twenty six ;
b r o o k s

BROOKS FELT LIKE SHIT.

And to make matters worse, he didn't even have his phone to distract him. His parents had returned home on Sunday evening to find the house a wreck, from the ravages of the party the day before. Adam had been too hungover to get off his ass to clean it, Brooks had been feeling too crappy at that point to even consider it, and Inkeri was in Finland.

Amanda and John flipped at the mess. Like, seriously flipped their shit. After a lot of yelling and flying objects and angry words, which really hadn't helped with his headache, they'd grounded both Adam and Brooks, as well as taking their phones away as punishment. Never mind that Brooks had absolutely no say in the party, forget even wanted it to happen; his parents had punished him regardless as if it was all his fault.

And then, because he was nothing if not unlucky as hell, he'd ended up with the flu.

He'd been pretty much camped out in his bed for the past three days, surviving off cereal so he didn't have to cook anything with his bathroom thankfully a couple steps away, but he figured he had to actually venture into the kitchen for something more nutritious even though the thought of eating made him feel even more sick. He didn't even have Inkeri's homemade comfort food to make him feel better, and it didn't really help that he couldn't even cook an omelette without burning it.

He crawled out of bed, trying not to upset his unsteady stomach by moving too fast, and pulled on about ten jumpers because he was fucking freezing. He then dragged his aching body down two flights of stairs, which protested the entire way, and found Adam already in the kitchen. He must have just gotten back from school, because he was still in his uniform and had thrown his bag down beside the table.

"Oh," he said, glancing up from his book at Brooks. "You're still alive. Barely," he added, eyeing up his undoubtedly sorry state. If he looked anywhere near as bad as he felt, then he must have looked pretty terrible.

"Thanks," Brooks muttered, his voice rough and scratchy from too much coughing. "Your concern is touching."

"Whatever."

Brooks trudged over to the fridge and peered inside for something to eat. There was literally nothing in there that didn't make him feel nauseous. Weren't you supposed to eat mushroom soup or something like that when you were ill? He didn't know how to make mushroom soup. Usually, Inkeri made him Finnish food when he didn't feel well and was probably the only one who was actually comforting. Brooks missed her.

Brooks left the fridge after deeming it useless and poured himself a glass of water. He managed a couple of sips before pressing the cool surface to his flushed face. After a couple of seconds of consideration, he upended the glass over his head. "What?" he said defensively, at Adam's have-you-lost-your-mind stare. "The water's refreshing. And soothing, too."

"The fever's made you delirious," Adam said, shaking his head. "Just make sure you don't come anywhere near me while you're all infectious and gross. It's bad enough I have to put up with Reed."

Brooks, who'd closed his eyes to enjoy the cold trickle of water down his temples, snapped them back open to stare at Adam. "W-what?" he said nervously. "Um, what about Reed?"

He tried not to think too much about Reed, or the bizarre fact that he'd taken a break from hating his existence to kiss him. He'd just deal with it the same way he dealt with all his problems; ignored it until it went away, and if it didn't, he'd just run away from it. It seemed to have worked pretty well for him the past seventeen years of his life.

"Yeah," Adam said offhandedly, not seeming to notice anything off in Brooks' tone. "He's just as disgusting as you are, with the flu. Same thing that you have."

His tone was indifferent, but Brooks almost choked on his drink. Adam sent him a strange look, one of his many, but Brooks ignored him as he quickly set his glass down. Same thing that you have. Brooks had only started feeling ill after he'd kissed Reed, and apparently, the same could be said for Reed. The chances were very high Reed had passed it on to him, or vice versa.

What if Adam managed to connect the dots? Figure out what had actually happened?

But Adam was looking down at his book again, far more interested in whatever was on the pages than their conversation. In fact, he seemed to have entirely forgotten about the conversation. Brooks didn't get a chance to worry anymore about it when the doorbell went off, high and shrill throughout the house.

Adam didn't even look up at him. "Aren't you going to get that?"

"Me?" Brooks said indignantly, coughing as he did so, only proving his point. "You said it yourself, I'm contagious. Why don't you get it?"

