Lis (sounds like âleaseâ), she/her, 20-something. Longtime lurker who has appreciated all your writing for too long without reciprocating. I try to reblog as much as possible, but if your long fic doesn't have a "read more" cut, I won't, no matter how good it is.
Likes: emeto and nausea of many types. Particularly like burping, trying not to vomit, needing help to vomit, drawn-out nausea, characters resigned to getting sick, caretaking. Will there be anything a little kinky? Wait and see . . .
No: weight gain, feederism not for emeto purposes, non-con or dub-con,, explicit scat or descriptions of vomit, public humiliation, probably a few more that I canât think of right now.
I love all followers but I only follow emeto blogs so my feed doesn't get too crowded. But I check out everyone who likes and comments. Also, I love requests! Can't promise I'll fill them all, but send your asks and I'll do my best.
Minors, DNI! Like, Not At All.
Call me Lis. Welcome to Chaos Theory! Masterlist 1 is my earliest work and it tends to be less plot-focused and more idealized. Masterlist 2 is where we start getting into it. Most of my later stories follow a loose plot, but I also have a separate list of mini-fics that are mostly light bits of fluff and answers to asks that donât fit in a main arc.
These characters have lived in my head in various ways for years and itâs time I tried to tell their stories. At the beginning I didn't write in chronological order, but starting with Masterlist 2 I started weaving everything together and in order. There are some flashback stories, which I've made clear, and there will still be some continuity errors, but I'm trying to clean those up. . Â
Here are my main OCs - I have so much more to say about all of them but Iâm trying to reveal more through my fics. As you will see in my earliest fics, I tended to idealize my characters a lot (Too Much), and so the stories read more vanilla than I intended. I've recently begun working on fleshing out their flaws, which were always there but I just didn't write about them, so be prepared for my characters to be a little "out of character" at times as I try to make them more well-rounded and less vanilla. Masterlist 1 stories are less plot and more introductions and single scenes/events. They are also heavy on the emeto. Masterlist 2 and thereafter are more plot-focused and tell the characters' stories in short arcs. Mini-fics are just that - small one-shots in the same general universe but not really part of the bigger plot.
ALSO, tw for mentions of previous sibling death in Rory and Loganâs stories). Auto accident (drunk driving) and cancer.
Rory Landis
25 Agent/detective with FBI and going to law school at night. Not sure, but thinks he wants to be a prosecutor at some point. His family and the Calders are very close friends - met when he and Gabe both joined the same peewee soccer team when they were five. Their parents hit it off and he and Gabe became best friends. Dating/living with/in love with/extremely protective of Gabeâs sister Noa. His younger sister Jamie was Noaâs best friend. She was killed when she was 11 when the car she and her mom were driving in was hit by a drunk driver. Rory took it extremely hard. Best way to get on his bad side forever is to even joke about drinking and driving. Hugely into sports - plays tennis and soccer and golf for fun and loves to watch everything, has fantasy leagues, the whole thing. Â
Comes from money and is extremely good looking - dark hair and green eyes. Gets annoyed with people who only want to get close to him because of his looks. Between losing Jamie and because heâs always gotten attention for his looks, heâs wary of getting close to people and can be intense and aloof, but heâs got a dry sense of humor and is smart as hell and fiercely loyal to people he cares about. Has two brothers - 18 and 16. Â
Noa Calder
23 In graduate school to become a therapist specializing in teens and young adults - currently helping lead a group therapy program for girls with eating disorders at the hospital where Jeremiah and Drew work. Sheâs also an amateur photographer and is almost never without a camera. In love with Rory and the only one who really gets him completely - even more than his closest friends Gabe and Jeremiah. Was equally devastated about the loss of Jamie and her guilt over not being in the car that night. Along with Drew, is the caretaker among their friends, but can be a control-freak about it. Very close to Gabe, once he got over the fact that his best friend wanted to date his little sister. Â
Her looks rival Roryâs - wavy/curly dark hair and blue eyes. Sheâs been hit on her entire life because of her looks and it makes Rory overprotective of her. Sheâs also got a twin brother and another brother two years older than Gabe who likely wonât figure directly in my stories because I donât have the energy, lol. But having so many brothers has given her a thick skin about being hit on, but she also tends to be too nice about it because sheâs grown up around decent men whoâve talked a lot about how difficult it can be to find a relationship and she never wants to be mean to someone who puts himself out there. It gets her into tricky situations sometimes.
Gabriel (Gabe) Calder
25 Noaâs brother and Roryâs best friend since age five. Was kind of incredulous about why Rory would want to date his sister (and vice versa), and was pretty annoying about it when they first got together, and still gets jealous sometimes. Works at a high-paying and stressful investment banking job, but is (usually) laid back enough not to let the stress get to him - kind of the opposite personality of Rory. Gregarious and funny but also impulsive and sometimes too much so - can come across as irresponsible. Cute - curly, light brown hair and blue eyes, but lighter than Noaâs. Dating Logan, who he met at work. Â
Jeremiah Gable
26 Doctor, in his second-year of residency for surgery. Graduated from a combined undergraduate/medical program in six years, going to school all year. Only child of a single mother with whom heâs close - no father in the picture. Both thoughtful and stubborn - when he thinks he's right, it's hard for him to back down. Takes his work very seriously - heâs never had money and always worked twice as hard as everyone else because he was worried about keeping up or missing out because of his lack of experiences. It's always given him a chip on his shoulder about it. Dating/living with Drew, who he met at work when he was a medical student and Drew was a new nurse.Â
Drew Thorton
25 Nurse, specializing in post-operative care, but also likes working in the ER. Comes from a family that cares about money and status more than each other as people. While heâs not estranged from his parents, heâs not particularly close to them or his siblings either. They are tolerant but not truly supportive of his sexuality, and his decision to become a nurse (as opposed to a doctor, lawyer, banker, etc.) baffles them. Personality-wise, he has a knack for making people feel good, but he's also impatient and can be overly emotional, in a "wears his heart on his sleeve" kind of way.
Logan Gold
24 Financial analyst at the firm where Gabe works, and where they met. Her younger brother died of cancer when he was 14 and she was 18 and she floundered a bit emotionally once she didnât have him to take care of, and dealt with it by throwing herself into her work. Sheâs working on finding more balance and meeting Gabriel and his friends is helping her realize that she can have other relationships too. Sheâs no nonsense and practical and often âthe voice of reasonâ in the group. Â
When Chris came to, there was a buzzing in his ears and his mouth tasted like something had crawled in it and died. His face hurt... His whole body did, all the way down to his toes.
He let out a groan, blinking to bring the room into focus, his memories starting to unfurl, mortification in their wake. He had hurled all over Bank's pants and then on himself, followed by fainting like a damsel... Yep, Chris decided, he'd need to get a new job and never show his face around this place again.
"Oh, you're awake," Dawson's voice cut through the haze. Chris had only had one migraine his whole life, but it had been eerily similar to how he felt now. The room was too bright, Dawson's voice too loud and Marshall's perfume too nauseating. Even without looking around he knew she had to be in the room, no one else reeked of Daisy by Marc Jacobs like that.
"Chris?" Claire asked, stepping closer. She looked so tired, that she might as well lie down on a cot next to his and they would mistake her for a patient. He felt a pang of guilt. How long had he been out for? Had Claire been awake for thirty six hours now?
"Uhm-" He tried to push himself up, only then realizing there was an IV sticking out of his hand. What the hell? He glared at it, puzzled, and his boss volunteered an answer.
"You were too dehydrated for us to get a better vein."
Great, just fucking great.
"I want to apologize, we shouldn't have had you on the clock while so sick," Lois went on, while Claire paced nervously behind her, chewing on her lip, "please take the rest of the week off... And Dr. Banks will be properly reprimanded for his behavior... And he will be apologizing for it, he's extremely sorry."
Uh-huh.
Chris rolled his eyes, finally managing to push himself into a more or less sitting position. He wasn't in the ER like he had previously thought, they had given him a room. Fancy, but extremely unnecessary for just dehydration. He wanted to piss and to go home, maybe eat something- Nope. His stomach soured at the thought of food. He gulped down.
"Can I go?"
Chris had no plans to stick around so Jonah could come apologize for being the massive asshole that he was or so Marshall came closer with that disgusting perfume of hers. Truly, who thought bathing in vanilla before going to work at a hospital was a good idea?
"Uhm," Lois sighed, "we'll need to clear it with Dr. Chen, she'll be up in a minute to check on you... You really gave us quite a fright, Chris."
Claire scoffed, "you scared the shit out of me. Did you know you were burning up? Like teeth chattering burning up?" She squinted at him and he cringed in embarrassment. He liked Claire, she was a bit of a doormat and he had no idea about her private life at all, because she was extremely private, but she was sweet. Folded too easily whenever Banks was around, but sweet.
"Chris?"
Oh, she expected an answer?
"I didn't," he mumbled, glaring at the IV needle sticking out of his hand, "just felt like crap."
"Well, next time maybe let us-"
"Dr. Peters," Lois interrupted, probably remembering that he had in fact let them know and then she had forced him to come to work anyway, "let's let Dr. Lavin rest. You also need rest, you've been awake for too long."
"I'm fine," Claire grumbled, rubbing her exhausted face. Chris threw her an amused look and she only glared back, "okay, I'm gonna go. My ride is here. Feel better Chris."
Oh? Her ride? Was Claire dating?
Another thing that Chris was, besides a self admitted asshole, was a snoop. He loved collecting information on people, like Marshall falling apart since her breakup â he really wanted to know how that had gone down. By how devastated she was, he assumed Tim had cheated on her â and Henderson's third kid arriving that summer â third kid! In this economy?! â and whatever the reason Banks had stretched his honeymoon for two weeks longer than he should have and everyone had acted as if it was perfectly fine to cover for him as he travelled Bali, acting as if Chris was insane for pointing out that he didn't want to cover for the guy. Not knowing that had been driving him crazy.
"Thanks, Claire," he said, cringing when his voice was raspy and his throat ached. His stomach churned uncomfortably and he looked around the room, pointedly ignoring his boss. He wasn't sure why she wasn't gone too.
The door opened and closed, Lois let out a sigh, "Chris," serious voice. He forced their eyes to meet, she looked concerned, but collected, "I trust you understand it was all a big... Misunderstanding and that you aren't going to proceed with an audit or anything of the sorts?"
Of course, Jonah wasn't held liable, being a jerk wasn't a crime, but forcing a sick doctor to work to the point of collapsing might be. She was worried about the hospital, which put him at ease. Much better than her being concerned about him.
"No, I won't pursue any audit or anything of the sorts," he promised, "thanks for the PTO week, though."
She smiled, relieved and amused he had understood the reason he had been given such extensive time to recover. Business were so much easier than people, messy, complicated people.
"I'm going to let you rest," Lois squeezed his knee over the thin sheet thrown over him, "Dr. Chen will be upstairs in a moment to clear you."
June Chen was a more senior doctor and he had very little contact with her. She was extremely put together and hung out with Stewarts and Dawson, sometimes they took pity on Henderson and let him join the clique, or so it seemed for Chris. Either way, Chen had a no nonsense approach that he liked and she only scoffed at his chart, signing it with a huff.
"Don't drive home," she said, writing his release permit, "you're on Zofran right now, but the effects should fade in an hour. If you're back to being sick and can't keep down liquid, come back to the hospital. I want you to monitor that fever as well, it was scarily high. Right now it broke, but if it goes up again- You live alone, don't you?" She interrupted herself, frowning and Chris, who had already thrown his legs over the edge of the bed and was removing his own IV, just nodded.
She let out a displeased noise, "get someone to stay with you at least for the morning, you're too weak to handle it if your fever climbs again."
"Okay," he nodded, not planning on obeying. Chen squinted at him, then rolled her eyes.
"Okay," she put down the pen, "any questions?"
"Nope."
"Alright," she nodded and turned around, "hope I don't see you again, feel better."
Perfectly content with being left alone, Chris finished getting dressed and hunted down his phone. His battery was running low.
He hoovered over Emerald's contact, considering letting her know, then decided against it. He felt fine, nauseous and shaky, but nothing he couldn't handle.
In an effort to not be the worst patient of all time, he did call a cab instead of driving himself.
That was how he ran into Banks, as he waited outside the hospital, hands in his pockets, fending off the vertigo.
Jonah was driving back home, Chris recognized the red sedan, scoffed quietly. Then it pulled to a stop in front of him, window rolled down, "Lavin."
"Banks," he rubbed his hands to warm them up, checked the ETA of his cab. Ten more minutes. How the hell, Welton was not that large!
"Are you waiting for your ride or did you get a cab?" Jonah asked and Chris just stared at him.
"Dawson said you wanted to apologize."
"Cab or a ride?"
"Is this the part where you say I'm sorry Chris that I was a horrible doctor and horrible human being all around, please don't go to HR, I didn't know you were sick despite the fact you repeatedly told me, I don't know how to interact-"
"I'm sorry," Banks said, not sounding like he meant it, "let me give you a ride. Least I can do."
"Least you could do is leave me alone," Chris shrugged, gulping down as his stomach complained him standing up for so long. He really, really wanted his own bed. More Zofran, probably. Ginger ale so he'd stop burping acid.
"Let me give you a ride," Banks insisted and Chris opened his mouth to tell him to go die in a ditch, but then his phone buzzed. He let out a sigh of relief that the car was close only to glance at the screen and realize the driver had cancelled his trip.
Fucking hell.
"So?" Banks asked, and Chris' shoulders dropped, defeated.
"Fine. If you shut up the whole drive."
Jonah did stay quiet for the biggest chunk of it. He kept his eyes on the street and drove carefully, which Chris was glad for, because his stomach was growing more and more uneasy.
He muffled a burp in his hand, staring at the horizon intently. The car was freezing, so he reached for the heater, taking a second to understand Jonah's dashboard. Banks didn't mention him turning it on, didn't even glance at him. Good.
His car was extremely clean, Chris noticed. Nothing like some of the mess that was in the backseat of his own vehicle, empty water bottles and papers he needed to mail his accountant. Nope, all pristine and smelling like pine.
He fidgeted on his seat, tugging on the seatbelt that was squeezing his tender middle. Opened the glovebox. Mints, a brand new roll of toilet paper, neatly folded plastic bags, six different bottles of pills??
"What the fuck," Chris whispered, shocked by the medication. It could be Jonah's but he hadn't ever seen Banks taking pills...
"They're my husband's," Jonah slammed the glovebox shut, "and you're being rude."
"Not half as much as yelling at the clearly sick guy, now am I?" Chris scoffed and Banks' eyebrows connected, lips turning down at the corners.
"You didn't look that sick, you're always pale and look like a vampire," he mumbled, drumming his fingers on the steering wheel and glancing at the GPS, "and I'm sorry. I was out of line."
Chris pursed his lips, annoyed at the apology, "yes, you were," he said strongly, "you're not my boss, Banks. Even if you were, which you aren't, it would've been fucking detrimental to treat a person like that. I know you think you're untouchable because your dad is famous but-"
Jonah interrupted him with a genuine snort, pressing his lips not to laugh, "you think I'm arrogant because of my father? Really, coming from you, Lavin?"
Chris clenched his jaw. Most people didn't tie his surname to LVA Medical, the company that supplied their equipment in the hospital and to at least a thousand others across the country, but Banks had done his homework.
"I never once brought-"
"Oh, and I have? Projecting much?" Jonah's voice dripped with sarcasm, "hate me all you want, but don't pretend our differences is a class issue or me acting entitled because of my father whom I never even mentioned. You don't know shit about me."
"And you don't know shit about me, but that doesn't stop you from making all sorts of assumptions, does it?" His stomach flipped and the singular glass of water he had had on his way out of the hospital rocketed up his throat. Chris gulped down, fighting the clammy nausea that was spreading all over him, "fuck this, pull over."
"Don't be a fucking baby, we're five minutes away from your address," Banks rolled his eyes.
Chris swallowed the thick saliva accumulating in his mouth, shuddering at the bitter taste, "And I can walk those five minutes. Stop the car."
"So you can tell Dawson I abandoned you on the side of the road while sick? I already got three days of suspension, no thanks."
He had gotten three days of suspension? What a shitty punishment if Chris was not even gonna be there that week. He swallowed again, the knot in his throat increasing, making it harder to push down the liquid "Jonah, pull over."
It kept moving.
Chris shuddered, convulsing with an empty heave and bracing against the dashboard, "M'serious-"
"Don't throw up in my car," Jonah groaned, just as the vehicle stopped. Chris should have moved, but he suddenly couldn't, too weak to even undo his seatbelt. This whole drive had been a horrible idea...
He reached again, just as Banks grabbed his shoulder and leaned over him, shoving the passenger door open and Chris hanging out of it.
Bright yellow splattered on the asphalt, followed by another heave and a stream of clear liquid. He groaned, weak fingers trying to undo the seatbelt cutting him in half.
"Your fever is up again," the other doctor let him know, as if Chris couldn't have guessed from the violent shivers wrecking him. Suddenly the seatbelt was gone and he nearly fell out of the vehicle, letting out a cry when it eased some of the pain.
"Chris?"
He spat, took a deep breath through his nose... Then pushed himself up, out of the car.
Jonah was out too by the time Chris circled it, leaning on the red metal and frowning, "you shouldn't be alone, call someone to look after you. Do you have friends? A girlfriend? A boyfriend?"
