Drop Dead | Sam Fender

Chapter Thirty Five

Rory

I knocked on the front door of the flat Sam shared with his mam, studying the view from over the railings as I waited. It wasn't much of a view - the block of flats was old and worn down and overlooked the adjacent council estate where several children were out playing. It was the Easter holidays after all. I was pulled from my thoughts as the door swung open revealing Shirley, who looked worse for wear. The dark bags beneath her eyes and the frown lines that decorated her forehead aged her by ten years, a stark difference from the woman I had seen just three days ago.

"Rory?" she asked quietly, a deep frown painting itself on her face.

"Y'alreet, Shirl?" I smiled, shoving my hands into my pockets as she stepped aside to let me in. I followed her into the kitchen, taking, stopping her as she grabbed the kettle to boil. "I'll do that, you go sit down."

"Cheers, pet," she smiled, taking a seat at the kitchen table.

"Are y'alreet? Ya look a bit..." I trailed as I filled the kettle up before putting it on to boil.

"Shit?" she laughed.

"I was gan say tired," I offered as I shifted my weight between my feet, turning my head to study her.

"Sam's had us up all night," she shrugged. "He's not very well, s'why I'm surprised you're here."

"Oh, he never mentioned anything to us," I frowned, grabbing two mugs from the cupboard.

"He's flat out upstairs, bless him. He's probably shattered, I know I am," she smiled softly.

"Why don't ya go back to bed then?" I asked her as I paused my task, spinning around to lean against the counter with my arms folded across my chest.

"I can't," she sighed. "If Sam needs anything-"

"I can sort it," I assured her, cutting her off. "Go back to bed, Shirl."

She paused for a moment to think about it, her face clearly illustrating the mental battle she was having. Her lips were pursed in thought and the crease between her eyebrows deepened as she studied me. "When did you turn into such a mother hen?"

"Have you met the boys?" I laughed.

"Aye, you're reet there," she chuckled, pushing herself up from the table. "If you're sure...."

"Course I'm sure, go on," I told her, nodding my head towards the door as I watched her hesitate for a moment. She turned towards the door, pausing just as she was about to walk through.

"If ya need anything, love..." she trailed.

"I'll be fine," I assured her with a smile of amusement. I turned back to the empty mugs on the countertop once she had left and picked up where I left off, this time making Sam tea instead of Shirley, who had clearly desired sleep more than a cuppa. It was subconscious by now, the way I made tea for me and Sam due to the sheer amount of times I'd made it. Two sugars for each of us, lots of milk in mine, significantly less in Sam's.

With the two cups of steaming liquid in hand, I made my way to Sam's room, nudging the door open with my hip. I smiled as my eyes settled on his sleeping form, cuddled up into a ball under his duvet facing away from me. Setting down the mugs, I lifted the blanket up and climbed in next to him, running a hand through his thick locks.

"Hmm, mam?" he mumbled, eyes still clasped tightly as he turned his head slightly toward me. I could hear it in his voice that he was sick, his words coming out hoarse as though he hadn't had a sip of water for days.

"It's me, babe," I whispered.

"What ya doing 'ere?" he yawned, turning himself over and snaking his arms around my smaller frame, head resting on my torso.

"Come to see ya, your mam said you're not well," I told him as I ran my thumb over the skin of his cheek.

"Mmm," he muttered before he burst into a coughing fit.

"I made you tea... ya don't have to drink if you don't want to. Go back to sleep if you're tired, love, I can make you another one later," I instructed him.

"Mmm mmm." He shook his head, slowly prying his bleary eyes open. He looked ill in every sense of the word. There were dark bags underneath his eyes, only proving that he had probably been up all night coughing and his skin was paler than usual. His body was vibrating with shivers and although it was subtle, I could hear the catch of his breath as he tried to breathe in and the quiet wheezing. He pushed himself into an upright position, which only illustrated his weakness and fatigue. I carefully passed him over his mug, which he accepted with a small 'thank you', cautious not to spill any. "Ya shouldn't... be here." He sounded breathless as he spoke.

"If ya think I'm off anywhere, you're daft," I smiled.

"You're gan get sick," he wheezed.

"I'll be alreet, babe," I assured him, taking a sip of my own tea. "Besides, someone's gotta look after ya."

"I'm fine," he muttered, turning away to let out a cough.

"You're not fine," I scoffed. "I'm not gan anywhere."

"I'm not looking after ya if you get sick," he teased weakly.

"Charming," I laughed as he rested his head on my shoulder. "Have ya been to the doctors?"

"Yeah... mam took us s'morning," he sighed, his breathing short and fast. "They think it's... a chest infection."

"Aw, my baby," I crooned, jutting my bottom lip out in a pout. Sam only rolled his eyes as he finished the rest of his cuppa and passed it to me to discard on his bedside cabinet with mine before curling himself up in a ball into my side and bringing the duvet up to his chin. He must have been freezing but as his body curled into mine, I could feel the warmth emanating from him like a radiator. "Have ya taken any medicine?"

"Mmm, took paracetamol and ibuprofen at one," he told me as he closed his eyes and broke into a coughing fit. It was nearing three now, so he would be able to take more in just over an hour.

"Alreet, if ya want to go to sleep, I'll wake ya up when you're allowed more," I told him as my fingers ran through his hair. He let out a moan of agreement before settling into silence as sleep took over him. Poor thing was probably wiped out.