Look who's back! I had to write more about Jamal and Nikita, they won my heart in an instant and I wanted to explore their personalities and relationship a little more. Of course, paired with pain and suffering and subsequent caretaking. Anyone surprised? It's a bit more dramatic this time. Please enjoy and let me know if you liked it.
It had been such a dumb and pointless fight. Admittedly, most fights are dumb and pointless when you look at them from a distance with a clearer mind. There was no way Jamal could have predicted the later events, but it didn't take away from the anger and regret he felt.
For the last month, he had been frequently hanging out with Nikita - the guy he used to avoid like the plague until that fateful night when Jamal had cared for him while the idiot was dead drunk. They had come to a silent agreement to a) never mention the locker room incident and b) never question why they spent time with each other in the first place. Instead, they were just going with the flow and didn't look too closely at where it was taking them day by day.
"Hey, how'ya doing?", Jamal greeted them and before he knew, he was in the midst of a heated discussion about the upcoming season, the latest training sessions and the rival college's MVP. Time flew by and it was almost half an hour later when Jamal realized Nikita hadn't arrived yet. It was highly unusual for him to be late or not show up at all, so he sent him a message. Maybe his teammate had just been held up by a professor or a fellow student.
Ten more minutes. No reply, no Nikita. Jamal did start to worry a little and sent another text. At the same time, he was hungry enough to eat every bit of food on the menu, so he decided to sit down with his other friends and get something between his teeth. Nikita could still join them once he arrived.
Only that he didn't. Even after every last bit of their meal was eaten up and his teammates had already left, Nikita hadn't shown up yet. With an uneasy feeling, Jamal got up, ready to form a one man search party. Suddenly, he felt a firm grip on his arm that almost made him jump.
"Wait", an all too familiar voice said, calmly, "you can sit right back down, I'm gonna get something for me. I'm starving."
Jamal turned around, staring at the unmoved expression on the face he had been looking for.
"Are you fucking kidding me?", he snapped after being speechless for a few seconds. "I was worried."
"What did you worry about, an alien abduction?", Nikita scoffed while letting himself sink on the wooden bench, arms crossed.
"I've texted you like three times, you could at least have told me you're gonna be late." Jamal hated the way he sounded like somebody's ditched date, but he had been genuinely concerned. Something like this had never happened before and he couldn't remember Nikita being late for training just once.
"Yeah, I didn't check my phone."
"Obviously." Why was Nikita suddenly acting all passive aggressive, like he was the one who had a reason to be upset? "I don't get it, man. You're showing up over an hour late and now you seem pissed. Seriously, what's wrong with you?"
"You seemed busy enough", the blonde replied with a shrug while intentionally avoiding eye contact.
"Wait... you serious? Were you watching the whole time like some goddamn stalker?"
"I've been waiting for them to leave. They're assholes. I have no idea why you're wasting your time on them."
"You know you're talking about my friends and our teammates, right?" The whole conversation was getting weirder by the second. Jamal could feel his bewilderment quickly turn into anger. "Oh, and you're one to call others assholes."
"Takes one to know one. You can hang out with those losers all day long if you want to, I'll pass."
"Did you just unironically call them losers?"
"What, you want me to come up a more eloquent description?" Nikita brushed back his light hair, lips curled into a scornful smile. "You know what's your biggest issue? You're trying way too hard to get along with everyone."
"Like with you?" With an angry huff, Jamal got up. "Yeah, that might actually be an issue."
"Well, I guess I'm exhibit A." The callous demeanor of his teammate put more fuel to the fire, even though Jamal wasn't one to get upset easily. But at this point, it seemed quite tempting to wipe away that cold smirk with a well-aimed hit.
"I'm full. Enjoy your own company if everyone else isn't good enough", he growled, trying to pull himself together.
"Anything you can recommend on the menu?"
"Fuck you." Without waiting for another snarky reply, Jamal turned around and walked away.
That was the last exchange of words they had before everything went horribly wrong two days later.
---
Training was the best way to let off some steam, even if it meant to put in even more effort to ignore Nikita. Fortunately, Mr. Asshole himself did the very same thing, keeping his usual distance from all of his teammates including Jamal. Once they were on the field, their quarrel was qickly forgotten anyways. That was until the collision happened and everything came to a sudden halt.
As an offensive guard, Jamal was busy keeping the defensive line at bay. He didn't see Nikita making his way past the cornerback, catching the quarterback's forward pass. He didn't see the wide receiver getting tackled by one of the safeties. However, he heard their helmets colliding with full force and instantly knew something bad had happened. Something serious.
Looking up, Jamal was trying to catch a glimpse of what was going on through the heavy-built bodies lining up in front of him. He saw one person picking himself up from the lawn, hands pressed against the helmet. The other one was lying on the ground, motionless. Jamal's heart sank when he recognized Nikita's jersey number.
Half of the team was frozen in place, the other half frantically rushing closer. The coach quickly stopped them in their tracks. "Don't touch him!", he commanded. "Don't try to move him!" He knelt down besides Nikita, bending forward to look at his face.
"I - I didn't mean to, I swear, it was an accident", the safety stuttered, but the coach cut him off with a swift movement of his hand. "Sit down. Make sure you're allright", he ordered before turning towards two other players who were standing right next to him. "Keep an eye on him!"
Jamal had no idea how long he had been completely petrified, unable to do anything but observing. It seemed like an eternity, even though it had probably only been two or three minutes. Nikita still hadn't moved an inch. From the distance, Jamal couldn't tell if he was breathing or not.
The last thing I told him was to fuck off, kept on going through his head, and even though Nikita had surely deserved it at that moment, there had been plenty of chances to talk things out. Jamal had intentionally missed them because he had still been mad, and now he realized he might have missed them entirely.
Not caring about what the coach might say, he hurried towards the lifeless body and got down on his knees. "Is he okay?", he asked, knowing very well he talked to their trainer, not a doctor. "He's not dead, is he?"
