Keegan

Keegan wakes to a dark room. If it weren't for the persistent buzzing in the pocket of his jeans, he may not have woken at all. With blurry eyes, he fishes the dated phone from beneath the blanket, and squints at the brightness of the screen. The unknown number of a telemarketer shows on the illuminated face, and Keegan frowns, watching the call come to an end. He doesn't even answer for people he does know, let alone for someone he doesn't.

Panic doesn't set in until he notices the time at the corner of his screen. 8 O'clock? He sits up with a start, fumbling for the lamp beside the arm of the couch. He missed practice. Where is Asher? Why didn't he wake him up? He sees the blurry, pale shapes of a bowl and a small plate from the cupboards, and he remembers that Asher was making him something to eat. He doesn't even remember falling asleep. The book he was reading lays on the coffee table beside the dishes, and he reaches for his glasses that lay on it's cover.

Now that his vision is sharpened, Keegan notices and reaches for the note that is tucked beneath the bowl of cold soup.

I'll be back later. Reads Asher's familiar handwriting.

Keegan closes his eyes as he realizes the pounding in his head has come back, evolved into a full-blown migraine. He feels worse than he did before falling asleep. Weren't naps supposed to make you feel better? He swallows, becoming aware of his raw throat in the process. The pressure in his chest has gotten worse, and it is almost difficult to breath, now. His stomach rolls with nausea as he opens his phone to Asher's contact.

Why didn't you wake me? Though the words alone form a simple question, he doesn't often text unless it is necessary to reply to what someone had said first, so the action is enough to make Asher aware of how angry Keegan is.

Elizabeth's meow resonates from the laundry room, asking for her supper to be served. She would usually have it promptly poured into her dish at 6 O'clock, and it is well past that time now. He hasn't made dinner for his mother yet, either, or begun her lunch for the next day. Keegan presses his lips into a thin line as he forces himself to his feet, pausing at the darkness that swells in his vision. After a moment, he begins to slowly walk to where his cat beckons him, a hand tracing the wall in the darkness for balance and guidance.

He flips on the light of the laundry room as Elizabeth meows again, coming to rub against his calf in a greeting. He feels too hot, and vaguely wonders if Asher had turned the heat up before leaving. "I'm sorry." He whispers to the porcelain feline, shuffling across the hardwood to pour her kibble into her bowl. Several pieces fall, missing the dish and rolling across the shining floor boards. Keegan curses softly and nudges the unsealed food bag crookedly back in its place with his knee, neglecting the food that remains scattered, waiting to be swept up.

His vision blurs behind his spectacles, and he braces himself against the washing machine, the metal cool against the hand that props his weight up. He pulls at the hood of the jacket he neglected to remove before falling asleep, amazed at how weak his fingers seem to have suddenly become. He manages to strip himself down to his t-shirt after a moments struggle, but still feels too warm, even while pressing his cheek to the metal he leans on. The phone buzzes in his pocket as a new message comes in, and he struggles to pull it out again.

I'm sorry. I had to run home after practice, but I'm on my way back now. Please, don't be mad at me.

Keegan swallows back more nausea, his hands shaking violently. He blinks firmly, setting his lips into a thin line as he prepares to write back. An I , is all he manages to type before suddenly clapping a cool hand over his mouth and pushing off of the washing machine. His socks slip on the polished floor as he sprints for the bathroom, unable to hold back the bile that shoots up his throat at an alarming rate of speed. The phone remains in his grasp as he leans over the toilet, and his fingers brush the unlocked screen, accidentally sending the message before it's finished. Keegan never sends a text message without thoroughly examining it for mistakes, so when Asher opens it to see the single vowel, his anxiety spikes, sensing something wrong in the behavior.

He has never ridden his bicycle to Keegan's house so quickly before, and arrives in under three minutes, rather than the typical five. By the time he gets to the driveway, Asher discards his bike onto the pavement without propping it up, and runs up to the porch, skipping steps. Seeing that the outside light has not been flicked on as soon as night fell, and that the inside the house is still dark, he lunges for the door handle. Realizing that it is still locked from when he left hours ago, he hops back down the porch stairs and steps carefully into the flower garden to the left of the steps.