"Mind your own business," Chris stumbled, bracing against the railing of the access ramp in order not to fall, "thanks for the amazing ride."
Jonah scoffed, nostrils flaring with annoyance, "go ahead. Go in."
"You're- you're gonna watch?" He slurred, gagging again and spitting a measly mouthful of water on the pavement.
"Yes," Banks shoved his hands on his pockets, seeming like he had all day to watch Chris stumble like a drunk, "gotta say I safely delivered you."
"That's a stretch," Chris mumbled, then stumbled further in, glaring over his shoulder, "if you're still out there by the time I get to my floor, I'm calling the police."
"Go fuck yourself, Lavin," his coworker flipped him off, apparently giving up his good Samaritan bullshit and getting back into his car, just as Chris crossed the doors of his building.
Jon gets three days suspension and still is pissed lol
Although he was a dick that seems a bit of an extreme punishment
Suspecting it was more CYA by Dawson - overdoing Jon's punishment to placate Chris
I'm fascinated that he's nosy. But it makes sense - he's the loneliest guy. Trying to figure out what's going on with other people probably makes him feel connected.
He jumped to a lot of conclusions about Jonah. It says something that Jonah snarked back the same thing, but I didn't get the impression that he thought Chris was arrogant because of his father. Maybe he even (unconsciously) thinks that Chris wants to separate himself from his family the same way Jon does. That Chris is an ass just because he's an ass or something.
Also I love Daisy but I'm with Chris - not in the hospital Wendy!
"I'm cursed," Chris mumbled, out loud despite the fact he was alone, staring at the swirling water of his toilet.
Ever since morning he had been feeling out of sorts. At first, he had blamed it on sleeping wrongly, crumpled into some pretzel position that had caused his limbs to fall asleep, maybe? Then by the time lunch rolled around, he wasn't hungry. That was fine, but it was against the rules taped to his fridge, so it meant he had to eat. Important to keep himself alive and all that.
All he had been able to stomach was scrambled eggs and some apple juice, which immediately decided to riot inside of him and had him camping the bathroom for the best part of his day, fighting the nausea for the past two hours only to ultimately loose the war.
There had to be some sort of curse placed on him, because how in the hell he had managed to get some sort of stomach bug, a week after recovering from that horrible cold that had him incapacitated?
Across the house, his phone started to ring and he let out a loud groan, thumping his feverish forehead to his forearm resting on the toilet's rim. Who could be possibly calling him?
Emerald wasn't a caller, much more of a texter and his brothers only spoke to him once every other week. It could be one of his parents and that was the only reason Chris forced himself to get up and stumble out of the bathroom.
He wasn't in any mood to chit chat, but his parents were both well into their late sixties. He couldn't in good conscience ignore a call, even if he knew it was probably his mother complaining about Shark Tank or his father about football.
Lois Dawson.
Fuck, he'd rather it was his mother. Dawson was the hospital director, aka his boss, aka trouble. He squinted blearily at the screen, marking a little past 5 PM, then cleared his throat, picking up.
"Yes?"
"Hello, Dr. Lavin?"
"Hi, Dawson," he rubbed a hand over his face, "what's going on?"
"I'm so sorry to call today, I know you're on break-" oh no. Absolutely not. Chris' stomach clenched, mouth flooding with sticky saliva. They couldn't possibly want him in the hospital like this... "-one too many absences and you're my last resource."
"Ma'am," he groaned, rubbing the back of his achy neck, "I'd go in, but I can't-"
"I know it's your day off, we'll double your pay, Dr. Lavin," Dawson said, as if that was even a question. Of course they would.
"No, it's not that, I-" he pulled the cellphone away from his face, muffling a gurgly burp in his fist, "I'm sick, Dawson. Just puked my guts up."
There was a beat. A heavy sigh, "we'll keep you doing paperwork, I just need you to free one of the others, Chris," she had dropped the Dr. Lavin schtick, which meant business, "we're truly overflowing thanks to the bus accident that happened in the interstate and we're down six doctors, either because they're not in town or stuck in the jam or not picking up."
Damn his stupid luck for picking up the phone. He should've stayed on the bathroom floor.
"Fine," Chris sighed, pressing a hand to his stomach, hating the way it was sticking out and how sore the muscles were, "give me thirty minutes, I'll be down."
"Thank you," she sounded genuinely relieved. He rolled his eyes.
"It's fine," he brushed it off, muffling another gross belch by turning his face towards his bicep, "I- I got'sgo-"
"Yes, of course, of course- I'll make sure to warn Dr. Banks you'll be on paperwork only... Thank you again-" he barely heard the rest of what she said, pressing the big red button and lurching to the side with a violent retch, bringing up a mouthful of watery vomit on the monstera plant he had near his couch.
Fuuuuck.
By the time he had taken a quick shower to get rid of the cold sweat and changed into a more decent outfit than the black sweatpants and stained merch shirt he had been wearing all day, Chris was considering flat out not going. What could possibly happen? Would he get fired for being sick?
However, as much as he turned over that option, he still found himself behind the wheel, driving back to the building he had left just yesterday. Just because Welton General paid well and was the only hospital in the city, which he actually quite liked and had no prospects of moving from. Something something unfair market competition, Chris thought sourly, thinking of Lex, his brother, and how indignant he had been about Welton's makeup. Not one for small towns, no matter if it was a university town with a beautiful backdrop.
He hung out of the car, spitting on the parking lot's floor as soon as he opened the door and taking slow, deep breaths to stop his stomach from fully crawling up his throat. His head was throbbing, but not enough he could hang out in the parking lot for longer than five minutes, acutely aware he was already fifteen minutes later than the thirty he had promised Dawson.
"Dr. Lavin," speaking of the devil, Lois was waiting for him as soon as the elevator door opened on the first floor, hands clasped and a tight smile on, "thank you so much for coming."
He let out a grunt, because what did she want to hear? No problem? Of course there was a problem, he was sick and he'd rather be anywhere but there.
"I already talked with Dr. Banks," she gestured for him to follow, as if Chris didn't know the way to the office areas. Paperwork was easy enough, normally he was spectacularly good at it. Not to say he was a bad doctor, he knew he wasn't, but he was also aware he didn't have the necessary patience to deal with patients freaking out or, worse, their partners freaking out. God, he hated dealing with parents, he'd rather off himself than talk to crying mother.
Lois guided him inside the office, "we have Dr. Banks and Dr. Peters on rotation today," she cringed, since that number was scarily low. Hell, only Jonah and Claire? Not a single senior doctor? This hospital was running on hopes and dreams.
"On- Those are just the ones doing the rounds, right?" Chris collapsed on the chair behind the desk, already pulling the trashcan with his foot when the simple jostling of sitting down made him taste eggs all over again, "there are other's in the OR?"
"Dr. Marshall and Stewarts, just for the emergencies, we've rescheduled all that was in for the night," Lois nodded, much to his relief. Still bad, but not so bad they might as well shut the hospital down for the night. As if that was an option, "I'm still trying to reach Henderson and Chen, they're the only ones who haven't responded yet, so maybe..." Lois trailed off and Chris cringed, a new wave of nausea hitting him that had nothing to do with the stomach bug. Four, well five counting with him, doctors in the whole hospital was really, really fucking bad.
"Garcia is coming in the morning!" She perked up, as if sensing the panic starting to grow in him, "and we're getting a lot of patients redirected to Portland- It's going to work out."
"Of course," his mouth was sticky. Chris gulped down, "lemme get to work then."
"Thank you again," Lois sounded incredibly apologetic, "I'm gonna warn the nurses that you're sic-"
"No!" The sheer mortification of it nearly caused him to jump, "no need. I'll be fine."
Liar, a little voice whispered in his ear, stomach already churning again, that slow but constant manner that told him he was done for. Maybe not now, but soon.
"Uhm- Of course," Dawson sounded surprised by his outburst, "I'll let you work, you know where to find me."
Finally his boss left and Chris promptly planted his elbows to the table, burying his face in his hands and groaning. Fuck his life.
Paperwork was harder when he felt like absolute crap, but at least it was something to take his mind off of his stomach. He fished out his earbuds from his work case, putting only one so he could still hear the outside noise and listened to music as he decoded several different doctor's notes into insurance claims and what not.
Normally he found this part of his job rather therapeutic. Claire, Dr. Peters, didn't understand it. She always got antsy and started moving around the office when they shared it. Banks seemed to be in his wavelength, just as long as they didn't exchange a single word. For some reason Jonah Banks seemed to enjoy being the biggest pain in the ass alive. Marshall was the same as Claire, only worse. Chris could count in one hand the amount of office hours they had ever shared, because she'd do anything in her power to avoid it. Henderson complained the whole time and Chris had considered homicide more than once. He'd rather work with Banks, with whom he had had several conflicts, than withstand Henderson's monotone blabbing.
Chris' stomach rolled and he kicked the trashcan closer, leaning over it to spit the saliva accumulating in his mouth. He was probably gonna puke soon, but he had taken some Gatorade before leaving home and he did not want to risk becoming dehydrated. Not only it would be humiliating enough in normal circumstances, but when the hospital was running on fumes? So when the blue saccharine liquid tried climbing up, Chris gulped it back down, shuddering as he could literally feel the goo sliding down his throat.
"Lavin," Banks slammed the door, "we need you in the ER."
If Chris was a slightly better person, he'd have taken Bank's serious voice as the don't argue signal it was and obeyed. Except he wasn't.
"I'm not on ER tonight," he kept his eyes firmly on the computer screen, twirling the pen between his fingers, "Dawson called me for desk duty, not to wrangle snotty children."
"No," Banks scoffed, walking further in, "Dawson called you to help and you bitched your way into desk duty, when we actually need an extra set of hands in the ER. Now get off your ass, we're crammed and Claire and I cannot take it all by ourselves."
"Then call Marshall or Stewarts, Dawson said-"
"Wendy is already in the ER intubating someone and Stewarts just entered surgery. Get off your ass," Banks' tone was always so fucking arrogant. King of the world. Chris had always found it a bit amusing that Jonah seemed to think that just because he had that stick permanently shoved up his ass and a mean mug, he could get things his way.
"You can scream and kick all you want," rolled his eyes, which was a bad idea because a jolt of pain stabbed his skull. Low blood sugar, his brain supplied and his stomach complained. No fucking way he was gonna eat something, no matter how much his body demanded it. He could still taste the lunch eggs, "but I'm on desk duty. I'm sick."
"Oh, fuck off!" Banks snapped, "we're gonna loose a patient, there's simply not enough of us. You can't sit here filling insurance claims when we've got eleven fucking cots busy downstairs," he stepped closer, Chris wondered if Jonah thought he could scare him. Maybe that shit worked on nurses or with Claire, but not with him.
"Like I said," Chris cleared his throat when his voice came out too deep, coated in annoyance and sticky saliva, "I'm sick. I can't be in the ER."
"We have a stroke downstairs and if we lose her because you were too busy doing crosswords to come help, I'll make sure to move a lawsuit for malpractice against you myself."
A stroke patient changed things.
He had been under the impression tonight was busy in the sense there were two doctors for far too many drunks, kids with pneumonia coughing everywhere, food poisoned fuckers shitting everywhere. A stroke-
He got up and ignored the victorious expression on Banks' stupid face.
The idiot now would probably think his stupid lawsuit threat had worked, as if Chris wasn't well aware he was in the function given him and who was actually committing malpractice was Banks, wasting time arguing with him instead of doing his job. Again, that shit probably worked with doctors who were a little more green.
Talking about green, his stomach wasn't one bit happy about the change of scenery.
The ER was chaos, Chris was shoved into the direction of the head nurse and then somehow he ended up being bossed by Claire, whose face was all pink, blonde hair sticking to her temples as she huffed, moving around.
The stroke patient was a woman in her late eighties, who was barely responsive. Chris wasn't sure why the fuck Marshall wasn't all over her, considering Wendy was to neurologist of their group, and it was only once he was going through her imaging that he understood. It was ischemic and, surprisingly, venous instead of arterial.
The tight squeeze in his chest â pure, unmitigated guilt for not being there sooner â vanished. She was already on an IV and under observation, nothing to be done and her surviving rates were great. He breathed out....
Then got thrown into the deep end, by Claire lifting her eyes and saying "help!?" in a pitiful voice as she manhandled a drunk man into his cot, smelling like piss and seizing due to alcohol.
By the time he was able to stop moving around, two and a half hours had passed. He had long forgotten about his stomach bug or about his office hours, in flow state as he moved from patient to patient, taking in what was pouring through the doors.
Henderson arrived at 9 PM and Chen at midnight. Chris' headache increased from annoying to unbearable around 10 PM and he was having to move to the bathroom every fifteen minutes or so to cough over the toilet by the time they reached midnight. His knees felt weak and his whole body was aching.
And, as was always the case with the ER, as easy as the chaos had started, it ended.
Claire let out a breath, stumbling into the doctor's lounge, wiping her forehead with the inside of her wrist, "holy fuck," she collapsed on the couch, "I can't feel my feet."
He wanted to ask if she was on a twenty four hour shift, because Chris was pretty sure he had seen her in the hospital that morning when he left to go home, but he was scared of opening his mouth. His stomach had long passed "unsettled", hell, it had long passed "throwing up". He had forced himself to drink water and it had all come back up, tinged blue at first, now a weird lime green. Not good, Chris knew, vaguely. He couldn't remember why, though.
The revolving doors opened again, Banks walking in as he already removed his coat, because of course the snotty prick favored the pristine white lab coat instead of the regular dark scrubs anyone sensible would wear. Had to virtue signal he was a doctor, since that was all of his personality.
"Are you okay?" Jonah asked and Chris raised his eyebrows, confused and shocked, before realizing the question wasn't directed at him, but rather at Claire, boneless on the couch.
"Yeah, mmm'gimme just fine-five..." His coworker mumbled, sleepily. Yep, she was definitely pulling a twenty four hour shift. Chris didn't envy her, although now that he thought about it, he kinda was too. He had done yesterday's graveyard shift, then left the hospital at 6 AM and slept until 10 AM, when he had woken up all achy. Then the bathroom camping...
"-reporting you to the board-" Banks was suddenly right in front of his eyes, looking furious. He had a really angular face and when he looked this pissed, Christopher thought Jonah looked cat like. Light eyes squinting, might as well have slits for pupils.
He was tripping.
"What..?"
"While you were hiding in an office, we nearly lost two patients-"
"I wasn't-" he started, frustrated, but his tongue felt too heavy and big for his mouth, there were a bunch of colorful little dots around of Jonah's unruly curls. Glitter.
"-said you were sick? Yeah, sick where?" Jonah scoffed, "as soon as you were down there with us-"
Chris rolled his eyes, immediately regretted it when the room swam. He was freezing. On the couch Claire stirred, opening her exhausted eyes to glare at them.
"Can you two measure dicks outside?"
"Malpractice doesn't fucking cover it, you're lazy and entitled and-"
He took a step back, because Jonah apparently thought "personal space" was optional, only for his foot to seemingly meet thin air. His knee folded and suddenly he was on all fours on the floor, head swimming and blood drumming in his ears.
The nausea was stronger than it had been even in the morning, flooding him and causing him to retch violently. Nothing came up, but his stomach spasmed again. He clutched the rug, curling his fists so much that his knuckles turned white, as the room swam-
"What the hell?" A hand that was too soft to be normal grabbed his chin, forcing their eyes to meet. Green- No, hazel. Jonah's eyebrows drawn together, confused-
Chris retched again, freeing his chin from Bank's limp hold and coughing violently. Something boiling hot crawled up, his mouth tasted salty and then he belched a splash of something neon yellow all over the rug, and the front of Bank's pants.
He wasn't a crier, not normally, but his whole body was shaking violently and his head was pulsing and his thoughts were all over the place, so Chris felt his eyes prickle with tears. He bit down on his lip, hard enough to draw blood, fighting the wave of sickness induced panic. The taste of blood made him gag again, more bitter bile falling on the pile, burning his now wounded lip.
"He seems sick to me," Claire's voice filtered through the drumming in his ears and suddenly there was a hand, much smaller and sure, grabbing his shoulder and pushing him to sit on his heels instead of being on all fours. His stomach spasmed again, more watery vomit rocketed up, his self control long melted by exhaustion and it ran down his chin and wet his dark scrub shirt.
"He's not responsive," Claire patted his cheek and he wanted to say he was very responsive, except that what came up was a whimper. He'd have to quit his job, this was too humiliating to come back from, "fuck, Jonah page a nurse! Don't just stand there! We gotta get him on an IV, he's dehydrated like hell."
"Can you come pick me up? I wanna go home," it was Leo's voice travelling through the phone, but Jonah pulled it away from his face in order to read his husband's name. It was.
Leo calling to be picked up from anywhere was already something that would hardly happen, because he had his own car, but what was weirder was the reasoning. I wanna go home. No hinting to him being sick and needing a ride, or the car not working, just... Come pick me up from work in the middle of the day because I want to go home.
"Uhm- Yeah, baby, of course..." Jonah moved around the apartment, searching for his shoes. He had just gotten in from a night shift, he was dead on his feet, but if Leo needed him, then he was going over, "you're still at work?"