"He's breathing, but we have to call an ambulance if he stays unconscious", the coach responded without taking his eyes off Nikita's face. "Hey, kid, can you hear me?"
Finally, Nikita's eyelids started to flutter and he let out a quiet moan. After a few more seconds, he opened his eyes entirely and looked up, visibly confused, instantly trying to sit up.
"No, stay down, relax." The coach's voice was firm, yet surprisingly caring while he kept on holding Nikita's head in place. "Remember what happened? You got hit pretty badly, helmet to helmet, knocked you out for a while. Good to see you're back among the living. Now tell me, how do you feel? Does your head hurt?"
"Mhm", Nikita mumbled, seemingly still unable to grasp where he was and how the hell he got there.
"I can imagine. Anything else? Feeling dizzy? Nauseous?"
The blonde tried to answer, but the second he opened his mouth, a gush of vomit spilled over his lips, splashing right back onto his face where it ran down his cheeks and chin. Carefully, the coach turned him to the side, just in time before Nikita projectile vomited all over the lawn, leaving the bars of his helmet covered in a chunky and slimy fluid. Instinctively, Jamal wanted to put a hand on his back, but stopped halfway when he remembered the risk of a spine injury. These kind of collisions were dangerous.
"I'm okay, I'm fine", Nikita groaned while spitting out repeatedly. He gagged, most likely from the stench of his puke right in front of and under his nose.
"Sorry, kid, you should leave your helmet on. I'm sure your friend will get some water to clean you up", the coach explained, but Nikita didn't listen. He pushed himself in an upright position, fumbling around with the slippery chinstrap before finally opening it and removing the stained helmet.
"Listen, Nik, you should really..."
"I'm fine", Nikita cut Jamal off, trying to wipe the vomit from his face with shaking fingers. "I feel better."
"You most likely have a concussion and you need to see a doctor." The trainer's tone left no doubt how serious he was about the matter. "Even if you feel better now, you have to make sure your brain and your spine are okay. I'd still prefer to call an ambulance."
"It's not that bad, I'd rather just..."
"I can drive you to the hospital", Jamal declared without hesitation. "Come on, man, you're not scared of doctors, aren't you?"
"Stop provoking me to make me comply", Nikita growled, spitting out once more. Throwing up had surely left a bad taste in his mouth, quite literally. For a moment he looked like he was about to protest again, but then he gave in with a tired shrug. "Allright, I'm coming with you. Still better than an ambulance, I guess."
"Make sure they have him checked out properly", the coach advised Jamal with a conspiratorial nod, "and don't let your stubborn friend talk you out of it. I mean it. Injuries like this are not a joke."
"Understood", Jamal saluted before helping Nikita back on his feet. "Let's get you cleaned up first, Mr. I-never-puke-in-my-entire-life-ever."
"I hate you." Nikita tried to give Jamal a death glare that was only half successful, but still held on to him tightly. Jamal was more than relieved the guy could walk, but his staggering movements gave away that he definitely wasn't well. It was about time he got to the hospital for a thorough examination.
---
During their ride, Nikita was awfully quiet. He stared out of the side window, face pale, arms wrapped around his middle. Jamal glanced over from time to time to make sure he was still holding out.
"Tell me if you are feeling worse or if you need something", he finally broke the silence.
"I don't", Nikita replied without turning his head.
"You still mad at me?", Jamal continued, knowing perfectly well that it wasn't the right place or time for this discussion.
"I've never been mad at you. You were mad at me. Stop trying to make this weird."
"You know, you got me scared real good." Maybe this was the moment to shut up, but for some reason, Jamal just couldn't stop talking. "Thought you were dead for a moment."
"Well, I'm not." Nikita looked and sounded like he was ready to go back into his cold and sarcastic defense mode. Then he brought his hands up to his temples and started to massage them with his fingertips. "Honestly, I can't remember a thing. Not even going on the field. Talk about a mindfuck."
"You got your brain shaken up pretty badly. Proves that you actually have one."
"Your jokes are the worst", Nikita snarled, rolling his eyes.
"Who said I'm joking?" Even though he only watched his teammate out of the corner of his eyes, Jamal was pretty sure he got at least the tiniest of smiles out of him. They continued their ride in silence, but it felt more comfortable now. That was unless Nikita raised his voice, with a tone that instantly set off every single one of Jamal's inner alarm bells.
"Can you pull over?"
"You feeling sick again?", he asked, immediately looking for a possibility to stop the car.
"I gotta throw up."
Now Jamal was actually concerned. He hadn't expected Nikita to be honest about his dire situation. "Hang in there, Nik. I'll stop in a minute."
"Jamal, 'm gonna puke", Nikita groaned. The very next second, his face went completely blank.
"Listen, there's a plastic bag in the glove box. Just throw up in it if you think you can't keep it down. It's okay." Jamal wanted to calm down his teammate, but he didn't seem to hear him anymore. Nikita's head tilted forward and, without further warning, a flood of vomit was pouring out his mouth, soaking his entire front. Jamal cursed, frantically looking for a chance to pull over. Nikita's body jerked and produced a gargling noise before he brought up another stream of semi-liquid mush. It contained bigger chunks of whatever the blonde had consumed for lunch, splattering on his legs and the car seat with thick, wet splashes.
At this point, it was obvious Nikita had lost control over his body entirely. Jamal was worried he could have passed out again, but then he suddenly bent forward and retched violently before spitting lumps of half digested food on the floor and his shoes.
"Sorry, I'm so sorry", he slurred. Jamal felt a heavy lump in his throat. He hadn't thought Nikita would ever apologize, let alone twice in one sentence.
"It's allright, man. Don't worry about it, just let it all up. It is not your fault." At this point, Jamal couldn't have cared less about getting the inside of his car covered in puke. He was terrified Nikita could have come down with a more serious injury than a simple concussion and he felt horrible for not being able to take care of him. Pulling over wasn't even an option anymore, he just wanted to get his friend to the hospital as soon as possible. If it meant having to live with a permanent stench of vomit in his car, that was a price he was willing to pay.