He fumbles in the dark until his fingers brush the cool surface of a statue, and he quickly grabs the crouching cat and tips it on its side. He hears the spare house key fall from the hole in the bottom of the garden sculpture, and he snatches it from the soil. With dirty hands he leaps onto the porch in two strides, and shoves the key into the lock.

"Kee!" He calls, barging into the kitchen. He hardly spares enough time to kick off his dirt coated shoes and to push the door closed before rushing into the living room, key still curled in his ground-stained fingers.

The panic is so evident in Asher's words, that Keegan's weak voice responds from the darkened bathroom, barely loud enough.

"I'm here."

It isn't until he gets closer that he hears the shower running, despite the light being off. Panting, Asher's socks nearly slip on the floor as he turns the corner in his rush to the room, and he has to grab the doorway to keep from falling. He flicks the light on and looks around the small bathroom, until his eyes fall onto the open shower curtain.

Fully clothed, Keegan sits in the middle of the bathtub with the shower turned on. Water pours directly over his head, flattening his curls over his eyes and soaking him to the bone. He turns to look up at Asher, squinting against the sudden brightness of the bathroom.

"What are you doing?!" Asher exclaims, reaching around Keegan to turn the water off. As his hand breaches the cascading water, he is so surprised at the temperature that he quickly recoils. "Why is it so cold? You're going to get even worse that way!" He reaches around the water on the second attempt, and jerks the handle to stop the flow.

Keegan stares through his water speckled glasses, looking up at his friend in a daze. "Elizabeth... food... mess." He mumbles, his wet head resting against the tile of the wall.

Asher shrugs his backpack from his shoulders, shaking his head and stuffing the key that he had forgotten about into his jacket pocket. "That can wait. Right now we need to get you dry."

Keegan says nothing as Asher pulls him from the tub by his armpits, setting him on the closed lid of the toilet seat like a parent would do with their child.

Keegan tugs the soaked shirt over his head with trembling hands, shaking from the strange combination of his cold skin and hot insides. He hoped that the cool water would lower his obviously high body temperature, but he worries that he may have over done it. His head hurts, pounding behind his eyes.

"When does Sarah get home?" Asher asks, grabbing a fluffy, dry towel from a shelf and draping it over his friend's shoulders. He hopes that the worry isn't evident it his voice, as he tries to keep it soothing and level to keep Keegan calm.

Keegan begins drying himself as he tries to think, squinting because it hurts. His eyes ache in the bathroom lighting. He closes one of them while the other remains half-lidded. "Late. Two."

Asher crouches in front of Keegan and slips the glasses from his face with gentle fingers, folding and setting them beside Keegan's phone, on a shelf with the hand towels above the toilet. "This is why I didn't wake you up for practice." He sighs, helping dry Keegan's hair.

Keegan drops his arms as his friend takes over the miserable job he was doing, and he looks down at them with glazed eyes. "I'm sorry." He mutters, feeling tired.

"I know, it's okay. We just need to get you warm and dry," Asher glances up at the ceiling, feeling a bit awkward. "You'll, um... have to take off your pants."

"Fine." Keegan glances down at his dripping jeans, and reaches to unbutton them. He doesn't realize Asher's embarrassment in his foggy state, and unabashedly slips out of them as best he can without having to stand on his shaking legs.

"Here, finish drying off and I'll find you some clothes," Asher instructs, face red as he hands Keegan the towel. He covers his eyes and clears his throat, turning away just in time. He tries to keep his voice even as he retreats from the bathroom. "Don't move."

Asher hesitates in the threshold of Keegan's darkened bedroom. It has been a while since he went in, and he can't help but feel like it's a little intrusive to Keegan's privacy. The thought of his sick friend being left alone, however, gives him the courage to step in and flick on the light. It has always looked just the same, ever since Asher knew Keegan; plain, neutral colored walls, a full-sized bed, always neatly made up with a gray comforter and matching pillow cases. One desk with a spotless surface, save for a lamp and pencil holder, with a chair tucked snuggly up against it to save on space. It's a small room, made even smaller by the bookshelves that line the walls. Every spine is lined up by height, and not a single one is crooked or otherwise out of place. Everything is as perfect as it can possibly be.