"Why don't you shut up and do what I say?"

Brooks scowled at him, but it wasted due to the fact that Adam wasn't even looking at him. "You're a dickhead," Brooks told him, although the conviction in his voice was weakened by the fact he sounded like an asthmatic eighty-year-old thanks to his sore throat. Guess that's just what he'd sound like in the future when he was old and wrinkly.

He headed towards the front door and wondered who could be calling. It wouldn't be door-to-door salesmen, because his mother had terrified off the one woman who had dared to venture here and sell something three years ago. No others had come since. It couldn't be his parents either, seeing as they both had a key. It was probably just one of Adam's friends, having forgotten something from the party. Brooks had had to deal with a bunch of those over the past couple of days.

He pulled open the door with a sigh. "Look, if you left anything here just go straight to the..." He abruptly trailed off, the words drying up in his mouth. His heart leapt into his throat as he stared into a pair of familiar chocolate brown eyes. "Hale?"

A sense of deja vu swept over him. It was exactly the same thing that had happened when Brooks turned up at Bellamy's house, only the roles had been reversed and they'd switched who was on which side of the door. Hale was still in his uniform, his tie absent from the ensemble as usual, and he looked so strangely out of place on Brooks' doorstep. Out of place in the best way possible, with his casually mussed up black hair and dark eyes, better than anything in this house.

Brooks was suddenly painfully aware of just how shitty he must have looked, feverish and pale with messy hair that hadn't been washed in days. Not to mention he probably had shadows around his eyes from lack of sleep. In comparison to Hale, who could have woken up looking like a model, he must have looked like a drowned rat. A miserable, sickly drowned rat.

As if reading his thoughts, Hale blurted out, "You look like shit."

Brooks laughed, breaking off into a cough. "Yeah...I figured as much," Brooks admitted, his already warm cheeks turning even hotter. The one upside to the fever was that his face was already flushed, so it would be impossible to tell when he blushed.

Well, every cloud had a silver lining.

"No, seriously, Brooks," Hale said, pressing a hand against the door to push it further open with an intent expression. "Are you okay?"

Brooks' stomach flipped at the concern in his voice, and shining in his eyes. That it was directed towards Brooks made him feel all fuzzy and lightheaded in a way that wasn't entirely the flu. "Uh, yeah," he replied, a little bashfully. "Just a bit...you know, grim."

Hale's smile was teasing and warm. "Don't worry, I've seen worse."

Brooks returned the smile without even realising, feeling better than he had in days just seeing Hale. It was only then that he stopped to wonder how and why Hale Ryves had ended up at his house. "Wait. What are you doing here?" he asked, glancing over his shoulder to check Adam wasn't lurking nearby.

"What do you think? To see you, obviously."

Brooks felt his heart warming at how casually he said it, as if there was no other option to be considered, as if coming to visit him was the only thing to do. "Um, no, I didn't mean it like...how did you get here?" he amended, tugging at his sleeves. "I'm pretty sure I never told you where I live."

And for a good reason, too. Brooks was just glad Hale had picked a time when his parents weren't home to come around. Those were definitely areas of his life he didn't want to mix.

"Yeah, well, I managed to wrangle it out of Hassan. And I'm not leaving even if you don't want me here," he added with narrowed eyes, misunderstanding what Brooks had said. "Ignoring my texts and calls? That's a low blow, Brooks. If you don't want to talk to me, fine, but you could at least have the decency to tell me instead of outright avoiding me."

Brooks' eyes widened. "No, I - "

"And to think I felt guilty for thinking you'd faked being ill," he continued, taking a step forward. Brooks almost stumbled in his haste to move back out of the way, not wanting to pass his bug on to him. "Maybe you are actually sick, but that doesn't mean you're forgiven. And don't get me started on the fact you - "

"Hale," Brooks interjected, holding up a hand to cut him off. "I never ignored you. I wouldn't do that. My parents took my phone."

