J, 27, raging pansexual, one of the OG pervs in this specific microcosm of filth. Emeto is my bread and butter but I just generally like to make hot men miserable.
@its-a-goddamn-heartbreak and @lickstynine Collab Masterlist
For the sake of this not being ten miles long, each group is in its own mini masterlist linked here. We have:
The Cardiff Crew
Nicky, Nye, Nate, Gwen, Delilah, Ffion, Jac, Genevieve, and anyone else who has the misfortune of stumbling into their path
Sk8r Bois
Shiro, Daichi, Ryosuke, and their family, along with Sasha and Valentina
West Coast U
Luke, Matty, Milo, with occasional friends and family
Prep School
Christian and Flossie
A/N: we've literally been writing this group for five years and this is somehow the only fic of them posted to tumblr. so that's insane and will change soon and they'll get their own list once there's things to listify.
Flossie, Island Princess
One-off Sickdays Collab
Kit and Flossie
A/N: Yeah so this was ten thousand years ago when I was still writing with Kit and just wrapping up the Misadventures saga. Unlike the Crossie (Christian+Flossie) universe, don't expect any more from this storyline.
Stuck Between the Heat and a Loud Place
who woulda thought spending only 2.5 of the last 62 hours sleeping would suck
It's fully my own fault I just have the worst time management ever
But holy mother of balls do I feel awful
In my rush to get shit taken care of I have NOT taken care of myself and I'm feeling it mr krabs
My head aches, my eyes are dry and burning, my throat is sore, I keep sneezing (mind you I took my allergy meds) and my brain is going into hyperdrive over every little inconvenience
I could sleep for about a thousand years and I'm pretty sure I'd still wake up feeling like I got hit by a truck
(relevant life details under the cut)
Ran around line a crazy person Thursday bc a friend was in town but I needed to get things finished to give back to my students before they left for the summer, spent that day running on energy drink mix, room temperature bottled cold brew, an actual energy drink, and like four mountain dews.
Took so long getting student shit ready that I literally pulled an all nighter into Friday, where I had like two energy drinks and the saddest sickly sweet panda express orange chicken provided by work. I didn't drink as much caffeine that day because I was hoping to be able to come home and pass out.
Unfortunately when I got home I realized I still had two friends costumes to finish making for Ren faire in the morning resulting in All Nighter 2: Electric Boogaloo: God I Fucking Hate Myself
Technically got like 2.5 hours of sleep before leaving for the fair but I've been stuck sleeping on the couch since my cat had surgery last week. He's doing really well but he's not supposed to be like climbing and jumping and he likes to sleep in my loft bed with me so I've been crashing on the couch to prevent that, and tonight the cushions decided to spread apart as I attempted to sleep and let all of my back support fall into the void so I woke up feeling like a day old pretzel that got squished under the seat of a car that it was dropped in
Doesn't help that I spent all day today at the ren faire in the heat, walking around, mostly drinking booze (in my defense when a cold beer costs less than a lemon chill what the fuck is a man who doesn't want to pay extortionate prices for a water bottle supposed to drink)
So yeah I did this to myself but it is rough in these self made streets
Fingers crossed I can spend like the next 14 hours unconscious and wake up feeling vaguely human again
who woulda thought spending only 2.5 of the last 62 hours sleeping would suck
It's fully my own fault I just have the worst time management ever
But holy mother of balls do I feel awful
In my rush to get shit taken care of I have NOT taken care of myself and I'm feeling it mr krabs
My head aches, my eyes are dry and burning, my throat is sore, I keep sneezing (mind you I took my allergy meds) and my brain is going into hyperdrive over every little inconvenience
I could sleep for about a thousand years and I'm pretty sure I'd still wake up feeling like I got hit by a truck
(relevant life details under the cut)
Ran around line a crazy person Thursday bc a friend was in town but I needed to get things finished to give back to my students before they left for the summer, spent that day running on energy drink mix, room temperature bottled cold brew, an actual energy drink, and like four mountain dews.
Took so long getting student shit ready that I literally pulled an all nighter into Friday, where I had like two energy drinks and the saddest sickly sweet panda express orange chicken provided by work. I didn't drink as much caffeine that day because I was hoping to be able to come home and pass out.
Unfortunately when I got home I realized I still had two friends costumes to finish making for Ren faire in the morning resulting in All Nighter 2: Electric Boogaloo: God I Fucking Hate Myself
Technically got like 2.5 hours of sleep before leaving for the fair but I've been stuck sleeping on the couch since my cat had surgery last week. He's doing really well but he's not supposed to be like climbing and jumping and he likes to sleep in my loft bed with me so I've been crashing on the couch to prevent that, and tonight the cushions decided to spread apart as I attempted to sleep and let all of my back support fall into the void so I woke up feeling like a day old pretzel that got squished under the seat of a car that it was dropped in
Doesn't help that I spent all day today at the ren faire in the heat, walking around, mostly drinking booze (in my defense when a cold beer costs less than a lemon chill what the fuck is a man who doesn't want to pay extortionate prices for a water bottle supposed to drink)
So yeah I did this to myself but it is rough in these self made streets
Fingers crossed I can spend like the next 14 hours unconscious and wake up feeling vaguely human again
What happens when you spend Christmas cuddled up to your sick boyfriend? You catch his flu, of course!
Written, as always, with @its-a-goddamn-heartbreak
---
In hindsight, the cabin in the woods had been a bad idea from the start. It had been Sasha's bad idea though, and he had seemed excited for the first time in…well, ages, and so Ryosuke had gone along with it without much complaint. He wasn't sure where Sasha had even dreamed it up. It wasn't like his own parents were off on romantic haunts regularly - no, it was more likely that he'd seen it in some trashy Christmas film round at Valentina's and thought it looked sweet.
Either way, they probably shouldn't have actually booked it for midwinter. And when the snow storm warnings had come in, they probably shouldn't have chosen to go anyway. Ryosuke, however, had once again taken the path of the gas station sushi, forgoing safety and sensibility in the name of pleasure.
It was strange, good strange but still strange, getting used to Sasha's more performative romantic gestures. He had always been very forward in the bedroom, but in a more emotional environment, Sasha was sealed tight as an oyster. After much persistent prodding, Ryosuke had slowly prised open that shell, able to glimpse the pearl hiding within. Sometimes those glimpses were as simple as being vulnerable enough to say 'today was rough.' Sometimes Ryosuke came home to lavish spreads of food, wine, candles and roses on the table.
The performance of the day was a physically extravagant one, with Sasha leaving breakfast on the table for Ryosuke in front of a window whose curtains he had deliberately left open. Dramatically framed by the window, Sasha had dressed in his lumberjack finest, arranging a pile of firewood out front to chop. Ryosuke smirked, now utterly certain Sasha had stolen the idea from one of Valentina’s romance movies.
It was nice, Sasha being so…attentive. Ryosuke had never had a partner who even put effort into planning dates. He settled into the armchair, idly dipping toast soldiers into Sasha's perfectly runny eggs as he watched his boyfriend's muscles ripple in the winter-clean sun.
By the time Sasha was finished, they had enough firewood for the remainder of their stay, if not excess. He had originally just been doing it to put on a show, but found the repetitive, violent, yet productive work extremely satisfying. Maybe he should do this more often, he thought. He sauntered back inside, gaze distant as he wondered, was wood chopping even a hobby, or was he just a freak?
“You finished demonstrating your manliness?” Ryosuke called from the kitchen as he heard the cabin door open. “I'm making hot cocoa, do you want some? Or is that not manly enough for you?”
“Any man who doesn't want hot cocoa is a bitch and a coward,” Sasha declared, strolling up behind Ryosuke and wrapping both arms around him. His skin was still icy to the touch from being outside and Ryosuke yelped.
“Did your parents never teach you to wrap up warm?” He squawked. “It's below freezing, you'll catch your death of cold!”
Sasha laughed. “Please. It is Russian summer out there,” he joked, giving Ryosuke one last playful squeeze with icy hands. “But if you insist on warming me up, I guess I need that hot chocolate.”
Ryosuke chuckled, twisting to kiss Sasha's cheek. He was short enough that his lips grazed Sasha' jaw instead, ghosting over the rough stubble. Sasha smiled, leaning his cheek against Ryosuke's head.
“Well, it's almost ready,” Ryosuke said, even as his body relaxed back against Sasha's. “Go sit down, I just need to add the cream.”
“Add it quickly,” Sasha ordered, a teasing growl rumbling in his chest. He made no move to leave the kitchen. “I'm no good at being patient.”
“Sir, yes sir,” Ryosuke flirted, pushing Sasha away towards the living room, where the fire was roaring nicely.
Sasha allowed himself to be shoved away, strolling into the living room and sprawling out on the couch. The crackling fire stirred the deepest memories in the back of his mind, and he stretched out with a contented yawn, letting his eyes flutter closed. When Ryosuke came through, he cozied up to him, tucked between Ryosuke's legs like a very large lap dog.
“Cocoa is good,” Sasha mumbled, having sat up just enough to drink it. Whipped cream lingered on his upper lip, and he smiled. “Thank you.”
Ryosuke smirked, then leaned in to kiss away the false moustache. He was still working on his own drink, the mug warm between his hands. “You're welcome. Here, hand me the book? I'll read a bit, I wanna know how they catch the guy.”
Sasha reached out one long arm to snag the book off the coffee table. He passed it over to Ryosuke and snuggled back up, sipping contentedly at his cocoa. It was hot, smooth, and perfectly sweet, satisfying and nostalgic. If only he could warm up from being outside, everything would be perfect.
Ryosuke began to read. Sasha felt his eyes getting heavier and heavier until eventually he drifted off, head nestled against his partner's chest. Cozy as he was, he had hoped to get some properly restful sleep for once. How naive he'd been.
He dreamed of snow. Not the way it had been snowing outside while he chopped the wood, but the snow in Russia. The kind of snow that ate your fingers and your hearing and made it impossible to see. The kind of snow where the howling gale could very well be the howling of wolves.
He dreamed of being lost. Everywhere he looked, there was nothing but screaming winds, a white hateful fury battering his face and blinding his eyes. He needed to get home. Which way was home? Where had he come from? Did he need to keep going? Did he need to turn around?
He woke up freezing. He was still huddled against Ryosuke, Ryosuke's hand rubbing slowly up and down his back, but he was shuddering with cold.
Ryosuke looked up from the book he'd been reading, frowning as he saw the way Sasha had started to shake. “Nightmare?” He asked softly, his hand keeping a gentle rhythm on Sasha's back.
“Not really,” Sasha mumbled, huddling in tighter on himself. “Just freezing. Can you get the fire going again?”
“It's… still going,” Ryosuke said, a concerned hesitation to his words. “It's been going this whole time.”
“But it's so cold,” Sasha whimpered, tucking his face into Ryosuke's neck. “Ryo, I'm freezing. It's… I don't like it.”
Ryosuke frowned, feeling the warmth of Sasha's skin against his own. “Um… I can add another log to the fire, if you want.”
“Blanket?” Sasha asked hopefully.
“I'm not sure you need one…” Ryosuke began, and then looked down at Sasha's miserable face. “Oh, fine, scoot over.”
