Found this little girl in a web on Sunday. She’s a beautiful, non-toxic, non-aggressive Australian spider. She and her fellow species of the Argiope family are common in eastern New South Wales. She is known as a St Andrew’s Cross spider. Scary-looking, but very beautiful. Have no fear.
One Friday evening as I got through the front door of my mum’s house, our dog, Marliya, met me at the front door. Then a terrible smell hit me and I knew she’d just released a foul-smelling dog fart. I said “Jeez, Marliya, did you just fart? That stinks, girl!” But the dog just looked at me with an expression on her face that said “How do you know I farted if you didn’t hear anything?” Turns out German Shorthaired Pointers are known for farting a lot. And when she farts, it really smells bad.
Sasha doesn't think he could possibly feel worse. Somehow, his body proves him wrong.
cw: vomiting, diarrhoea, etc etc
the brain child of myself and @lickstynine
He wasn't sure how long he laid under the shower. He wasn't even cognizant enough to be glad that his luxurious apartment had ample hot water. All he knew was that his stomach hurt and he couldn't find the will to get up. His mind had drifted into a distant cloud of misery when the door locks began to click open.
“Ryo?” He called weakly, then coughed and tried again. “Ryo?”
“Sasha, love, where are you?” His voice floated blessedly closer, a rescuing angel.
Sasha whimpered, at the end of his rope and desperate for any morsel of affection.
“B-bathroom,” he choked out. Pressing trembling hands to the floor, he heaved himself into a half sitting position against the wall.
Ryosuke had to set his violin down first, warily anticipating the carnage he might walk into. He was initially relieved, seeing that the bathroom didn't look like the set of The Exorcist, until his attention shifted to the shower and he saw Sasha sitting on the floor looking like the saddest drowned rat he'd ever laid eyes upon.
“Babe…” Stifling a chuckle at the almost cartoonishly miserable look on Sasha's face, Ryosuke stepped closer.
“Help me up?”
“Yeah, just…” Ryosuke glanced around, finding no towel and no clothes within reach. “Let me just get you some underwear at least.”
“Okay.” Sasha nodded meekly, slouching down against the shower wall as Ryosuke hurried away. Even with the warm water still pouring over him, he felt chilled and shaky. His head hurt, his stomach was churning, and he was desperate to lie down. In a sudden flash of panic, he remembered that he hadn't been the only one to eat at that restaurant last night. What if it wasn't, as he'd assumed, the chicken being undercooked, but a more systemic problem in the kitchen. Or, God forbid, something more sinister? Would his sister have called him if she started to feel unwell?
He was relieved to see Ryosuke walk in with a fresh towel and a pair of boxers, barely giving him time to turn off the water before grabbing desperately at his wrist. “I need to check on Valentina.”
Ryosuke rolled his eyes.
“I'm sure your sister is fine,” he said. “Sunny would have called in a panic if she was throwing up again.”
Sasha’s alarmed expression shifted to a sneer. “He is useless. I do not know how he lifts her with no spine.”
Ryosuke snorted. “It's possible he has normal person amounts of spine and simply doesn't want to feel the wrath of Valentina. Now c'mon, let's get your sad soggy ass out of here.”
Sasha did his best to cooperate as he was hauled to his feet, but he continued to argue. “Valentina is not wrathful.”
“Of course not,” Ryosuke agreed. “She's a sweet gentle princess. How could I forget?”
“Foolish ignorance,” Sasha deadpanned, leaning perhaps too heavily on Ryosuke as he was eased out of the shower and bundled into a towel.
Ryosuke stumbled back half a step before finding his footing, thankfully able to brace them both and keep Sasha upright. “Whoa, okay. Come on, let's sit down,” he murmured, half carrying Sasha over to the now-closed toilet.
“‘s cold,” Sasha grumbled, hunching immediately forwards to protect his stomach.
“Yeah,” Ryosuke said softly. “I know, it sucks. I thought you'd be feeling better by now or I'd have called someone to check on you.”
He grabbed a second towel, beginning to scrub Sasha's hair dry. Not having the energy to respond, Sasha simply leaned his head against Ryosuke's chest, relishing the warmth and steadiness that he'd missed so badly all day. Once he was as dry as Ryosuke could manage and they had fumbled him into his boxers, Sasha clung to him in the fight to stand up.