Nikita had gone back to his vacant stare, his body hanging limp in the safety belt, flaky liquid spilling out of his mouth. His eyelids were half closed. Never before had Jamal seen him in such a completely helpless state, barely awake.
"Stay with me, Nik!", Jamal tried to reach him with his voice. "Don't fall asleep. We're almost there!"
He wasn't sure if Nikita could hear him. When he finally reached the hospital, Jamal didn't waste time to look for a parking space. He just stopped right in front of the entrance, jumped out of his side of the car and rushed over to Nikita. "Help, I need help!", he called out while opening the safety belt. Not caring about the fact that the blonde was covered in his own regurgitated stomach contents, he pulled him closer, securing his head in an upright position.
"Hang in there, Nik. They'll be here in a second, you'll be safe, I'm here for you." Keeping up the endless stream of comforting words, Jamal held Nikita tightly until finally, paramedics came hurrying towards them with a stretcher.
---
Jamal had to wait while they were running a CT on Nikita, so he passed the time with cleaning his car from the gratuitious amount of puke his friend had spilled all over the front seat area. Then he changed into clean clothes in the backseat - walking around in his football uniform had been pretty awkward anyways. It was not just the stench of vomit that made him feel nauseous. Waiting for the results, not knowing what the doctors might find, left him with a crippling mixture of anxiety and helplessness.
When he finally made his way back into the hospital, one of the nurses greeted him with a reassuring smile.
"You can go see your friend now. He's awake."
Walking as fast as possible without running, Jamal hurried to Nikita's room. They had changed the blonde into a hospital gown. His skin tone almost matched the white bed linen, but at least he was reacting the moment Jamal opened the door, looking up with tired eyes.
"Hey, how're ya doing?" Jamal grabbed a chair and made himself comfortable next to Nikita's bed.
"Never been better. Fuck this dress. My ass is hanging out."
"Bet the nurses love to see that", Jamal couldn't help chuckling. "Any news from the doctors already?"
"Yeah, it's fine. Just a concussion. They'll keep me over night to make sure my brain won't swell or bleed or whatever."
"There's plenty of room in that empty space up there." It felt like a heavy weight was lifted from Jamal's chest. He was still nervous and it hurt him to see the blonde in such a miserable state, but at least there was a good chance he would be just fine in the end. "Man, you really had me worried."
"Didn't plan to. Sorry for messing up your car, by the way."
"Stop worrying about that damn car. Got all of your chunks cleaned up already. I don't mind driving with my window open for a while." He wanted to cheer Nikita up, but his friend's face looked tense, jaws clenched. "Hey, what's wrong? Think you gonna be sick again?"
"Hmmmhm", was the only reply Nikita could come up with. It was enough for Jamal to quickly grab the emesis basin, shoving it under his friend's chin. He could see him swallowing repeateldy, blinking, then swallowing again.
"It's okay, Nik, don't hold it back. I'm here. I got you." Jamal switched from his place at the chair to his friend's bedside. With one hand, he brushed the light blond strands of hair out of Nikita's forehead, holding his injured head in place, while the other hand gently started to rub his back.
Stubborn as he was, Nikita kept on fighting for at least two more minutes before his nausea or the headache finally got the best of him. He let out an agonized groan, followed by a gargling hiccup and a surge of brownish slush, spilling back from the sloped walls of the emesis basin.
"There you go, that's it. Try to relax and let it happen." With the hospital gown's back being open, Jamal's hand was stroking directly over Nikita's skin. It felt warm and damp to the touch. Sitting so close to him, he could feel the well defined stomach muscles contracting, pushing up even more of its content. Like in the car, the liquid was just pouring out of Nikita's mouth without any resistence. He didn't even retch or spit, he only produced involuntary gagging sounds way back in his throat. "Doing great, just get it all up, Nik. It can't bother you once you got it out."
Nikita's body expelled a thick, off-white slurry before he finally regained control over himself. He spit out, shivering, trying to get rid of the strands that clung to his lips. Jamal grabbed one of the paper towels on the bedside table, gently wiping his friend's mouth and chin.
"It's okay, you got this. You're a pro now." Carefully, he removed the brim-full emesis basin and emptied it at the tiny bathroom next door. He brought back a glass of water, holding it up to Nikita's lips. "Here, take a sip. Slowly. Helps to get rid of the aftertaste."
"I can tell. But you'll be fine. And I'm right here until they drag me out."
For a while, Jamal just sat there in silence, holding Nikita's hand. He got so lost in thoughts that he flinched when the blonde finally spoke again.
"They talked shit about you, y'know", he muttered with a husky voice.
Who, Jamal was about to ask, but he didn't. He didn't have to. He knew exactly who Nikita was referring to and he wasn't even surprised in the slightest.
"They talk shit about everyone. You can't take that seriously."
"But I do." Nikita's eyes were still closed, maybe because he was tired, maybe because he didn't want to look at Jamal at that moment.
"Listen, it's just who they are. They're joking. Doesn't mean they actually hate me."
"I don't get it." Now one of Nikita's light grey eyes opened a little, taking a glance at the young men sitting right next to him. "You're like seven feet tall, but you let everyone walk all over you."
"I don't. I just don't take everything to heart because people are people. You can't change 'em."
"Yeah, but it doesn't mean you have to be nice to them."
"Hey, it's allright. I'm not mad at you anymore. I'm just glad you're okay and now fuck those guys and get some rest. You gotta take care of yourself right now. Everybody else doesn't matter. Wait a second." Jamal left the bedside for a moment to get a towel from the bathroom. He drenched it in cold water and wrung it out before returning to his injured friend.
Nikita's eyes were closed. He didn't move, but his breath had finally calmed down.
"Nik? You asleep?" Jamal carefully observed the pale face, the long eyelids, the slightly opened mouth. Then, when he was sure Nikita had actually fallen asleep, he bent down and placed a gentle kiss on his forehead. Holding his breath for at least ten seconds, Jamal waited for Nikita to stay relaxed and calm, not showing signs of any reaction. Then he put the cool towel on the skin where his lips just had been and sat down, reaching for Nikita's hand again.