"Yes, I- I don't know how to get out, I'm not sick, I just- I need to go home," okay, weird and getting weirder. Jonah was straight up running out of the front door now.
"That's alright, uh- I'll lie at the front desk and say there's a family emergency with my father. Pretend you didn't call me and that you're surprised, okay?"
"Okay," Leo sounded deeply relieved, "yeah, okay, just- Can you come quick?"
"I'm getting to the car now, I'll be there as soon as I can... Leo, I-" don't do anything stupid, Jonah thought, his stomach freezing, but he bit the sentence down, "I love you. Can you tell me what's going on?"
"I don't know what's going on," Leo sounded frustrated, angry even, "just- I just- Want to go home."
"Okay, baby, you'll be home in no time," Jonah bolted as soon as the elevator hit the garage floor, "I have to hang up now, alright? Promise to call me if- If you feel worse," from whatever that was.
"Promise," Leo mumbled and then the call disconnected.
Jonah didn't remember a single thing from driving over. He was pretty sure he had run over a red light.
The front desk girl of Leo's building was named Nicole, and her eyes got the size of saucers when Jonah mumbled some frantic story about needing to contact Leo about a family emergency and that he hadn't been picking up his phone. The panic in his voice didn't need to be faked.
She phoned his office's landline and waited, whispering in a rushed voice that Mr. Wagner-Banks was there and there was an emergency.
Not five minutes later, Leo was walking out of the elevator, holding his suitcase and clad in a suit, perfectly healthy, except from the flush on his cheeks.
"Jon? What's going on?" The damn theater kid he had married asked and Jonah knew he had been the one to propose this stupid plan, but right now he just wanted to shake Leo like a rattle toy and force him to use his words.
"My sister called, said something is wrong with my father," Jonah lied through his teeth, sending the universe a quiet don't you dare, "she said he's sick, we gotta go over to DC right now."
Dramatic much? But at the very least this would grant Leo the whole day off, if not the week. Jasper would happily corroborate whatever bullshit they needed him to, the man lived for the drama.
"Oh my god," Leo clutched his imaginary pearls, a little too into his role for Jonah's liking. He was starting to get annoyed, was this all some joke...?
They quickly moved out of Nicole's curious gaze, Leo telling her to pass the message along to his boss, but that he'd be in contact as soon as possible to explain the situation and give them a timeframe of how quickly he could be back.
Then they were out of the building and Jonah was fighting every molecule in his body not to interrogate his husband right there and then. Instead he waited until they entered his car and he had driven out of Leo's street, just to make sure, before asking, "what the fuck, Leo?! What's wrong? You scared the shit out of me, start explaining yourself-"
Leo was leaning back on the passenger seat, breathing in and out slowly, face milky pale, "I think I'm having a heart attack."
"What?" Jon came to a screeching halt so sudden, the car behind them pressed the honk and sent him a string of insults, barely avoiding rear ending them.
"I'm-" Leo licked his lips, "a sense of- Of impending doom, right? Chest tightness?" Was he sounding breathless or was Jonah tripping? "Queasy..."
"Okay," Jonah's voice was alien to his own ears, "okay, baby, we're going to the fucking hospital, alright? Can you-" he took a hand from the steering wheel, clammy with sweat, "squeeze my hand? Really hard."
Leo obeyed, Jonah wasn't sure what his tight squeeze meant, because he was too busy panicking to be an actual doctor about it. Tight squeeze, probably- Probably not a heart attack, right? Normally it came with limbs heaviness and lack of strength... Right?
Sense of impending doom.
Jonah could write off everything, but that. He had way too much experience with patients feeling in their bones when something was grotesquely wrong. He pressed the gas pedal a little harder.
Leo's fingers curled around his and Jonah squeezed his hand right back, clutching on it like a toddler.
Once they pulled over at the hospital, Jon was immediately running out of the car to grab him a wheelchair, only for Leo to scoff and walk alongside him. He was most definitely wheezing.
"Jon?" Wendy was in the ER, wearing scrubs today, confused on why he was there when he had just left the hospital an hour ago, let alone with Leo hot on his heels, looking panicked, "what's going on-"
"Leo, sit down," Jonah ignored her, forcing Leo to sit on a plastic chair on the waiting room, queue be damned. Hospital queues weren't organized around arrival time, like most people thought, but seriousness of an issue. A heart attack most definitely put Leo on top of the list. He should be- "I think he's having a heart attack."
Wendy's eyes went huge, but unlike Jonah she didn't panic. She turned around, rushing to the front desk and exchanging rushed whispers with the nurse in charge, who immediately nodded and picked up the phone, her voice echoing on the floor through the speakers as she said, "Dr. Lavin, emergency room, please," three times in a row. A second nurse, Marjorie, briskly walked away and returned five minutes later with a disposable cup housing aspirins, walking over to them.
"Hi Leo," she smiled and Jonah's hand flexed on his husband's shoulder, hating the way Leo was clutching his chest and staring at the floor, "can you chew these for me? It's gonna help while we get you ready for the exams, okay?"
"He needs-"
"An ECG," Marjorie agreed before he could finish, "we're gonna get him one, let's sit in Dr. Lavin's room, alright? He was doing rounds upstairs, but we've paged him, he'll be down in a minute."
Who the fuck even was Dr. Lavin?
It didn't matter. They entered the special treatment room and Leo climbed onto the mattress, leaning heavily against Jonah's side and wheezing, sounding like a whistle.
"Shhh, just a second more, baby," Jon cooed, trying to fight the sheer panic clawing at him. Wendy came back inside, Marjorie hot on her heels.
"Hi Leo," she smiled, "rough morning, uh?" whilst talking, she was moving around the office as it was hers, turning on the ECG machine, the image of calm. Jon would've bought it wasn't it for her fingers drumming on the machine.
The office's door opened and in came Chris. Jonah's brows met, then eased. Right, Chris Lavin, their cardiologist. Why the hell hadn't he remembered that, he would've taken Leo to a different hospital-
No, he wouldn't have. There was no hospital in town more prepared than this and they didn't have time to drive to Portland-
"Mr. Wagner," Chris seemed puzzle on why there were three people, instead of solely his patient in the office, "how are you today? Can you tell me what's going on?"
"Chest-" Leo rubbed it, gulping down, "hurts. Uhm- I feel like I'm dying. I-" another gulp, Chris squinted at him.
"Nauseous too?"
Leo nodded, swallowing again.
"Here, sweetheart," Wendy moved, grabbed a cardboard emesis tray, pushing it on his lap.
"How long ago did the symptoms start, Mr. Wagner?"
"Leo," he mumbled, gagging at the tail end, "my name is Leo."
Jonah shifted his weight, impatiently glaring at Chris. Couldn't he save the fucking interrogation for another time? Get him on the ECG already, do something?
"Alright, Leo," Chris circled them, looking put off by having to side step Jon and Wendy to reach the machine, "can you take your shirt off for me? We're gonna get a read at your heart."
Finally!
Jon immediately turned to grab Leo's clothing, helping him strip, only for Chris to scoff, "Banks, I asked Leo to take his shirt off. Not you to do it for him."
Leo's eyes widened, shocked, while Jon bristled, "I'm helping, you know, bedside manners. Something you d-"
"I need to check if he can raise his arms," Chris glared daggers at him, "step out of my way and stop intruding. Leo, please remove the shirt?"
Seemingly shocked enough that the wheezing had stopped, Leo obeyed, fingers fumbling with the buttons, but managing. He already didn't have a tie on, the jacket of his suit had been ditched in the car.
"Good," Chris grabbed several different cords, with sticker electrodes to the end of them, "this will feel a little weird," he warned, before sticking them to Leo's chest, eyes glued to the screen of the machine, "how long ago did the symptoms start, Leo?"
"Uh- Two hours," Leo's fingers flinched, clearly wanting to rub his chest again, but settling for curling on the thin sheet of the bed. Jonah took his hand in his, squeezing it in a supportive manner. Leo gulped down again, paler than before.
"How much longer?" Jon asked, "he's gonna be sick."
"Just a minute more," Chris was looking at the machine, as it printed out the results of the exam in a long, skinny sheet of paper, waves drawn on them. Jonah had never been any good at reading those, but Chris hardly even looked, eyes flickering to it and then back up, starting to remove the electrodes from Leo.
"Good, you can put your shirt back on- Marshall, you can go," he said, dismissively, and Wendy's cheeks turned pink, brows connecting, but she didn't argue. Only huffed and stepped out of the room.
Leo gave up buttoning his shirt on the third bottom button, grabbing the cardboard tray and gulping down convulsively, "guh- Gon'besick..." he slurred, drooling over it.
"That's alright," Chris circled his desk, sitting on the big chair, leaving Jonah to fuss over the blonde. He ground his teeth, yelling at Chris right now wasn't gonna help.
"I'm here," he said, instead, stepping closer and planting a hand on the cardboard tray to support it, the other arm wrapping around Leo, who was trembling like a puppy, "shh, I got you-"
Leo jerked with an empty heave, knuckles turning white as he panted over the small bowl. Another gag and a thick line of drool fell inside of it, cloudy, but nothing more.
"Is he allergic to any medication?" Chris asked from where he was typing on his computer.
"You have his chart," Jonah hissed, teeth gritted, while rubbing Leo's back, "shh, baby, ignore him. Focus on yourself."
Leo gagged once more, and then a little dribble of vomit fell in the tray, as he panted as if he had just run a marathon. There were microtears clumping his lashes and he clutched his chest, wheezing. Jonah's heart squeezed so much, he wondered if he was the one having a heart attack.
"I'm going to order a blood test," Chris told them, unbothered, "to rule out heart attack. For now we're gonna put you in a cot in the ER and check back again in an hour, Leo."
Leo's brows twitched, he spat in the tray, "wha- What?"
"You're not having a heart attack," Chris had gotten up, grabbing a couple tissues from the box that stayed next to the cot, handing them to Leo in exchange for the sick tray, "it's a panic attack."
"Nuh-huh," Leo shook his hand, hands shaking as if he had Parkinson's as he wiped his chin and clutched the tissues, "I know- I know what a panic attack feelssslike..."
Chris' lip twitched, "I know you do," a hint of amusement, Jonah considered punching him, "that's why we're not gonna medicate you just yet, okay? We're gonna do the blood exam to rule it out and then check back in one hour, do the whole ordeal again. Then I'm gonna medicate you."
Leo's cheeks turned crimson, Jon squeezed his shoulder, "Christopher, if he says he's having a heart attack-"
"He is the patient, Banks," Chris glared at him, "not the doctor. His ECG came back clean, you're welcome to look at it. His wheezing doesn't match of a heart attack, his impending doom broke when I snapped at you. It's not a heart attack, it's anxiety, but you're welcome to do a cardiology residency if you wanna argue with me."
Jonah's whole face was burning and yeah, he was gonna punch this guy. He let go of Leo's shoulder, stepping into Chris' personal space, "what happens when my husband collapses because you are too arrogant to see what's in front of you? Leo knows what a panic attack feels like, he's dealt with them his whole life, you. Are. Not. LIS-" he jammed his finger on Chris' chest at each word, only to be cut short by a giggle.
Leo's giggling.
The blonde looked embarrassed, but amused, "sorry, sorry! I- Okay, doctor, uhm- Lavin? Dr. Lavin," Jonah looked at him, confused and nearly offended. What the hell was he doing? "blood exam, then check back, then meds?"
"Yes," Chris' voice was a note deeper, pissed off, but not directed at Leo, "I'll have nurse Marjorie shadow you, she's the best one and she's been here the longest. You're in good hands."
Leo nodded, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, although it was clean already, "okay," he whispered, tugging on Jon's sweater to bring him back, "Okay..."
Jonah wanted to argue this. It didn't feel right, Leo knew what a panic attack felt like, he wouldn't have confused the two. Hell, Jonah knew what Leo having a panic attack looked like and-
And it looked horribly similar to this, yeah.
Wendy was in the ER and the second she saw them â Leo now forced to be on a wheelchair, hospital rules â she jogged closer, looking concerned.
"So? What's going on? How are you?" She asked quickly, as Jonah followed Marjorie to the cot she was guiding them to. A bed with privacy curtains surrounding it.
"Panic attack," Leo answered her, breathless, clutching Jon's hand for support as he pushed himself out of the chair and into the cot, Marjorie saying she'd be right back to collect the blood sample.
"Really?" Wendy's eyebrows jumped up, "I thought you knew- how are you feeling?" She changed her phrase mid sentence, shaking her head.
Leo shrugged, looking away, "embarrassed," he rubbed his chest, uneasy expression on, "queasy. Still don't feel right, it's like- Pressure," he took a deep breath, "someone sitting on my chest."
Wendy didn't look convinced, she exchanged a nervous glance with Jonah, who had posted himself right next to Leo's bed and was petting his hair, trying not to let it show just how deeply concerned he was.
Chris was asking for a lot. What if he was wrong? What if Leo was having a fucking heart attack and they were wasting crucial time with this bullshit? Had Chris glanced at Leo's medical history and seen his antidepressants listed and dismissed everything as just stress?
"Here we go," nurse Marjorie came up, holding the blood drawing kit, "it's going to be just a little prickle."
"I know," Leo leaned his head back, eyes shut, breathing heavily, "fuck..." he breathed out, refusing to elaborate.
Marjorie drew the blood and Leo kept his eyes closed, taking slow measured breaths. Wendy had to get back to work, sending Jonah a worried look before she left. Jonah started biting on his thumb, a leg bouncing nervously as he stood next to his bed and waited. He felt so fucking helpless, he should be doing something-
"Hey," Leo tugged on his wrist, since his other hand was still in his hair, supposedly petting it, although Jon had stopped, "I think he's right, Jon."
"You- It doesn't seem right, Leo," Jonah's voice wavered just a little and he gulped down the knot in his throat, "you know what- Did something happen? Something triggered this?"
"No," Leo seemed exhausted, eyes sunken in, but he opened a little smile, "we went out to grab coffee together, Dean, Chuck and I... The place was packed, started feeling uneasy there, chalked it up to being overwhelmed, then when we got back to the office it just got worse and I felt like something was so wrong, with- Me, with you, I don't know, I just needed to go home... That's when I called you," he paused, breathing in and out slowly, "then after we hung up it changed from I need to go home to I'm dying. That's it."
It did sound like anxiety. Jonah squinted, not sufficiently calmed down, "and the chest pain? The nausea? The wheezing?"
"After," Leo dismissed, sighing, "worked myself into it, I think."
"Hmmm," Jon pursed his lips, not liking this one bit and Leo's fingers around his wrist twitched, he guided his hand to his chest, pressing Jon's hand over his heart.
"It's not a heart attack, Jonah," Leo breathed out, his cheeks turning pink, "although I might die from embarrassment alone."
"Don't be embarrassed," he said strongly, "I'd rather you freaked out and we came over to the hospital a thousand times than ignoring it and it ending up being something serious. I mean it, Leo. I'm glad you called me."
If this had been at the start of their relationship, or hell, even when Leo was going through a rough patch, he'd have tried dealing with it on his own. Jonah felt a wash of fondness and relieved, giddy happiness that was out of place and fueled by adrenaline, that Leo had trusted him so entirely.
"You're turning into a sap," Leo teased him, curling slightly on the cot, "so that's Chris, uh?"
"Yeah," Jonah scoffed, good mood popping like a soap bubble, "fucking asshole."
"I don't think I ever saw someone talk to you like that... Well, Luke sometimes, but you and Luke are different. You don't mean it."
"Sometimes I mean it," Jonah grumbled, moving his hand to cup Leo's neck, refusing to let go of him, "Luke can be a dick."
Leo snorted, rolled his eyes, "I imagined Chris different."
"Oh yeah? How so?" Jonah looked around, found a chair and pulled it closer with his foot, collapsing on it.
"Uglier," Leo whispered, "he's kind of handsome."
"Oh, disgusting," Jonah pulled back, his whole face scrunching up, "you have a fetish for mean doctors? Is that it? Ew, Leo, ew-"
Leo giggled, color returning to his cheeks and the tight knot in Jonah's chest loosened.
"Gross."
"I just have eyes," Leo huffed, "Wendy seems..."
"Apologetic? Concerned?"
"That too," Leo conceded, biting on his lip, "she doesn't look well, though."
"Yeah, I know," Jonah clasped their hands together, running his thumb over Leo's wedding band in a soothing manner, "I don't think she's ready for me to intervene just yet. She wants to apologize to Vince and Bell..."
"That's a start," Leo nodded, squeezing his hand right back, "you think things are gonna be okay?"
"I think if you can gossip then you can't possibly be having a heart attack," Jonah teased him, shoulders starting to drop. Leo let out a snort.
Not going to tag just going to write or else we'll be here all year while I catch up. I love the way that most of Jon's medical training goes out the window when Leo is involved. There's got to be some PTSD there from earlier too. A panic attack when you aren't in the depths of stress is so real - sometimes your body does things your brain needs to catch up with. Or vice versa.
I actually knew Chris' last name and I was still thrown that it was him, lol. He and Jonah are officially my favorite bitchy doctors to each other now. Like I love them.
Wendy inching her way back in - clever.
Fuck I have so much to say and so much catching up to do so I'll end here.
I haven't written for these guys in quite a while. But gosh I will love them til the day I die.