Sasha reluctantly peeled away, collapsing into a pathetic heap on the couch as Ryosuke left. He really didn't feel well, he realised. His muscles ached, and his throat… His throat felt like it was filled with burning pins.
When Ryosuke finally returned with the duvet, Sasha sheepishly ventured, “Um… can I have more cocoa?”
“Of course.” Ryosuke leaned down to tuck him in, stroking his hair back carefully from his face. “Oh dear, or maybe some tea? Might that be better?”
“I liked the cocoa,” Sasha mumbled. His eyes were drifting closed again, so hard to keep open when he was just…so…
The cocoa was cold on the coffee table when he woke up. His head hurt now, the discomfort in his throat prickling and burning with every inhale. His body ached like he had been in a full-on brawl, and even under the duvet, he couldn't stop shivering. He groaned, groping around blindly. “Ryosuke?”
“Hey.” Ryosuke's voice was soft, as were his footsteps as he padded to Sasha's side. “Hey, are you awake?”
“Mmnnnn…” Any reply Sasha might have had was swallowed by the pain that splintered through his throat when he had spoken. He groaned, rolling over on the couch to bury his face in the cushions. He wanted to beg Ryosuke to bring more blankets, to add wood to the fire, to lay with him for any semblance of added warmth. But just the thought of speaking again made his throat hurt.
“Sweetheart?” Ryosuke's hand found his, thumb stroking lightly over the back. “Could you sit up for me a minute? Maybe have some water?”
Sasha groaned, slowly and laboriously pushing himself up on his elbows. The movement gave him an unexpected head rush and he almost dropped back down.
“I thought so,” Ryosuke murmured, catching his shoulder and helping him all the way up. “When did you start feeling sick?”
Sasha wrinkled his nose, tipping his head back against the sofa and trying to make the swirling stop. He didn't respond, unable to string words together when he felt so dizzyingly unwell. Ryosuke, of course, only grew more worried, gently cupping his fingers against Sasha’s jaw to gauge his fever. He winced immediately.
“You're burning up, hang on,” he said, leaning in to press his lips to Sasha's forehead. “Let me get something cool from the kitchen.”
“No,” Sasha croaked, barely able to force the words. “‘m so cold…”
“No.” Ryosuke was surprisingly firm. “You're not. You have a fever.”
Sasha groaned, but even that made his sore throat ache. He could just about gather his thoughts enough to understand the problem, but he still had no desire for anything cold to touch him.
“I know,” Ryosuke said quietly. “But it'll feel better afterwards.”
He returned to Sasha with a tea towel he'd wet under the tap, crouching beside the couch to be closer. “Alright, brace yourself,” he warned, swiping the cool cloth slowly across Sasha's forehead to start.
“Ahh…” without even meaning to, Sasha winced away from the chill touch, only to find his face cupped in Ryosuke's other hand.
“I know, it's no fun. But you're burning up, you really need it.”
“Mmnnnnooo….,” Sasha slurred, breath hitching in his chest. “hurrr’s.”
“Hey, you're okay. It'll be okay,” Ryosuke murmured, stroking Sasha's hair. “It's only for a minute. Then we can cuddle, okay?”
Sasha shook his head, trying to squirm away again. “‘s too- too c- too co-hold…” he sputtered, an unexpected cough burning in his throat.
Pain lanced through his throat, hot and unforgiving. He continued to cough, unable to stop until his chest had cleared, tears springing to his eyes. By the time it was over, he was gasping for breath, lungs burning almost as badly as his throat.
Ryosuke frowned, a deep concern creasing his face. “Here, drink some water,” he offered. “That sounded awful.”
“Felt awful,” Sasha croaked, his voice thin and scratchy as if the burning in his throat had eaten away at it.
Ryosuke knelt next to him on the sofa, one hand coming to rest on his hair. Sasha's face was red and splotchy and distinctly less dignified than usual.
“We didn't bring any meds,” he said reluctantly, once Sasha had forced down enough water for his breathing to settle. “We should have brought meds. You've probably caught what I had.”
“Brought vodka,” Sasha rasped. “In kitchen,” he mumbled, waving vaguely in that direction.
“Sasha!” Ryosuke let out an exasperated sigh. “That's not medicine. Besides, it'll be a bitch to swallow.”
“Classic remedy,” Sasha argued, “better than nothing.”
“No,” Ryosuke said firmly. “Not better. I'll make you tea. With honey. And maybe a shot of vodka if you're good.”
Sasha scowled, but the chattering of his teeth took all the ferocity out of it. “Fine,” he grumbled.
“Good.” Ryosuke nodded and leaned in to press his lips to the side of Sasha's head. “God knows I can't deal with you drunk and feverish. Who knows what you might do.”
“Get some sleep,” Sasha muttered. He coughed again, his face twisting in pain as burning needles rose in his chest and filled his throat. “Fuck,” he rasped. “Can I get that drink now?”
“Yeah, yeah, all right,” Ryosuke rolled his eyes as he got up from the couch. “I'm going, keep your hair on.”
Sasha just groaned, rolling over on the couch and pulling the duvet over his head. God, how he wished he were comfortable enough to sleep. He also wished it could've held off - missing training would have been a minor annoyance compared to how he felt about screwing up this holiday. He finally had time alone with Ryosuke, and he was wasting it.
Sasha was still stewing with frustration, buried in the duvet, when Ryosuke returned. “Come on out, mister grumpy. I brought tea.”
Sasha rolled back over, waiting for Ryosuke to put the tea down before gripping his wrist and pulling him down on top of him. Ryosuke let out a yelp of surprise, but he didn't actually fight it, nestling into Sasha's broad chest.
“All that fussing about me making tea, and now you don't even want it,” he teased, slipping a hand under Sasha's shirt to rub slow, rhythmic circles.
“I do,” Sasha croaked, arms looping lazily around Ryosuke's back. “Want you more. Feel terrible.”
Ryosuke chuckled. “The tea might help you feel a little less terrible.”
“Mm, in a minute,” Sasha rumbled, letting his eyes fall closed. He wanted to rest, but the awful scratching he felt with every inhale made it difficult to settle.
“I'll believe it when I see it,” Ryosuke teased, but he didn't push any further.
Sasha didn't continue their banter, too weary to even speak. He lingered in quiet quasi-comfort for what felt like ages, snuggling up with Ryosuke hugged tight to his chest. He could maybe have drifted off if it hadn't been for the way his throat began to tickle.
He tried to clear his throat, the sound rumbling in his chest. It did nothing. He tried once, twice, thrice more to no avail. Irritation was beginning to overwhelm him, the frustrated growl in his throat suddenly overtaken by a sharp, hacking cough.
“Shhh,” Ryosuke soothed, rubbing his chest gently but it was no use. Now that Sasha had started he couldn't stop, even though the pain slicing through his throat with every ragged breath seemed immeasurable. Tears sprung to his eyes, his face creasing with a marked discomfort. Ryosuke winced, sitting up so that he wasn't weighing Sasha down. “Here, sit up a bit, see if that helps.”
Sasha nodded, struggling up onto his elbows, his face an undignified shade of red. Ryosuke gave his back an encouraging pat, but it did little to help the wet, guttural cough that seized Sasha’s lungs. Fire in his throat burned hotter with every bark and wheeze, and he struggled to catch his breath.
Ryosuke let out a curse in Japanese before hauling Sasha up and sliding his body in behind him. Sasha swayed over his own lap like some kind of drunken marionette, chest heaving with coughs. He hacked and sputtered for what felt like eternity before his lungs finally settled, slumping back against Ryosuke with a weary groan.
“Fuck,” Sasha croaked, his voice little more than a scratchy whisper.
Ryosuke kissed his burning cheek, one hand still rubbing his chest. “Have a drink, okay? And then I think you should go lay down in bed.”
“Bed will be cold,” Sasha whined, taking the tea in his hands even as he pouted.
“I can start the fire in there,” Ryosuke offered.
“Air is cold,” Sasha argued. “Stay here. With you. In warm.”
“Sasha…” Ryosuke sighed, trying not to laugh. “You don't even fit on this couch.”
“Don't care,” Sasha grumbled, pulling his legs up to squish himself onto the couch. “Warm here.”
“I can make it warm in bed,” Ryosuke wheedled. “I promise.”
Sasha groaned. “So far away…”
“Come on, please,” Ryosuke begged. “You're going to feel even worse when you wake up with your back hurting from sleeping like this.”
That, at least, was something that Sasha unfortunately agreed with. He heaved himself up, groaning dizzily, and staggered through to the other room. The cold air was like a blast in his face, and he curled up under the mountain of blankets they'd shared the night before, hoping and praying that there would be some residual body heat left over.
The blankets, sadly, had long ago lost all the warmth from last night. Sasha shivered, teeth chattering as he burrowed deeper. Ryosuke flashed him a sympathetic smile. “I'll get the fire going, then I'll join you, okay?”
“Y-yeah.” Sasha nodded, curling tighter and coughing harshly into his fist. Every cough made his sore throat sting, and he couldn't stop shivering even buried in blankets. He wished they were home, in his bed, with the heating cranked up. He would brave the drive, if it weren't for the snowstorm.
Ryosuke started the fire as quickly as he could, but it felt like years to Sasha. Huddled up in the icy abyss of blankets with no warmth waiting for him, he could've been back in the bitter Russian winter.
Their house had always been warm. What was the point of the millions Boris made if you couldn't keep the house warm? The hunting lodge up in the woods, on the other hand, was always freezing. Sasha remembered being small and crying because his hands were sore and swollen with the cold. Boris had told him to grow up, said that this was how you became a real man. That crying was for girls.
Sasha shuddered.
There was a rustling behind him, then something brushed his back. Sasha startled, turning over with wide, wild eyes.
“Just me,” Ryosuke murmured. “You okay?”
“Cold,” Sasha mumbled, grabbing Ryosuke and pulling him in closer.
“Come on,” Ryosuke said gently, snuggling up to him. It was the only time Ryosuke seemed bigger than Sasha, when they were cuddled up in bed, when he was the big spoon and Sasha like a child in his arms. “I've got you. You're safe. You can sleep now.”
Sasha nestled up to him at once, still trembling faintly as he drifted off to sleep. Ryosuke rested his cheek on Sasha’s shoulder, trying not to be too alarmed by the heat radiating off his body. If he couldn't do anything to help it, there was no point in worrying about it, Ryosuke reasoned. Though it was hard not to worry when Sasha lay against him shivering, face tight with discomfort and fear, there was little he could do beyond holding tight and hoping.
Sasha dreamt of the hunting lodge.
He’s alone inside, no longer a child taken by his father, but a grown man out on his own. There’s no one around for miles, the wind whistling with the weight of snow that would keep him in place for days. It’s cold, but at least he has the peace of knowing it’s just him out here. No man or beast could traverse this snow to intrude upon him.
And then he hears the voice outside. It’s distant at first. It could be the wind. But it grows louder. And it gets closer.
Let me in.
Even over the howling gale, the deep, commanding tone is unmistakable now. Boris.
Let me in, boy! What do you think you're doing, leaving your father outside?! I should roast you over the fire!