"Sleep well, you fucking idiot."
And he stayed there until visiting hours were over.
I've been really intrigued by the idea of someone ending up in the caregiver role against his will for a person he can't stand. It's about OCs this time because that's what I'm most comfortable with. What was supposed to be just a little drabble ended being quite the long story, as usual. Hope you like what my brain came up with, let me know if you want more.
The evening had been a blast. It was the first time in over a decade that their football team had beaten the rival college and, unsurprisingly, everybody had lost their minds. Now the hot summer day had turned into a pleasently warm night and Jamal was busy cleaning up the remains of their victory party. Being the only one who didn't drink, he had volunteered for the job, his teammades surely deserved it.
Humming a tune that had been stuck in his head for days, he carried some supplies back to their locker room - only to almost chocke on his own breath when he saw a figure in the dark, hunched over on one of the benches. His heart started racing. He was sure everyone had gone home at least an hour ago, so this scenario made him feel a little too much like a horror movie protagonist.
"Who's there?", Jamal called into the darkness, doing his best to keep his voice commanding and confident.
"Oh, shut up", the figure replied, slowly lifting his head. Jamal's eyes widened for a minute, then did a full 360 when he realized who was sitting in front of him. Of all people, it had to be Nikita. The only person in the entire team he couldn't stand at all, the prickliest of pricks, overly ambitious and always making sure to let anyone know. Wasn't this just his luck?
"You're the one to talk, almost gave me heart attack", Jamal growled, putting down the box he was carrying. Even with the lights out, he could see that Nikita was looking terrible. His skin was ghastly pale, eyes wide, sweat covering his face. "Don't tell me your Russian stomach can't handle that vodka."
"Aren't you so funny", his teammate replied with a tone that tried hard to be snarky, but failed miserably. "Can you just get your shit done and leave me alone?"
"What do you want me to do, lock you in? I'm responsible for the keys, you got to get outta here. Go home. Go sleep. You look like you need it."
"Look, I really need a minute right now. Do your thing, stop talking, stop being a pest." He brushed some strands of light blond hair out of his forehead that had been clinging to his damp skin. As soon as he finished talking, he clenched his teeth again, lips firmly pressed together.
"I get it, man. You're feeling sick. Watching and waiting won't make you better, just get the stuff out of your system and leave." Jamal nodded to the restroom door. He was more than ready to go home himself, the last thing he needed was wasting more time with a grumpy drunk, let alone cleaning up his puke. "Just don't make a mess, okay?"
"Well, no shit, Sherlock. Any more great advice, because I never throw up. I can't. Now would you kindly leave me alone?"
"Wait, what?" This was getting ridiculous. "Are you kidding me, everyone pukes. Just go to the toilet, open your mouth, let it all out, feel better. It's not that hard."
"Keep on talking, it might make me sick", Nikita scoffed, still not making any effort to get up and leave. Now it was Jamal who was getting sick, not from intoxication, but his teammate's attitude.
"Fuck it. I'm out of here. Just stay and suffer if you want to." Jamal turned around, thinking about calling his coach to explain the situation. This had been such a great day and he wouldn't let it be ruined by someone who vented on him for not being able to handle his drinks. He was almost at the door, when he suddenly heard a strained voice calling: "Wait!"
For a moment, Jamal considered ignoring it, just locking the dickhead in so that the others could find him the next day, lying in a pool of his own vomit. The thought was followed by immediate guilt, so he turned around to find Nikita staring at him with a completely unexpected expression, something that closely resembled panic. He was breathing heavily through his nose. There was no way in hell Jamal could leave the guy behind like this, he was his teammate after all.
"Okay, listen. Pretend I'm the coach and do exactly what I tell you. I'll get you through this. Deal?"
"You don't have to speak in football metaphors to help me understand you."
"Could you stop being an asshole for five minutes so I can stop questioning my life decisions? Thank you." Jamal exhaled loudly. "Think you can get up and make it to the restroom?"
Instead of answering, Nikita instantly shook his head, eyes getting even wider. With an inaudible sigh, Jamal was reaching for the trash bin and placed it between his teammate's legs.
"We'll try something first. You managed to poison yourself with alcohol. If we add just a little more, it might cause your body to expell the toxin. Understood?" Good thing there was still a little vodka left in one of the bottles. Jamal pulled out a shot glass, filled it with the smallest amount of liquid and held it right under Nikita's nose.
"I... I really don't think I can do this", the blonde stuttered, his face turning an almost greenish color.
"See? That's great. It's already working. Now be a man and get the stuff down, you didn't mind earlier."
Nikita glared at Jamal like he wanted to punch his teammate in the face, but something about his words must have struck a chord. He grabbed the glass, hand shaking visibly, and emptied the content with one sip. For a moment, there was perfect silence, both of them staring at each other intensely. Then, all of a sudden, Nikita's body bent at the waste like he was hit in the stomach. He was retching forcefully, loudly. Jamal could see his well defined muscles spasm under his tight shirt.
"Whoa, that's... impressive", he said with an awkward smile, but his teammate was too busy making prolonged gagging noises that sounded awfully wet and painful. Just listening made Jamal feel a little queasy himself, even though he had no alcohol in his system. The whole thing was going on for at least two minutes before Nikita spit out a strand of saliva and looked up, his light grey eyes bloodshot.
"That... was horrible. I knew... it wouldn't work."
"Seems like you are a tough cookie at tossing your cookies", Jamal replied with a little chuckle, he just couldn't help himself.
"Oh, fuck you! You're... you're really enjoying this, aren't you?" There was something about Nikita's voice that made Jamal's smile vanish in a second. Damn it, he couldn't stand that prick, but for a moment, he had been kicking him while he was already down.
"Sorry", he mumbled, cheeks feeling warm with shame, "we'll get this done. Time to bring out the big guns, I guess. Can you trust me for a moment?"