“C'mon, let's get you to the couch.” Ryosuke said. “I'm not risking the stairs right now.”
“Mkay,” Sasha mumbled, too weary to want to climb them anyway. “Want my new blanket.”
“Your what?”
“Coach heard I w’s sick.”
“Vasiliy sent you a care package?”
Sasha blinked slowly, gears fighting to turn in his head. “Oh. Right. I didn't tell you. Vody is my coach now. Dad's gonna kill me about it,” he sighed, flopping onto the couch and nestling into the massive swathe of deep blue fur.
“When did that happen?” Ryosuke squawked, offended that such machinations would be kept from him. “How did that happen? I didn't realise he coached at all?”
“Oh,” Sasha muttered again. “Right. You don't know skating. He was me before I was me, but better. I don't know why he wants to bother with me, though.”
“I knew he skated,” Ryosuke scoffed. He deliberately didn't engage with Sasha's self-deprecating nonsense. He knew by now that he had to pick his battles. Picking through the care package, he began to find things that Sasha's initial cursory exploration hadn't uncovered. “I do talk to Jace. I just didn't think he was a coach.”
“He isn't. Or he wasn't. I don't know what the fuck is going on,” Sasha mumbled. “I just found out this afternoon when he dropped off this giant fucking basket. I can't fathom why he's wasting all this money on me. But I'm keeping the blanket.”
“Well he seems like a nice guy,” Ryosuke shrugged, opening the packet of grapes from the basket and popping one in his mouth. “I think he's a good dad at least. He probably just didn't want to think of you sick and alone and slowly wasting away. Pastoral care is literally part of being a coach or a teacher or whatever.”
“...is that what a normal dad would do?”
“Some dads. Mine wouldn't. But mine doesn't do much of anything,” Ryosuke said nonchalantly, continuing to munch on grapes. “These are really good. You want some?”
Sasha grimaced, the threat of a gag tensing in his throat at the mere thought of eating. He swallowed tightly, shaking his head.
“Alright. Let me know if anything looks good, but there's no rush,” Ryosuke said, pulling out a bag of hard pretzels and chucking it to join everything else on the table. “Mr Jansen though, he's a real soft touch. Honestly, if he heard you were sick he'd probably send Ollie over with soup.”
“He's never even met me,” Sasha mumbled, curling up deeper into the sofa cushions.
“It doesn't matter, he'd feel bad for you,” Ryosuke said. “And you matter to Ollie.”
“That's… dumb,” Sasha said lamely. He didn't even believe it, truthfully, but he had to scorn it to keep from grieving the absence of any such figure in his own life. “Come lay with me,” he begged. “There's plenty of room under the blanket.”
Ryosuke gave him a little half smile, reaching for his hand and squeezing his fingers. Setting the care package aside for now, he clambered onto the sofa as carefully as he could, slotting himself in behind Sasha's much larger frame. It was deeply endearing, if a touch worrying, how much he seemed to immediately relax, settling back against Ryosuke's chest with a heavy sigh. They had been snuggling for a few minutes when Ryosuke spoke again.
“So what's up with the bear?”
“Mmm, don't really know,” Sasha said sleepily. He took Ryosuke’s hand where it was draped over his side, tangling their fingers together. “Maybe it represents Mother Russia or something.”
Ryosuke chuckled. “Well, he looks sweet. You'll have to thank Vody when you see him. This whole basket is lovely. And this blanket. Oh my God.”
“I know,” Sasha groaned. “I don't need all of this. He is being too nice.”
“Think of it as a signing bonus,” Ryosuke suggested. “I'm sure he's getting something out of this arrangement, even if it's just weird psychological warfare with Boris.”
Sasha sighed heavily. His head was banging too hard for him to really engage with the reasons that Vody might have made this decision. He could barely imagine stepping foot on the ice, feeling as wrung out and unsteady as he did right now. As much as he knew that it would pass, the discomfort was so overwhelming that it felt as though he might never recover.
Returning to the rink loomed heavy in his mind, and as much as he wanted to rest, Sasha couldn't escape the lingering worry that he would be expected at practice tomorrow. He needed to call Jace again.
“Is there…have you seen my phone?” He asked, not bothering to open his eyes when he was so cosy and safe in Ryosuke's arms.
“It’s on the coffee table. Do you need music? I can turn something on.” Ryosuke offered, already reaching for Sasha’s phone.