Sasha shudders, heart pounding in his chest, shrinking closer towards the fire. His father's voice is joined by a bone-chilling, familiar bark.
Aleksandr! Let me in! The dogs are getting angry!
Sasha whimpers and then swallows the sound. His father won't like it. The flickering shadows around him seem to loom and grow, filling the room.
Bam! Bam! Bam!
The door rattles on its hinges. Sasha feels his blood run cold. Should he try to guard the door? Should he hide? Should he get ready to fight? He can barely breathe.
CRACK
The door splinters, a looming figure filling its frame. Boris is glaring daggers at Sasha, flanked by the frothy-mouthed dogs.
I told you to let me in!
Sasha screamed himself awake.
Ryosuke's hands were on him immediately, gentling him as he coughed and coughed and coughed. Panic pounded in his chest. Pain burned in his throat. Pure terror flashed wild in his eyes, and Ryosuke deftly caught a swinging hand before it could clock him.
“It's just me,” he whispered, giving Sasha's fingers a tight squeeze. “You're safe.”
Sasha sobbed loudly, his body rigid and shuddering. He coughed some more, pain gripping his chest. Ryosuke rested a hand on his back, rubbing firmly as another round of coughing seized his lungs.
“I've got you,” he assured, “just try to breathe.”
Sasha couldn't imagine anything more difficult. His throat was on fire. His ribs seemed to be tightening, a vice grip around struggling lungs. His pulse raced, swift and erratic. Blood howled in his ears like the winter wind. Spots swam in his vision.
“Easy,” Ryosuke soothed. “Just one deep breath, that's all you need. Don't pass out on me.”
“Hurts,” Sasha wheezed, unable to keep the tears in his eyes from falling. His fingers clutched clumsily at Ryosuke's hand, clammy and trembling.
“C-c-can’t,” Sasha sobbed, gradually crumpling himself into Ryosuke's arms. “Fuck, it h-hurts…”
Ryosuke hugged Sasha tight to his chest, still rubbing slow circles on his back. “You can. Follow me. In… out. In… out.”
It took him far longer than it should've to settle, and by the end he was embarrassed and red-faced and thoroughly exhausted. Ryosuke had turned to look at him properly, a furrow of deep worry in his brow.
“Do you want some more tea?”
“Wanna sleep,” Sasha sighed, shuddering bodily. “But…what if…” He struggled to find the words, feeling suddenly very young. “What if I hurt you?”
“I’ll be fine,” Ryosuke assured him. “I would leave if I wanted to. I'm not worried.”
“I'm worried,” Sasha mumbled. He was quiet a moment, breathing roughly, before he added, “The dream, it was…really bad.”
Ryosuke nodded, giving Sasha a tight squeeze. “It's over now. Do you want to talk about it?”
“No.” Sasha couldn't imagine putting it into words. Just thinking about it again made him feel ill. He wished his head wasn't throbbing so badly, so that maybe he could think. Huddling in on himself, he pulled his knees up to his chest, burying his face in the folds of his pyjamas pants to hide.
“You don't have to,” Ryosuke said, sitting up to lean across him. “I was just asking.”
Sasha just groaned, squeezing his eyes closed and shaking his head. Even now that he knew he was safe, that it was only Ryosuke anywhere near him, he couldn't shake the jitters. His throat was hurting worse than ever as he tried to keep his breathing steady, his head pounding at every inhale.
Ryosuke sighed. “I'm going to put more wood on the fire. If I get you a hard drink will it help you sleep?”
“Yes.” Sasha didn't even know if that was true, but he couldn't stand to be alone with his sober thoughts anymore. He could swear the wind outside was still howling like a dog.
“Alright,” Ryosuke nodded. He swung his legs out of bed, shivering slightly at the difference between the outside air and Sasha's feverish cocoon. “Don't make a habit of it though.”
Sasha only grumbled in response, curling up into the warmth Ryosuke left. He pulled the blankets closer around himself, wishing they could muffle the distant wail of the wind.
He was only semi responsive when Ryosuke returned, wordlessly slamming back the double shot of vodka before crumpling back against the mattress and drifting off to sleep. Ryosuke nestled up beside him, wrapping his arms tightly around Sasha. He couldn't do much about the sickness, or the nightmares, but at the very least, he would be there when they passed.
Caretaker with a cool cloth on a sleeping feverish Whumpee, and Whumpee kinda half wakes up, Caretaker shushes them back to sleep “It’s okay, I’m just trying to get your fever down. You can go back to sleep”
What the fuck, it's me posting the fic? Never fear, this is not a harbinger of the apocalypse. @its-a-goddamn-heartbreak's computer is fucked up. Without further ado, the long overdue continuation of the Sk8r Bois narrative, featuring Sasha and Ryosuke and a couple of cousins. Enjoy!
---
The run up to Christmas was one of the busiest periods in Ryosuke’s schedule. On top of their standard wedding and funeral bookings, they were inundated with corporate Christmas parties, and gala dinners, and candlelit Taylor-Swift-for-string-quartet concerts.
And, and, and…
The work never seemed to stop. He was home so late most nights, that if it hadn’t been for half his ceiling falling in on his bed he might have gone back to his own flat instead of waking Sasha. Unfortunately, his apartment was a death trap, so he would stumble into the penthouse at stupid hours of the morning, drunk and dizzy with exhaustion.
If he weren’t so wary of upsetting Mei after the fiasco that had been the last few weeks, he might also have said something about how they’d chosen to take bookings. Some days, they had as many as three concerts - a care home in the morning, a wedding in the afternoon, a fancy dinner in the evening - and Ryosuke felt like there was barely time to breathe, let alone get any meaningful rest. Since he wasn’t able to be home for meals, he’d been eating like shit too. Sasha packed him leftovers to go every morning for his lunch, but by dinner he inevitably ended up at McDonald’s or Chipotle or whatever random tiny takeaway was nearest the venue.
It went on like this for over a fortnight. He woke up every morning feeling as tired as when he went to bed. His stomach constantly felt off. The heart rate monitor in his watch was going haywire. His wrists hurt. And still, he dragged himself out of bed every morning and ate the miso soup and tamagoyaki that Sasha had made before Ryosuke had even arrived back the night before and made himself presentable before hurrying off to work.
Sasha couldn’t help but worry. When he got up to see Ryosuke off in the morning on Christmas Eve, he almost asked him to stay home. His skin was grey and he took a second to respond to anything Sasha said. Even then, his response was usually ‘huh?’.
His ghastly visage lingered in Sasha’s mind as he sulked about the flat, glaring at all the Christmas decor that he hadn't wanted to set up, that Ryosuke wasn't even here to appreciate. Sasha hadn't realized how accustomed he'd become to Ryosuke staying with him until he found himself spending the days alone. It felt so wrong to come home from training, throw his bag on the ground, and only be greeted by Kuro’s trilling meow. To see familiar slippers by the bedside with no one to fill them. He still cooked, of course. Prepared the food, washed the dirty clothes Ryosuke left behind in a zombie-like stupor. Their schedules had grown so disparate, Sasha was often awake for training before Ryosuke even came home. Not that he had gotten much sleep in his big, empty bed to begin with.
Though he said it often enough, Sasha sometimes forgot just how true it was - he didn't sleep well without Ryosuke. The nightmares came back, seemingly tenfold, whenever he laid against those cold sheets with nobody but his mind to fill the space beside him. It wouldn't be so bad if he hadn't grown accustomed to better sleep. Where once he had been able to power through the day, now he found himself desperately snatching naps whenever he could - when he arrived home from training, as the brisket cooked in the oven, the odd half hour before he had to go out and work for his father. It was irritating, to feel the shortcomings of his own body so acutely.
It was a blessing that at least Ryosuke would be home that night. It was Christmas Eve, and his colleagues were heading away to see families after their afternoon engagement, so Sasha had planned a meal to share before Ryosuke headed to his cousins’ house for Christmas Day.
The warning signs had been building all week. The first red flag came when Ryosuke shambled into the house, not saying a word about the decadent smell wafting from the kitchen. He often liked to joke that it was Sasha’s cooking that kept him around - the sex was just a bonus - and normally, he would have run to the kitchen, examining the evening’s fare with wide-eyed excitement. Instead, he crumpled onto the couch with a weary groan.
“Rest a while,” Sasha urged him, draping a throw blanket over his partner's limp body. “I can leave the stove on low, we can eat later.”
“Not really hungry,” Ryosuke mumbled, curling into the cushions. “...sorry.”
Sasha’s feelings came in crashing waves. Shock and alarm. Dismay. Hurt. Stupidity for feeling hurt. Finally, he came back from the recesses of his mind, clearing his throat with a stilted cough. “Oh, um, I'll… put the food away,” he muttered, hurrying off towards the kitchen before his stupid emotions could make themselves known. He had no right to be upset. Making food was the least he could do to keep up his end of the relationship. It wasn't Ryosuke's fault that his cooking wasn't worth eating tonight. He needed to do better. He'd had all day to make a meal. How had he fucked this up?
“Th’nks,” Ryosuke nodded. His eyes slid closed and before Sasha had even reached the oven, he could hear that his partner was asleep.
As Ryosuke's faint snoring became the backdrop to his work in the kitchen, Sasha found his nerves slowly settling. How had he allowed himself to get so worked up over not being able to serve dinner? Obviously, Ryosuke being home was more important. If he needed to rest, fuck the meal. It could be reheated, or Sasha could make something else. Why did he let himself go crazy over such stupidly trivial problems?
Once dinner was put away for later, Sasha turned on the kettle. He wasn't sure how soon Ryosuke would be awake, but he had a feeling it would be wise to have tea at the ready. He ought to have a cup himself - not that it truly helped him sleep, but chamomile might at least take the edge off his inexplicably frazzled nerves. Especially if he added a dash of brandy to it.
Putting the tea bag in to steep, he set about cleaning the kitchen. It wasn't like anyone else was going to see it - and he would almost certainly order takeout for Christmas while Ryosuke was with family, so it wasn't like he needed it sparkling - but the methodical, familiar motions muted his thoughts to a dull buzz as all that became important was the job.
He continued to clean even once his tea was ready, stopping only long enough to take little sips. Sitting around doing nothing wasn't an option - holding still only allowed poisonous thoughts to spread and take root. Instead, he continued to clean well beyond reason - polishing the chrome of all the kitchen appliances, dusting every orifice of every room (though they didn't have dust to begin with), lint rolling Kuro's long black fur off of his pristine white furniture. He didn't dare vacuum, of course - that might wake Ryosuke - instead getting down on his hands and knees to scrub the hardwood floor. It kept him busy.
He was still scrubbing when Ryosuke began to stir, slowly at first before jerking awake with a groan. Immediately, Sasha dropped the rag he'd been gripping, barely registering how red and raw his hands had become. Hurrying to the couch, he cupped a palm to Ryosuke's worryingly warm cheek.
“Hey. How are you feeling?”
Ryosuke groaned loudly, letting his head loll against Sasha’s hand.
“You don't look good,” Sasha said, pushing Ryosuke's hair back with forced calm. “What can I get you?”