"Trust you?!"
"I know, I know, just for a second. I promise you'll feel better when it's over. Listen, I'm always the sober one, I've been here before. Just open your mouth and let me do my thing."
"What the fuck are you-", Nikita tried to protest, but his body was shaken by another violent retch. He tried to gasp for air, hands clenched around the rim of the bucket so tightly his knuckles turned white.
"Easy, easy there! It can't get much worse, can it? You really gotta get that stuff out." Even though it felt painfully awkward, Jamal placed a hand on his teammate's shoulder. He could feel his body shivering. Slowly, he brought his fingers up to Nikita's lips. "Come on, let's get this over with. You'll be better in no time."
Jamal was hit with a look that could have been either sceptical or anxious, but he didn't mind. Instead, he sat down right next to the blonde and leaned forward so he could easily reach for his face. After a moment of hesitation, Nikita gave in and opened his mouth. Maybe he just felt miserable enough to do anything for relief.
Carefully, but determined, Jamal slid in with his index and middle finger. He got a muffled gag out of Nikita before even reaching the back of his throat. Jamal moved closer to his teammate, supporting his body with the other arm while going straight for the uvula, stimulating it with his fingertips. Convulsing under another dry heave, Nikita grabbed Jamal's muscular arm, trying to pull his hand out again.
"Nonono, I gotta keep going, we're back to square one if I pull out now. Don't panic, okay? Just relax and let it all out." Jamal couldn't believe he calmly tried to coach the team's designated asshole, but here he was, doing his best to be encouraging. It didn't help that the gargling sounds of retching got worse every time he slightly moved his fingers back and forth. Saliva was filling Nikita's mouth, dripping down the back of Jamal's hand.
"Almost there, come on, just puke it up." Maybe it was these words, maybe his fingers pushing against the uvula once again, but without any warning, Nikita brought up a surge of vomit, forcing its way up the esophagus and out of his mouth. Jamal quickly pulled back his hand, making way for a projectile of pale liquid that splattered into the trash can. A silent curse left his lips when he felt the sticky, warm substance covering his skin up to his wrist. He hadn't been fast enough, but at least he had successfully pulled the trigger.
"There you go", Jamal said quietly while he started to rub Nikita's back with his clean hand. "Doing great there. Make sure to get everyting out."
Vomit pep talk was the most ridiculous thing ever, but what else could he say? Besides, Jamal wasn't even sure if Nikita was listening. He was too busy bending over the bucket producing deep guttural sounds, followed by a waterfall big enough to force his mouth wide open. The blonde was desperately gasping for air, only to bring up more of his undigested stomach content, most likely chunks of the burgers they had served at the party. What he had first thrown up had been mostly liquid, probably the alcohol he had consumed. The remains of his last meal seemed to be harder to expel.
Overwhelmed by sickness, Nikita's body collapsed. Jamal quickly supported him with both arms. It meant getting some vomit from his hand on the shirt, but it was definitely better than falling headfirst into a trash can that was already filled with a substantial amount of puke.
"It's okay, keep going. I got you." Jamal put one of his big hands on Nikita's stomach and gave it a firm push, followed by an upward movement. It was about time the guy got it all out. A miserable moan escaped the blonde's throat and he hunched over even more, his body faint like a ragdoll. A thick stream of brown mush spilled out of his mouth like water from a tap, staining his pants and splashing on the floor.
"Fuck", Jamal cursed while getting hold of Nikita's forehead, moving him back over the trash bin and holding him in an upright position. "I mean, great job, you're almost there." He had no right to be mad. At this point, his teammate had fully lost control over his body and it was probably terrifying to him if he wasn't used to it. Jamal placed Nikita's hands on the rim of the trash can. "Just try to hold on, will you? It'll be over soon."
To his relief, Nikita finally reacted to his voice again, slightly tilting his head sidewards and giving him a teary-eyed glance. It seemed like he wanted to say something, but his throat just produced a hoarse bleargh before his cheeks puffed again and he expelled chunks that vaguely resembled fries. Jamal could feel the stomach muscles tense under his fingers while Nikita struggled to bring up the lumpy mess, gagging and spitting out several times while pushing the barely digested food over his lips. It was impossible not to feel bad for him at that moment. Gently, Jamal started to pat his back while stile helping him to stay in a stable position with his other arm.
Finally, the sound of food chunks splashing into the vomit bin stopped and Nikita's strained retching only brought up bile, then nothing. He still couldn't stop dry heaving for another two minutes until finally sinking against Jamal, panting, eyes half closed. He looked completely drained, more than after any game they had been through. Jamal forced himself to smile and brushed some sweat covered strands out of his teammate's forehead.
"Think you're done?"
"Mhm." Nikita didn't look up or move away.
"See, you did it. That wasn't so bad after all, was it?"
"It was... the worst." The light grey eyes tried to give Jamal something like a death glare, but they only mirrored Nikita's complete exhaustion.
"Okay, it was pretty nasty, but I bet you already feel much better. Now let's clean you up and get you a good night's sleep." Carefully, Jamal leaned his teammate's body against the wall and picked up the trash bin while avoiding the one side that was covered in sick. It was surprisingly heavy and Jamal moved carefully, making sure not to spill anything of the reeking mess. "Damn, how did all of this even fit inside you?" He shook his head while getting rid of Nikita's vomit in one of the toilets next door. After cleaning the bucket, he wet a towel and returned to the locker room.
Nikita hadn't moved an inch. He looked absolutely miserable with his eyes closed, chin and clothes dirty with his own puke. Jamal gently wiped his face and some strands of his hair before getting him out of his ruined attire, including his shoes that had been hit pretty badly.
"Hope you don't mind", he said while taking the keys to Nikita's locker to pick up his extra clothes. "Think you can stand up now? I'll give you a hand." Together, they moved away from the puddle on the floor and Jamal helped his teammate getting dressed again. "Much better, hm?" Nikita nodded, but didn't look up. Maybe now that he was actually starting to feel a little better, he was fully realizing how embarrassing the situation was.
