he was hot . his fan was on high but he laid in bed , sweating and nauseous . ❛ i’m dying . ❜
he breathed through clogged sinuses , his nose was itchy and his throat was sore . he was
dying or he was sick . between the two , he hoped he was dying . crawling out of his bed he
trails disconsolately down the hallway , the comforter from his bed wrapped around him like
to keep any body heat close to himself , ends dragging on the hardwood floor behind him .
a brutal coughing fit forces him to pause briefly and rest a hand on the wall for support.
everything hurt . his head was throbbing and breathing was painful . he almost wanted to turn
around and crawl back into bed . but he knew if he didn’t take something now , it would only
get worse from here . he’d rather not be throwing up for the next few hours . the teen walks
as quietly down the stairs , but they always were the creaking kind and he thought about sliding
down them but he’d have to leave behind his mobile heat packer . that’s not happening .
the stairs are over with , he silently thanks that his father hasn’t heard him , now if he could
just make it to the kitchen without waking him ; he’d be fine . taking the turn , he glanced down
the hallway to his father’s room ; the light was on but he didn’t hear any sound from inside .
❛ just need to keep qui– ❜ , then he heard his father’s voice . fuck him . how was he suppose
to respond ? his voice was raspy and hoarse , he’d know right away that he was sick and then
he’d be treated like a child for the rest of the night until he was feeling better . what could he do ?
❛ MHM ! ❜ that should work .
( written log ; — sick boy ) : @periodiic
how strange… it wasn’t often this his son snuck out of his room, or,
at least that damien’s noticed anyway. this probably wasn’t anything
to be worried about, was it ? perhaps checking up on things would
put his now reeling thoughts to rest.
he kicks his feet over the edge of the bed, throwing on a robe as well
as a pair of slippers before heading out into the hall. it’s dark, far too
dark for his liking, but he can make out a silhouette at the top of the
stairs. it’s a rather lumpy silhouette which doesn’t help his confusion
much.
to his side, he finds a match box and the candelabra he left there the
evening prior. a flick of the wrist lights the match and soon after, the
candles. sure enough, there stands lucien.
‘ care to explain why you’re up so late… and headed downstairs ? ‘