Keegan is going to be panicked later if he finds the messes he made while delirious, and Asher is reminded of the dirt caking his fingers. He jogs out to the kitchen to wash his hands before gathering Keegan's garments, aware of how he would react to having soil staining his clothes. He notes that once he puts his friend to bed, that he will have to do some cleaning. It's a good think he planned on staying over again tonight, because there is no way he will leave Keegan now.

With clean hands, Asher reaches for the top drawer of a tall dresser to gather some undergarments. He is not at all surprised to see how neatly folded each pair of boxers are, color-coded and arranged from oldest to newest. Even the socks are neatly pressed together in couples, snuggly lined up into two separate rows, not a single hole or stain present. Asher gives a knowing sigh and carefully gathers the remaining clothes, so not to wrinkle or disrupt the intricate system that comprises Keegan's bedroom.

Asher returns with his eyes diverted to the ceiling and dry clothes in his arms. "Here, put the underwear on and I'll help you with the rest, okay?"

Keegan doesn't say anything, but Asher feels the weight of the pile lighten a minuscule amount as something is taken from the top of it.

After a moment of hearing light fabric movement, Asher spares a glance over the clothing. "Are you done?" Seeing the top of Keegan's head dip in a nod, Asher sets the pile on the ledge of the sink, taking a pair of plaid pajama bottoms from the top of the pile. He holds them between himself and Keegan questioningly, cheeks tinted crimson. "Can you put these on?"

Keegan had his eyes closed against the light, but he cracks them open to take the clothes from his friend. "I can dress myself."

Asher waits patiently for Keegan to dress himself, reaching to gather his phone and glasses from the towel rack. He holds out an arm for his friend, though Keegan only takes it momentarily to help himself stand.

"I can walk," He insists, so Asher allows him to make his way to his bedroom by himself, using the wall as a crutch when needed. He stops outside of his door, closing his eyes and putting a hand over his eyes. "I... have to clean."

Asher grabs his elbow with his free hand, preventing his friend from trying to turn back towards the laundry room. "No way, Kee. I'm going to fix everything as soon as you get into bed. I'll make your mom's breakfast and lunch for tomorrow, too, so don't worry. I'll clean it all up."

Keegan looks doubtful, but eventually gives a slow nod before allowing himself to be escorted to his bed. He is the type of person who needs to do everything by himself, so that he can be certain that the job is done correctly. He wouldn't trust anyone but Asher in his current state, and only allows himself to be vulnerable around him.

Ever since Keegan was young, he wouldn't complain about anything. There was a specific time that Asher can remember from back in fifth grade, when Keegan was so ill that he passed out after swimming practice. Asher has felt so guilty for not realizing how sick his friend was before it escalated to that point, but once they were back home and Keegan was asleep in his bed, Sarah sat Asher down in the living room.

"He's a very hard person to read, so you shouldn't be too hard on yourself," She smiled, placing a gentle hand on Asher's shoulder. "If you're serious about being his friend, you'll have to learn to become supernaturally vigilant around him. He'll never tell you if something is wrong, so you'll have to figure it out for yourself, okay? He doesn't like to rely on people, and will run himself into the ground before admitting that he needs help. He really needs someone like you, Asher. I hope you stick with him."

As Asher pulls the comforter over Keegan now, he smiles a little, recalling the memory. He didn't understand what Sarah meant all that well as a child, but as he got older and spent more time with Keegan, Asher began to understand more and more.

"I'll clean off your glasses and your phone, okay? I'll be right back." Asher says, heading to the laundry room. There is a plastic sheet hanging on the back of the door with all sorts of cleaning supplies wedged into every one of its pockets, lined up by size and color. Asher surveys the products before finding the disinfecting wipes, and he takes two of them from the cylinder before replacing it in its designated pouch.