Jamal brought the dirty clothes into the shower, doing his best to wash out the vomit stains. Then he finished the job by thoroughly wiping the floor. Taking a glance at his completely exhausted teammate, he tilted his head for a moment while fighting an inner battle. Finally giving in to his nagging conscience, he let out a sigh and straightened his shoulders before going back to Nikita. He put his arm around the blonde's upper body to help him get back on his feet.
"You're coming with me. I live on campus, you can stay in my room tonight and get some sleep."
"Wait... why?" Nikita tried to push him away, but immediately started tripping, so Jamal tightened his grip.
"You kidding? You're still wasted. I don't want to get news that you've choked on your own vomit or something."
"But... why... why are you even doing this? You hate me."
"Don't ask and I don't have to come up with an excuse." Jamal closed his eyes for a moment, taking a deep breath. "Look, you're an asshole, but I don't hate you. Maybe you should just stop trying so hard to push everybody away from you."
Nikita didn't answer. Didn't look at him, either. So Jamal just started walking, guiding his teammate into the direction of the dormitories.
"If you tell anybody about this, I'm going to kill you", Nikita mumbled after some steps.
"I don't know about anything that happened, do you?" Jamal entered the building as quietly as possible and lead Nikita to his room where he sat him down on his bed and took off his shoes. "Make yourself comfortable, you can feel right at home."
Looking way too tired for any kind of protest, Nikita let his worn out body sink onto the mattress. Jamal secured him in a sideward postion, put the blanket over his body to tuck him in and placed the trash bin next to the bed, just in case. When he wanted to get up, he heard a very quiet whisper behind him.
"Thanks... I guess."
"It's alright, Nik", he replied with a little smile. "Get some sleep. You surely deserve it."
Everything is just too much nowadays. All I want is someone to binge with, get drunk with, and then be held as I throw up everything; food, liquor, sorrows.
Alex has to break the news to Evan about his sister, and there is no way in hell this could ever go well.
cw: illness, self-harm
It wasnât yet dark when Alex returned home, to find Evan waiting for him as always. He spent more and more time there instead of the apartment he still shared with Jay, to the point that living officially together had crossed both their minds. They were however taking it slow, each equally amazed as to how smooth their ride turned out to be, in contrast to their previous relationships (or lack thereof, in the case of Evan). Just a few bumps on the road, related to each of them as a personality and not their relationship as a couple; such as Evanâs ADD, with the odd panic attack here and there, and Alexâs long-standing issues with weight and self-harm. He hadnât been to a therapist yet, despite Evanâs insistence, but he had seen a nutritionist to at least get some semblance of order regarding his eating habits. Things were a little more fuzzy on the other issue. It was one of the few lies heâd told Evan. It never stopped. He wasnât cutting anymore, yes, but he had other ways to make himself hurt when the darkness inside was overwhelming and threatened to swallow him whole.
On the ride home, he had prepared a speech which promptly evaporated when he faced his boyfriend, still oblivious of the ton of bricks that was about to land on his head. Something of the sort must have been written all over his face, because Evan came up to him in an instant, worry creasing his features.
âBabe? Whatâs wrong?â
âLetâs sit down, Ev.â Alex said, motioning towards the couch. But Evan was faster, and stronger, and held him in place.
âBabe, youâre scaring me. Please just tell me, I know thereâs something wrong. Oh, God. What is it?â
Alex hugged him tight and could feel him tremble in his embrace. Too perceptive for his own good, this boy.
âEv, letâs just sit down so we can talk. Please.â Without waiting an answer, he took him by the hand and led him to the couch. They both sat down, still holding hands.
âI met your sisterâs wife todayâ Alex said somberly. Evan was dumbfounded.
âMy whatâs what? Is this a joke?â
âYour sister Mackenzie is married to Milagros, a... colleague of mine at St. Judeâsâ Alex said and gave Evan some time to absorb the facts.
âMy sister is gay?â Evan asked after a few seconds of stunned silence.
âApparently so.â
âHow... Why... Why didnât she...â
âTell you?â said Alex gently.
âFuck yes. After.. after all I have...â his voice caught and he held Alexâs hand even tighter.
âHow long itâs been since you last saw her?â asked Alex in the same gentle tone.
âFour... no, five years? Right after I moved here. She was still married to that creeper Harold. How come she...â Evanâs voice trailed off, lost in thought. His eyes watered and Alex pulled him close again.
âMilagros came to find me because Mackenzie is very ill. She has cancer. Iâm so sorry, Evâ
Evan pushed him away, a shocked and pained expression on his face.
âTell me everything.â he said, and Alex did. As soon as he mentioned how the cancer was caught when she became pregnant, Evan broke down completely.
âItâs all my faultâ, he wailed, over and over.
âEv, how can it be your fault? Itâs not. It canât beâ Alex tried to reason with him.
âI... I canât breatheâ was Evanâs panicked reply before he started hyperventilating.
Alex was quick to his feet, dragging Evan with him. Heâd been through this before and knew what helped his boyfriend. He got him to the kitchen, sat him down next to the open window and pushed a paper bag into his hands.
âBreathe for me Evan. Come on now. Here you go. Youâre breathing just fine. Thatâs it. Youâre doing greatâ he encouraged him while he wet a washcloth to place on the back of his boyfriendâs neck.
âYou donât- understandâ said Evan after a while, leaving the paper bag crumpled on the kitchen table. He was still hiccuping but his breath was almost back to normal.
âIâm listening. But first, we could use a drinkâ replied Alex, taking out a bottle of malt and two glasses from a cabinet. He then lit a cigarette and gave it to Evan, who nodded appreciatively at this small gesture of tenderness that always got him, whatever was happening around them.
âI love you.â said Evan, downing his glass in one go.
âI knowâ Alex replied with his best Han Solo voice, which managed to get a pained smile from Evan.
âYou might hate me after you hear what Iâm about to sayâ Evanâs voice was hoarse from crying but had a steel undertone that Alex had rarely heard from his boyfriend.