“‘s’ a minute,” Ryosuke slurred, cracking a weary half smile. “God, my head…”
Sasha kept his face stoically smooth, but worry clenched in his chest. “I'm going to make tea,” he murmured. “It'll only take a minute, the kettle's already on.”
Before he stepped back, Sasha eased Ryosuke gently back against the couch cushions, brushing a thumb over his feverishly warm cheek and then finally peeling himself away.
“Maybe some water,” Ryosuke mumbled, fingers tangling into the hem of Sasha's t-shirt as he stood up. “And Tylenol if you've got it.”
Sasha clasped his hand over Ryosuke's, renewedly loath to step away. “I've got it. Can I get you anything else? More blankets, pillows, cold compress? There’s the nice one upstairs, the one Vody sent.”
“Nuhhhh, s’okay,” Ryosuke mumbled. He struggled upwards, propping his shoulders against the arm of the couch and blinking slowly. “Sorry ‘bout dinner, I know you worked hard on it.”
“Don't worry about it,” Sasha said, a bit too brusquely to be believable. He gave Ryosuke's hand one last squeeze before hurrying off to gather water and medicine. Though it wasn't asked for, he set a cup of tea to steep anyway. By the time he got back with a glass of water and the bottle of pills, Ryosuke had managed to sit himself almost upright, although he was still somewhat slouched against the arm of the sofa.
“You look exhausted,” Sasha grumbled. “Tell that bitch you don't need this many fucking jobs next year.”
“They will not be in charge next year,” Ryosuke grumbled. “I feel like I've been hit by a bus. And I need to ice my wrist.”
The words had barely left his lips before Sasha was in the kitchen, rifling through the myriad ice packs he kept stocked in the freezer. Once he'd settled on one suitably soft and reasonably sized, he wrapped it in a tea towel and hurried back to the living room.
“Thanks,” Ryosuke sighed. He wrapped it gingerly around his wrist, the little line down his forehead softening as the throbbing heat retreated. “Sorry I'm not up for much tonight - but we have the whole of Boxing Day to ourselves, I made sure.”
“Good,” Sasha huffed, feeling rather possessive now that he finally had his boyfriend back. “Take your medicine and get comfy,” he ordered, picking their current book up off the coffee table. “I want to read. We've been stuck on this chapter for a month.”
“Sorry,” Ryosuke repeated, snuggling into Sasha's chest. “It's just been…a time. Don't be mad if I doze off.”
“Whatever you need,” Sasha shrugged, looping an arm around him and flicking through to find their page. “That's okay.”
He was still a little annoyed when Ryosuke drifted back to sleep around the three page mark, but more with the situation than his actual partner. Folding over the corner of the page, he hefted Ryosuke into his arms, scooping against his chest as he stood up. The motion roused Ryosuke, but only slightly, and his eyelids fluttered in Sasha's direction, a bleary groan questioning why he had been moved.
“Time for bed,” Sasha said matter-of-factly, making effortless work of the stairs despite the borderline dead weight of Ryosuke in his arms.
“‘mkay,” Ryosuke nodded, head lolling against Sasha's shoulder as sleep dragged him under once more.
He seemed so exhausted that Sasha was loath to wake him to change, opting instead to strip him down to his boxers and tuck him in. Moving silently, he left a glass of water and the packet of pills on the bedside table, before creeping back downstairs to start on their laundry.
Though he knew Ryosuke needed the rest, Sasha found himself unreasonably lonely as he took care of the last chores downstairs. Sure, Ryosuke had been gone almost constantly the last few weeks, but something about having him in the apartment, so close and yet unattainable, was so much worse. As he hung the last of their clothes on the heated rack, he made his mind up. Grabbing himself a glass of water, he padded up the stairs to change. He might as well while away some time reading in bed - at least there he could keep an eye on his partner.
Sasha hadn't intended to stay up so late. He had started a new novel, not wanting to continue the one he was reading with Ryosuke alone. Caught up in the mystery, time had vanished from his mind, and it was only when he closed the flimsy paperback that he saw the time on the bedside clock.
12:17 AM
Fuck. When had he sat down to read? It must have been ages ago, as he remembered the last dregs of light creeping away from his massive picture windows. He knew he ought to lie down, but in truth, his mind was racing, eager for another story. He couldn't imagine sleeping, much less sleeping well. Maybe another, just as a treat. Tomorrow was the one day of the year he didn't need to train, after all.
The numbers on the clock rushed perilously into the wee hours as Sasha allowed himself to be absorbed in another book. Having somewhere else, someone else, some other problems to think about besides his own brought such a blissful relief that he didn't even consider the time, still fully absorbed in his story when Ryosuke shifted beside him. He glanced down, noticing the miserable twist of Ryosuke's mouth and the furrow in his brow. He wished he could do more to help, but surely this was the kind of thing it was best to sleep off.
Resting one hand idly in Ryosuke’s messy hair, Sasha once again disappeared into his paperback escape. He was thoroughly engrossed in the story by the time Ryosuke properly stirred, groaning and pawing at Sasha's thigh.
“Hey,” he murmured, stroking his fingers through the sweaty strands. “What's -”
“S’sha,” Ryosuke groaned, shuddering as cold lanced down his spine. “I don't feel so good…”
“I can get water. Or make tea. Just give me a-”
“Don't,” Ryosuke mumbled, cutting him off and burying his face in Sasha's thigh. “Feel sick.”
“Oh…”
Sasha frowned, cupping the back of Ryosuke’s head gently with one hand. Despite the medicine he'd taken earlier, the fever had only gone up - Sasha could feel the heat of it rolling off the back of his neck. He knew he ought to go get a basin, but he was loath to let go when Ryosuke seemed so frail.
“Sasha,” Ryosuke groaned again, just as lethargic yet twice as urgent. “...think ‘m gonna…”
His shoulders rolled and he gagged air against Sasha's leg. Sasha swore, Russian profanity lingering in the air as he scrambled out of bed. “Just a second,” he begged, “I'll get the bin.”
Ryosuke nodded, swallowing thickly and clamping a hand over his mouth as he flopped down onto the mattress. The air seemed to wobble with heat, and he forced himself to breathe as Sasha dashed down the steps into the kitchen. Cool discomfort was crawling up the back of his neck by the time Sasha made it back, and he'd dragged himself to hover over the edge of the bed. He couldn't swallow back the hot, bitter spit under his tongue any longer, simply drooling onto the rug with his eyes tightly closed.
Sasha's hand on his shoulder was all the permission his body seemed to need, and Ryosuke heaved, vision blurring until he could barely make out the bin Sasha had set beneath him. He felt Sasha's fingers, cool on the back of his neck, and moaned softly through the next wave.
“Jesus,” Sasha muttered, wrinkling his nose as sour vomit splattered the bin. “Go on, then, get it up.”
Ryosuke groaned, swiping a clumsy hand across his mouth and rolling heavily back onto the mattress.
“God, my head,” he whined, squeezing his temples with long, trembling fingers. “Oh, I feel like death.”
Sasha sighed, glancing down the stairs towards the faint glow of the Christmas tree Ryosuke had demanded be set up. What a way to spend the holiday. “Anything I can do?”
“Can you take that away?”
Ryosuke waved his free hand limply towards the bin. Sasha watched his face as his throat worked silently, trying to work out if he was actually done being sick.
“I'll get you some tea while I'm downstairs,” he said eventually, stroking Ryosuke’s hair back in what he hoped was a reassuring way. “To help settle your stomach.”
Ryosuke was out cold by the time he got back. He didn't wake again to vomit, but slept restlessly until the morning. As his fever climbed, he alternated between clinging weakly to Sasha's steady warmth and kicking off all of the covers as he sweated out the water and tea Sasha had coaxed into him before bed.
Sasha dozed during the lulls, but every time Ryosuke began to flail, his eyes popped open, worry weighing heavy in his chest. He felt useless, stroking Ryosuke's hair when he snuggled close and running for a cool cloth when the blankets were thrown aside. He guessed it was a small mercy that at least Ryosuke was managing to sleep.
He called Oliver as early as he thought was reasonable on Christmas Day.
“He's sick,” he said shortly, when Ollie answered with a yawn. “I'm keeping him here. You'll make his apologies to the family?”
After a moment of groggy groaning, Oliver finally seemed to register. “Oh. Uh, yeah. Of course. If people ask where he is, he's…?”
“At home. Sick. Not taking visitors.”
“Mom will want him to come be miserable with us instead,” Oliver warned him. “We're serious about Christmas in this family. And she’s been a little nuts since Daichi’s accident. He came home yesterday, she wants everything perfect.”
“Well he can't,” Sasha snapped. “His fever's through the roof. He needs to be on bed rest, not making small talk with all your million other cousins.”
“Sure,” Oliver agreed amenably. “So I'll tell her he's staying with a friend. Just so she doesn't think he's all alone in that glorified refrigerator box he calls an apartment.”
“Whatever you need to do,” Sasha replied. “Just keep my name out of it.”
And then he hung up.
To Sasha's deep irritation, he only got the morning in peace before an unexpected knock at the door had him rolling out of bed and grabbing the gun from his nightstand. Ryosuke had been nestled into his side, and when his heated body pillow leapt up, he groaned, sitting up slowly on his elbows.
“Stay here,” Sasha said, voice low. “Don't make a sound.”
Ryosuke blinked, still drowsy but wise enough to shut his mouth and hold still. He watched through sleep-blurred eyes as Sasha crept down the stairs with catlike stealth, socked feet silent against the floor as he pressed his eye to the peephole. Letting out a deep, exasperated sigh, he lowered the pistol to his side and began undoing the multitude of locks.
“It's your fucking cousins,” he growled, tucking the pistol into his waistband once he'd opened the door and confirmed they hadn't been tailed. Narrowing his eyes down at Oliver, he repeated his words from earlier. “Not. Taking. Visitors.”
“He'll see us,” Oliver shrugged, pushing carelessly past Sasha into the penthouse apartment. “Good God, you've been holding out on us. I can't believe you never host D&D, man. Why are we crammed into my place when yours is like…palatial?”
“Privacy. Where did you even get my address?” Sasha demanded, crossing his arms.
“Ryo sent it a while back,” Shiro answered, following his brother inside, “when he sent a selfie from your sexy balcony and we asked where he was. I believe he called it ‘flexing on us haters’.”
“Speaking of haters,” Oliver continued, “who left a stocking stabbed into your door with a knife?”
“Left a -?”
Sasha broke off with a growl, stomping out to look. Sure enough, a sparkly stocking with his name, Aleksandr, embroidered across it in sequins had been nailed to the door with an enamel hilted stiletto. He didn't have to take it down to know who had left it. Valentina was back in Moscow for the holidays, and if she had arranged a gift for him, it would have been to Sasha. Vlad certainly had the sense of humor to do this, but he would've sent a much larger, much stupider gift. Sasha suddenly felt a wave of dread as he wondered what might be coming his way in a week or two, closer to the time of a traditional Russian Christmas. Shuddering briefly, he pushed the thought from his mind, snatching Irina’s gift down from the door and stomping back into the flat.
