"Is that the last of it?" Carey asked, as Ethan set the box down.
"Yep. I didn't have much, and that's all I wanted," he said, staring at their new house. Since he had started his therapy, he had gotten a job. It paid well, and wasn't too hard. Carey was looking, but he still had a hard time being outside for that long. But he had been making good progress. Since he no longer needed to be in the program for infected people, he had decided to move out. Trish wasn't happy about it, and made sure to threaten Ethan a few times before they left, but overall she was happy with the move.
The small house was barely big enough for the two of them, but it was in good shape. Two bedrooms and two baths. They had yet to decide what the second bedroom would be, it wasn't like either of them had any guests to need a guest room.
They had spent the last two days packing everything up, and walking it over to their new house (since they spent every last dime on the place). Ethan sighed and sat down.
"Still feeling a little run down?" Carey asked, putting a hand on Ethan's forehead.
"Yeah, I think I have a cold or something," he mumbled.
"Why don't you go lay down and I'll make you some lunch, huh?" Carey smiled. Ethan smiled back, weakly.
"That sounds awesome. Thanks, babe." Ethan kissed him, and then headed upstairs. They hadn't completely unpacked, but they made sure the bedroom was set up. He fell onto the bed, and was asleep as soon as his head hit the pillow.
~~~~~~~~~~
Ethan had been getting worse and worse. Carey took his temperature for the third time that day, watching it carefully to make sure it didn't get any higher.
"Ethan, you have a temperature of 102," Carey said, worried.
"It's just a cold," he mumbled, mind hazed with sickness and drugs.
"This isn't just a cold, Ethan," Carey whispered. Ethan stared at him, curiously.
"What do you think it is?" he asked. Carey shook his head and left the room. "Just get some rest," he threw over his shoulder as he left. Ethan felt like crap. He had for days now. He quickly filled the sheets with sweat as he twisted and turned, trying to get comfortable. He knew he should go to the hospital, but he didn't want to make Carey go. He knew the man was still terrified of doctors and hospitals. He didn't want to put him in that situation, especially since he hadn't really been in one since he was released from the lab. Carey returned shortly to wash away Ethan's sweat with a cool rag. His eyes were red and it was obvious he had been crying. Ethan took his hand.
"What's wrong, babe?" Ethan asked. Carey looked down at the bed.
"You won't go to the hospital because of me," Carey replied. Ethan swallowed. Apparently he wasn't very good at hiding his thoughts.
"I don't want you to have to go somewhere you're scared of. Especially if you're not ready," Ethan said, voice filled with exhaustion.
"You shouldn't put that off just for me," Carey mumbled. "What if you're really sick?" he asked.
"I'm fine. It's just a little fever. Some NyQuil and it will go down." He leaned back against the pillows.
"Ethan..." Carey said, worried.
"If you're really worried, I can go to the hospital by myself," Ethan said.
"And how would you get there?" Carey crossed his arms. Ethan hadn't thought about that.
"I'll be fine, Carey. I just need to sleep a little," he mumbled, eyes heavy.
"I'm really worried," Carey said, tears filling his eyes again. Ethan stroked his cheek.
"I know, but don't be. I'll be-" Ethan was cut off mid sentence as he turned and vomited onto the floor.
"Ethan!" Carey crawled onto the bed and held Ethan as he finished throwing up what little food Carey had forced him to eat.
"I'm ok," he mumbled, as he wiped his mouth. Carey stroked his hair as he panted from exhaustion.
"You're not okay," Carey replied, as he pulled the blankets over Ethan, trying to get him to sleep. But before he could settle in, Ethan shoved them off.
"I'm cold," he mumbled.
"Okay..." Carey whispered. "I...I need to go look at something real fast, I'll be right back." Carey jogged downstairs and rummaged through the unpacked boxes belonging to him. He pulled out an old, torn and stained folder. He leafed through it quickly, ignoring the several pictures of him on lab tables, passed out cold from drugs. "Symptoms..." he mumbled, as he found the page he was searching for.
'Subject experienced high fevers, followed by organ failure, and then finally his transformation set in. If not for the care of the facility, subject wouldn't have made it through the change.' The note was scribbled in sloppy doctors writing in a box labeled 'symptoms'.
"Organ failure." Carey remembered the symptoms well. He had turned yellow, the result of his liver failing. His joints had been swollen and he could hardly keep any food down. He felt like he was dying, which he probably was. He set the folder down and jogged back up the steps quickly, watching over Ethan as he slept feverishly. His stomach was swollen, which Carey knew to be another sign of liver failure, and his skin was already taking of the faint yellow color Carey hadn't noticed before. "Fuck."
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
"Carey?" Ethan mumbled, as the paramedics wheeled him into the ambulance.
"Shhh... it'll be okay," Carey soothed, visibly shaking at all the medical equipment around him.
"What are you doing?" he moaned, weakly fighting off the paramedics.
"Stop. Ethan, you're sick you... you need to go to the hospital." Ethan was in no condition to take the news.
"But you-"
"You can't worry about me right now. You're really sick. We need to go now. I'll be waiting there for you," Carey said. "They probably won't let me see you, but just know I'll be there, okay?" Carey said, heart pounding in his chest at the thought of stepping foot in the hospital. Ethan was going to say something but passed out instead.
Carey spent the next several days in the hospital. After the second day, he stopped jumping or cringing every time a member of the staff went by. By the third he was able to walk around without having a panic attack. As scared as he was, he refused to go home. He wanted to be there the second they let him see Ethan.
"Can I see him, today?" Carey asked the same question every day, and everyday he was given the same answer.
"Maybe tomorrow," the nurse responded, once again. Carey slouched in his seat and continued flipping through an outdated magazine that was meant to keep people busy. He sighed. They had told him he had been right in his assumption, Ethan was infected. But that was all they would tell him. As the nurse watched his face fall at the news he couldn't see his boyfriend, she took pity on him and glanced around. "Maybe, just a short visit," she winked. Carey jumped up and smiled, before hugging her roughly. She led him down the hall, and opened the door. Carey, from experience, knew what to expect. But it was still shocking. He was hooked up to many machines, all doing the jobs his organs should be doing.
"Is he getting any better?" Carey asked.
"Yes. As I'm sure you know, when his mutations begin to set in, his symptoms will begin to vanish. Until they're completely gone," the nurse explained.