“Call Jace,” Sasha begged, “put it on speaker.”
“I didn't mean you needed to thank Vody now,” Ryosuke chuckled. “Maybe in 48 hours when you can think about food without dry heaving.”
“S’not the point. Need to ask him something.” Sasha mumbled, groping around the coffee table.
“I've got it, I've got it,” Ryosuke sighed, tugging Sasha back towards him and dialling the number with the other hand.
“Sasha Fierce!” Jace answered jovially, his voice tinny in a way that made it obvious he was on speakerphone. “You done barfing your soul out, or am I talking to your ghost?”
“Fuck off,” Sasha groaned, shifting onto his back and pressing his cheek into the hollow of Ryosuke's neck. “You're not funny.”
“I mean, you called me, bro,” Jace shrugged. Glass clinked in the background, presumably a beer bottle. “What's up?”
“I need to talk to your father,” Sasha said, trying to keep his usual deadpan despite the anxiety tightening in his chest.
“Uhhhh…” They heard footsteps through the phone and then Jace's voice came back through. “Yeah, he's busy right now and I do not want to disturb him. I can take a message.”
“Oh,” Sasha blinked nervously. “Sorry. I did not mean to interrupt his business.”
Jace snorted. “Business? Nah, dawg, he's balls deep in my mom and I don't wanna see that shit. Whaddaya want me to ask him?”
The sheer absurdity of his reply left Sasha dumbstruck, only coming back to earth when Jace's voice came through the speakers again.
“Sasha Fierce? Did you finally puke to death?”
“No. Shut up,” Sasha grumbled. “I just need to know if he will be mad if I miss morning skate.”
“I mean, if you're not a morning person, you could work with him on your schedule, but regularly ditching practice isn't a good look,” Jace said, picking his beer back up.
“Regularly?” Sasha furrowed his brow. “No, I would never ditch practice. I mean tomorrow. I will not be any good on the ice by then. I can try to make the afternoon though.”
“Bro, are you high?” Jace’s voice got louder as he picked up the phone in astonishment. “Why the fuck would he expect you tomorrow?”
“He… The note…,” Sasha pressed a hand into his forehead. Ryosuke made a pitying noise, moving to rub small, firm circles into his temples. “Said he needed me back on the ice. I don't want to fuck him around.”
“Bro…” the volume hadn't changed, but Jace's voice was unusually gentle. “He didn't mean drag your ass out of bed. He just meant feel better soon so you guys can get started.”
“Oh…” Sasha deflated in relief. “Oh, thank God. I'll be there first thing the day after tomorrow.”
Jace grimaced almost audibly through the phone. “Dude… no. Let us know when you're feeling better. Oh! That reminds me. I need to text you his number.”
“I'll be there the day after tomorrow,” Sasha repeated stubbornly. “I can't miss more than that. Your dad knows that.”
“I'll send you his number,” Jace said, deciding not to argue. “Shoot him a text. English is fine, the super heavy accent is a bit. He calls it his ‘brand’.”
“Some of us can actually speak Russian fluently,” Sasha muttered, “because we weren't spoiled by our parents as children.”
“Then text him in Russian,” Jace sighed. “I don't fucking care as long as you text him.”
“I will. Goodbye.”
“Feel better, jackass.”
Sasha rolled his eyes, waiting until the phone had been hung up to take it from Ryosuke. The brightness of the screen made him squint, and he fumbled to open his texts.
“Babe, you don't have to do that right now,” Ryosuke said, plucking the phone easily from Sasha's shaky grip and putting it on a shelf out of reach. “All you need to do right now is rest and fluids.” Feeling Sasha about to protest, he added, “I'm worried about you.”
“I jus’ need to sleep,” Sasha mumbled, tucking his face into Ryosuke's chest.
“You need to drink something first.” Ryosuke insisted.
“Lemme sleep for an hour,” Sasha bargained. “‘ve only just got comfortable. Lemme sleep while I can.”
“When was the last time you had something to drink?” Ryosuke asked.
“Uhhh, Lucozade…” Sasha said, gesturing vaguely towards the basket.
“Yeah,” Ryosuke muttered. “But if you didn't puke that all back up I'll be shocked and astounded.”
“‘s fine,” Sasha said dismissively. “Not like I'm dying.”