---------
Madixâs stomach tried its hardest to digest the sludge of food that he had forced down his throat all that day. It wasnât his faultâthe nachos had such bubbly warm cheese that called his name, and the burger had caramelized onions that begged him to approach. Now all the grease and sugar coated his gut in a layer of grime. His tummy burbled sickeningly as it attempted to deal with the overwhelm that a day at the fair had caused. Â
He staggered next to Dakota who seemed to be dealing with the food expertly. He had been a fool to think that he could keep up with his best friend. The man was a pro at putting away every dish they came across.Â
Poutine, easy. Ice cream, no problem. He simply sighed contently after every bite that got Madix feeling more and more like a zombie.Â
It was a struggle to pick up his feet, but he had to keep up, or else Riley and Blair would run off into the crowd, never to be seen again with their significant others.Â
At least Dakota hung back with him, even if it was because he kept getting distracted by the food vendors and not because he noticed Madixâs deteriorated state. He jumped excitedly in line for a beaver tail.Â
Madix swallowed thickly as he came to stand next to his friend. The Canadian treat gave off the sickly-sweet aroma of syrups and cheesecake. The people around them carried their oversized pastries that dripped with thick white frosting or a drizzling of rich chocolate.Â
âI think I want the brownie one!â he said, pointing to the sign ahead. âIt has Nutella on it! Do you want to split it with me?âÂ
Madix moaned and jammed his head into Dakotaâs shoulder. ââŠ. Ugh.âÂ
âOkay fine, jeez? How about the strawberry cheesecake?â
"Noooo..."
He gave his arm a jerk. âWhy you sound so mopey, Maddy?âÂ
âToo much foodâŠâ he slurred out. His chest hitched with a hiccup. The nausea made all his muscles stiff. âI donât feel good. How can you still be hungry?âÂ
âClassic mistake.â Dakota pulled his greenish friend into a side hug. âWeâve moved beyond our primitive needs. Hunger has nothing to do with it anymore. Itâs all about the experience.âÂ
âOh, I think Iâm in for a doozy of an âexperienceâ any minute now.âÂ
Dakota chuckled at first, but then quickly wondered how much Madix was joking. The boy next to him swayed with fatigue. His eyelids were droopy as if his full stomach were weighing every part of him down. Personally, he felt only the beginnings of fullness, but Madix was nearing the end of his limits it seemed.Â
He took off his sunglasses, only then realizing how quickly the sun had set. The sky was now purple and pink, and Madixâs cheeks were grey. âYou do look pale, buddy. Maybe take a break from the rides and food.âÂ
âYeah, I think I have to. Iâd like to sit down as well, but I donât want to lose Riley and Blair.âÂ
Dakota waved this away. âIâll text Blair that we stopped for a break. Look, we can sit under that tree, thereâs a bench.âÂ
Dakota ate his pastry happily while next to him Madix wondered what was going on with his belly. He was full, but this level of nausea was intense. If he were at home, heâd most likely be on the bathroom floor by now. Here, he was not sure how far a walk the nearest bathroom was. Instead, he would focus on keeping the food down until he had time to digest.Â
Dakota was not helping with the way he devoured the chocolate mess of dough and oil. Â
âUgh, Kota. I want to go home. I think I may actually throw up, but thereâs a lot of people here.â He hugged his belly.
âYou feel that bad?â The sudden development surprised him. âIâve seen you eat way more."
âI donât know whyâŠâ Madix burped and let out a nauseous moan. âI just feel really fucking sick.â He glanced at his friend with his glassy eyes. âWould you hurry up and eat that already. Itâs dripping onto your hand.âÂ
Dakota licked the precarious drop of icing. âItâs messy, Iâm sorry.â After three huge bites and finger licking, he finished the treat in time to see Madix shudder and gag.Â
Madix suddenly stood up on shaky legs. This was bad. He could feel pressure growing in his throat. Rising.Â
âOh God, I canât keep it down.â He tried to speak through the nausea and the hand that covered his mouth. âOne second.â He wandered away from the main road, away from the bench where they sat, and beyond the fenced in grass.Â
Dakota quickly followed his swaying friend.Â
âOookay, I guess weâre going on a little excursion.â He grimaced at the retch that tore up Madixâs throat. He grabbed his friendâs arm to steady him. âThis is a good spot to let loose, Maddy. Iâve got you.âÂ
A shower of vomit came gushing from Madixâs mouth. It was orange and frothy. His poor belly squeezed in on itself tighter. Another mouthful of greasy mush added to the puddle at his feet. He felt the muscles in his back tense continuously as the heaves sent him forward.Â
A groan of misery escaped him.Â
Dakota kept a firm grip on his woozy friend. It was odd to see him so weak. Every gag pushed him around like a puppet dangling on a string. âKneel here, Madix. Youâre swaying a lot and I donât like it.âÂ
âDonât feel good,â he slurred. A hiccup made his chest jump and more slushy vomit splattered onto the grass. The sound gurgled in his throat. âUgh, my belly. Iâm so full.âÂ
Wave after wave came up from Madixâs upset belly. It was relentless and slow. Whenever he thought he was finished, the nausea shot back through his body. Droplets of sweat coated his forehead, dampening the strands of hair that hung in front of his eyes.Â
Dakota brushed the hair off his forehead. It was not a hot night and yet still Madix was melting. âYouâre so out it, man. I think you have a fever.âÂ
Madix nodded lazily. âYeah probably. This is a lot.â He blinked quickly. âI canât focus long enough toâŠtoâŠdo anything.âÂ
âYou donât have to do anything but sit. Wait until you feel better. Do you still need to puke?âÂ
âI think so.â He rubbed his stomach. âItâs like gurgling, my belly. This was not a good time to eat fair food.âÂ
âNo kidding,â Dakota laughed, âIâll jot that down: donât go to fair with flu.â Â
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 inâŠwell, 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 Valentinaâs romance movies.
It was nice, Sasha being soâŠattentive. 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?
âYou finished demonstrating your manliness?â Ryosuke called from the kitchen as he heard the cabin door open. âI'm making hot cocoa, do you want some? Or is that not manly enough for you?â
âAny man who doesn't want hot cocoa is a bitch and a coward,â 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.
âDid your parents never teach you to wrap up warm?â He squawked. âIt's below freezing, you'll catch your death of cold!â
Sasha laughed. âPlease. It is Russian summer out there,â he joked, giving Ryosuke one last playful squeeze with icy hands. âBut if you insist on warming me up, I guess I need that hot chocolate.â
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.
âWell, it's almost ready,â Ryosuke said, even as his body relaxed back against Sasha's. âGo sit down, I just need to add the cream.â
âAdd it quickly,â Sasha ordered, a teasing growl rumbling in his chest. He made no move to leave the kitchen. âI'm no good at being patient.â
âSir, yes sir,â 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.
âCocoa is good,â Sasha mumbled, having sat up just enough to drink it. Whipped cream lingered on his upper lip, and he smiled. âThank you.â
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. âYou're welcome. Here, hand me the book? I'll read a bit, I wanna know how they catch the guy.â
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. âNightmare?â He asked softly, his hand keeping a gentle rhythm on Sasha's back.
âNot really,â Sasha mumbled, huddling in tighter on himself. âJust freezing. Can you get the fire going again?â
âIt's⊠still going,â Ryosuke said, a concerned hesitation to his words. âIt's been going this whole time.â
âBut it's so cold,â Sasha whimpered, tucking his face into Ryosuke's neck. âRyo, I'm freezing. It's⊠I don't like it.â
Ryosuke frowned, feeling the warmth of Sasha's skin against his own. âUm⊠I can add another log to the fire, if you want.â
âBlanket?â Sasha asked hopefully.
âI'm not sure you need oneâŠâ Ryosuke began, and then looked down at Sasha's miserable face. âOh, fine, scoot over.â
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, âUm⊠can I have more cocoa?â
âOf course.â Ryosuke leaned down to tuck him in, stroking his hair back carefully from his face. âOh dear, or maybe some tea? Might that be better?â
âI liked the cocoa,â Sasha mumbled. His eyes were drifting closed again, so hard to keep open when he was justâŠsoâŠ
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. âRyosuke?â
âHey.â Ryosuke's voice was soft, as were his footsteps as he padded to Sasha's side. âHey, are you awake?â
âMmnnnnâŠâ 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.
âSweetheart?â Ryosuke's hand found his, thumb stroking lightly over the back. âCould you sit up for me a minute? Maybe have some water?â
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.
âI thought so,â Ryosuke murmured, catching his shoulder and helping him all the way up. âWhen did you start feeling sick?â
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 Sashaâs jaw to gauge his fever. He winced immediately.
âYou're burning up, hang on,â he said, leaning in to press his lips to Sasha's forehead. âLet me get something cool from the kitchen.â
âNo,â Sasha croaked, barely able to force the words. ââm so coldâŠâ
âNo.â Ryosuke was surprisingly firm. âYou're not. You have a fever.â
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.
âI know,â Ryosuke said quietly. âBut it'll feel better afterwards.â
He returned to Sasha with a tea towel he'd wet under the tap, crouching beside the couch to be closer. âAlright, brace yourself,â he warned, swiping the cool cloth slowly across Sasha's forehead to start.
âAhhâŠâ without even meaning to, Sasha winced away from the chill touch, only to find his face cupped in Ryosuke's other hand.
âI know, it's no fun. But you're burning up, you really need it.â
âMmnnnnoooâŠ.,â Sasha slurred, breath hitching in his chest. âhurrrâs.â
âHey, you're okay. It'll be okay,â Ryosuke murmured, stroking Sasha's hair. âIt's only for a minute. Then we can cuddle, okay?â
Sasha shook his head, trying to squirm away again. ââs too- too c- too co-holdâŠâ 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. âHere, drink some water,â he offered. âThat sounded awful.â
âFelt awful,â 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.
âWe didn't bring any meds,â he said reluctantly, once Sasha had forced down enough water for his breathing to settle. âWe should have brought meds. You've probably caught what I had.â
âBrought vodka,â Sasha rasped. âIn kitchen,â he mumbled, waving vaguely in that direction.
âSasha!â Ryosuke let out an exasperated sigh. âThat's not medicine. Besides, it'll be a bitch to swallow.â
âClassic remedy,â Sasha argued, âbetter than nothing.â
âNo,â Ryosuke said firmly. âNot better. I'll make you tea. With honey. And maybe a shot of vodka if you're good.â
Sasha scowled, but the chattering of his teeth took all the ferocity out of it. âFine,â he grumbled.
âGood.â Ryosuke nodded and leaned in to press his lips to the side of Sasha's head. âGod knows I can't deal with you drunk and feverish. Who knows what you might do.â
âGet some sleep,â Sasha muttered. He coughed again, his face twisting in pain as burning needles rose in his chest and filled his throat. âFuck,â he rasped. âCan I get that drink now?â
âYeah, yeah, all right,â Ryosuke rolled his eyes as he got up from the couch. âI'm going, keep your hair on.â
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. âCome on out, mister grumpy. I brought tea.â
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.
âAll that fussing about me making tea, and now you don't even want it,â he teased, slipping a hand under Sasha's shirt to rub slow, rhythmic circles.
âI do,â Sasha croaked, arms looping lazily around Ryosuke's back. âWant you more. Feel terrible.â
Ryosuke chuckled. âThe tea might help you feel a little less terrible.â
âMm, in a minute,â 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.
âI'll believe it when I see it,â 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.
âShhh,â 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. âHere, sit up a bit, see if that helps.â
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 Sashaâs 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.
âFuck,â Sasha croaked, his voice little more than a scratchy whisper.
Ryosuke kissed his burning cheek, one hand still rubbing his chest. âHave a drink, okay? And then I think you should go lay down in bed.â
âBed will be cold,â Sasha whined, taking the tea in his hands even as he pouted.
âI can start the fire in there,â Ryosuke offered.
âAir is cold,â Sasha argued. âStay here. With you. In warm.â
âSashaâŠâ Ryosuke sighed, trying not to laugh. âYou don't even fit on this couch.â
âDon't care,â Sasha grumbled, pulling his legs up to squish himself onto the couch. âWarm here.â
âI can make it warm in bed,â Ryosuke wheedled. âI promise.â
Sasha groaned. âSo far awayâŠâ
âCome on, please,â Ryosuke begged. âYou're going to feel even worse when you wake up with your back hurting from sleeping like this.â
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. âI'll get the fire going, then I'll join you, okay?â
âY-yeah.â 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.
âJust me,â Ryosuke murmured. âYou okay?â
âCold,â Sasha mumbled, grabbing Ryosuke and pulling him in closer.
âCome on,â 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. âI've got you. You're safe. You can sleep now.â
Sasha nestled up to him at once, still trembling faintly as he drifted off to sleep. Ryosuke rested his cheek on Sashaâs 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.
Heâs alone inside, no longer a child taken by his father, but a grown man out on his own. Thereâs no one around for miles, the wind whistling with the weight of snow that would keep him in place for days. Itâs cold, but at least he has the peace of knowing itâs just him out here. No man or beast could traverse this snow to intrude upon him.
And then he hears the voice outside. Itâs 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.
âIt's just me,â he whispered, giving Sasha's fingers a tight squeeze. âYou're safe.â
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.
âI've got you,â he assured, âjust try to breathe.â
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.
âEasy,â Ryosuke soothed. âJust one deep breath, that's all you need. Don't pass out on me.â
âHurts,â Sasha wheezed, unable to keep the tears in his eyes from falling. His fingers clutched clumsily at Ryosuke's hand, clammy and trembling.
âC-c-canât,â Sasha sobbed, gradually crumpling himself into Ryosuke's arms. âFuck, it h-hurtsâŠâ
Ryosuke hugged Sasha tight to his chest, still rubbing slow circles on his back. âYou can. Follow me. In⊠out. In⊠out.â
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.
âDo you want some more tea?â
âWanna sleep,â Sasha sighed, shuddering bodily. âButâŠwhat ifâŠâ He struggled to find the words, feeling suddenly very young. âWhat if I hurt you?â
âIâll be fine,â Ryosuke assured him. âI would leave if I wanted to. I'm not worried.â
âI'm worried,â Sasha mumbled. He was quiet a moment, breathing roughly, before he added, âThe dream, it wasâŠreally bad.â
Ryosuke nodded, giving Sasha a tight squeeze. âIt's over now. Do you want to talk about it?â
âNo.â 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.
âYou don't have to,â Ryosuke said, sitting up to lean across him. âI was just asking.â
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. âI'm going to put more wood on the fire. If I get you a hard drink will it help you sleep?â
âYes.â 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.
âAlright,â Ryosuke nodded. He swung his legs out of bed, shivering slightly at the difference between the outside air and Sasha's feverish cocoon. âDon't make a habit of it though.â
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.
"Hey, c'mere," Bella yawned, a hand poking out of the blanket, just as Luke walked to their bedroom door. He raised his eyebrows, surprised she was awake so early in the morning and then felt a wash of guilt.
"Did I wake you up?" He kept his voice low, walking closer, "I'm sorry, I was trying to be quiet-"
Bell let out a huff, annoyed and sleepy, her hand gesturing impatiently for him and as soon as Lucas was within reach, she grabbed the fabric of his pants and tugged on it for him to sit on the bed.
He snorted at her antics, reaching in and brushing her messy curls back. Once in a blue moon she wore a bonnet to bed, but more often than not she just slept without it and woke up with her hair all tangled.
"Vin's taking Soph to Doveport today, isn't he?" Her voice was raspy from sleep, eyes heavy.
"I think so, yeah?" Luke frowned, confused by the sudden change of topic, "why?"
"He comes back tomorrow?" Bella yawned, dropped her head back to the pillow and Lucas was half convinced she was still asleep. He tugged on the blankets, tucking her further in.
"I think so, he's pretty beat, I don't think he can drive eight hours straight. He'll probably spend the night," he answered and Bella nodded, eyes slipping shut.
"So we got the house to ourselves tonight?"
Luke snorted, "has this ever stopped you from jumping me before?" he asked, teasingly, tackling her and causing Bella to let out a squeal, her eyes jumping open at the sudden attack.
"LUke!" She whisper-yelled, muffling her tone in her hand, blushing, "that's not the reason- You totally forgot, uh?"
"What did I forget, baby?" Luke bumped his nose with hers, peppering her face with kisses. Clearly his mind was already in the gutter.
"Our wedding anniversary?" Bella raised an eyebrow, judgingly and Lucas pulled back, appalled.
"That was a month ago," he mumbled, defensively, "I didn't forget- We don't- We don't celebrate those things, we didn't celebrate it last year... We never even celebrated our dating anniversaries..."
"Well, dating anniversaries are cringy," Bella rolled her eyes, then squirmed under him so she could sit against the headboard, "that's fine, I totally forgot it too, but I kinda wanna celebrate it..."
"Oh yeah?" Luke closed the space between with a kiss and then fell right between her legs, resting his chin on her knee, "what do you wanna do?"
Bella snorted at the silly position, as if he was a lap dog, and combed her fingers through his hair, careful not to make him look like a mad scientist right before work, "nothing big," she shrugged, "just... Let's go out for dinner? Or uhm- I don't know, you're the planner, Luke."
