for @iluvthesnz who’s having a rough day and who came up with this fabulous prompt (honestly she’s the best at coming up with these)
Shiro had been sick for close to a week and a half now, with the same stupid bug that had been working its way through campus and his friend group.
It started with Pidge, who spread it to Hunk. Hunk, who was sharing a suite with Lance, Keith and Shiro, spread it to Keith, his immediate roommate. Keith spread it to Lance, and Lance, being Shiro’s immediate roommate, spread it to Shiro.
Shiro, as he does, pushed through it until he couldn’t anymore, and had spent the last two days in bed, too weak and sick to get up.
Lance felt terrible he had gotten Shiro sick, especially since he had tried so hard to keep it to himself. It was nearly impossible, though, considering they were sharing a room, and considering Shiro insisted on caring for him.
“Hey, man,” Lance said, leaning against the doorframe. “How are you feeling?”
Guilt gnawed at the pit of his stomach. “We’re all gonna watch a movie in the living room. Want to join us?”
Shiro buried his face in his blanket, coughing harshly (he wasn’t wheezing - yet - which Shiro took as a sign that he’d be okay after another day or two in bed).
“I’m taking that as a no.”
“Huh?” Shiro frowned, brain hazy from the fever.
“I’m taking it you don’t want to watch the movie…are you okay?”
Shiro squeezed his eyes shut. “Oh…sorry…umb…ndo, i’mb too tired.”
“Okay…do you need anything?”
He sniffled. “Nd-ndo…hh'ngXCHT! *snff*”
Shiro plucked a tissue from the tissue box, and blew his nose.
Shiro rolled his eyes. “Lance, it’s not your fault. Stop feeling guilty.”
“But I’m the one who made you sick.” He whined.
“Half the campus is sick right now, if I didn’t catch it from you, I c…heh…s-sorry…ehh…one s-second-hih’ngXCHT! Hh’ihtGXCHT! *snff* if I didn’t catch it from you, I caught it from someone else.” He sniffled, coughing lightly.
“Bless you. If you need anything, text me. We’ll try to keep it down.”
Shiro was already half asleep, and by the time Lance shut the door, Shiro was fast asleep.
“Is Shiro feeling better?” Hunk asked.
Lance shook his head. “Not in the slightest.”
“Well shit,” Hunk sighed, “you think we need to get him to a doctor?”
“I think he just needs to rest. The idiot doesn’t sleep enough,” Lance said, rolling his eyes.
“I’ll make soup,” Hunk offered, standing up.
“Probably a good idea,” Keith frowned, “when’s the last time he’s eaten?”
“S’beend a while,” came a weak, congested, raspy voice from the doorway. “Hhh…Hhh’ngXCHT! Hh’ihtGXCHT! Hih’ngXCHT! *Snff*”
They all turned their attention to where Shiro was standing.
“Dude, what are you doing up?” Hunk asked, walking over to him.
“Couldn’t sleep,” he sniffled, and then gave a little cough, “I cand’t breathe lyindg downd.”
“Then come sit with us and watch the movie,” Keith said, patting the cushion next to him.
Shiro made his way over slowly, muscles aching and protesting as he did so. He all but flopped down onto the couch. The exertion threw him into a miserable, chesty, lung-seizing coughing fit that left him wheezing slightly.
“Shit, you have asthma, don’t you?” Lance frowned.
“Only when I get sick,” Shiro rasped.
“Yeah, and you’re sick now,” Lance bit, “and it’s getting worse. Are you okay? Do you need your inhaler?”
“-okay well I’m getting it for you anyways. Where is it?”
“Nightstand,” Shiro mumbled, punctuating his statement with a sniffle. “I don’t need-”
“-yeah you do.” Hunk cut him off. “You’re wheezing.”
“Barely.” Shiro muttered, crossing his arms.
Keith rolled his eyes. “And barely is enough to need it.”