Having heard the arrival of his cousins, Ryosuke slowly, reluctantly crawled out of bed, putting on his own robe followed by Sasha’s robe for an extra layer of warmth. He knew he probably looked a state as he stepped into his slippers and shambled down the stairs, but he flashed Oliver and Shiro a wan smile.
“You guys really didn't have to come over here. I'm probably contagious,” he said ruefully.
Oliver shrugged. “I'm off till the spring semester starts.”
“Besides, we couldn't let you spend Christmas alone with Mister Grinch,” Shiro added, tipping his head towards Sasha, who had sat down in an armchair to scowl at the contents of his stocking, including a handwritten note in neat Russian cursive.
Dear Aleksandr,
Have a smoke, have a drink, get the stick out of your ass.
Stop being a miserable bastard for five minutes and enjoy your Christmas.
You can keep the knife. I'm sure it is nicer than whatever you threw at me last time.
“I am not the Grinch,” Sasha grumbled, stuffing the stocking under the seat. “I am just Russian.”
Cheers,
Irina
“Oh, boo,” Shiro scoffed. “Valentina has been talking about her Christmas plans since Thanksgiving. It's the most I've ever seen her smile.”
Sasha only grumbled in response, taking the bottle of vodka that Irina had stuffed in his stocking over to the bar. He took an unnecessarily circuitous route, staying as far away from Momo as possible. Arriving at the bar, he lingered for a moment, staring at the label and considering having a drink. It was nice, almost nice enough to make up for the other gift Irina had included - a pack of the same expensive cigars Boris always smoked. Just the faint smell through the package had triggered his fight or flight, and between the cigars and the dog, it was taking all of his self control to remain remotely civil with his uninvited guests.
“Do you want a drink?” He asked, sounding impressively inhospitable despite his words.
“You should take a nap, love,” Ryosuke said gently. “I know you won't have slept, and the boys can get me things if I need them.”
“You think I can sleep when there's people in my house?” Sasha asked, his gaze locked on the dog laying peacefully at Shiro's feet.
“Then just go stare at the ceiling if you want. You're clearly exhausted and in a mood about it.”
“I'm in a mood because I have uninvited guests,” Sasha grumbled, taking the bottle Irina had given him and stalking up the stairs.
“Don't drink the whole thing,” Ryosuke called weakly. “It’ll ruin your sleep tonight. Honestly,” he turned to his cousins and rolled his eyes so hard his head hurt, “it's like living with a toddler sometimes.”
“I'll live with a toddler if the toddler's in a penthouse.” Oliver laughed. “Come on, sit down. You look ready to keel over.”
“Have you eaten yet today?” Shiro asked, Momo mirroring his movement as he cocked his head to peer worriedly at his cousin.
“I'm not hungry,” Ryosuke shrugged, folding himself down onto the sofa. “You know what they say, feed a cold and starve a fever.”
“Can I at least make you some tea?” Shiro asked. When Ryosuke nodded, he hopped up right away. “Momo, keep an eye on Ryo,” he ordered, smiling when the dog hopped up onto the couch, stretching her lanky body out beside Ryosuke. Ryosuke slung an arm over her, relishing the heat he'd missed since Sasha had rolled out of bed.
“If you look in the freezer,” he called, “there should be an ice pack. For my wrist.”
“Is it bad again?” Ollie frowned, pausing from taking wrapped presents out of his backpack. “Have you been to a doctor?”
“They'll just say to rest it,” Ryosuke murmured wearily. “What's the point?”
“They might give you drugs,” Shiro chirped. “Maybe even the good drugs.” He turned on the kettle before going to rifle through the freezer, letting out a low whistle at the massive stainless steel apparatus before him. “God, everything here is so nice. I knew Valentina’s dad was loaded, but I didn't know he was loaded loaded.”
“Have you seen how Valentina dresses?” Oliver scoffed. “That ice rink is like fashion week, every week.”
“Yeah, but she's the favorite.” Shiro shrugged, grabbing the ice pack from the freezer. “I figured she was the one daddy spent all his money on.”
“Sasha does have a salary,” Ryosuke interjected. “His dad gave him some fancy title in their US operations. But yeah, their dad is like…oligarch rich.”
“And you never host us for D&D?” Oliver cried, looking indignantly up towards the loft.
“I bring dinner. Accept it or fuck off.” Sasha called back.
Panic flashed in Oliver's eyes as he remembered the cheap pizzas the party had shared before Sasha joined the group. “No, no, it's fine, you're fine, please don't stop bringing dinner.”
“He likes cooking,” Ryosuke reassured him, blinking up with heavily lidded eyes. “He's emotionally stunted, but it's how he shows love.”
“Did you send me up here just so you could gossip about me?”
Sasha's face, pale and drawn, appeared over the railing of the mezzanine. He had their duvet tucked, cape-like, around his shoulders as he pouted down at them like a toddler. Shiro giggled, turning away from him to whisper to the others, “Valentina makes the exact same face.”
A pillow whizzed down from the mezzanine and thunked Shiro in the back of the head.
“Not his head,” Ryosuke groaned, waving his middle finger vaguely in Sasha's direction. “Or I'll send the dog up to snuggle you.”
“Don't you dare,” Sasha growled, though the threat was lost when his voice cracked at the end.
“I'm fine, Ryo,” Shiro assured him. “It's a pillow, not a brick.”
“He knows better,” Ryosuke sniffed. “Sasha, go and lie down. Don't get back up until you're not in such a foul mood. You might hate Christmas, but I like that my family want to see me. And give me presents.”
Sasha went quiet for a moment. What was it like, he wondered, having family who wanted to see you? Even Valentina, for all her affection towards him, hadn't fought back too hard when he said he was staying in America to train for the holidays. It was only when Ryosuke spoke up again that his mind returned to the present.
“Sasha,” his voice was gentler this time. “Go lie down.”
“Yeah,” Sasha mumbled, turning away and climbing back into the bed. At this point, he'd been around Momo enough to not panic, but it was still nerve-wracking to know there was a dog in his domicile, outside his line of sight. It was bad enough to have people in his home. There was no way he could sleep. He grabbed the vodka from the nightstand and took a long drink.
Downstairs, Ryosuke was basking in the attention of his cousins. He still felt grotty - achy and cold and mildly sick - but that didn't stifle the warm glow that he felt knowing they'd come just to see him when they could have lazed around at home. They certainly didn't have to bring gifts, but of course they had anyway, with Oliver having collected his favorite Japanese snacks while Shiro had found a jacket with stunningly detailed dragon embroidery in a colorway that mirrored his tattoos.
“You guys are so nice,” Ryosuke sighed, “I feel like a dick. I've been so busy, I don't have anything for you.”
“You never do,” Shiro shrugged. “But you always do birthdays and they're harder to remember.”
Ryosuke smiled weakly. “It’s the least I can do. Can I offer you guys anything? You know I can't cook, but Sasha made dinner last night. There should be plenty left in the fridge.”
“Naw, you know Mom cooks a feast,” Shiro grinned. “I ate so much at lunch…I probably could just live off that for a week. Like a snake.”
“I could eat…,” Oliver murmured, looking sideways at the fridge. He truthfully wasn't hungry either but wondered what delicacies Sasha had hidden away in there. The food he brought to D&D was always exquisite. Swinging his legs off the couch, he hurried over to nose around. He stopped, blinking incredulously at the contents of the fridge. “Is that a whole roast duck?”
“Uh…” Ryosuke racked his brain, a sudden weight sinking in his chest. “Yeah, he cooked for me yesterday but I was already feeling kind of shitty…”
“I'm sure he understands,” Shiro said hastily, clocking the mood shift that Oliver had inadvertently brought about.
“Yeah,” Ryosuke sighed. “But it's a shame isn't it. He probably made plum sauce and everything.”
“Is that what this is?” Oliver mused, picking up a Tupperware of suspicious goo next to the meticulously saran-wrapped duck. “I've never had plum sauce before.”
“Plum is in sweet and sour sauce. You just didn't know you'd had it.” Shiro said.
Realization dawned on Oliver's face. “Oh. That sounds really good.”
“Eat whatever you want,” Sasha called, his voice rumbling down from the mezzanine to make Oliver jump. “Can't promise it will reheat well.”
Frowning across at Ryosuke, Oliver mouthed, “He's like a bat!”
Ryosuke snickered. “Just grab whatever you want, it'd be nice for someone to enjoy all that hard work.”
Oliver shrugged, hauling the massive roasting pan and its accompanying tupperwares of side dishes out of the fridge. He still wasn't truly hungry, but his curiosity far outweighed his lack of appetite. Now that everything was laid out on the counter, he came to a new conundrum - not knowing where any of the dishes or silverware were.
Seeing the vacant look on his brother's face, Shiro scoffed and got up from where he'd settled in the living room, pushing past Oliver to search through cabinets and drawers. “You just have to look around. Honestly, how are you the one with a PhD?”
“Because philosophy isn't a real subject,” Ryosuke called from the living room, cackling at Oliver's indignant pout.
“Just because you don't understand it doesn't mean it's not real,” he complained. “I'm just book smart, not street smart.”
“I wouldn't say navigating a kitchen is street smarts,” Shiro countered, “more basic adult functionality.” Having found where Sasha kept the forks, knives, and plates, he set out everything Oliver would need. “Here, cut what you want and then… I guess microwave it?”
“Air fryer,” came Sasha's raspy voice from up the stairs. “Two hundred Celsius. Check after five minutes. Give five more if middle is cold.”
“Thank you!” Shiro called.
“Bat,” Oliver mouthed, gesturing dramatically while Ryosuke rolled his eyes.
“He's particular about his food,” Ryosuke told him. “It would be a shame if you wrecked it.”
“That's totally fair,” Shiro said, “he clearly worked hard on it.”
“Y’know what's not fair?” Oliver sulked, still staring at his cousin. “How'd you find somebody who's rich and cooks?”
Ryosuke smirked. His head was beginning to throb from exertion - exertion, he scoffed internally, all he was doing was lying on the sofa - and he sipped his tea before he finally replied.
Written with @lickstynine, as you all well know xx
What the fuck do you mean he’s puking blood?
Harrison tapped his phone against his bouncing knee, scowling down at the screen and willing Oliver to start typing. The kids had gone down easily, and now it was just him and a quiet house and nothing to distract him. After a minute that felt like an hour, he tried again.
Ollie, fucking call me I mean it
Busy, talk later came the short reply. Harrison scowled at his screen, swallowing an angry shout that surely would've woken his children. Instead, he heaved himself up out of his seat, pacing the room as he waited for an update. Out of all of his brothers, Harrison had always been the worst at waiting. In hockey, he'd never been as good as Daichi at waiting for an opportunity, always trying to force the play when it wasn't on. He'd had little patience for reading, skipping to the ends of books to find out what happened faster. Hell, he'd missed out on college because he couldn't wait for Shelley to get on birth control.
