were black and large across his face, the temples getting caught in his curls. Carson tiptoed closer to him, gently pulling his glasses off and putting them on the nightstand. He quietly exited the room, running down the stairs. He stopped when he reached the landing.

Should he leave?

He thought it was weird to be in a person's house while they were sleeping, but Carson's heart tugged at the state Oliver was in. Purple bags hung below his eyes, a faint sheen of sweat shining across his forehead. His hair stuck up wildly in different directions, and little bits of stubble dotted his jaw, almost as if he was too sick to stand up and shave.

Carson frowned. Oliver had fallen asleep right there--he couldn't just be left alone. But, he hadn't exactly had any permission to stay. Chewing on his lip thoughtfully, he slid out his phone and thumbed out a quick text to Celia.

Carson: Oliver seems pretty sick...

Celia Orlov: Well that's why you're there.

Carson: He fell asleep. I'm not really sure if I should leave him alone or not. I don't want to invade his privacy, or anything.

Celia Orlov: You should stay with him!! I'll text his mom and let her know that you're taking care of him.

Carson: You have his mom's phone number?

Celia Orlov: You don't?

Carson: We're not exactly best buddies...

Celia Orlov: His mom can be a little much sometimes, but she's great. Anyway, I doubt Oliver would mind if you stay. You're friends, right? Why would he want you to leave?

Carson winced. They were friends--well, sort of, anyway. It was an unspoken rule that they didn't talk about what had happened. Carson was still pushing his thoughts away, and Oliver hadn't exactly demanded an answer. Until further notice, Carson was straight, and he and Oliver were friends.

Carson: Right. Of course. You're right--I'll stay.

He blew out a breath. Looks like he's the caretaker for the day.

---

A/N: And this, ladies and gentlemen, is my first slip up from the schedule. Sorry? To be honest, like Oliver, I too have been sick & been going to school & learning things that I don't understand. Usually, I finish my schoolwork sort of late, so I'm sorry for the late updates and deviation, but school has to come first, you know? I hope you don't mind.

Anywho, what do you guys think of this chapter? What are your thoughts, feelings, opinions, etc? Let me know what you're feeling-- I'd love to know! Also, tell me if there are any things you guys would like to see soon--I'd be really interested in that!

I feel like death. Death that has been driven over by a lawnmower a few times. Sadly, my pride will not allow me to stay home from school. My pride is pretty strong, but I don't have any dignity left anymore 🤷‍♀️

Hopefully (fingers crossed! I have an abundance of tests coming up) I will get a new chapter up soon. Thank you guys for sticking with me. I really appreciate it and it means the world.

Xoxo,

A Shadowhunter Wannabe,

herondaledevices <3