âEvan, there is nothing in this world that could make me hate you.â Alex replied quickly, and that reassurance seemed to be enough for Evan to continue.
âLast time I saw Mack, it was after the final straw with my folks. I was... I was not in a good placeâ
The understatement of the year, Alex thought. Evan had shared bits and pieces over the months they were together, but he learned the whole story after Evan got wasted on Fatherâs Day, and in between vomiting in the Anchorâs toilets, stumbling home and passing out on his bathroom floor, he had explained to Alex how his brothers outed him, his father disowned him and threw him out of the house with only the clothes on his back and his scholarship letter in his pocket.
âI was sleeping at the youth shelter when she came to find me. I asked to stay with her. She said no, because of Harold. She offered me money. I threw it in her face. She... she was trying for a baby back then. IVF, the whole works. Donât know if they succeeded afterwards, I always thought so. I always imagined her as a subdued suburban mom somewhere out there. But I... I told her that she was the same as the rest of them, that whatever happened to me would be her fault, and that I hoped she remained barren, never burdening this planet with one more shitty Rossdale spawn. I really said that, Alex. And I fucking meant it.â Evan said, downing his second drink.
âOh, Evâ Alex cupped his boyfriendâs face in his hands and kissed him tenderly. âI donât hate you, nor love you less.â he reassured him once again.
âSheâs dying, isnât she?â was Evanâs question, looking Alex straight in the eye.
âI donât know the details, Ev, but it sounds bad. Milagros was... pretty clear on the severity. I wish I could tell you differently.â
Evan took to refilling their glasses, shaking his head. âI donât know what to do with all thisâ
âLookâ Alex started tentatively. âItâs been five years. Youâve both changed. Thereâs a lot between you and her, both good and bad. Some things you can repair, some things you can take back. Others, no. But death... you canât take back death. That I knowâ
Evan finished his drink and rolled a cigarette with slow, precise motions.
Tony Stark: Friday give me a status report. How is my new Avenger getting along with the team?
Friday: Jessica Jones has proceeded to tell Captain America or as she refers to him Captain Popsicle to eat her ass four times, had sex with Thor, drank half of your liquor cabinet, proceeded to threaten Mr.Barton that she would report him to the IRS if he didn't give her the last piece of pizza,was tazed by Miss Romanoff twice and is currently playing Mario Kart with Mister Hulk
Alex found out that Evanâs estranged sister is dying.
Milagros kept crying and Alex was unable to comfort her in any way. In a part of his mind, she was still the Bitch, one who judged way too harshly parents who tried their best and reported them to CPS without a second thought. In another one, she was queer just like him and was mourning the impending loss of her partner. Nothing he could say would come out right at that moment, so he settled on silence. After a while, Milagrosâ sobs ceased. She took a few deep, steadying breaths, blew her nose, wiped her face and lit another cigarette.
âSorry about that. Itâs hard. One moment you think youâre coping and the other one, bam, youâre a crying messâ she said.
âI.. Iâm sorry. I canât even imagine what you must be going throughâ he said, surprising himself with the tenderness in his voice.
âNeither can I, even though Iâm right there. Itâs like an out of body experience sometimes.â She stopped to blow her nose again. âAnd thank you. I know we donât always see eye to eye and youâre not particularly fond of me, so thank you for listeningâ
âItâs not... Iâm not...â Alex couldnât place the guilt he felt upon hearing this honest truth.
âYou refer to me as that bitchâ she said, looking quite amused.
âIâm sorryâ Alex said, feeling thoroughly uncomfortable.
âDonât be. Or, be, I donât know, itâs up to you who you like and who you merely tolerate. I hate half the people working here anyway.â she said nonchalantly, stubbing out her smoke. âYou think Iâm too hard on others, is that right?â she asked while getting up.
âAnd you must think Iâm too softâ was Alexâs reply.
âI think youâre young. Thereâs a difference. But you honestly care for others, and sometimes thatâs what matters in the endâ
âSo which half am I in?â Alex asked. âI mean, the half you hate or the half you donât?â he added in response to Milagrosâ questioning expression. The smile she gave him was the first genuine one he had ever seen on her. It transformed the entirety of her features, made her look like less the stern nun and more the welcoming auntie.
âTalk to Evan. Be strong for him. And holler if you need anythingâ, she said, handing Alex a business card from her handbag.
With that she was gone, heels clicking on the tarmac of the bay.
âMilagros!â Alex called after her.
She turned, surprise evident on her expression upon hearing him use her first name.
âItâs sister-in-law. What you are to me, I meanâ
The sound of her laugh came crystal clear, despite the distance and the roar of the vans. She nodded appreciatively and went inside, leaving Alex battling with his thoughts and worries.
A new arc for my favourite couple, where things are getting rough for all involved.
Alex was having lunch in the hospital cafeteria, trying to make himself finish his meatballs, or whatever it was that they were serving disguised as meatballs. He was so focused on his task that he barely registered someone occupying the chair across him.
âExcuse me, Dr. Peters? Do you have a minute?â
Alex knew that voice well, and was tempted to spit out the meatball he was chewing on its ownerâs stony face.
âDoes it look like I do?â he mumbled, half-chewing, still not looking up.
His intruder sighed and twiddled well-manicured fingers nervously on the table between them.
âI... I apologize for imposing on your break. Itâs just that it is something personal, for which there is never a good time.â
Alex was startled. He quickly swallowed and pushed his plate away, looking up at his unwelcome companion. It was the first time he had heard her voice hesitant, let alone apologizing. Milagros Montoya, the hospitalâs resident social worker was sitting there, stony faced as always, but her nervousness was evident as she looked straight into his eyes.
âWhat is it?â
âAre you finished? Would you like to have a smoke outside?â
âWe can speak here.â
âIâm just saying you might need it.â, she replied coolly. âAlong with some privacyâ
âMs. Montoya, you are really trying my patience. For someone who is that much of a stickler on professionalism, your behavior right now is anything butâ he blurted out.