“Mm, debatable.” Ryosuke said, but his tone was gentle. “How about this? A sip now, and more later if you feel better.”
Sasha groaned. “I don't want to sit up.”
“I can get you a straw.”
“No, you're keeping me warm.”
Ryosuke rolled his eyes, groping around in the basket for a bottle. “Look, this has a little sippy cap, you don't even have to sit up.”
“Fine,” Sasha grumbled, taking the bottle and sucking on it like a toddler. “Happy now?”
“Exceedingly.”
“When it all comes back out in twenty minutes and I can't sleep, I'm blaming you.”
“Duly noted.” Ryosuke said, setting the bottle aside nearby and pulling Sasha against his chest. “Just try to get comfy.”
Sasha grumbled but didn't argue outright, burrowing deeper into the big plush blanket.
Neither Sasha nor Ryosuke got much sleep that night. Twenty minutes after his single sip of Lucozade, Sasha’s stomach pains were back but he hadn’t thrown up. Muttering something about hunger causing pain, Ryosuke had convinced him to work his way through the rest of the bottle. No more than ten minutes later, Sasha was back in the bathroom, bent double with the bin between his knees until he was wrung dry. An hour later they tried again. He made it through half a bottle before throwing up into a mixing bowl that Ryosuke only barely got to him in time. By then, he was definitely dehydrated, lips cracking and skin so pale it was see-through. Despite having been ill for less than twenty-four hours, he was looking gaunt and sallow, to the point where Ryosuke would have dragged another person to the emergency room.
It was then that Ryosuke found the pack of Zofran tucked in the very bottom of the care package that Vody had sent. Sasha let the pills melt on his tongue, then cautiously worked his way through the rest of the bottle. Half an hour later, he was running to the bathroom again, clutching his stomach and swearing miserably in Russian. This time he didn’t bother dragging himself back to the couch, mumbling that there was no point when he was just going to end up back here anyway. In truth, it had just been far too close a call. No matter how unwell and uncomfortable he felt, he couldn’t face the idea of failing to make it to the toilet in time.
Ryosuke backed off on forcing fluids down him at this point, letting him doze fitfully until ten minutes later he was heaving uncontrollably over the water, tears running down his face as the room spun around him.
“You’re dehydrated as fuck,” Ryosuke told him grimly. “You can’t carry on like this. It’s making you feel worse.”
Sasha agreed to drink some more, just to ease the worried look on his face. After the fourth bottle of Lucozade went through him in much the same way as the first, Sasha couldn’t even smell the stuff without retching, dry heaving until he brought up bile and then heaving some more for good measure. Ryosuke lay him down on a towel, patting his back through the aftershocks, and door-dashed some Coke. Sasha was too miserable even to protest that it was unsafe when Ryosuke left to meet the delivery driver in the car park by himself. He felt like a shell of his former self, all ability to function gone down the drain with the Lucozade.
Through the early hours, Ryosuke sat by him on the bathroom floor. He coaxed fluids into him - sometimes Coke, sometimes cordial with added salt, sometimes bone broth that made his mouth feel slimy and warm - just one sip at a time every fifteen minutes or so. He wiped his mouth clean when his nauseous drooling tipped over into puking up the tiniest mouthful of sick. He helped him up onto the toilet when, despite not having enough liquid to cry, his bowels continued to rebel against him. Sasha supposed the only saving grace of the whole ordeal was that he never did shit himself.
By the morning, he seemed to be through the very worst of it. Drinking more than a few sips at once still made him choke on a gag, but he was able to keep liquid down for long enough that he was pulled back from the precipice of dangerously dehydrated. He knew he was doing better, because he could keep track of the conversations as Ryosuke sat and called through his contacts until he found a substitute for his concert that night. Sasha shivered in his lap and thought about how lucky he was to have someone who would stay with him even at his worst.
Once he’d made it two hours without a bout of diarrhoea, Ryosuke ran him a bath. He kissed him on the forehead before helping to peel off his sweat-soaked boxers, and then he washed Sasha’s hair. Sasha dunked his whole face under the water so that he didn’t have to blink back tears. He felt like an insect in a cocoon, unmade and breakable and boneless. He got out of the bath and pressed his forehead against Ryosuke’s and couldn’t find a single word. Then he threw up the meagre contents of his stomach in the sink.