Hale blinked and the anger in his face slowly faded away. "Well, okay. That seems like a pretty good reason," he admitted, rubbing the back of his neck. "Why did they take your phone?" 

"Long story," Brooks sighed.

Movement behind him made Brooks turn around. Adam had appeared in the doorway, looking between the two of them with the same blue-green eyes Brooks saw in the mirror. Brooks tried not to panic; how long had he been standing there? He racked his brain as to whether they'd said anything incriminating, but his head felt like it was stuffed with cotton. He couldn't have thought straight even if Hale's distracting presence wasn't standing next to him.

"Who's this?" Adam asked, raising an eyebrow at Hale.

"Er, this is Hale," Brooks said, rubbing his forehead. Having to deal with his brother wasn't anywhere near as bad as his parents, but it was still making his head hurt. "He goes to Lexus."

"Right. And what's he doing here?"

Brooks blinked, unsure what to say, but Hale answered for him. "Just passing on the work he missed at school."

That seemed satiate Adam's interest and also be the extent of it, because he just gave a barely there nod and disappeared up the stairs. Brooks didn't realise he'd tensed up until his shoulders slumped, a reminder of how sore his body felt in general. "The asshole brother?" Hale questioned.

"The very one." Brooks nodded towards the now empty kitchen. "C'mon, no point in standing around here."

"You're not taking me to your bedroom?" Hale smirked.

Brooks was once again grateful that his blush was masked. Even the few times he'd been at Hale's house, they'd never been up to his room, or been alone with a bed. The thought was enough to make his insides squirm. And not in an entirely bad way. Hale was still smirking at him, a suggestive gleam in his eyes, and it wasn't helping Brooks banish the inappropriate thought.

"Um, no...you don't want to go there," he mumbled, suddenly unable to meet Hale's gaze. "The whole place is probably infected. You'll get sick."

"Well, your concern is touching."

Hale followed him into the kitchen, his eyes widening slightly as his gaze roamed across the entire expanse of the room. Brooks let him look his fill, not too fascinated by the same thing he'd seen for his whole life, and gladly dropped on one of the barstools. This was the most standing he'd done in three days.

"Holy fuck, I can't believe you live here," Hale said, running an appreciative hand over the marble countertops. "My home must have looked like a pigsty in comparison."

"Definitely not," Brooks said, with a wistful smile. "I like your house better, anyway."

Hale snorted. "Yeah, right. You don't have to lie to make me feel better," he said, examining the coffee machine built into the wall. Brooks was probably the only one in the family, besides Inkeri, who didn't use it; he'd always thought coffee tasted disgusting.

"I'm not lying," Brooks insisted. "This place is like living in a mausoleum; always empty and feels haunted sometimes. Your house is always warm and actually feels like a home."

"I guess," Hale shrugged, looking unconvinced. He patted the coffee machine. "All of which I would trade in a heartbeat for this beauty. Is it really the newly released model?"

Brooks dubiously eyed the silver machine. "I don't have a clue."

Hale tore his gaze away from the coffee machine and turned to face Brooks, the smile falling from his lips to be replaced by a small frown. Brooks knew that meant he was going to bring up something neither of them wanted to talk about, and his palms felt clammy at the prospect, although that could have just been the flu.

It was getting hard to differentiate between the symptoms and the effect Hale had on him whenever he was nearby. Brooks was grateful Hale had chosen to stand all the way across the kitchen. He wouldn't have stood a chance concentrating on the conversation if he'd been any closer.

"So," Hale said, his voice strangely detached, "did you have a nice weekend? Before you got sick, I mean."

Brooks blinked, not having expected that question. "It was okay," he shrugged. "Kind of shit, actually. Adam's party might have been fun for everyone else but not me."

"So you did go to that party."

"Technically, yeah," Brooks said slowly, feeling more than a little anxious at the hard look on Hale's face. "I mean, I wasn't actually invited or anything, but I couldn't avoid it because it was at my house."

"Right," Hale said coldly. With every passing second, he seemed to grow even more irritated, at something Brooks couldn't understand. "And nothing else happened? You just had a miserable time at this party?"