âBecause this isnât a professional matter, as Iâve already explained. Itâs personal, it involves both of us and I wish I didnât have to to do it, but I have to, so Iâll be at the ambulance bay having a smoke. Come find meâ she said in a breath, like she was expecting an interruption and wanted to make sure she got everything out in one go, and then got up and left without another word.
Alex was almost certain he could hear the Twilight Zone theme playing in the background. What kind of personal issue would he have in common with the Baby Snatcher? And when was the last time he had seen her being nervous? Nothing and never, and he couldnât decide whether he was worried, annoyed or intrigued. Eager to get to the bottom of this, he braced himself for swallowing another meatball and made his way outside.
He found Milagros sitting on one of the plastic chairs in the corner across the ambulance bay. She was twirling a lit cigarette along her fingers with practiced ease, stopping momentarily to take a drag and then picking up the movement in an impressively fluid motion -a street trick in stark contrast with her appearance and demeanor; middle-aged, conservatively dressed, face of a robot, hair caught in a tight bun on the back of her head. He reminded Alex of the nuns teaching at his Sunday school when he was a kid. He took a seat beside her.
âSoâ he started, curious at to what would follow.
âSo.â she replied, pausing to take a deep drag. She inhaled the smoke with force and let it out in thin plumes through her mouth and nostrils. She could be a dragon, Alex thought, if dragons had a human form.
âSo you are dating Evan Rossdale, who has cut all contact with his family, which I am sure you know- no, let me finish, pleaseâ she added in reply to Alexâs attempt at interrupting her with an expletive, âthe thing is, Mackenzie, his big sister, is dying. Cancer. She doesnât want him to know. She thinks he will never forgive her for not being there for him when he needed her. And maybe thatâs the case, and maybe thatâs his prerogative, I donât know, itâs not my place, but... but...â
Her voice broke and she closed her eyes.
âBut I think he has a right to know, and act on it however he wishes, because there is still time. Little left, so very little, but there is still time. Thatâs allâ
Alex couldnât feel his extremities. He felt time slowing down, trying to comprehend what he just heard.
âWhy are you telling me now?â
âBecause time is running out. And I realized I should have done it a long time agoâ Milagros replied, her eyes brimming with tears.
âHow.. how do you know all this?â he asked, still in shock.
âMackenzie is my wife. We found out about the cancer when she got pregnant last year. She fought it, then it spread, and now here we are. What does that make us, actually? Somethings-in-law? Isnât that a riot, Dr. Peters? Whoâd have thought?â she said and buried her face in her hands, sobbing as if her world was ending.
From where Alex was standing, it probably was. And his own didnât feel so invincible either.
Iâve been trying to write and as you can imagine itâs not going well. Iâve got a lot on my mind and on my plate in general, which is obviously not helping, but writing used to be a sort of safe haven from all the outside fucktwattery. It still is, I guess, just a tad more difficult to get there.
I also find myself more in an angsty/whumpy territory these days when it comes to fics, which I very much enjoy; however it is more challenging to accomplish. And then itâs even harder to stay motivated.
If there are any brave souls out there who would like to collaborate on ANYTHING writing-related (or just want to send ideas and prompts my way), I would be absolutely ecstatic to hear from you. I may feel too old to be in touch with most fandoms (another thing that adds on to the feeling of loneliness while wandering in all these -otherwise fantastic and a true lifeline- communities) but a story is a story, and I think I can tell a few if only I can find the right way there.
Anybody up for chatting, hit me up! Iâve got some uninterrupted online time and the house to myself (no sir, I did not google âhow to get rid of your housematesâ for the 10th day in a row) and would love to chat about emeto stuff and experiences ^^
- iâm socially exhausted
- i donât have the time right now
- i donât know how to reply
- i have a bad memory and got distracted
- iâm having a depressive episode and donât have the energy to socialise
not reasons i havenât replied back:
- iâm ignoring you just because
- i hate you
- iâm fed up with you
- i donât want to be your friend anymore
I always feel so guilty trying to explain to ppl that no, itâs not that I donât want to talk to you, Iâm justâŠ. any of the reasons listed above
I usually say âsocially burnt outâ as a catch-all đ
Artsy depression: haunted eyes, good at art, emo hair and eyeliner on point
Actual Depression: bloodshot eyes, no longer trust themselves with pencils, has not showered in five days
Quirky OCD: organized books, clean room, color coordinated outfits
Actual OCD: Intrusive thoughts, flipping the light switch 8 times so you donât stab your brother, picking holes in your skin
Cute eating disorders: Slim trim and beautiful, shyly refusing a second helping, dancer aesthetic
Actual eating disorders: Puffy cheeks and eroded teeth from excessive vomiting, hair growing over your freezing body and refusing to eat carrots because theyâre too high in carbs
Adorable anxiety: just a smol bean, soft, must be protected from the world
Actual anxiety: crying so hard you throw up, shaking, losing sleep over a period after the âokayâ
RPG PTSD: flashbacks, vietnam, u donât know what iâve been through kiddo
Actual PTSD: Buying your first pregnancy test at twelve, flinching at high fives, i canât feel my hands where am I what year is it
Cartoon ADHD: look a squirrel, something shiny, fidgety loveable bufoon
Actual ADHD: rereading the same page over and over because it doesnât make sense, hasnât done the laundry in four months, hyperfocusing on a mushroom knowing you have work to do
stop making terrifying realities seem cute. itâs disrespectful for those of us who are actually struggling
Uwu smol baby autism: adorably awkward, huggable, acts cute when confused, has some sort of rainman talent and a perfect memory in general
Real autism: worrying about whether youâre interpreting peopleâs cues correctly/making your tone sound correct for the context, or whether theyâre about to get wierded out and uncomfortable bc of something you said, sensory issues that drive you nuts, not being able to adapt to sudden changes in plans and freaking out, melting down or shutting down when stressed by stupid things
izzy806
vaporwave
dededos
janainaart
areudirty
snowghoul
theartofmadeline