As he circled the room like a furious caged animal, Harrison found himself unreasonably angry that his children needed to be watched. That his wife wasn't there to watch them. That he had put himself into such a miserable position through years of stupid fucking decisions, and now he couldn't be there when his brother and best friend needed him most. Daichi was always there for him. Daichi had been the first person Harrison had told about Shelley being pregnant. He'd talked him down when he got cold feet the night before the wedding. When their marriage had last been on the rocks, Daichi had wordlessly handed him a voucher for a romantic getaway and then taken the kids while they were away for the weekend. And now he was what, bleeding internally? And Harrison was just sitting at home twiddling his thumbs.
He felt bad for the thoughts almost immediately. Whatever difficulties they had, he did still truly care for Shelley, and even if they hadn't been entirely on purpose, he loved his children more than anything. God, what an asshole he was. Getting so wrapped up in his own frustrations that he was blaming everyone around him. He just wished he didn't feel so powerless. If there was anything, even the most menial task, that he could do to help Daichi, it would've eased his guilt immensely.
He slumped back down on the sofa with a heavy sigh. If it was really bad, he reasoned, Oliver would call him, right?
Right?
***
Ellen, clearly a trainee nurse from her uncertainty and the colour of her scrubs, led Oliver to a small, seated area. He couldn't sit for long though, too much pent up fear coursing through his veins for him to stay in one place. Even when she told him that this could happen after jaw surgery and was usually fine, his doubts weren't assuaged, but he shot off a text to his brothers anyway.
Nurse thinks probably fine?
Was she right, though? His mind drifted through old history classes, centuries and millennia of people not understanding what was wrong or how to treat it. He imagined some mad medieval doctor offering to bleed Daichi, rambling about unbalanced humours. A filthy herbalist shoving a foul mixture of plants at the problem. So-called scientists providing tinctures of opium or mercury. Who was to say that today's doctors were that much better?
He was broken from his reverie when the older nurse came marching back with news. He didn't understand any of it - stupid, useless philosophy degree - but he did understand that he could go back in and sit with his brother.
“The doctor will be along shortly,” she said, not unkindly. “Try not to worry too much, or your brother may become distressed.”
Oliver muttered an insincere thanks, unable to keep from sulking as he hurried back to Daichi's room. He did school his face into a more neutral expression before stepping inside - Daichi didn't need the stress of seeing that he was angry.
“Ollie…”
At the sound of his name, he hurried to the side of the bed. Perching on the edge of the mattress, he squeezed Daichi's shoulder with a smile.
“I'm here, bud, you're good.”
“‘sssssooooo f’cked up,” Daichi groaned, his brow scrunching up in discomfort. “Wanna go home.”
Oliver reached out, wrapping an arm as gently as he could around Daichi. He remembered for a moment back when he had been bigger than Daichi, when his kid brother had come to him in moments of worry, before a big game or a major exam. He wished he could offer the same kind of comfort he had then.
“Home,” Daichi begged, tucking himself as neatly as possible against Oliver's body. “Don't…”
He broke off with a lost little sob. Oliver fought the urge to crumple atop him, instead stroking Daichi's hair as gently as he could. “Hey. Hey, it's gonna be okay. I've got you. You'll be okay.”
“‘s Mom?” Daichi asked, leaning into Oliver's touch.
“She'll be here as soon as she can,” Oliver promised, praying that his parents’ flight had departed on time. “Probably next time you wake up, even.”
“Stay here. Leas’ til mom gets here?” Daichi begged.
“I'm not going anywhere.”
***
Anxiety sat like a rock in Shiro's gut, and he tried to swallow the knot in his throat. He watched as the three dots rippled, rippled, rippled… and disappeared. His stomach lurched.
Maya sighed. “Call him before you puke. Stop looking at your phone.”
Shiro nodded meekly, pulling up Oliver's number and looking for the right button. Even that was enough to peak his nausea, and he knew he needed to turn the screen off as soon as Oliver picked up.
“What's going on?” He asked, all too aware of how high and whiny his voice had become. “Is he alright? Are they doing anything about it?”
“Woah, woah,” Oliver said. His tone was calming, but there was a tight edge of worry running underneath. “Take a breath, kid. He's totally stable right now, alright? There's no emergency, it's just kinda…gross. I'd let you talk to him, but…just one minute.”
There was a clatter, then the muted noises of Oliver and Daichi talking, then soft, miserable gagging. Shiro grimaced, a pallor taking over his own face. Maya didn't miss the way he gulped, and she hollered over her shoulder towards the speakerphone. “We're gonna call back later, Ollie. This one needs to take a break.”
“No, I…”
Shiro protested weakly but he handed over the phone when she reached back for it.
“Do you need me to find somewhere to stop?”
“Uhhh…” Shiro hesitated, wanting to get to the hospital as quickly as possible. Momo, on the other hand, seemed deeply unhappy, whining and nosing his side.
“I'll stop at the next gas station,” she decided, not bothering to wait for him to make up his mind. “You can get some air, I'll grab you a 7up. I need a coffee anyway.”
“Okay,” Shiro sighed, running a trembling hand through Momo's fur. “We have to hurry, though.”
“We have to be safe,” Maya replied, shrugging apologetically. “It's no help to anyone if I fall asleep behind the wheel and you puke your brains out.”
Shiro took a shaky breath, struggling to worry about himself when his mind was still on his brothers. The flurry of texts, the sounds on the phone, the lingering visual of Daichi slamming into the ice. He swallowed tightly, murmuring, “Ollie said he was throwing up blood.”
“That's scary,” she nodded, scanning the road signs for options. “But he's in a hospital right now, which is the safest place he could be.”
“I hate not being there yet,” Shiro mumbled. “I feel like the second I stop paying attention, something awful will happen.”
“Well, right now, that something is about to be you throwing up, so hang on until I find us a rest stop,” Maya said.
“Mmhmm…”
Shiro huddled back in his seat, hugging his arms around his middle. He really was starting to feel awful, his mouth hot and wet and numb as he swallowed back the nausea. He squeezed his eyes shut, shivering slightly as Momo's cold, wet nose brushed against his neck. She climbed onto his lap, lying across him like a weighted blanket, and he tried to focus on her warm steadiness instead of the whirlpool churning in his stomach. He felt no better when Maya pulled into the next stop, stumbling out of the car to slump miserably on the nearest bench.
Climbing onto the bench beside him, Momo pressed her body against Shiro, her fur blissfully warm against the chilly night air. Even her solid presence beside him seemed to wobble, leaving Shiro hunched over until his fringe was brushing his knees. His insides tilted and whirled like a cheap carnival ride, reckless and rapid and vaguely perilous. His stomach tensed, and he pursed his lips together in a tight line, forcing a slow, deep breath in and out his nose. He considered asking Maya how much longer they had to drive. He realized he didn't want to know.
Maya came back with a Sprite and a bag of chips and a packet of blue plastic sick bags. Shiro felt too rotten to be embarrassed. It wasn't like she'd never seen him puke before. Shaking like a baby deer, he made his way back to the car and crawled into the backseat. Momo climbed up beside him, nestling into the crook of his body. Still trembling, Shiro looped his arms around her neck with a queasy groan.
“I'll put the music on again,” Maya said quietly. “The Sprite is in your cupholder, okay? I cracked the seal so it shouldn't be too fizzy.”
“...kay,” Shiro mumbled, burying his face in Momo's soft fur. As Maya was just readying to take off, he spoke up again. “Wait… can you check my phone?”
“Yeah, I'll keep it in the front, okay?”
Shiro frowned, but he knew Maya was right. He sighed, finally giving a reluctant, “Okay.”
“Cool. I'll tell you if there's any update.”
It was even harder to focus on the road as they got further into the boonies. The less commonly traveled stretch of highway hadn't been re-paved in years, and the road curved with the land it traversed rather than cutting straight through. Every bump and turn elicited a whimpering groan from Shiro, bag clutched tight in his clammy hands as he struggled to swallow the foul taste rising in his throat. He kept thinking about Daichi, about the miserable sounds of him being sick through the phone. How, even at that distance, he had been about to hear how much pain his brother was in. How he should have been there.
It started as a sob. Shiro's chest tightened, and suddenly, his stomach lurched. A miserable cry trailed off into a choking heave, liquid crinkling against the plastic bag as he continued to retch. The plastic became full and warm and heavy, all his post-comp rehydration spilling out of him like water from a weir.
Maya cringed, glancing back at him over her shoulder. Momo met her gaze, sharing a knowing, worried look. “Try to breathe,” Maya murmured. “Say the word if you want me to stop.”
“S’okay,” Shiro croaked, burying his face in his arm as he struggled to control his breathing. “Next gas station maybe, so we can throw this out.”
“Yeah, no problem,” Maya agreed. “I'll keep an eye out.”
Shiro grunted in a way that sounded vaguely like thanks, fingers clutching at the fabric of the car seat as a tidal wave of vertigo slammed into him. Momo crooned softly beside him, pressing against his body to keep him steady. He thought about Daichi. He wished he were there already.
***
When Daichi woke up, he wasn't much in the mood for visitors. Even with medication, he had an absolutely pounding headache, and the barely-useful pain meds were making him vaguely nauseous. He couldn't even try to force a smile when he saw Shiro, only giving a feeble wave. Their parents had arrived by then as well, which should have been comforting, but he just felt stifled and self-conscious. It definitely didn't help that, only minutes after he woke, his girlfriend showed up.
“I can't believe I had to call your mother to find out you were in the hospital,” Brynnlee pouted, flashing the rest of his family an accusatory glare. “Why didn't you send me a message?”
“I wasn't really up to texting, Brynn,” he muttered.
“Well someone should have,” she insisted, letting her lower lip tremble as her voice wavered. “I watched the match, baby, I was so scared.”
“We all were,” Oliver said, not hostile but very stern. “Once things settled down, I was going to let you know. It was a rough night.”
“I ...okay,” Brynnlee conceded, perching on the mattress by Daichi's head. “Sorry. What did the doctors say?” She turned her attention to her boyfriend, wincing a little at the mottled, swollen sight of him. “How are you feeling, baby? Your mom said something about surgery? When are they letting you out?”
“I’unno yet,” Daichi sighed, even that simple movement making his face ache. “I barely know what's goin’ on. Woke up feelin’ like I got hit by a bus.”
Her face tensed. “Should I get a nurse? Do you need more medication? Are you still gonna be my date to that New Years Gala?”
Daichi blinked, clearly overwhelmed, while Shiro and Oliver shared a dubious glance. Groaning softly, Daichi rested a hand gingerly against his temple. “Uhhh… when is it?”
“New Year's Eve, dummy,” she giggled, stroking his hair and seeming to forget all her other, unanswered questions.
“That's just over a week, bud,” Oliver said gently. “You might be out of here by then, but you probably still won't be feeling good.”
“A week?” Daichi's face crinkled in confusion. “Of course I'll be fine in a week.”
Now the whole Jansen family exchanged glances of alarm. Daichi's brow furrowed further despite how it hurt.
“What? Why are you guys looking at me like that?”
“Dude…” Oliver looked up at his parents in a silent plea for help.
“It's going to take a bit longer than that to heal, sweetheart,” their mother said gently, patting Diachi’s leg. “The bruising won't even be gone by then.”
Brynnlee’s nose wrinkled. “Oh, yeah. You can't be my date, then. I need to figure out who's taking me.”