He hid a smile against the blankets covering her lap, "I'll think of something," then he pulled back with a groan, "this is why I like leaving when you're asleep, now I don't wanna goooo-"
Bella giggled, rolling her eyes at his antics, "gooo-" she shoved him by the forehead, then changed her mind last minute, lurching up on her knees to grab him by the collar of his button up and pull him down for a kiss, "just give me one last kiss before you leave."
"I'll give you two."
-------------------
Lucas knew, objectively, that he should not be feeling guilty for forgetting their wedding anniversary, since Bell had forgotten it too. Not that he had actually forgotten, he just had overlooked it. They had been in New Mexico and he was pretty sure the actual date of, he had been in a hospital bed with a severe fennel allergy.
Which just made him feel even more guilty, because how shitty was it that Bell had spent their anniversary night sitting in some uncomfortable hospital chair and fearing for his life?
He was a failure of a husband, Luke decided by the time 10 AM rolled on.
Sylvie was rushing in and out of their shared office, clearly busy, and he had a pile of paperwork to finalize, because charity was a whole lot less glamorous once you had to do taxes about it and fill in permits. Luke's mind was racing and he was struggling to pay attention.
"What's gotten into you?" Sylvie asked, walking back into the office and he hurriedly clicked out of the article he was reading on Idea To Celebrate Your Wedding Anniversary, forcing his attention back to the actual task at hand he should be doing.
"Nothing, why do you ask?" He asked, innocently, and the older woman squinted at him, stopping right in front of his desk.
"You seem sparse today..." She scrutinized his face, "everything alright?"
"Yeah, uh-" He toyed with his pen, looking up to his boss. She was a tiny woman, but he was sitting down while she stood, "it's my wedding anniversary and I forgot to make us plans."
Her wrinkly, suspicious face cleared up, a fond look taking its place, "oh Luke," she seemed amused, "how many years are you guys celebrating?"
"Two years," he fiddled with his wedding band, "I googled and it apparently is Cotton? The theme? Not helpful at all."
Syl snorted, circling his desk so she could get to hers and sitting down on the big presidential chair, "can never go wrong with jewelry, Luke."
"I know, but Bella is very particular about that," he pouted, turning his chair around to face her and kept speaking as if there was no work to be done, "she likes antiques and Victorian inspired pieces. I called her favorite jewelry place, but they only work with commissioned pieces and would take at the very least a couple weeks... I considered a hot air balloon ride, but she gets airsick sometimes and I don't wanna risk it-"
"Wow," Sylvie grinned, eyes sparkling, "you're doing the most, son. Take her to a nice restaurant and get her her favorite flowers, it'll be fine."
Lucas pouted. Realistically, he was aware his boss was right, but he hated it. Not because Bella wouldn't like it, hell, she probably would like celebrating in the privacy of their own home, with candles and take out, but because it made him feel like he didn't put enough effort into it. He knew he could do better than that and Bella deserved his maximum... Take that, Kit Howard, that's how you treat the love of your life.
He shook his head, rolling his shoulders to try and release the tension, "you're probably right," Luke relented, "do you have any restaurant recommendations? I was thinking we could go to Portland, we've been everywhere here in Welton already."
"Oh, do I," Sylvie smiled at him, fishing her notebook to scribble down some names for him.
----------------------------
Lucas: I've decided where we're gonna have dinner, it's not that fancy, dw.
Bella frowned as the text came in halfway through her day, as she holed up in the office, trying to get as much done as she could, to clear tomorrow's morning. She knew they didn't have any plans or reservation, but she also knew Luke, so Bella wouldn't have been surprised if he went all out. Part of her was even eagerly expecting him to.
Bell: Not fancy? Do you hate me?
She bit down her lip, staring at her husband's contact, imagining the way his face would scrunch up with defensiveness at her text, offense even.
Lucas: you don't LIKE fancy places, Isabella.
Lucas: But I can get us a reservation if you want to do fancy tonight!!
Lucas: Talk to me, what's on your mind?
Anxiety personified, Bella thought with a snort, smiling despite herself. Before she could even type an answer, her phone switched to call mode and Luke's face flashed across the screen.
"Hi-"
"Of course I don't hate you, Bell," Luke talked over her, sounding distraught, "you're gonna like my plan, trust me-"
"I do trust you," she chuckled, "I was mostly joking. Can I wear heels?"
"Yeah, of course," he sounded just a smidge relieved, "if you really wanna do fancy, I can change our reservations-"
"No," Bella leaned back on her chair, playing with the frayed edges of her ratty gym pants, "I just don't wanna stay in tonight that's all."
"We're not," he reassured her, "I have to get back to work. Love you."
"Okay, bye" Bella smiled, hanging up the phone, only for it to ring again, five seconds later. She frowned, "what?"
"You didn't say I love you back," Luke downright whined and Bella couldn't help but cackle. She rolled her eyes at his antics.
"I love youuuu, go work," she giggled, hanging up once more.
Around 5 PM, she wrapped up work and went ahead to get ready for their date, since her hair always took forever to dry.
Once she stepped out of the shower, wrapped in a robe, Lucas was already home. He pecked her cheek as she walked past him to their closet, following her like a lost puppy.
"What should I wear? Can I get a hint of what we're doing?" Bell asked, hands busy as she combed cream through her hair and inspected her clothes.
"It's nothing big, I didn't have much notice," Luke sounded so terribly apologetic, that she rushed to reassure him, but he talked over her, "just dinner."
"Okay, uhm- dress or pants?" Bell walked around, fishing out a couple pieces.
"Pants," he gestured to her favorite pair, that was black and low waist, baggy and covered in silver zippers, "and a top to match this-"
He fished out a little box from behind his back and Bella grinned so much her cheeks hurt, "oh, you didn't."
"Of course I did," he scoffed, rolling his eyes, "my wife says she wants to do romantic shit for once in her life and I'm supposed to not give it my all?"
He opened the box, causing Bella to gasp.
"Jesus Christ, Luke-" She reached in with grabby hands. It was a golden bracelet, with two rubies perched on the top of it, edges jagged and organic, like her own wedding band, "how did you-"
"It's not custom or anything," he pouted, "but I got lucky to find this in a jewelry store."
"It's gorgeous," Bella sighed, immediately putting it on, "now I feel bad, I didn't get you anything..."
"You don't have to give me anything," he rolled his eyes, then let out a chuckle as she jumped in his arms, cupping his face with both hands and kissing him, "I'll take it that you like it?" He asked cheekily.
Bella let out a huff, giving him another peck, "I love it. I love it so much," she squished his cheeks between her hands, one on either side of his face, "thank you."
"It's my pleasure," he turned his face to kiss he inside of her palm, "now let me go so I can shower- Bella!" Lucas let out a yelp as she moved a hand to his nape and grabbed him by the hair, pulling him closer so she could sniff his neck.
"You smell great to me," she said, while he trembled with giggles.
"Because you're a weirdo," he pushed her back by the hip, "let me shower, or we'll be late. It's all the way in Portland."
"Portland?!"
----------------
"Oh the place is beautiful," Bella whispered, her hand intertwined with Luke's as he pulled them inside the restaurant.
It was a place named Toca, with a moody atmosphere, dark walls and candles lit, Mexico's flag framed in a glass case, as well as a sombrero were the only thing telling her it was a Mexican restaurant. There was a duo of a cellist and a pianist playing, which caused her to let out a squeal and lean into Luke's side.
"Live music?"
"That's your favorite, isn't it?" Luke's smile was so wide, she could see his molars and there was a dimple forming in his cheek. Bella wanted to jump him.
He pulled the chair for her, despite the maĂźtre who had been guiding them moving to do it, and Bella rolled her eyes at the performance, smiling so much her cheeks hurt, "I feel like we're at our first date again."
"That was the plan," Luke sat in front of her, looking very proud with himself, "though this restaurant is a bit more gringo friendly than the one we went that time."
Bella snorted at the memory, "you were so funny, running out on me."
"Yeah, funny now," Luke's voice turned sour, "I really thought I had wrecked it all."
"You think I'd pass up a hottie like that because of an upset tummy?" Bella teased him, eyes running up and down his face, lingering on his mouth, "not in a million years, baby."
She felt victorious when his cheeks turned slightly pink. Making Lucas fluster was a feat and Bella tried really hard to excel at it.
"So what are we having tonight, captain?" Bell asked, leaning on the table to look at the menu. She wanted to push their chairs together, but it was a fancy enough place that she refrained from doing it... At least for now, no promises after they got some alcohol into her.
"I was thinking a wedge salad for starters," Luke pointed at an item in the menu and she glanced at her own. Wagyu bacon, cherry tomato, pickled red onion, pepitas, queso fresco, creamy buttermilk dressing. Sounded amazing, and most importantly, harmless.
"Did you check with them about fennel?"
"Yes, I let them know," he nodded, "what do you think?"
"I think it's delicious," Bella beamed, "and for main dish we get something separate?"
"Yeah, I'm going no spice tonight," he crossed his heart in an exaggerate scout impression.
Bella let out a huff at his mannerisms, "and nothing for dessert because we both know it's gonna be you."
He didn't blush this time, much to her dismay, eyes darkening, smile getting a little cheekier, "you're talking big game tonight, Bella."
"I mean every word," she batted her eyelashes at him, leaning over the tealight candles to whisper, "unless you don't think you can handle me?"
His smile flickered, competitive and hungry, and Bella felt her own cheeks burning as his eyes dragged down her face, to her mouth, neck, cleavage, "let's just leave right now."
She chuckled, pulled back and shook her head, "after dinner."
After that conversation went easy, although they were still flirting, heavily. Bell was drinking, Luke wasn't, because he was driving, and two cocktails in and she pushed her chair so their knees were touching, a lazy hand resting on his thigh for the rest of their meal.
Once the salad was gone, they ordered another round of drinks and the main dish. Luke ordered oysters, dipped in a chipotle cocktail that he knew he could handle because he got chipotle in his sandwiches and didn't suffer from it, and Bella got a complicated dish of chicken al pastor, with pineapple salsa that looked so delicious Luke nearly took a bite despite knowing better.
They chatted and ate and ordered a complicated lava cake to share as dessert, Luke taking her by the hand to slow dance as they waited for their order to get done. Bella threw her arms around his neck, body flushing against his, eyes shining, circled by the dark kajal that made the blue of her gaze pop.
"This was amazing," she whispered, sweet and spicy breath tickling his mouth and Luke barely held back from kissing her. He squeezed her waist, fingers curling on her top as they swayed from side to side lazily as the cello kept playing, "thank you."
"No," he leaned in, pressed his mouth to her brow and inhaled her woody perfume, "thank you for marrying me."
"Don't go all sappy on me now," Bella huffed out, her voice coming out muffled by his neck, and he could just feel the way her heart was beating, that's how pressed together they were.
Luke rolled his eyes at her being so uncomfortable at the romantic stuff, kissing her temple and squeezing her hand in his as Bella removed an arm from around his neck, so they could properly waltz.
They had dessert and paid, arms looped together as they walked back to the car. Bell was slightly tipsy, he could tell by how giggly she was, laughing like a teenage girl at every minor thing he said. It was absurdly endearing.
"C'mere," she smiled, once he opened the passenger door for her and she climbed inside, turning on the seat so her legs were dangling out of the door and she could grab his shirt, kissing him, "hmm, c'mere-"
He kissed her back, she tasted like the chocolate and blackberries sauce their lava cake had, and then Luke pulled back, planting a kiss on the tip of her nose, "we gotta go home, baby."
"Nooo," Bella scrunched up her face, undoing the top button of his shirt, "home is too far away, I want you now..." her mouth latched to his neck and he grinned, caught her lips in his again.
"We're not hooking up in the parking lot, sorry," he rolled his eyes at her dramatic pout, grabbing her by the chin, "not gonna happen."
"Boo," Bell sighed, moving her face in his hand and taking his thumb in her mouth, sucking on it, eyes on his, and causing Luke to squirm. He closed his eyes, pulled back and she whined.
"Nope, not gonna happen."
"Home?" Bella asked hopefully and Luke already knew he was lying when he nodded and said "home."
In truth, his energy didn't match hers after a whole day of stressing. Their night had been amazing, but now that he was fully relaxed, he felt tired and wanted nothing more than to curl up together. Besides, there was still a full hour drive back home and they worked in the morning...
And he wasn't sure the fancy combo of foods was agreeing with him.
Bella beamed at his promise and let go off him, finally putting the seatbelt on and allowing Luke to circle the car and do the same. She went boneless on her seat, sighing heavily.
"I'm in heaven," she declared, removing her heels and leaning back the seat, just enough she could bury a hand in his hair and start scratching at his scalp.
He agreed with a humm, poking her side and then grinning when his finger met a bit too much belly, "oooh hehe," he poked her tummy again, "you got a food baby, Bell."
"Hmm, I know," she was, as usual, unashamed, poking the slight swell of her belly, "the food was just so good..."
Luke smiled, although it felt a little false because his stomach wasn't so sure about the so called great meal, and he remembered why he had poked her in the first place, "put on some music."
Bella perked up, fiddling with his car's radio and her phone, and Luke let out a little relieved sigh when the song came on. Both because now it'd mask the noises coming from his stomach and because for once Bell hadn't picked metal, in tune with the mood for the night.
"What's playing?"
"Finger-" She squirmed slightly on her seat, undoing her pants with a happy sigh, "finger eleven," Bell resumed back to her original position of petting his hair, fingers occasionally drumming on his nape.
"This is nice," Luke wasn't sure if he meant the song or the hair pets. Either one.
"Of course it is," Bell's nails scratched his nape and he stole a glance her way. She was watching him intensely, and Luke snorted.
"Stop looking at me as if you're gonna eat me alive, creep," he poked her belly again and Bell grinned, hand latching around his wrist and nails tracing the veins in his forearm.
"I'm gonna," she promised, lowering his hand to her inner thigh and Lucas let out a brisk breath.
"I'm driving-"
"Road head never killed anyone-"
"I'm pretty sure it has killed a lot of people, Isabella," he glared at her when her hand sneaked to his shirt, shooing it away, "behave."
"Or you're gonna put me over your knee?" Bella's voice was all teasing, her smile not diminishing even a bit, as she once again moved her hand to try and undo the buckles of his belt- The back of her hand pressed with a little too much force against his stomach and Luke grimaced, holding a fist to his mouth the muffle a thick enough belch that was heard even over the sensual chorus of Deftones' Change (In the house of flies).
Bell pulled back then, watching him gulp down with a grimace, "Luke?"
"Sorry," he rolled his window down further, "excuse me."
"Uh-huh," she squinted at him, "is the food messing with you?"
He blushed, furiously. This was such a bad way to end their lovely night.
"No-"
"It totally is," she had moved her hand, which was resting limply on the handbrake, to touch his belly, prodding around, "how dare you say I have a food baby, when you got this?" Bella snorted, sliding her fingers right where his stomach was being pressed on by his belt. The pressure didn't feel great, caused a watery gurgle to go through his gut and Luke groaned, pushing her hand away.
"Don't do this, Bell," he frowned and her face softened up.
"Wanna switch? I can drive..."
"You are drunk," he rolled his eyes, "and I'm fine, I just ate a weird combo and my stomach needs to figure it out. It's not that bad."
"I'm not drunk," Bella defended herself, pouting, "just tipsy... Okay, but promise me you'll pull over if you feel worse? We can crash a side of the road motel, baby, you don't have to drive if you feel like crap."
"I don't, really," he reassured her, "just... Bloated," Luke grimaced again as another burp rolled up, barely giving him any time to hide it in his hand, "not that bad."
"Okay," she leaned back on her seat with a sigh and he counted exactly thirty seconds before grabbing her hand and planting it back on his nape, causing Bella to smile and roll her eyes, continuing scratching his scalp.
"You're like a puppy," she said after a minute, then turned her head and he watched from the corner of her eye as she gulped down air.
"Bell?"
"Got a burpstuck-" her voice was distorted by the gulping and he removed a hand from the steering wheel to thump on her back.
"Ow, go easy-" Bella hiccupped at his thumps and Luke cringed, diminishing his force.
"Sorry..."
A large, gross belch followed and her cheeks dusted pink, both hands clasping over her mouth as Bella giggled, "ooops..."
He snorted, "did that feel good?"
"Ooh, so much," Bell melted back in the seat, poking her tummy that was now poking out of her black top, red nails sinking on the soft flesh, "I look super cute like this."
He rolled his eyes, "humble too, baby."
"I doooo," she grinned to him, "you know you think so- Oh no, not this song," attention dispersed, she went through her phone, passing several songs.
Luke groaned as he heard the start of twelve songs in a row, the riffs starting to give him a headache on top of his unsettled stomach. He wasn't feeling so great, bloated and gassy, yes, but also... Clammy. A bad combo, the taste of salty seawater flooding his mouth.
"Hey," Bell's cupped his chin, "are you okay? You're looking a little like spoiled milk, Atwood."
"Yeah, uhm-" he dug a hand against his stomach, "oysters weren't a smart choice."
"You don't think its food poisoning, do you?" She sounded concerned and upset, "that place was so stupidly expensive, we should actually sue if they gave you food poi-"
"No," he shook his head, bringing up a thick, watery burp in his hand, "I don't think so, just indigestion. I just wanna get home."
"Okay," Bella nodded, then started fumbling with his belt again. He let her, then let out a big relieved sigh as his pants came undone.
"Ooh, that feels better."