Brooks stared at him. His heart had suddenly started racing and he placed a hand against the counter to steady himself, fear leaving his already cloudy head dizzy. It was impossible for Hale to know what had happened with Reed, and yet his dark eyes were filled with accusations, watching as Brooks floundered. He knew. The silence was so thick between them Brooks felt like he was choking on it, lost for words.

"Let me help jog your memory," Hale said, a scowl twisting at his lips. "There might have been a Reed Bishop involved."

"How did you know?" Brooks whispered.

"That's seriously what you're asking me?" Hale shook his head in disbelief and spun away from him, pacing down the length of the kitchen. "If you want to kiss other people, go ahead, Brooks. No one said we were dating so you're free to do whatever the hell you want. That's not why I'm pissed off."

Brooks blinked. "Then why...?"

"Because you didn't tell me," he said, his eyes blazing with anger. "And don't give me the no phone bullshit, I know you had it because you texted me on it. Texted me to tell me you couldn't come out, even though you were fine to go out with your friends. Yeah," he added bitterly, at Brooks' shocked look. "I know about that too."

"Hale, I'm sorry," Brooks said miserably. "I know I should have told you but I...I didn't know how to. I shouldn't have ditched you, but I panicked and I didn't know how to pretend nothing had happened when I saw you."

Hale shook his head again. "Why did you have to pretend anything? You should have just told me. Go ahead and kiss - "

"But I didn't," Brooks said quickly, jumping down from the barstool. It was a bad idea judging from the nausea that hit him, and his legs might have given out from under him if Hale hadn't grabbed his arm, holding him upright. Tingles shot across his skin and judging from the surprise on Hale's face, the gesture had been more instinctive than anything.

"Jeez, you're burning up," Hale muttered, pushing Brooks back onto the stool. "What's your temperature?"

Brooks ignored the question and attempted to bat his hand away, although he doubted it would have done much good even if he had his full strength. "I didn't kiss him, Hale," Brooks said insistently, giving up on trying to push him away. His cool hand was kind of a relief to his hot skin. "I swear to god, he was the one who kissed me. It didn't even mean anything to me because you're the only one I want to kiss."

Brooks' mouth was running ahead of his brain for once, his usually careful filter reduced to nothing by the fever, and his eyes widened when he realised exactly what he'd said. Hale just stared at him, his expression impossible to read. Brooks squeezed his eyes shut and tried to force down the nausea threatening to rise up. He refused to throw up here. "Please believe me, Hale," Brooks murmured, unable to bring himself to open his eyes. "I didn't..."

"Okay, okay, I believe you," Hale said, moving his hand back. Brooks blearily peeled his eyes open just as Hale pushed his hair back and pressed a hand to his forehead with a frown. "Forget about that for a minute. What are you even doing out of bed, Brooks? You're way too hot."

Brooks managed a weak grin. "I'm glad you think so."

"Wow, throwing my own lines back at me," Hale chuckled, and Brooks felt a hundred times lighter just hearing it, knowing that he wasn't annoyed at him anymore. Or at least not so annoyed that he wouldn't laugh. "But seriously, when was the last time you had something to eat?"

Brooks thought about the half-eaten cereal bar he'd nibbled for breakfast. "This morning."

"You're hopeless," Hale sighed. "Don't you know you're not going to get any better if you don't eat anything?"

"I'm not hungry, though."

"No one's hungry when they're sick." Hale's fingers trailing down from Brooks' forehead to brush his cheek, light as a feather. His already hot skin burned up at the touch and he instinctively leant into his hand slightly. "That doesn't mean they stop eating," he added in a low voice, tipping his head down slightly.

It took Brooks a couple of seconds for his fuzzy brain to process what he'd said. "But it'll...um, it'll just come back up. And stop," Brooks said, a little breathlessly, as he pushed Hale away. "You're not allowed to come near me when I'm like this. I'll make you sick."

"I don't mind." Hale's lips curved into a wicked smile. "It's worth it."

"Trust me, it's not."