“Fucking hell,” Oliver groaned. “Kick a man while he's down, why don't you? Don't you want to spend New Year's Eve with your boyfriend?”
“Well, yes but…” She blinked, as if the thought hadn't even occurred to her. “I already bought a dress. You wouldn't want me to miss out, would you baby?”
What Daichi wanted was for everyone to stop talking. He groaned, squeezing his eyes shut as the pounding in his head intensified.
“Baby, I'm asking a question. Do you want me to miss a party where I already bought a pretty dress?”
“You should go,” he murmured, squeezing her hand. Anything to stop her talking. “Send me photos. Bet you'll look hot.”
“Of course I will,” she said, smiling broadly. “Hm… do you think I could borrow your brother for the party? Not these two, the handsome one.”
Shiro snorted.
“If you wanna fight his wife for him,” he said, giving her an incredulous look. “I wouldn't risk it.”
“I'm not trying to steal him,” Brynnlee huffed. “I just need arm candy for the night.”
“And so you chose the only married lbrother?” Oliver asked drily.
“I chose the only hot brother,” Brynnlee corrected, rolling her eyes. “Shiro is too young, and you are too….skinny.”
“Babe, be nice,” Daichi mumbled, “Ollie is nerdy hot. It's different.”
“Aaand that's the painkillers talking,” Shiro laughed, only to quickly add, “Not that you're not hot! Just that he wouldn't usually…”
“I know what you meant,” Oliver smirked. He squeezed Daichi's hand again, waiting for his brother to turn and look at him. “Is there anything I can get you? Water or something? You don't look comfortable."
Daichi nodded meekly, but when he looked at Oliver, his lips parted and his stare went blank. Whatever he had wanted had slipped from his mind like water through a sieve, a mixture of loss, alarm, and confusion shining in his eyes. “...I don't know.”
“That's alright,” Oliver nodded. “You want me to list some stuff? Or just tell me when it comes back to you.”
“Uh… you. You please.” Daichi stammered, still fighting his own brain to put words together.
“Okay,” Oliver said patiently. “I could get you water? A blanket? More pillows? I could go get your suitcase so you can have real pajamas.”
Daichi blinked desperately up at him, but none of the words jogged his memory at all. He knew that he wanted something - he felt far too awful not to do anything about the situation. “I don't know,” he repeated, panic rising in his voice.
“Well, figure it out,” Brynnlee told him. “He's trying to help you.”
It was at this point that Mrs. Jansen stepped in, barely a foot away from Brynnlee as she planted her hands firmly on her hips. “That's enough,” she said, her voice more severe than Oliver and Shiro had heard in years. “Daichi is still very hurt, and being interrogated isn't helping him recover.”
“Sorry Mom,” Oliver nodded, visibly chastened. “You just tell me when you're ready, okay bud? No need to play twenty questions.”
“Okay,” Daichi nodded, but stress still shone bright in his eyes. His vision was fuzzy, wobbling in and out of duplicity, and he wondered how much was his injury and how much might be a burgeoning headache. He blinked hard, trying to force his whole being back into focus. “Don't feel….good.”
“Try to rest, darling,” Mrs. Jansen murmured, ghosting a hand over his cheek. “We can leave you in peace. It's a lot to handle at once, you're probably overwhelmed.”
“Just wanna sleep,” he agreed.
His mother nodded, beginning to gather and shoo away the rest of their family. Brynnlee initially went to argue, but a sharp look from Mrs. Jansen was enough to shut her up and get her moving. Shiro was, though loathe to leave his brother, almost too exhausted to walk straight, giving his family tight hugs before turning to squeeze Daichi's hand. He was relieved to see Maya and Momo sitting in the nearest waiting room, and he knelt down to wrap his arms around the dog's neck, desperate for her warm, silent comfort.
“That bad?” Maya asked quietly.
Shiro only managed a tiny nod. If just seeing his brother like this was putting his family through the wringer, he couldn't imagine what poor Daichi must actually feel like. He wasn't sure he wanted to know.
We have been working on this for an absolute age, and it has been such a major roadblock between us and posting the next installments. (Also we may have skipped a few years ahead to write Sasha the world's most harrowing Olympics experience instead of staying in the current timeline, but I guess you will find that out when it happens.) This is the beginning of a storyline for Daichi that will unfold over the next few years probably, I hope you enjoy - there is a part 2 to come, and then two solid Ryosha fics which have been ready and waiting for (literally) months
cw: major injury, blood, hospitals
written (obviously) with @lickstynine
Shiro had a bad feeling the moment that his skates left the ice. At first he worried that it was an aura, but Momo seemed perfectly happy to lie at his feet as they waited in the kiss and cry. Then he thought maybe he’d fucked up in some terrible way during their routine and simply blocked it from his conscious memory. When the results came up and they placed an almost definite silver, he realised that couldn’t be it either. Maybe it was just that none of his family were there watching. It was the first time he’d competed seriously without at least two of his brothers in the crowd, and he felt a soft pang of disappointment that they weren’t there to pull him up into the stands and tell him he’d done a good job. Maybe it was just the eggs he’d eaten for breakfast not agreeing with him. Either way, the cold, heavy feeling didn’t leave his stomach as they skated back out for the awards ceremony, or when Maya hugged him afterwards in the tunnel and their coach told them what a good job they’d done, or while he stood under the hot spray of the shower.
There must have been something he did wrong. He was just waiting for the other shoe to drop. Maybe he had messed up a lift or a jump and he would be heinously sore in the morning. Maybe he was feeling an aura and it was just taking its sweet time to make itself known. God, what was wrong with him that he couldn't relax and be happy after placing silver?
Momo was waiting loyally for him as he climbed out of the shower, tail wagging as he bent down, still wrapped in a towel, to hug her. He stayed with his face buried in her soft fur for what felt like ages, finally standing up with a shaky sigh. “Come on, girl, let's get some rest.”
Wrapped in a fresh, fluffy hotel robe, Shiro finally felt like he could breathe as he stepped out of the humid bathroom. He was baffled to see Maya standing in front of him, still fully dressed and holding their suitcases. He opened his mouth to question it, but she had already anticipated him.
“Your brother is in the hospital. We need to go.”
“I…what?” Shiro asked, his brow furrowing. He fumbled for his phone, tugging it out of the side of his bag only to realise that the battery had gone completely dead.
“No, don’t look at that,” Maya said. “You don’t need to see it. I rented us a car - the snow has grounded the planes. If we go now, we should get there for visiting hours in the morning.”
Shiro grimaced. “...how far is he?”
“It's gonna be a long night,” Maya said ruefully. “Would you rather wait for a plane?”
“No. No, we need to go,” Shiro said, hurrying to dig through his bag for actual clothes. “You start bringing the luggage down. I'll take Momo as soon as I'm dressed.”
“Okay, good,” Maya nodded. She turned to leave, glancing back over her shoulder to add, “Don't look at your phone.”
“I can't,” Shiro sighed, “it's dead.”
“Good.” Maya flashed him a stern look as she walked out the door. “You don't need to see that video.”
“Wait, what?” He called, alarm flashing across his face, but she was out the door before he managed to get it out. Hands trembling, he scrambled for his rucksack, plugging his phone in and tapping it with urgency as the screen came to life.
A barrage of messages blew up the screen, and Shiro struggled to make his way through all of them. Harrison and Oliver had sent good luck to both Shiro and Daichi, followed by congratulations to Shiro, and then shock and horror. Eventually, one of them sent a location pin of the hospital, and then the chat went quiet.
Sighing shakily, Shiro moved on to the next chat - his mother. Sweetie, your brother got into an accident in the rink. We're on our way back, come when you can. He rubbed a hand over his face, swiping up to the last chat - Valentina.
She had sent a link to a news article, only minutes old, along with two words - Oh dear. Ignoring Maya's warning, and the twisted trepidation in his gut, he clicked.
The video began to play right away.
Shiro looked away, hand pressed over his mouth, but he’d already seen enough. The news anchor's voice droned on about the particulars of the incident, over the repeated sound of the crowd's reaction from multiple angles of a hundred phones.
Momo whined, nosing at Shiro's hand. His grip was trembling like he might drop the phone, and she took the case carefully in her mouth when he released his grip. He was still standing, shell-shocked, when Maya came jogging back up to the room.
“There you are!” She huffed, “I thought we were in a hurry. What took you…”
Maya trailed off, taking in his pale, stunned countenance and then clocking his phone in Momo's grasp. She sighed. “You saw.”
Shiro swallowed, unable to escape the knot of fear in his throat. “There was so much blood…” he whispered.
“Yep,” she nodded. “Yeah, there was.”
She nudged him to sit on the bed, rifling through his duffle until she found him a pair of sweats and a t-shirt.
“God, I told you not to watch it. Get dressed, we're leaving.”
“It auto-played,” Shiro mumbled lamely, fumbling with the tie of his robe until it came undone. He was still slightly damp from the shower, and without the fluffy warmth around him, he began to shiver as he wriggled into his shirt.
“So you were looking it up?” Maya asked drily, slinging the last of their bags onto her shoulders.
“No!” Shiro said hastily, adding a sheepish, “Valentina sent it to me.”
“Valen… You know what, I'm not even going to ask.”
***
Despite what people might say about him, Oliver took his role as the eldest Jansen seriously. Sure, he'd swanned off to university and got a degree far too cerebral for his father to understand instead of preparing to take over the family business. But Ollie knew he had no business wandering around a building site, and besides, Harrison needed it more than him. And yeah, he sometimes forgot to call Shiro because he got distracted by YouTube video essays. But he made it to as many of his competitions as physically possible, so it wasn't like he didn't put energy into their relationship.
Shiro’s seizures had started when Oliver was only thirteen. They'd been sat in a big bean bag chair, Oliver reading Philip Pullman to his four-year-old brother, when Shiro had stiffened like a board, his body jerking painfully as his muscles locked and spasmed. Oliver had never seen anything like it - no class at school had prepared him for something like this. And he was very good at school. So he would have known. He'd never forgotten it since, that helpless feeling, that terror.
He'd had a similar feeling when Harrison had announced, freshly 18 and still not grown out of his acne, that he was getting married. The gaping pit in his stomach had opened up, the certainty that this was a bad thing and he could do nothing about it. Hell, he couldn't even try to talk his brother out of it, not the way his mind was set. So he'd watched, quietly, as Harrison’s pregnant girlfriend planned a wedding they couldn't afford. He'd slipped his brother some cash from his scholarship and then some more from his savings to cover the difference. Then, he'd stood beside his brother at the altar and handed him the ring that sealed the deal. He'd done it all with a smile on his face, screaming inside.
And he had that feeling now, while he watched Daichi lying motionless on the floor, blood staining the ice as the replay of the hit cycled through over and over on the screens overhead. He didn't need to look to see - the moment was imprinted in his memory just as indelibly as Shiro's vacant face during that first seizure. The initial shove in Daichi’s back. High speed. Hard hit. Daichi’s face smashing into the plexiglass, then, driven by momentum, cracking into the steel frame of the rink. The immediate slackening. Daichi hitting the ground. The crowd on their feet, roaring, while Ollie just sat and stared.