"You bet," Bella tugged on the elastic band of his boxer briefs and let it slap against his skin, grinning when he yelped, "we're almost home, baby."
-------------------------------
Vince was tired, vision blurry, safety hazard tired. Cars and streetlights blurring together tired. He had been forced to pull over forty minutes away from the Atwood's house, to rub his eyes and dump some water on his face, because his sight had been so blurry.
Eventually he got to Welton, regretting his decision to drive back to back. It had been a bad call, but staying at his parents when they could tell he was not okay with just one glance was not an option. Telling them that him and Wen had broken up might actually kill him, so Vince had done his typical conflict avoidant bullshit and bailed.
Stupid, but hey, he was back and he hadn't hit the car and everything was fine. In Shakespeare words, all's well that ends well.
He parked wonkily in front of the house, noticing that Luke's car was also parked all wrong... Weird, but Vin was much too tired to pay attention to it.
He unlocked the front door and stepped inside.
Obviously the Atwoods were still up, judging by the living room lights being turned on, so Vince walked towards it, rubbing his eye and muffling a yawn, ready to say "guys, I'm beat-"
The words never made it past his lips.
Luke was sprawled on the couch, a bowl resting against his left side, his head thrown back, eyes closed and face pale. Bella had her legs draped over his lap and was digging into her own stomach and- She was wearing one of Luke's oversized shirts and socks, although Vin could see there were boxers under the shirt, peeking out just a bit.
"What the fuck-" he mumbled, cheeks turning red as he saw Bella stop touching her own belly and gingerly pressing around her husband's, nails tracing patterns on it.
Luke was shirtless and fuck, was he bloated, Vin's eyebrows climbed all the way to his hairline. His brain went silent, tiredness vanishing for a second, as Luke brought up a hand and muffled a gross belch in it.
"Oh hi," Bella smiled at him, "didn't think you'd be back tonight," she clearly didn't see anything wrong with the scene, "come sit with us. How was Doveport?"
"What- What happened with-" Vin mumbled, feeling like there were a thousand little ants walking on his skin. Bell's curls were pinned up by a claw clip, some of them falling around her face and fuck, he had always known she was pretty, but she was really fucking hot when cupping her belly with a grimace and leaning forward so much that her forehead touched Luke's stomach and she groaned, "you both?"
"We ate- too much," Luke had opened his eyes, green and hazy, little pained lines around them. He moved a hand to Bell's back, thumping on it softly, "gassy."
Jesus fucking Christ, what was wrong with these two??
Didn't they have a room where they could- Oh yeah, this was their house and he was the intruder- Vince walked straight into the armchair near the fireplace, almost falling and stumbling on the little table next to it, nearly sending one of the vintage lamps Bella loved so much to the ground. He dove to grab it, heart racing and looking around with a spooked expression on.
Luke snorted, "you okay there, buddy?"
"Yeah!" His voice was shrill. Vince grimaced, cleared his throat, "yeah, uh- What did-" don't ask, you fool, "what did you eat to mess up both of you...?"
Against his best instincts, he sat down on the armchair.
Bella let out a gross, frothy burp that had her paling and gulping down, letting out a whine. Luke's free hand jerked for the still empty, put aside bowl, "Bell? Bowl?"
"No," she straightened up, wiping at her face, "not that nauseous, just a little queasy. What about you?"
"Oh, I'm absolutely gonna hurl," Luke scoffed, as if that was all normal. Perfectly normal sentence to be said, "stupid oysters," he gagged at the mere mention of the word, burping over the bowl and putting it aside with a shudder, then raising his eyes to meet Vin's, "we were out celebrating our anniversary and we overdid it."
"I still think it's the restaurant's fault," Bella grumbled, moving on the couch so she could rest her head on Luke's lap and throw her legs over the opposite couch arm, "there's no way we both have indigestion..."
"I really don't think it's food poisoning, baby," Luke stroked her cheek, then thumped on his chest, trying to work up a burp. Vince's mind was racing and he knew he ought to say something.
Anything.
"I- uh- Do you guys-uhm, need anything...?" He asked, keeping his eyes pointedly up and in the big poster behind the couch, a big blurry photography of a guitarist leaning back and holding a guitar, stage lights exploding in gold behind him.
"Water?" Luke groaned, squirming and grabbing the bowl again, tilting his body slightly so Bella didn't have to remove her head from his lap.
She let out a sigh, "your belly is making all sorts of noises," Bella commented, causing Vin to blink at her, trying to understand how was that a thing to be said in the company of other people. He clutched his imaginary pearls.
"Shit, Bell-" Luke clumsily reached to pat her off his lap, back arching with an empty gag, "move, I'm gon'be sick-"
"No, you're not," Bella yawned, but moved her head and sat back up, planting a hand on his back as he gagged and thumping rhythmically, "it's gas, baby."
Vince was going to die. He looked around, then remembered Luke's request and jumped to his feet, "I'm gonna grab you some- Some water," he mumbled, then all but bolted from the room.
His heart was racing as he entered the kitchen. Vince turned on the tap, splashing some cold water on his face, feeling more awake now than he had been for the past five hours.
He needed to get the hell away from them.
True to his word, he returned with two water bottles, just in time to see Luke pitch forward and aim a disgusting belch in the bowl, Bella cooing over him and patting his belly in a weirdly approving way, "there you go. Feel better?"
"Fuck yeah," he wiped at his mouth, then lifted his head and saw Vin there, frozen, hand in the air clutching the water bottle, "oh, thanks- Dude, was the trip okay? You're looking-"
"Feverish," Bella completed, sounding concerned. Much to Vin's horror, she jumped to her feet and walked to him, hands coming to cup his cheeks, "you're really warm, are you sick? Again?!"
"No, uhm- Was just warm..." Vin pushed her hands away from his cheeks, forcing the second water bottle onto her and keeping his eyes on her forehead, not down, not even as she wrapped an arm around her stomach and walked back to the couch, collapsing on it with a groan.
"Crampy?" Luke asked her, gulping down the water with a satisfied sigh. Bella shook her head no.
"Gurgling," she made a face, shuddering, and grabbing his hand, planting on top of her domed tummy, "see? Gross."
"Okay, uh-" Vince was going to have a panic attack, "I'm uhm- I'm gonna go to bed, unless-"
"You sure?" Luke yawned, his hand moving lazily over his wife's stomach, rubbing in circles, "we're gonna be up for a bit more, gotta wait until the reflux dies down."
"It's not that late," Bella corroborated his point and Vince snapped out of his kink induced panic, because it absolutely was that late. He glared at the ginger.
"Girl, it's like eleven PM," Vince scoffed, "I'm going to sleep."
There, convincing enough. No one needed to know that for the first time in his whole life he was feeling horny over his best friends. That was not a thing.
"Oka-ay," Bella yawned, resting her cheek on Luke's shoulder and curling up around him, "g'night, Vin."
"Night..." he walked around the coffee table, ruffled Luke's hair as he passed him by and received a soft squeeze to his wrist as a goodnight farewell.
As Vince walked up the stairs he overheard them talking in a low voice.
"Really fucking weird, uh?"
"Leave him alone, the guy was so tired he was walking into walls," Luke defended him, then groaned, "god, my stomach is killing me."
"That is depressing," Leo said, voice dripping disdain, as soon as he walked inside of Max's apartment, carrying a six pack of beer cans and a brown grocery bag.
Max let out a huff, stepping aside from the door to let the other guy in and followed his gaze, "what is?" he asked, puzzled, once he saw nothing of note, "what are you looking at?"
"Nothing," Leo said, walking further in as if he owned the place and dumping his bags on the kitchen counter, opening Max's fridge to put in the beers.
"Uh?"
"Nothing," Leo repeated, "you've been in this apartment for at least a month now and you haven't put up a single decor item? Psychopath behavior."
"Ugh," Max rolled his eyes, "the place is perfectly functional, you're just a dick."
"It's not about being functional, it's about being pretty!" Leo whined, his voice coming distorted since he still had his head inside the refrigerator, painstakingly putting away can per can.
"My apartment is pretty," Max pouted, walking away and falling on the couch. He already regretted inviting Leo over. Granted, he hadn't really invited him over, as much as the other guy had texted him "what are you doing, can I come over" and Max had simply acquiesced.
"Structurally, sure," Leo continued, unbothered by the lack of incentive, walking back with two cans and handing Max one, falling on the couch with him, "but there's no charisma. You need a pet... And I don't know, some paintings. A wall that isn't eggshell white. That shit is depressive."
"Hmm," Max grumbled, sourly, opening the can and taking a big swing of it, "it's fi-"
"What is your favorite color?" Leo interrupted him, turning eagerly on the couch. Max glared at the other guy's sunny face, rolling his eyes.
"Leo, my place is fine-"
"No, it's not," Leo glared right back at him, "and you're always holed up here unless I invite you out, or Vince- But Vin is busy having the worst year anyone has ever had, so it is my duty to make sure you're not driving yourself insane, sitting in the dark staring at blank walls."
"I'm not your duty," Max groaned, cheeks burning at the implication he was someone's burden. What the fuck?
"Yes, you are?" Leo frowned, seeming puzzled, "aren't you my friend?"
"Uh- Yea-"
"So, my duty," he said, as if that was the only logical conclusion. Max scowled at his lap, taking another big swing of his beer.
"Hmm, whatever," he shrugged, forcing a nonchalance he didn't feel. This was all so new and weird. Even with Vince it had been just as weird, but at least then he had the butterflies that explained why he felt so odd about everything Vince did or said. Now he didn't have any of those, but he still felt... Odd. Like he was learning how to ride a bike, but blindfolded.
"You look like you like red," Leo decided, after a minute of uncomfortable silence. Or at least, uncomfortable to Max, because Leo seemed perfectly content.
He did like red, a whole lot, but Max only squinted at Leo in return, "why? What makes you think that?"
"How dare I perceive you," Leo snorted at his antics, jumping from the couch, so he could pace around the living room, "you dress like an emo teenager, it was either red, purple or black and black is not a color."
"Black is absolutely a color," Max couldn't help a small smile from tugging at his lips, masking it by taking another drink. His beer was now empty, so he busied himself by going to get another can. Was Leo hungry? Max was, so he opened his fridge, pointedly ignoring Leo rambling about leather couches or whatever.
His fridge was depressing, a thought that caused Max to frown. It was a fridge, how could it possibly represent anything? Damn Leo, getting in his head.
Inside of the appliance were the cans of beer, a singular package of sliced white bread, some ricotta, a gallon of milk that he should throw away because it was probably spoiled and two remaining croissants of the batch Vince had brought to the school under the guise of "I made too many, Luke's fridge can't fit anything else", which Max highly doubted was the truth, if solely for the fact he had seen Lucas' fridge before and that shit was the size of an wardrobe.
"Do you wanna order pizza?" Max asked, closing the fridge door with his hip and Leo, who was now by the little balcony area of his apartment and tsking under his breath, mumbling to himself, beamed at him.
"Oh hell yeah."
---------------
Pizza had been a mistake.
One that Max had been well aware off, from the second he picked up the first slice, covered in stretchy cheese and with pepperoni sliced on top. It was so greasy, so delicious, and he hadn't had pizza in forever, so he had done more than a singular slice and splurged with two and a half.
Mistake number two.
Not because he couldn't handle two slices, of course he could quantity wise, except that greasy food like that upset his little bitch of a stomach and he always tried to keep it to the bare minimum.
Now he was lying on the couch, with Leo sitting next to him, one hand holding a slice of pizza, while paint shopping for Max, because apparently he had decided that what his living room really needed was a colorful wall.
"And maybe some warm lamps too," Leo grumbled, cheeks puffed out like a squirrel, "these overhead white lights make it look like a hospital."
"You're such a jerk," Max scoffed, but his voice was clipped. He could feel there was a bubble of air sitting in his chest, waiting to come up, and he didn't want to burp in front of Leo.
"A jerk who's being oh so helpful," Leo snorted, ignoring his bitching, "look at this one," he turned his phone so Max could take a look at a swatch of paint that looked exactly the same as the last four he had been shown.
"It's red."
"Oh my god, it's not red," Leo groaned, turning his phone back immediately, "it'ss burgundy."
Max rolled his eyes at him, then tried not to wince as he could feel a gas cramp go through his gut. He had been wearing sweatpants already when Leo arrived, so it wasn't like he could open his jeans and he had bloated so much that even loosening the drawstrings hadn't done much. He hoped Leo wasn't paying enough attention to realize Max looked sort of pregnant.
"What about stripes!" Leo perked up, swiping to a picture of a wall with alternating stripes of a dark, toasty red and a shade of beige, "or like this-" he swiped to one where the stripes were deep red and rich brown, "that's cool right. Very manly."
Uh-huh.
Max snorted, "very-URerp-" a belch rushed up mid sentence and he clamped a hand over his mouth, but it was too late. Leo was staring at him, eyebrows up.
"Pfff," the other guy giggled, "what was that?"
"Very manly?" Max finished what he was going to say, cheeks burning. His stomach rolled, as if that singular burp had dislodged something, but not in a good way. In a lets start this party, sort of way.
"Yeah, very manly, hold on-" Leo thumped on his chest, trying to force up a burp and Max shook his head.
"What the hell are you doi-"
Pffft.
"Dude, did you just fart!?" Max cackled, bewildered, as Leo's cheeks turned crimson and he covered his face.
"Shut uuuup," he groaned, face hidden, "was trying to burp to make you less embarrassed!"
"Oh, you idiot," Max giggled, tension easing off his shoulders, bellyache momentarily forgotten over that one pathetic commiserating fart, "I'm fine."
Leo scoffed, cheeks still ablaze and turned back to the phone, now pouting out of sheer humiliation. Max bit down a smile.
"Don't pout."
"I'm not," Leo grumbled and Max would've kept teasing him, wasn't it for the fact his gut picked this moment to remind him that people with glass houses shouldn't throw stones, by whining loudly, gas battling it out, unsure of where to go.
Fuck.
If Leo heard, he chose not to say anything, glaring at his phone now. Max cleared his throat, "uhm- So you were showing me the manly stripes."
He felt stretched. Max squirmed on the couch, inconspicuously lowering the waistband of his sweats. It brought little to no relief. Leo had started talking back up, pointing at the striped walls in his phone and gesturing to the little area that marked Max's entry hall, but Max was barely listening.
His stomach flipped, not just gas now, but genuinely off. The greasy after taste of the pizza was doing him in and he gulped down, goosebumps covering his body.
"So?" Leo blinked expectantly at him, "which one do you like most?"
He didn't care. Max's face was pinched and he realized a second too late that he had snuck a hand under his shirt in order to cradle his stomach. He removed it, "the brown-" his voice was thick, deep, as a bubble of air pressed in his throat, "uurp- brown and beige one."
"Ooh okay," Leo perked up, criss crossing his legs on the couch, "I thought you'd pick the brown and wine one, that's interesting."
Was it? Max nodded, not really agreeing with anything, and pressed the back of his hand to his mouth, muffling a sickly burp. His mouth was feeling slimy, greasy meal sitting in his stomach like a brick.
"Okay, so I'm gonna save these-" Leo wasn't paying him any mind, fiddling around his phone and saving a couple different inspiration pictures that featured the brown and beige stripes, "and we can look at lamps."
Didn't Leo need to go home? What time was it anyway?
"Where- Where's Jon?" Max asked, fidgeting on the couch to try to find a more comfortable position. There wasn't one, he was feeling clammy and queasy, a gas ball sitting in the middle of his stomach.
"Working," Leo wrinkled his nose, didn't bother looking up from his phone, "overnight shift."
"Uhmmm," Max wiped his face, then jumped up, "uh- I'm gonna go smoke."
"I thought you were trying to quit," Leo's head snapped, eyes zeroing him in.
"I never said that," Max scoffed, rolling his eyes at the other guy. He searched his pockets for his crumpled cigarettes pack and didn't find it.
"Yes, you did, last time I came over," Leo pouted, "you said Vince hates it."
"He does- Uurerp," Max let out a burp as he stretched to grab his backup pack on top of the fridge. It was thick and wet, bringing a sliver of relief, but tasting so disgusting that his mouth flooded with nauseous saliva. He gulped down, "uhm- yeah, he does hate it."
"And then you said you'd quit," Leo pointed out, having moved to sit on the couch's arm, so he could watch Max stumble around. His gravity felt off center with that lump of congealed food in his belly.
"Nev'r saidthat..." Max mumbled, then stepped outside in the balcony and lit up his cigarette, making a show of sucking it and letting out the smoke in a cloud, if only because he knew Leo hated it and wouldn't step any closer.
His belly cramped, a gurgle running down, and he turned around, pressing the upset organ against the banister and staring at the 8 stories high fall. It was one of his favorite things about his apartment, how high it was, how quiet, windy... He really liked the place, maybe Leo was right and painting a wall wasn't such a bad idea...
Paint felt permanent, though. Felt like saying, yeah, I'm staying, I'm gonna extend my lease one more year, I'll stay in this town, I like it here- Which he did. When he thought of going back to Doveport, no matter how much simpler things were there, Max didn't feel any excitement. Instead, he shuddered at the thought. No, he didn't have any plans to leave Welton, it was permanent... He might as well start treating it like that.