He turns around to see the damage that Keegan had done, unable to help cracking a slight smile. He was so worried about it, but there is only a handful of cat food scattered around the floor, and the bag is slightly askew from its usual place. Keegan made it seem like there was some monumental mess that needed tending to right away. To him, though, it probably seemed that way.

Elizabeth doesn't seem to mind the clutter of the floor, and licks her lips as she looks from her empty bowl up to Asher. She proceeds with her own after-meal cleaning process, unbothered by the state of the room.

"Does anything bother you?" He asks the cat. She doesn't respond, so Asher redirects his attention to wiping down the cellphone and spectacles. He brings down a microfiber cloth and a small spray bottle from a cupboard above the washing machine, and he sprays the alcohol onto the screen and both of the lenses of the black framed glasses before cleaning them off.

He's grown accustomed to Keegan's cleaning habits, and made it his mission to learn them so that his friend would be more at ease around him. Keegan had long since shown him how to clean individual objects and rooms, and even went over every detail of making meals and cleansing  dishes and surfaces afterword. Asher even knows what belongs where in the refrigerator and in every cupboard, so that he doesn't disrupt his friend's life-style. He learned all of Keegan's habits, because he wanted to spend more time with him, and so that he could be more comfortable with Asher being around. Keegan is put at ease, knowing that he doesn't have to fix everything as soon as it's been touched. Asher may even know Keegan better than his own mother, in some aspects.

As he is putting the cleaning supplies back, Keegan's phone buzzes noisily against the top of the washing machine. Asher quickly grabs it, worried that the sound may have disturbed his hopefully sleeping friend. He peers into the hallway to his bedroom, but doesn't hear anything out of the ordinary. With a relieved sigh, Asher turn his attention back to the illuminated screen of the phone.

An unknown number is displayed on it, making Asher frown. Keegan is very cautious about who he give his number to, and hates answering the phone. He hardly picks up when his own mother is the one calling him.

Asher decides to answer it. "Hello?"

There is silence on the other end, and Asher thinks that they may have hung up until a someone finally replies. "Who's this?" The unfamiliar voice asks, as if they are aware of who's phone this is, and expected the rightful owner to be the one to answer it. A stranger wouldn't expect Keegan to be the one to pick up, though neither would a friend.

Unable to recognize the male voice on the opposite end, Asher's brow furrows. "I should be asking you that. How did you get this number?"

"I can get just about anyone's number."

Asher's voice hardens, harboring a threat. "You would do well to lose this one. Don't call here again."

The voice chuckles. "My, isn't he lucky to have a friend like you? I'm faster now. Just tell him that."

Asher is about to respond when the call is suddenly ended by the stranger on the other side. With a deepened frown, Asher looks through the call history on Keegan's phone to discover that the same number had already tried calling him once within the course of an hour.

Asher breathes a sigh through his nose as he brings the alcohol cleaner back down to wipe down the phone again, since he held it to his face. If Keegan's immune system is already weakened, he doesn't want to risk passing any potential viruses on to him.

Who could the caller have been? The voice sounded too young to be a friend of either one of Keegan's parents, and he can't think of anyone on the Swim Team who would dare to try and prank call Keegan. They respect him too much for that, and Asher would have been able to identify any of their voices, even from over the phone.

As he sneaks back to Keegan's room, he continues to try and uncover the stranger's identity. There is only one person that he can think of, though it seems unlikely that he could have found Keegan's number so quickly. No one else on the team even has it, save for his cousin, Teagan, and Asher. He is a very private person, and even colleges have to send him things through the mail, only having gotten Keegan's home address through the school.

"I'm faster now. Just tell him that."

Using that sentence and the swim meet that is set to take place in two days as clues, Asher concludes that it could have only been one person. It had to have been Michael Bailey. 

~

I didn't really revise this chapter yet, so please, notify me about any mistakes you may find. Thank you for reading, and I hope you enjoyed this chapter! Your support is invaluable. 

-A.