Everything after that felt like a video tape on fast forward. He could hear that screeching noise in his ears, the one that DVDs didn't make but cassettes always did. His next moment of clarity was in the hospital waiting room, Harrison's anxious foot tapping beside him, a soap opera playing on the small TV screen.
“I have to go be with the kids,” Harrison said reluctantly.
Oliver looked up, frowning in the hospital lights.
“Shelley’s working late,” Harrison continued. “Someone's gotta put them to bed.”
“Uh, yeah,” Oliver nodded, forcing a smile and parting his brother’s knee. “Yeah. You should go. I'll just…be here. If you need me. I've got my phone.”
And then he was alone. Just him, and the replay, and the woman praying the rosary in the other corner of the room.
***
Shiro managed to sleep for the first two hours that they were in the car, snuggled up to Momo in the backseat and obliviously peaceful. Then the text messages started.
Any updates?
Bro, he's still in surgery
Doc won't update
Nurse says it's normal?
Something about wire
As his phone began to ping, Shiro stirred, slowly blinking as the continued onslaught of notifications drowned out Maya's quiet podcast. Seeing motion in the rearview mirror, Maya glanced briefly over her shoulder at him.
“You doing okay back there?”
“Mmmmnn, yeah,” Shiro mumbled. He shuffled upright, fumbling to unlock his phone. “Lemme just….fuck.”
“You wanna take a break? There's a rest stop coming up.” Maya offered. She knew Shiro wouldn't do well reading through his phone while the car was moving, and she had a feeling the messages were going to keep coming.
“No, keep going. We need to get to the hospital as soon as we can.” Shiro said, already typing into the group chat.
What did the doctor say was wrong??
Bro his jaw is soooooooo fucked up
That was Harrison, who, having had to go home to put the kids to bed, had begun the spate of texting in the first place. Shiro could imagine him pacing up and down his living room, readjusting his baseball cap periodically to allow himself to tug frustratedly on his hair.
Dude, stop texting from the car before you puke
That was Oliver. He was the only one of them at the hospital, both their parents having been away to visit a new brownfield site for potential development.
He's stable right now, that's all you need to worry about.
Shiro swallowed, his mouth hot and sweet. There was something his brother wasn't telling him, he was sure of it. Daichi wasn't okay, he was stable, and from Ollie that distinction was important. The fear curdling in his stomach was only exacerbated by the motion of the car, cold sweat beading on the back of his neck. He squeezed his eyes shut, typing with muscle memory and autocorrect.
Call if there's an update
Oliver sent a thumbs up, and Shiro locked his phone, letting it rest limply in his lap as he stared off into the middle distance. His voice was small and wobbly when he finally found the words to tell Maya, “He's not okay. Ollie wouldn't say he was okay.”
“Well what did Ollie say?” Maya asked, her voice steely calm. “Ollie won't say he's okay, cause if he was he'd have gone straight home. That doesn't mean he's in danger.”
“He said he's stable,” Shiro sighed, “but Harrison said his jaw is really messed up.” He swallowed tightly, finally murmuring, “I'm afraid I won't recognize him.”
Maya huffed out a laugh, glancing over her shoulder at him.
“Don't be insane, he's your brother. Of course you'll recognise him.”
“No, I know, I mean… like… what if he never looks like himself again?” Shiro fretted.
Maya rolled her eyes. “Shiro, relax. He's not even stitched up yet. Besides, he's got NHL money. He can afford a plastic surgeon later if he needs it.”
“But what if something goes wrong?” Shiro's anxiety changed tack in the face of Maya's stubborn reason. “Some people just never wake up from anaesthetic. Remember Mr Wiggles?”
“Mr Wiggles was a rabbit.”
“But what if?” Shiro whined, his breath wobbling in his throat as his anxiety continued to spiral. Momo nosed at his chest, letting out a small whine of her own.
“If you keep freaking yourself out, you're probably going to seize. Go back to sleep,” Maya said sternly.
***
The heavy hospital door creaked open, the first voice Oliver had heard in hours breaking the grim silence.
“Mister Jansen? Your brother is out of surgery. He's still very groggy, but the operation was successful.”
He shot to his feet immediately, reeling a little after having been sat so long. He should call his parents. And message the boys. And probably Brynlee, although he was loathe to do so given the melodramatic scene she'd caused earlier. All he could think though, was that he needed to see for himself.
“Can I see him?”
“Yes, of course. Follow me,” she said, opening the door and gesturing for him to walk in.
Oliver hovered close at the nurse's side, drumming his fingers on the case of his phone as he walked, pondering who he needed to call first. His mom, he thought. His mom should at least know that Daichi was alive and conscious.
By the time they’d got through the hospital to Daichi’s recovery room, his brother had fallen asleep again. Oliver reasoned that it could only be a good thing - rest aided recovery, so Daichi would need as much as he could get. What was less reassuring was the mess that had been made of his brother’s face. His nose was broken, bruises blooming across his cheeks and around his eyes, the whole lower portion of his face swollen in the aftermath of the surgery. The only immediately recognizable feature was his hair, which had curled under the sweat of his helmet as it always did, and now hung across his forehead in loose ringlets. Oliver grimaced at the sight. He'd seen Daichi with a busted lip and even a black eye before, when disagreements in the rink got out of hand. This, however… this was a whole new monster, a vast, unknowable beast that dug into his stomach with steel claws dripping fear and reeking of dread. Oliver sucked in a deep breath, settling into the chair by the bed and reaching for his brother's hand.
He'd almost dropped off to sleep himself when Daichi stirred. Excitement fluttered in his chest, followed by guilt as he realized he'd never updated their family. Hastily pulling out his phone, he shot texts to his parents and brothers, not bothering with Brynlee. She could wait until tomorrow to pester poor Daichi.
“Hey, bud,” Oliver said gently, giving his brother's hand a squeeze. “How you feeling?”
Daichi groaned, low and miserable. He was, unfortunately, very familiar with debilitating headaches, but this was a different beast altogether. His entire face was burning, the aching pulse of magma hottest in the bridge of his nose while agonizing lava seemed to erupt all along his jaw, creeping up the bottom of his face and threatening to consume him.
“Right, fuck…” Oliver laughed nervously. “No talking. Do you need more pain meds? Squeeze once for yes.”
Daichi clutched his hand tightly, the raspiest vestige of a voice sneaking out between immovably clenched teeth. “Hur’s like a muhrfucker,” he grumbled.
“I said no talking,” Oliver groaned. He groped for the call button by the bed. “Wait, lemme just… There, someone should come by soon.”
“Wha’ ha’ned?” Daichi slurred, head tilting to one side to see Oliver better.
“Oh, right. Why would you remember? I'm stupid. Uh, some jackass slammed you into the barrier. You hit your head really bad.” Oliver sighed.
“Huh…” Daichi’s forehead crinkled with concern. “Face?”
Oliver took a slow breath, his expression grim. “Your jaw is broken in six places. The doctor had to wire it shut.”
“Huh….”
“Don't worry though,” Oliver added, “they said once the swelling goes down you'll still be better looking than me.”
Daichi blinked slowly, not having processed a word. Instead, he lamented, “Fuck’n hur’s…”
Oliver cringed. “I know, bud. A nurse should be here soon.”
“Uhh….”
Reaching for his phone, Oliver shot off a quick text to his brothers.
He's awake!
“Want me to say hi to the guys for you?” Oliver asked, glancing back at Daichi.
“The wha’?”
“Don't worry about it,” Oliver said, patting his leg gently and sending another text.
Super not with it haha
Daichi groaned, reaching clumsily for his brother's arm. “Ollie… I’un… feel good.”
“Yeah bud, the nurse is coming,” Oliver reassured him, patting his hand gently. “I bet they'll give you something to help you sleep.”
“Noooo…” Daichi squeezed his eyes shut, his head wobbling minutely as he tried to shake it. “Really no’ good.”
He swallowed tightly, struggling to sit up on his elbows as his breath became more labored. The room rocked beneath him and he squeezed his eyes shut, letting out a low moan.
“Easy, bud. The nurse should be here any second.” Oliver lied, hoping Daichi was woozy enough to not realize.
“Mmmmnn…” Daichi smacked Oliver's arm with surprising strength. “No. G’nna puke.”
“Oh shit,” Oliver muttered, looking around in a panic. He was still darting his eyes across the small space in a desperate search when Daichi lurched forward over his lap, a grimace twisting his face as a grating heave strained against the wires holding his jaw shut. Oliver finally spotted an emesis basin, diving across the bed to snatch it up and under Daichi’s chin in time. “Go on, you're good. Don't hurt yourself.”
He'd never really had to take care of Daichi like this much. His oldest brother had always been the most self contained - and besides, there were only three years between them. He thought back to a few months earlier, their last Nerf battle and how abruptly it had ended. His worry, intense then, was nothing compared to the anxiety gripping him now. Daichi retched again, and Oliver's stomach dropped. Because what was coming out of his mouth wasn't his pre-match meal - it was blood.
What did he do? Daichi needed help. The nurse wasn't here yet. Oliver didn't want to leave him, but he couldn't do anything to help, either. His heart jackhammered in his chest as suddenly he was a teenager again, watching helplessly as Shiro seized. Barely an adult himself, handing Harrison the life sentence of a marriage he wasn't ready for. He was useless. He couldn't do anything for either of them.
And then his mind cleared. Giving Daichi's shoulder a firm squeeze, Oliver promised, “I'll be right back.” Adrenaline flooding his body, he booked it out of the hospital room, running like he was ten years younger and still working out every day. He didn't even slow down until he caught sight of a nurse's station, slamming both hands on the counter with urgency as he panted for breath.
“My brother needs help,” he blurted, “he's puking blood. He just had surgery. Something's wrong.”
@its-a-goddamn-heartbreak and @lickstynine Collab Masterlist
For the sake of this not being ten miles long, each group is in its own mini masterlist linked here. We have:
The Cardiff Crew
Nicky, Nye, Nate, Gwen, Delilah, Ffion, Jac, Genevieve, and anyone else who has the misfortune of stumbling into their path
Sk8r Bois
Shiro, Daichi, Ryosuke, and their family, along with Sasha and Valentina
West Coast U
Luke, Matty, Milo, with occasional friends and family
Prep School
Christian and Flossie
A/N: we've literally been writing this group for five years and this is somehow the only fic of them posted to tumblr. so that's insane and will change soon and they'll get their own list once there's things to listify.
Flossie, Island Princess
One-off Sickdays Collab
Kit and Flossie
A/N: Yeah so this was ten thousand years ago when I was still writing with Kit and just wrapping up the Misadventures saga. Unlike the Crossie (Christian+Flossie) universe, don't expect any more from this storyline.
Stuck Between the Heat and a Loud Place
Send me one of my OCs and I’ll tell you:
-what makes them sick/nauseous
-how easily they get sick
-what’s the sickest they’ve ever been
-do they have any allergies
-how often they get hurt
-how they tend to get hurt
-what’s the worst they’ve been hurt/worst pain they’ve ever felt
-anything else you’d like to ask
Feel free to reblog/expand on this! I wanna learn about everybody’s characters too!