After that, they lay on the couch for hours. Now that his intestines seemed to have given up, Sasha couldn’t deny himself the comfort of the plush pillows and his new, warm blanket. Ryosuke read to him and stroked his hair, and rubbed his stomach when the pain got bad, and rubbed his back while he struggled not to vomit. He made mint tea and ginger tea and honeyed water and tried not to look disappointed when they inevitably came back up. By midday, they were both thoroughly exhausted and trying not to snap at each other.
That afternoon, Sasha tried, in some kind of unexplainable delusion, to eat one of the pickles that Vody had sent. His hope was shattered the minute he bit into it, stomach contracting violently at the prospect of something new, but the fermented taste cut through the fog in his brain in a way that felt better than anything else had for hours, so he persevered. He only got a few chews through it before his stomach revolted entirely. Clapping a hand over his mouth, he slapped around on the table until he found something akin to a mug. He spat into it blindly, desperate to clear the taste from his mouth. It was only once his breathing had settled that he finally looked down to see that he was holding not a mug, but Ryosuke’s favourite candle. Ryosuke took it from him with an exasperated sigh, and put it in the bin. He came back with a small glass of the pickle juice. When Sasha gave him a confused look, he shrugged.
“You looked like you were enjoying the taste. At least it’s got salt in it, that should do you some good.”
That, to Sasha’s shock, turned out to be the thing that actually stayed down. He barely dared to believe it, still eyeing the bin that he was no longer allowed to be more than a meter away from, but when he made it thirty minutes and then a whole hour without anything coming back up, he meekly asked, “C’n I have s'more?”
Over the next glass, he called Vlad and spent an hour groaning as Vlad complained loudly in Russian. This gave Ryosuke the freedom to get up and shower and clean the apartment. He came back from the bathroom smelling distinctly of bleach, and Sasha made him change his clothes before he could lie back down with him on the sofa. That night, when they'd reached the bottom of the jar of pickles, Sasha made him call Jace to ask how to make rassolnik. Jace, of course, barely knew what that was, but an hour later a large tupperware of the stuff arrived at their door.
Sasha was absolutely baffled by the swiftness, especially since he had only requested the recipe. He was, however, secretly relieved. Standing in the kitchen to cook would take energy he simply did not have, and even with a recipe, he didn't trust Ryosuke to cook anything more complicated than rice.
Even though he'd mostly only eaten the broth, it felt like a victory when the soup stayed down until Ryosuke eventually declared that it was time for bed - actual bed, at last, not just dozing between the sofa and the bathroom floor. Relieved to have the strength to move under his own steam, Sasha dragged himself and his new blanket up the stairs and collapsed into a long, much-needed sleep.
This actually made me jealous with how well it was written. The way you mixed the continuation of Sasha's physical illness with Ryosuke's caretaking and the bits of comic relief from Jace and Vody was masterful. I have no idea what Lucozade it but it sounds nasty, lol. The details here - Sasha peeled raw so that we saw him without the mask he usually wears - Ryo knowing not to even deal with his self-deprecation at the moment. And then the bits about fathers . . . Sasha not even knowing what a normal father would do. My god I wanted to wrap him up and hold him tight but I guess he has Ryosuke for that.
I'm still jealous of the blanket.
This happened when I was twenty-three years old (my 47th birthday is tomorrow). I went on an outing to Sydney’s Brontë Beach and ate fish and chips for lunch. The chips were fine, but the fish tasted a bit weird. By that afternoon my stomach was hurting badly and I knew then that the fish hadn’t been fresh. I knew I had food poisoning. Sure enough, I threw up twice during the night and the second time my backside suddenly erupted violently. Goodness, I had diarrhoea now, too! That fish really upset my stomach.
This happened when I was thirty five. I woke up one morning and straight away ran to the bathroom. Then I threw up. Half an hour later I threw up again, and then once more a while later. In the space of a few hours I had vomited three times. No diarrhoea, just vomiting.
This was the day before my 41st birthday. I was on the bus going to work, and towards the middle of the journey I started to feel really sick in my stomach. I knew I was going to throw up, but I tried not to think about it. But after a while, I suddenly started throwing up. The vomit poured out of my mouth.
After I got off the bus another violent vomiting attack hit me. I threw up repeatedly and it was disgusting. Later that morning when I saw the GP, I was told I had gastroenteritis. While I was waiting my other end had started up. Not a nice way to start the morning!