The banister pressed against his stomach pushed up a deeply relieving burp and Max let out a groan, pushing himself further against the metal. It felt great, even if he was still queasy from the items alone. Pizza and beer, what had he been thinking?
"Dude?" Leo's voice was close, too close, and Max jerked, looking to the side. His friend was leaning against the balcony door, eyebrows furrowed, mouth downturned and clearly upset, "why are you nearly throwing yourself off the balcony?"
Max frowned right back, a nagging voice in the back of his head telling him this was important for some reason... Leo's honeymoon disaster, his brain supplied, and yeah, that, but something else also... Leo knowing how to handle an extremely drunk Vince with way too much ease, hinting at having experience...
"So?" Leo had pressed his lips into an annoyed line, "step away from the edge, Max."
"Chill out," Max groaned, "give me a minute, I'm just getting some fresh air."
"You can get fresh air without leaning so much you're nearly falling," the other guy's voice was clipped, the lightheartedness from before was gone.
"Ookay," Max stumbled back, bracing against the balcony's door and now he was close enough to Leo for the guy to be able to tell he was definitely not doing great, Max could tell because his eyes widened and then squinted, studying him.
"What's wrong?"
"Nothing," Max gulped down, fighting the urge to burp again, "I think you should go."
Leo rolled his eyes, "I will, as soon as you fess up. I'm not gonna leave you alone if I don't think I should-"
My god, this guy, Max thought with a groan.
"I'm not gonna jump off the building, I just have a stomach ache!" He cried out, frustrated, "one I'd like to nurse on my own, so if you could be so kind-"
"Ah," Leo's expression cleared up, then he giggled, "why didn't you just say you had a tummy ache? What's the big deal?"
"A tummy ache," Max groaned, wrapping an arm around his, very bloated, stomach, "I don't have tummy aches, I was cursed by a witch or something."
Leo cackled at that, shaking his head and stepping back into the living room, "okay, okay, a curse then," he shrugged, looking around in search of something, "uhm- Do you want some tea before I leave? Peppermint is really good for tumm- The Curse," he smirked, finally finding his sneakers ditched near the front door.
"No, I'm fine," Max muffled a gross belch in his hand, shuddering violently at the taste of the pizza and how frothy the beer had made it, "sorry, I ruined the night-"
"Nah," Leo rolled his eyes, "I should've left an hour ago, I knew I was pestering you... I just wanted to know how long until you bit my head off," he beamed, causing Max to scoff and glare at him. This little shit.
Vaguely, he thought it was weird that Leo was, he assumed, an only child, because he had all the energy of a younger sibling, "get out of here, Leo."
"Going, going," Leo grinned, moving around to grab his stuff and fixing his performative tote bag around his shoulder, "see you tomorrow?"
"Why tomorrow?" Max asked, confused, walking him to the door even if every step was hurting. His mouth was watering up, he was definitely gonna end up puking. Not now, in the close future.
"We're going paint shopping, remember?"
"Now, I know for a fact I didn't agree to this-"
"See you tomorrow," Leo winked at him, walking out of the door, "I'll bring you peppermint tea in a thermos!"
Lucian gets sick from exhaustion and heat. Adalyn tries to help. Emeto warning.
Adalyn was nervous.
When Lucian came up with the idea to paint, it sounded good enough. Grounding and a creative hobby he could pursue from home with the additional bonus of material for her to study.
Who knew what was hidden inside a demon kingâs subconscious?
He tried several different styles, from acrylic and watercolor to color by numbers and YouTube courses...but now he came up with urban sketching. Which meant he needed to go outside to do so.
They have been to the Danube River hundreds of times together before. Their apartment had a nice view of it and it was just 10 minutes away down the street.
In the first week, Lucian barely talked or reacted to things, his expression not changing. The process of getting used to physicality - assuming it was his first time and he wasn't some lost human spirit - was difficult.
Touch, sound, sight, taste. Seeing new things and colours. Adalyn held his hand through it, talked and talked like he was a frightened puppy, to guide him.
His idea that he would go alone, when she was working on a faculty presentation irritated her.
At the same time, she had no reasonable explanation to say no. He was supposed to be an independent human adult, if the pretense was to be successful.
Didn't stop her from doodling nervously over her notebook or agitated walks around their small two-room apartment.
Independence wasn't cheap.
If he was out for 30 minutes, it was boring; an hour if it was a success and he felt comfortable enough with the outside environment....
She should have put a GPS app into his phone. Or get him digital watch to do it.
What if fell into the river? What if he noticed spirits just when she wasn't looking? What if he remembered something he shouldn't?
The nightmares he was having were bad enough and at least they made no sense to him. Yet.
Not that she was doing anything illegal. By all rights, she should have vanquished Lucian before turning him into a human.
That was the initial plan. Hunt down the demon king and show his head to her family. Who is fragile and incompetent now, huh?
But she couldn't do it. He had...emotions. A sense of self. A personality and wishes and memories inside the whirlwind of demon darkness and magic. A demon of chaos driven to cause and spread it, sure, but he felt almost like a human soul.
If he had been allowed to interact with the physical world with human senses, what could he have become?
It was a waste to get rid of his existence.
She saved him. That's what she did, if someone asked. There was nothing to be ashamed of. He might even thank her for it one day.
His demon followers didn't quite agree with that. Nor the only hunter who knew what she had done.
After two hours she was restless. After 4, she was cursing her stupidity and considering looking for him.
When he finally stumbled home, the sun was setting, and she was a statue at the balcony, trying to sense him out with her spirit hunter senses.
Except the river was filled with humans that created emotion spirit clouds and full of nature, which meant plenty of element spirits. Dense and chaotic.
Maybe that's what he was naturally drawn to.
When the lock clicked, she turned to him, then stopped herself. Don't seem to eager. Don't seem worried. Keep your cool.
Lucian closed the door and then leaned against it, sketching block and a little bag with supplies in one hand, keys in the other.
"That must have been at least 15.000 steps."
Adalyn walked in from the balcony, looking him up and down for injuries.
Lucian has a pale complexion, now a bit angry red from the intense sun exposure. His brown hair has a washed out look, and his grey eyes and black circles gave him a constant exhausted look.
Since his "creation" his human body seemed...frail. Tired and sickly, washed out of all strong colours. He looked black and white, only his hair was a boring brown and even that wasn't luxurious or intense, but this unhealthy, faded out shade.
In a way, his unassuming looks were a great cover. Also a bit disappointing.
Adalyn tried to lead without criticism. "You walked so much?"
"Couldn't find the right spot. So many pretty ones. The way the light shines through the tiny leaves is wonderful..." He swayed, sliding down the door to the ground.
"Thirsty?" Without waiting for an answer, she strode to the kitchen to get him a glass of cold filtered water.
He took it and gulped it down, quicker with each sip. "Huh. I haven't realized what it was."
"What?"
"The sharp dry stinginess."
Maybe she should have started with basic human anatomy. Whole medical presentation of what to look out for...but there was no easy way to do it without questioning his humanity.
She also noted how his chalk white fingers splattered with paint trembled as he held the glass.
"When was the last time you ate?" she asked, opening the fridge. "We have the pasta from yesterday, protein yogurt, or I can make you a salad."
"It's fine. I'm not really hungry." He raised his knees up and hugged them to himself, face hidden between them as he breathed deeply. "I don't feel well."
"That could be because of the lack of food," she supplied.
"I don't feel hungry...more like...like there is something slimy climbing up my throat." He looked up at her, eyes going suddenly wide. "Is that normal?"
"So nauseous? Does your stomach feel off?" She crouched down next to him, observing him up close. His brown hair curled up from sweat, plastered to his face. Sharp cheekbones shone in the sunset shadows, highlighting how thin he looked.
Maybe she wasn't that good at taking care of him, and that's why he looked so sickly all the time.
Not that anyone had any tips on how to care of a demon.
Adalyn opened the fridge again, more for something to do than because she expected him to suddenly change his mind. "You need to eat something. You are probably having a sugar crash."
"Hm." That absent little sound irritated her more than if he argued. Like he was just observing himself from behind a glass, like it didn't involve him.
She took out the leftover pasta anyway, spooning it into a pan. Behind her, the apartment stayed quiet except for Lucian's slow breathing and the distant rush of evening traffic from the street below.
Then silence.
Too much silence.
Adalyn turned off the stove. "Lucian?"
He sat exactly where she left him, but now rigidly still, fingers digging into his sleeves. His eyes lifted to her slowly.
Something in her stomach tightened. "What is it?"
"I think..." He swallowed hard. "I think something is wrong." The words came out strained.
Adalyn crossed the kitchen in three quick steps, crouching in front of him again. Up close, his skin looked almost grey beneath the sunburn.
"What kind of wrong?"
"I don't know." His breathing became uneven. "My chest feels strange."
Panic flashed through her instantly despite herself. "Can you breathe?"
"Yes, butâ" His face twisted suddenly. Lucian pressed a hand against his mouth, eyes widening in alarm.
Adalyn barely had time to grab his shoulder before he lurched sideways toward the bathroom. For someone usually so neutral in expressions, he moved with startling desperation now, nearly stumbling over the edge of the carpet.
"Lucianâ"
He made a small distressed sound as she pushed the bathroom door open for him.
Then he dropped to his knees, heaving loudly over the toilet. A spurge of liquid hit liquid, the heave rocking his whole back in a wave.
Adalyn froze for half a second. Not because of disgust, just the pure shock of it.
Later she would analyse would it made her feel. In that instance, fear grabbed her chest in a vice grip as she hurried beside him, partly confused by the intensity of the fear as it blanked her usually resourceful mind.
Lucian gripped the toilet with white knuckles, breathing harshly as if the effort itself exhausted him. "Why is this happening?" he asked hoarsely.
Adalyn snapped out of it, crouching beside him in one smooth movement. Skirt of her dark blue dress whooshed behind her.
"Nothing serious. You're okay." She combed back his hair before she could think about it. Damp strands clung to her fingers. "You just overexerted yourself."
His eyes flicked toward her, unfocused and uneasy. "I thought it was healthy to spend time outside?"
Despite the situation, a disbelieving breath of laughter escaped her. "Not for five hours without food and water in direct sunlight."
"Am I... that weak?" he panted.
Something about his pathetic expression made her cold with guilt. Before she could say anything, another wave hit him.
Lucian bent forward with a choked breath, shoulders tensing violently. Much chunkier stream hit the toilet, the stench filling the small room.
Adaly automatically flushed it, hesistantly reaching for his trembling back.
He was burning up. The realization made her frown. How long had he been wandering around exhausted before coming home? Why hadn't he just picked a place in the shade to draw? It wasn't supposed to be this risky to let him out of her sight.
When he finally slumped back again, breathing shallowly, he looked genuinely frightened. Not embarrassed. His grey eyes were shiny with moisture and he pressed a panicked hand against his chest. "I don't like this," he whined.
Something in her chest pulled painfully tight.
Because he said it with the same lost confusion as someone trapped in unfamiliar clothes that suddenly pulled him to the bottom.
Adalyn grabbed a towel from the sink, wetting it with cold water before pressing it gently against the back of his neck.
Lucian flinched.
Then visibly melted toward the coolness.
"Better?"
"...Yes."
His voice sounded smaller than usual.
He leaned weakly against the wall next to the toilet, eyes half-lidded from exhaustion while she stayed crouched beside him. He eyed the toilet in disgust, burping softly under his nose.
The bathroom light painted harsh shadows across his face, emphasizing the sharpness of his cheekbones and the dark circles beneath his eyes.
Too thin.
The thought came suddenly and uncomfortably.
Too pale. Too tired. Too breakable.
She had been so focused on whether he could become human that she hadn't stopped to consider whether this body was surviving it properly.
Lucian opened his eyes again slowly, giving her a pleading look. "Am I very sick?"
She heard the helplessness in that question. Help me. Make it stop. Save me as you have been doing.
The responsibility crashed into her like a freight train.
"Shhh. It's going to be over soon. You'll be just fine."
A/N: I promised you I wasn't dead, and neither are Gabe or Adam. I'm almost embarrassed how long this took me, and it's not really edited or proof-read. But I need to get it posted so I can get back into a regular writing routine. Did I mention I really dislike May? My brain is on hiatus, it feel like. But I'm trying to kick it into gear again.
When we last left the chaos, Gabe and Avery were both puking blood (for different reasons) and Adam was trying (and kind of failing) to help them both.
âFuck. Fuck. Fuck. FUUUCK.âÂ
Adam was definitely thinking it in his head, but Avery was the one panting out the word in short, painful gasps. He was on the kitchen floor - half crouched, half curled up - ever since the pain had forced him out of the chair heâd been sitting in. Now he was bent in half in front of it - knees at his chest and arms wrapped around them like a vice. It didnât seem to make him feel any better but at least he was no longer in danger of falling off. Avery had been already hunched over, breathing through the spasms wrecking his stomach, when heâd cried out, retched, and then thrown up a mouthful of watery yogurt, all down his front. Then heâd half rolled, half climbed off the chair before Adam fully realized what was happening.
âHang in there,â he muttered in Morrisonâs direction, because god-fucking-dammit he couldnât even go over and help right now. Instead, he crouched down at the sofa, leaning over the equally curled up form of his brother, âwhat do you mean youâre puking blood?â he asked, trying and failing to keep the urgency out of his tone, âare . . . are you sure? The stuffed mushrooms had tomato sauce . . .âÂ
At the mention of the food heâd eaten, Gabeâs mouth twisted with disgust and he gagged, fingers scrabbling for the edge of the sofa cushion. Nothing came up, and Adam let out a relieved breath that yeah, it must have been the sauce. Except almost immediately Gabe retched again, so violently the rest of his body froze, and then he half-coughed, half-spit a spattering of red-tinged saliva onto the coffee table and floor. Red that didnât look at all like tomatoes. Gabe groaned, âdonâ feel great,â and then retched again.
Adam would have laughed at the understatement if it hadnât been so frightening. What kind of problem made you puke blood? He didnât realize heâd said that out loud until Avery made a pained sound that was almost a laugh, if laughter sounded like getting the wind knocked out with a wrecking ball, - âgetting shot, for one,â he croaked. Heâd dropped down to sit fully on the floor and now lay his head on the seat of the chair, resting on his arms. âThatâll do it every time.â
âNot helping, Morrison.â Adam knew it wasnât the guyâs fault, but he wasnât in the mood for jokes, even jokes with a hint of truth behind them. But it did mean that Adam could ignore him for the moment without feeling too guilty. Sure the guy was in agonizing pain and kept trying to throw up more of his scrambled eggs - but that was kind of . . . normal for him right now. He could deal on his own for a couple of minutes while Adam took care of Gabriel.
At least thatâs what Adam told himself because Gabe was an absolute mess. Pale as fuck and curled up in a tight ball on the sofa, arms locked around his knees. Adam planted a hand across his cheek, grimacing when he hit saliva and who knows what else. Clammy, not feverish, which struck him as good. He pushed sweaty hair off his brotherâs forehead and felt there too even though he wasnât sure what else he was checking for. âWhere does it hurt?âÂ
Gabe gazed at him through glazed eyes. âStomach,â he mumbled tiredly. There was a little bit of what, are you stupid? underneath it and Adam felt a small thrum of relief, that Gabe could snark. Except then his expression grew blank and his mouth contorted and he turned his head just in time to puke on Morrisonâs floor. Stuffed mushrooms and whiskey and . . . fuck.Â
Adam didnât move, even though it was disgusting. Gabe drooled and panted helplessly and Adam squeezed his shoulder and made comforting noises until he finally stopped gagging and slumped back into the cushion. âGuhhh . . . â he groaned weakly, making sounds that almost sounded like words,. âI . . . I . . .â - he sucked in something closer to a real breath and blew it out. And then again, eyes squeezed shut. Adam wasnât sure if the worst of it had passed or he was trying not to throw up again.Â
âUmmm,â he began, the odd sensation of being at a loss for words piling on top of the stress of trying to help the two sick men, âdâyou . . .?â he began, unsure what he was going to ask. Before he could come up with a reasonable question, Morrison made a sudden sound - half cough, half groan - from across the room. âIzze. . . okay?â Averyâs voice was wrecked too. He rocked back and forth, knuckles white where they grasped the edges of the kitchen chair.Â
âWhattayou fucking think?â Adam shot back, even though that was unfair, âare you?â He shook his head, half to himself, and tried to think. Problem solving was one of his talents, and damage control. Sure, usually the damage was one of his clients caught in a scandal that could hurt their political aspirations but the concept was the same: come up with a plan and a story that made sense and was not too complicated. Implement the plan. Donât show fear.
Okay, so maybe Adam was failing at that last one, but Avery and Gabe were too much in their own pain to notice. Gabe had opened his eyes again and was looking listlessly towards the kitchen. Adam followed his gaze. âDo you want Gatorade?âÂ
âHuh?â Gabe moved his head the slightest bit in Adamâs direction. âGatrrr . . . no,â - his head bobbed a little more, ânauseous.â He shifted restlessly on the sofa, palming his side with one hand. It was shaking, Adam could see. â Burns.â
 âBurns? Like, heartburn?â Adam blew out a breath, âI swear, Gabie, if you gave me a heart attack because you ate too much fucking sausage Iâm gonna . . .â his words died on his tongue when Gabeâs stomach spasmed again and he cried out, spitting up bile and saliva and yes, flecks of blood. Â
âUhhhh,â he breathed out, forehead scrunched in discomfort. âNotheartburn.âÂ
Adamâs phone was sitting on the coffee table. He could Google, find out what Gabeâs symptoms meant, make a plan. Fix this himself. Thatâs what he might have done a year ago, when Adamâs ego had been fully in control of his confidence. Both had been battered over the past months, though, and that made him pause.Â
There was another option - he could drag Gabe to the hospital right now. And maybe that was the responsible thing to do, except that would mean leaving Morrison here in his own misery. He probably didnât need the ER himself, but it felt like an asshole thing for Adam to do, even though he knew Morrison would understand.
