Salvatore couldn't sleep. He sat in a chair next to the bed, one hand gently resting on Milo's chest, feeling the steady rise and fall of his breath. Every now and then, he'd check Milo's forehead to make sure his fever hadn't spiked again.
He would alternate between changing the cold compresses on Milo's and Roderick's foreheads, though he focused more on Milo.
He gently and carefully wiped Milo's lips, which looked chapped from the fever. At times like this, Salvatore cursed himself for letting his mind wander to thoughts he shouldn't be having while Milo was sick.
But Milo looked different when he was this helpless. Even though he'd seen the young man helpless like this several times before.