Hale rolled his eyes but obligingly stepped away from him. It was exactly what Brooks had wanted but his body didn't agree, shivering at the sudden lack of heat. He drew his knees up to his chest in an attempt to conserve what little warmth he had, and watched as Hale moved about the kitchen, rummaging through cupboards and pulling open the fridge.

"Uh, what are you doing?"

"Making you something to eat," Hale replied, as if it was obvious. "Luckily for you, I happen to be the best cook in the world."

Brooks grinned. "Really?"

"Sorry, did I detect amusement in your voice?" Hale pinned him with a mock indignant look. "This isn't a joke, Brooklyn. I take my culinary masterpieces very seriously."

Brooks chuckled into his hand, which quickly turned into a coughing fit. "Stop laughing," Hale ordered. "I know I'm painfully hilarious and incredibly witty, but I don't want to kill you off before you've tried my chicken noodle soup. At least then you can die happy."

Hale somehow managed to locate all the ingredients he needed, which Brooks put down to Inkeri's persistence in always having a fully stocked kitchen. Brooks didn't do much beyond shivering and trying not to fall asleep, seeing as his offer to help chop vegetables was rejected by Hale, who demanded he, "Shut up and sit still." Brooks figured that was probably safer for everyone. Even if he wasn't ill, letting him near a sharp knife was never a good idea.

Brooks would have been happy to watch Hale bustle about the kitchen, acting like Gordon Ramsey's prodigal son, but a small voice at the back of mind was constantly nagging at their earlier conversation. They couldn't pretend it hadn't happened forever. The sooner they got it over with, the better.

"Hale," he began, fiddling uncertainly with his sleeve. "About Reed - "

"We don't have to talk about that." Hale's voice was lightheartedly casual and if Brooks hadn't known better, he would have missed the way his dark eyes hardened almost imperceptibly. "Not if you're going to get all worked up about it again."

"It was a mistake," Brooks said earnestly. "What happened with me and Reed. I'd always thought he hated me, or at least he made it impossible for me not to think so. He was just drunk and I was too surprised to push him away."

Hale paused in his deft chopping of the carrots. Brooks waited with bated breath for a response, preparing himself to get shot down or rejected, when Hale said, "Okay."

Brooks blinked. "Okay?"

"Okay," Hale repeated, returning to the chopping. "It's been done and no one can change what happened. I guess I'm glad it didn't mean anything to you, in the most selfish way possible. But I still wish you'd told me so I didn't have to find out from someone else."

"Yeah, that was stupid," Brooks admitted, hugging his legs closer to his chest. "I just thought it would be easier to pretend it had never happened, seeing as it was unimportant. I was scared you'd hate me if you found out the truth."

"Hate you?" Hale sounded genuinely bewildered. "Hate is a strong word I reserve for vegetables and school. I could never hate you."

Again, he said it as conversationally as if stating the carrots were orange, but the words caused an eruption of butterflies to come to life in his stomach. If only you knew what you do to me, Brooks thought, watching with a smile as Hale hummed to himself while sliding the chopped carrots into the pan over the fire. Brooks would gladly have the flu ten times over if it meant Hale came round and made chicken noodle soup for him.

His smile slowly faded away when something else occurred to him, which he'd been trying not to think about. He was sure good at killing a good mood. "Hale," he said quietly, his croaky voice lost to the roar of the fire. He cleared his throat, wincing at the pain, and tried again. "Hale?"

Hale was engrossed in his task of cutting the chicken up into cubes and glanced distractedly at him. "Hmm?"

"Um, what...what does MJ mean to you?"

"What?" Hale's head snapped up in his direction and the knife skittered dangerously in his hand, almost slicing his fingers off. He didn't get away completely unharmed and the sharp edge caught his fingers. "Fuck," he said through gritted teeth, followed by a series of Spanish Brooks didn't need to understand to know he wasn't pleased.

"Shit," Brooks gasped, his eyes widening in alarm. "Are you okay?"

Hale grabbed a handful of tissues from the kitchen roll and shoved them against his hand. "Fine, just a small scratch," he said dismissively. He turned to face him before Brooks could say anymore on the matter. "Which idiot told you about MJ?"

