A Star for Baby (boyxboy)

Leo

oof

_____

Baby's eyes slowly slunk open to the sunlight.

He woke with an unusual feeling of warmth and contentment. He smiled, snuggling further into his blankets, but then hit something rather un-blanket like. His eyes popped wide open as he twisted around in bed.

Oliver.

Oliver lay asleep at his back, half spooning Baby. Baby let out a breath of air, contentment washing over him once more. He traced the warm lines of Oliver's face with his eyes. He was so goddamn attractive it killed Baby. Then the events of yesterday rushed back to him full force.

Oliver, crying on the phone. Oliver showing up at his house weak and small in a way Baby had never seen. Oliver puking in his toilet. Oliver whispering "can I sleep on your couch?" to which Baby had replied, "of course not, idiot. You can sleep with me." Oliver, Oliver, Oliver.

Baby sighed, feeling his heart pang in his chest. He knew what it felt like to lose a parent. He knew Oliver would be okay, but it was going to take a long time. What could Baby do to help? What did beautiful, kind, generic English majors need to cheer them up?

All of a sudden, Baby got that tickle in his throat. Oh shit, he was about to stop breathing. He quickly slid out of bed, careful not to wake Oliver. He hurried out of the room, and just in time. As soon as the door snapped shut behind him, Baby started coughing. He doubled over, stumbling to the bathroom. The coughing continued even as he leaned over the sink. Jesus, it felt like he was going to cough up a lung. His airway constricted terrifyingly, and Baby gave one huge hack. Suddenly, red splattered the sink. Baby froze.

Fuck.

He stared, coughing subsided, and swallowed. The taste of metal twanged the back of his throat. Baby bit his lip, and reached up to turn the water on. He watched as the blood swirled in the sink and started to disappear.

He couldn't think about it, Baby decided. Not now. Not with Oliver sleeping in his bed and kicked out of his home. Baby had been surviving this long, it wasn't like a day's difference would kill him. Besides, Oliver needed him. Oliver's troubles were more important right now than a little cough.

Baby stared at the last drops of blood in the sink. Maybe more than a little cough.

He cringed even at the thought, and shook himself out of it. It wasn't anything serious. It wasn't. Baby stood up and splashed some water on his face. He gargled and spit it out, ignoring the traces of blood.

Suddenly an idea popped in his head. He grinned. He knew how to make Oliver feel better.

*

Oliver rolled over, not wanting to wake up. The bed was soft, and smelled so nice. It smelled like Baby.

Shit, Baby.

Oliver reluctantly opened his eyes to an empty bed in an unfamiliar room. Hung on the walls were all sorts of band posters. Sheet music was strewn about the room. Oliver smiled at the image, but then hissed when that hurt his cheek. He gingerly reached up to touch it, knowing that a bruise had formed there. His dad had really done a number on him. Oliver groaned as the memories of yesterday flooded back to him. He didn't even want to think about it.

He flopped down onto the bed, but something crinkled under him. Oliver frowned in confusion and got up on his elbows to reach under himself. He came up with a piece of sheet music. At first glance it was an ordinary, printed piece of paper with notes on it. It looked like an excerpt of a longer song. But then Oliver's eyes trailed to the bottom of the paper where four lines of text were scrawled in messy, loopy handwriting.