Shiro woke up in the middle of the night. He shivered, which made his teeth chatter and let him know his fever had definitely spiked. His entire body was aching with an intensity that hadn’t been there before, but that wasn’t what had woken him up.
His throat was dry, it felt like sandpaper, and hurt each time he swallowed.
Shiro glanced at the humidifier, puffs of steam being shot into the air. His chest still felt tight, but he was no longer wheezing, and he suspected it was more due to all of the chest congestion than it had to do with the asthma.
He rubbed at his forehead and glanced over at Lance, who was dead asleep on the other side of the room. He sprawled out in bed as he snored, still slightly congested from when he had been sick.
Shiro was tempted to wake him up, because he felt weak and exhausted, and ached entirely too much to move. He didn’t want to, though, because Lance was asleep, and it was so stupid to wake him up because Shiro was being a baby and didn’t want to go get a glass of water.
As soon as he gathered the energy to get up, he found himself stumbling out of the room and to the kitchen.
What he didn’t account for, however, was how much he was trembling. His shaking hands couldn’t hold the glass, and he dropped it, shattering it everywhere.
Tears filled his eyes - he couldn’t do anything right. All he wanted to do was get a fucking glass of water himself, because he had been enough of a burden on everyone (especially Lance, who was stuck being his caretaker). They had spent enough time taking care of him when they shouldn’t have to.
Then, he burst into tears. They were going to be so mad he shattered the glass. They didn’t have many to begin with, and now they had even less. All because he was an idiot who couldn’t manage to just hold onto it.
The sound of a glass shattering jerked Lance out of his sleep, and he looked around blearily. He glanced over at Shiro’s bed, and then groaned.
Lance got out of bed and padded into the kitchen. Shiro was sitting on the floor, surrounded by glass and water as he sobbed uncontrollably.
“Shiro? Shiro, hey, what’s the matter?” Lance asked, putting on his flip flops that were next to the door.
“I’m sorry,” he wailed, tears streaming down his cheeks. His cheeks, Lance noted, were flushed with a bright red fever flush that spread across his cheekbones.
“What are you sorry about?” Lance frowned, walking over to his very distressed roommate. Shiro just kept apologizing over and over again. He was too out of it to respond, and when Lance felt his forehead, he inhaled sharply.
“I’m sorry!” Shiro wailed.
“It’s okay, it’s fine. Don’t worry about it, you don’t need to apologize. Do you think you can you calm down, though? You’re wheezing again.” He said softly.
Shiro had calmed down slightly, but his eyes were still glistening with tears as he gulped in breaths. Lance helped him stand up, and managed to get him to step over the broken glass. Once he was in his bed, Lance helped him with the inhaler and then cranked up the humidifier all the way.
As soon as he was breathing easier, Lance excused himself to go clean up the broken glass and water.
Shiro laid in bed, still clearly upset.
“I’m sorry,” Shiro moaned, choking on another sob. “Don’t be mad, please don’t be mad, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to, I’m s-sorry.”
Lance’s heart dropped at how upset Shiro sounded. Never, in the three years they had known each other, had Lance ever heard or seen Shiro cry.
To be honest, it was kind of sending him into a panic.
“I’m not mad, why do you think I’m mad?”
“I’m sorry,” Shiro whimpered. After a few moments of silence (during which Lance put the thermometer in his ear), Shiro mumbled out something about the glass breaking, and Lance laughed lightly.
“Dude, I don’t give a shit about the glass. Is that why you were so upset?”
Shiro nodded, and attempted to get out of bed, telling Lance to go back to sleep and that he would clean it up. Lance all but pinned him down.
“Stay in bed. Your fever is over one oh three. Please just lie down, you need to rest.”
Shiro sniffled weakly, eyelids drooping as he relaxed down into the pillows
“I’m sorry for waking you up.” He mumbled. “M’sorry for the mess.”
“It’s okay, go to sleep.”
Shiro nodded, finally allowing himself to fall asleep.
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