"Elsie," Brooks replied, trying to push down the swell of disappointment that rose in his chest. "Does that mean it's true?"

"What?"

"That you're dating her?"

There was a long moment of silence where they just stared at each other. And then, much to Brooks' surprise, Hale burst out laughing. "What?" Brooks demanded, folding his arms defensively across his chest. "Is that supposed to be funny, that you're dating a super smart medical student and sneaking around with me behind her back?"

"Brooks, there is no MJ." Hale shook his head in disbelief, still looking as if he was suppressing chuckles. "She doesn't exist. That was a lie I told Will to get him off my back, and it somehow spread to become a real thing. I don't know what Elsie's been telling you, but don't believe any of it."

Brooks blinked. "She...doesn't exist?" he repeated stupidly.

Hale's lips curved up into a smirk. "Are you jealous? Of someone who isn't real?"

"Hey, I didn't know she wasn't real," Brooks huffed, pressing the back of his hands to his cheeks to stop them heating up. She wasn't real. The relief Brooks felt was undeniable and a smile curved at his lips. "So...there's no MJ?"

"There's no MJ," Hale confirmed. "Besides Peter Parker's love interest, that is. And I'm sadly not Spider Man." He picked up the wooden spoon to stir the brewing soup and couldn't hide all of a wince at the "small scratch" as he flexed his fingers.

Brooks hopped down from the barstool, ignoring Hale's demands not to move and how own body's aching protests. He caught Hale's wrist before he could pull away and carefully pulled the wad of tissues away to examine the extent of the damage. The cuts were shallow and would heal in a couple of days, but Hale had managed to slice not one but four fingers, so they were all bleeding. Not profusely but enough to make Brooks worried.

"What's the verdict, doctor?" Hale asked, amused. "Will I die?"

"Maybe you should ask MJ," Brooks said with a teasing smile, and Hale rolled his eyes "You should pull through, but I'm pretty sure you're going to need plasters to stop the bleeding. Four of them, to be precise."

Brooks pressed the tissues back against his fingers and began wandering about the kitchen, trying to remember where the plasters were kept. He knew they were stored away somewhere in the kitchen by Inkeri, because this was the part of the house where the most accidents occurred, mainly due to Brooks and Adam's failed cookery attempts. In the meantime, Hale mopped up his blood off the knife and pulled a face when Brooks glanced at him.

"What's wrong?" Brooks asked anxiously. "Does it hurt?"

"I'm fine." Hale heaved a sigh. "But I'm supposed to be the one looking after you, not the other way around."

Brooks grinned at the fact he seemed to be genuinely put out by that. "You're the one who tried to chop your fingers off," Brooks reminded him, finally locating the box of plasters in one of the drawers. "Aha! Found them. Here, give me your fingers. And stop pouting, Hale."

"Excuse me? I'm not pouting," Hale said indignantly, wincing as Brooks wiped away the blood and carefully applied the plasters to his fingers. "For your information, I'm brooding. Pouting would ruin my rep."

"Your rep," Brooks repeated, shaking his head in amusement. "Whatever, cool guy. Just don't...wait, what happened?" He ran his fingers over Hale's calloused palm and flipped his hand over, tracing the swollen red skin of his knuckles with an appalled look. "God, Hale. How did you do this?"

"It's a long story," Hale said sheepishly, and ran a hand through his hair at Brooks' unimpressed look. "Alright, fine. I may have kind of punched a wall."

Brooks gaped at him. "Why the hell would you do that?"

"Irrelevant. Oh, look, the soup's boiling over. Better deal with that. You," Hale added, with a pointed look towards Brooks, "are going to go back to sitting down and doing nothing. Exerting yourself is not allowed."

Brooks grudgingly let his hand go although he wasn't entirely satisfied with the explanation, and retreated back to his chair as Hale put the final finishing touches to his gourmet meal. And Brooks didn't even care that he still felt terrible, because Hale was here and MJ didn't exist.