There was a third option, one that had been swimming around in Adamâs brain since Gabe had first announced he was puking blood. He could call Drew, get the nurseâs advice. It was personally unappealing, which was one reason Adam had been trying to convince himself that Gabe wasnât that bad off. And he hated himself a little bit for that.
Gabe had gone quieter on the sofa, his body calming, and Adamâs nerves calmed too. For about half a second everything felt more okay. Avery shuffled in his spot on the floor and winced and Adam took a hesitant step towards him.
But before Adam could ask Morrison what he needed, Gabeâs eyes flew open, âFuck!â He lurched suddenly to his feet, so quickly he almost knocked Adam over. âBathroom,â he muttered, already stumbling towards Averyâs bedroom, moving faster than Adam would have thought possible, given the fact that he was hunched over like a question mark. Self-preservation giving him a weird burst of strength, apparently. âDonât . . . donât follow,â he ground out, before the door slammed behind him. Â
Shit
Adam and Avery stared at each other, even while Adam was grabbing up his phone. The text to Drew was short and to the point, and he stared at it for a few long seconds, willing an immediate answer. One didnât come, and when he looked up again, Avery was trying to get to his feet. Doing a bad job of it too, swaying and shaking and almost falling over the back of the chair. Adam swore.
âFuck, hold on,â he muttered, practically jumping over the coffee table to get to Avery before he gave himself a concussion, - âdonât . . . I canât . . . just hold on -â - he reached the guy in time to grab him by the shoulders and wrench him down into the chair. It wasnât that gentle and Avery hissed with pain.
âOw . . . fuck,â he groaned, folding in half over his lap like a puppet with its strings cut. Adam kept his hands on his shoulders to make sure he didnât tumble out of the seat again. Avery breathed slowly, in and out, chest rising and falling under Adamâs fingers. His breath was still coming unevenly when he twisted his head to look up, âhelp me . . . tâthe . . . sofa,â he panted, the words punctuated by a soft burp at the end, âcareful.âÂ
He was trying to sound tough, Adam could tell, and failing miserably at it. He rolled his eyes. âIâm always careful, Morrison.â Instead of hauling the guy up by his armpits, which would have been the easy solution, Adam held out his arm, right in Averyâs line of sight, âcâmon, donât make me do all the work.âÂ
âAsshole; Iâm injured,â Avery snarked back, but Adam didnât miss the almost grateful look that flashed across his face when he grabbed onto Adamâs arm and pulled himself to his feet. âFuck, fuck, fuck.â He wasnât exactly standing totally upright, but supporting his own weight, which Adam knew heâd count as a win. âBe useful, Calder; isnât that what you came over for? Or was it just to watch my big TV?âÂ
âIt was to make sure you donât fall on your ass.â Adam tried to make it seem like he was letting Avery walk by himself; neither of them were really fooled, though. After only two steps Avery blew out a breath and leaned against Adamâs side and Adam tried not to enjoy the feeling of the agentâs body pressed solidly against his side. He forced a tease into his tone, âbesides, my televisionâs bigger and you know it.â They shuffled across the floor and Avery huffed out a laugh.
âThatâs the only thing thatâs bigger and donât you forget itâ he retorted easily, squeezing Adamâs arm to keep his balance, âhere, help me get down.âÂ
âIs that an offer?â Adam matched Averyâs tone; flirting with him was just too easy. But he couldnât really get into it, not with Gabe there and so sick, but it distracted him from the panic. For a second, at least. He glanced down the hall to the still-closed bedroom door. âShould I go check him?âÂ
Avery had curled himself up at the other end of the sofa from where Gabe had been. âI dunno,â he muttered, whatever energy heâd had for teasing Adam sliding away into a wall of fresh pain. He gagged emptily and winced before blowing out a queasy breath, âYeah.âÂ
Adam wasnât sure which question he was agreeing to but it didnât really matter because at that second his phone buzzed. It was a FaceTime request from Drew and Adam had barely connected the call before the nurse was demanding to be marched down the hall to, as he said, âput a visual on Gabe.âÂ
âUhh, I think heâs in the bathroom and heâs uhh . . .â Adam made a lame gesture with his hand that he hoped Drew would interpret without Adam having to say the words, losing half his insides out through his ass. But even the thought of what he might find in the bathroom didnât stop him from following Drewâs orders. He could admit it was a relief to let someone else be in charge right now. He squinted at Drewâs image on the screen. Scrubs, stethoscope around his neck, eyes sharp. The guy looked calm and competent - exactly the opposite of what Adam was feeling at the moment. âShould I open the door?â There werenât any sounds coming from inside and he didnât know whether to be relieved or worried.
âMaybe you should knock first,â Drew said wryly. He didnât add the idiot, but Adam heard it loud and clear. He rapped his knuckles against the bathroom door.
âYou alive in there?â Adam tried to sound unconcerned, âIâve uhh, got Drew on FaceTime.â He held up the phone in the direction of the door as if Gabe had somehow developed x-ray vision and could see him.Â
âWatch it, Calder; I canât help your brother if Iâm motion sick. Hold the damn phone still.âÂ
Only then did Adam realize his hand was shaking. He stilled it and then knocked again, and steeled himself to burst in and see - whatever he was going to see. There was a soft groan from inside. âYeah . . . câmin,â Gabe answered, just barely loud enough for Adam to hear. He held the phone up near his head so Drew would see whatever he did, and pushed open the door.
Thank fucking god it wasnât as horrible inside as Adam had been imagining. Gabe was slumped over on the floor next to the - thankfully flushed - toilet and his jeans were mostly pulled up, although unbuttoned and unzipped. His skin was sweaty and gray and there was a pool of cloudy liquid on the floor under his mouth that Adam didnât look too closely at. âHey,â he muttered, twisting his head to squint up at his brother, âwhereâs Drew?âÂ
âRight here, sweetheart; best telehealth in Boston,â Drew sang out, sounding almost like he was standing right there in the bathroom too, ââwanna tell me whatâs going on? What did your brother do to you?â
âI didnât do . . .â Adam began weakly, and then snapped his mouth shut when Drew shushed him.
âPut the phone down by his head,â he instructed briskly, âI need to see him.â Adam obediently propped the phone against the bottom of the toilet, level with Gabeâs face. He was going to have to sanitize it later but this wasnât the time to be prissy about germs.Â
Drew began questioning Gabe and Adam knew he should probably pay attention but his mind kept drifting to the other room, and whether Morrison needed help too. Just because it was kind of normal for him to be puking blood, that didnât mean he was okay. And Gabe had someone looking out for him now, kind of. He cleared his throat.
â. . . .minutes. My shiftâs about done anyway.âÂ
That snapped Adam back to the present. He snatched up the phone. âWhatâs going on?âÂ
Drew stared at him a moment too long. âWerenât you listening? Iâm coming over. Gabe may need the hospital and I canât tell over FaceTime.â His tone was faintly disappointed, as if he expected that Adam would have figured that out already and brought him in.Â
Morrisonâs here too, he wanted to say, and heâs also sick and I couldnât just leave him. But that sounded whiny and too close to the truth, that it was really too much for Adam, trying to manage Gabe and Avery by himself. âThanks,â he muttered instead. He actually meant it, but he wasnât sure Drew believed him. The fact that all of this was taking place in Morrisonâs apartment would obviously not be lost on the nurse, whoâd probably have plenty to say about it later.Â
â. . . Gatorade; only a few sips, if he can keep it down.â Drew was still talking and Adam didnât want to admit he hadnât been listening again. Â
âYeah,â he muttered into the air, eyes landing on his brother. Maybe heâd be able to tell him what Drew had said but he wasnât too hopeful. Gabeâs eyes were glassy and unfocused and kept fluttering shut. He was shivering, so Adam grabbed a towel off the hook on the wall and laid it over his shoulders. Gabe shifted and looked up at him.Â
âThanks,â he mumbled through cracked lips. âIâll get up inna secon.âÂ
A snort came out of the phone, still propped against the toilet. âDonât you dare move, Calder, not until I get there. Thereâs no way your brother can lift your ass by himself.â
âHey,â Adam protested, although Drew probably wasnât wrong. Gabe looked like dead weight, lying there on the bathroom floor. He could drag him, maybe, but that was about it. He picked up the phone.
âText me when you get here,â he said, âIâll buzz you in.â Â
Even through the phone, Adam could see how Drewâs lips tightened. âMorrison canât do that?â he asked, and again Adam felt like heâd done something wrong.
âHe tried to eat,â he explained, feeling awkward but unsure why, âit uhh, didnât go too well.â
âWhat did he have, if you know?â Drew was in his car now, only half his face visible on the screen. Adam tried to remember how far Mass General was from Morrisonâs apartment. Â
âScrambled eggs,â he answered promptly. At least that was something he knew, âand I brought him yogurt; he had some of that.â
Drew made an impatient sound. âDairyâs still tricky; he should have known that.â
âSorry,â Adam said, feeling guilty since heâd been the one to bring the apparently tricky yogurt. Not that heâd forced Morrison to eat it or anything.
âNot your fault,â Drew said, and strangely, Adam thought he actually meant it. âIâll be there in ten and weâll get both of them sorted out. Donât worry.âÂ
Adam latched on to the we. Gabe seemed to have fallen asleep, curled up on the floor and there were no terrible sounds coming from the living room. Adam felt a little bit of his panic ease. âThanks,â he said, hoping Drew could hear the sincerity in his voice.
A/N: I promised you I wasn't dead, and neither are Gabe or Adam. I'm almost embarrassed how long this took me, and it's not really edited or proof-read. But I need to get it posted so I can get back into a regular writing routine. Did I mention I really dislike May? My brain is on hiatus, it feel like. But I'm trying to kick it into gear again.
When we last left the chaos, Gabe and Avery were both puking blood (for different reasons) and Adam was trying (and kind of failing) to help them both.
âFuck. Fuck. Fuck. FUUUCK.âÂ
Adam was definitely thinking it in his head, but Avery was the one panting out the word in short, painful gasps. He was on the kitchen floor - half crouched, half curled up - ever since the pain had forced him out of the chair heâd been sitting in. Now he was bent in half in front of it - knees at his chest and arms wrapped around them like a vice. It didnât seem to make him feel any better but at least he was no longer in danger of falling off. Avery had been already hunched over, breathing through the spasms wrecking his stomach, when heâd cried out, retched, and then thrown up a mouthful of watery yogurt, all down his front. Then heâd half rolled, half climbed off the chair before Adam fully realized what was happening.
âHang in there,â he muttered in Morrisonâs direction, because god-fucking-dammit he couldnât even go over and help right now. Instead, he crouched down at the sofa, leaning over the equally curled up form of his brother, âwhat do you mean youâre puking blood?â he asked, trying and failing to keep the urgency out of his tone, âare . . . are you sure? The stuffed mushrooms had tomato sauce . . .âÂ
At the mention of the food heâd eaten, Gabeâs mouth twisted with disgust and he gagged, fingers scrabbling for the edge of the sofa cushion. Nothing came up, and Adam let out a relieved breath that yeah, it must have been the sauce. Except almost immediately Gabe retched again, so violently the rest of his body froze, and then he half-coughed, half-spit a spattering of red-tinged saliva onto the coffee table and floor. Red that didnât look at all like tomatoes. Gabe groaned, âdonâ feel great,â and then retched again.
Adam would have laughed at the understatement if it hadnât been so frightening. What kind of problem made you puke blood? He didnât realize heâd said that out loud until Avery made a pained sound that was almost a laugh, if laughter sounded like getting the wind knocked out with a wrecking ball, - âgetting shot, for one,â he croaked. Heâd dropped down to sit fully on the floor and now lay his head on the seat of the chair, resting on his arms. âThatâll do it every time.â
âNot helping, Morrison.â Adam knew it wasnât the guyâs fault, but he wasnât in the mood for jokes, even jokes with a hint of truth behind them. But it did mean that Adam could ignore him for the moment without feeling too guilty. Sure the guy was in agonizing pain and kept trying to throw up more of his scrambled eggs - but that was kind of . . . normal for him right now. He could deal on his own for a couple of minutes while Adam took care of Gabriel.
At least thatâs what Adam told himself because Gabe was an absolute mess. Pale as fuck and curled up in a tight ball on the sofa, arms locked around his knees. Adam planted a hand across his cheek, grimacing when he hit saliva and who knows what else. Clammy, not feverish, which struck him as good. He pushed sweaty hair off his brotherâs forehead and felt there too even though he wasnât sure what else he was checking for. âWhere does it hurt?âÂ
Gabe gazed at him through glazed eyes. âStomach,â he mumbled tiredly. There was a little bit of what, are you stupid? underneath it and Adam felt a small thrum of relief, that Gabe could snark. Except then his expression grew blank and his mouth contorted and he turned his head just in time to puke on Morrisonâs floor. Stuffed mushrooms and whiskey and . . . fuck.Â
Adam didnât move, even though it was disgusting. Gabe drooled and panted helplessly and Adam squeezed his shoulder and made comforting noises until he finally stopped gagging and slumped back into the cushion. âGuhhh . . . â he groaned weakly, making sounds that almost sounded like words,. âI . . . I . . .â - he sucked in something closer to a real breath and blew it out. And then again, eyes squeezed shut. Adam wasnât sure if the worst of it had passed or he was trying not to throw up again.Â
âUmmm,â he began, the odd sensation of being at a loss for words piling on top of the stress of trying to help the two sick men, âdâyou . . .?â he began, unsure what he was going to ask. Before he could come up with a reasonable question, Morrison made a sudden sound - half cough, half groan - from across the room. âIzze. . . okay?â Averyâs voice was wrecked too. He rocked back and forth, knuckles white where they grasped the edges of the kitchen chair.Â
âWhattayou fucking think?â Adam shot back, even though that was unfair, âare you?â He shook his head, half to himself, and tried to think. Problem solving was one of his talents, and damage control. Sure, usually the damage was one of his clients caught in a scandal that could hurt their political aspirations but the concept was the same: come up with a plan and a story that made sense and was not too complicated. Implement the plan. Donât show fear.
Okay, so maybe Adam was failing at that last one, but Avery and Gabe were too much in their own pain to notice. Gabe had opened his eyes again and was looking listlessly towards the kitchen. Adam followed his gaze. âDo you want Gatorade?âÂ
âHuh?â Gabe moved his head the slightest bit in Adamâs direction. âGatrrr . . . no,â - his head bobbed a little more, ânauseous.â He shifted restlessly on the sofa, palming his side with one hand. It was shaking, Adam could see. â Burns.â
 âBurns? Like, heartburn?â Adam blew out a breath, âI swear, Gabie, if you gave me a heart attack because you ate too much fucking sausage Iâm gonna . . .â his words died on his tongue when Gabeâs stomach spasmed again and he cried out, spitting up bile and saliva and yes, flecks of blood. Â
âUhhhh,â he breathed out, forehead scrunched in discomfort. âNotheartburn.âÂ
Adamâs phone was sitting on the coffee table. He could Google, find out what Gabeâs symptoms meant, make a plan. Fix this himself. Thatâs what he might have done a year ago, when Adamâs ego had been fully in control of his confidence. Both had been battered over the past months, though, and that made him pause.Â
There was another option - he could drag Gabe to the hospital right now. And maybe that was the responsible thing to do, except that would mean leaving Morrison here in his own misery. He probably didnât need the ER himself, but it felt like an asshole thing for Adam to do, even though he knew Morrison would understand.
There was a third option, one that had been swimming around in Adamâs brain since Gabe had first announced he was puking blood. He could call Drew, get the nurseâs advice. It was personally unappealing, which was one reason Adam had been trying to convince himself that Gabe wasnât that bad off. And he hated himself a little bit for that.
Gabe had gone quieter on the sofa, his body calming, and Adamâs nerves calmed too. For about half a second everything felt more okay. Avery shuffled in his spot on the floor and winced and Adam took a hesitant step towards him.
But before Adam could ask Morrison what he needed, Gabeâs eyes flew open, âFuck!â He lurched suddenly to his feet, so quickly he almost knocked Adam over. âBathroom,â he muttered, already stumbling towards Averyâs bedroom, moving faster than Adam would have thought possible, given the fact that he was hunched over like a question mark. Self-preservation giving him a weird burst of strength, apparently. âDonât . . . donât follow,â he ground out, before the door slammed behind him. Â
Shit
Adam and Avery stared at each other, even while Adam was grabbing up his phone. The text to Drew was short and to the point, and he stared at it for a few long seconds, willing an immediate answer. One didnât come, and when he looked up again, Avery was trying to get to his feet. Doing a bad job of it too, swaying and shaking and almost falling over the back of the chair. Adam swore.
âFuck, hold on,â he muttered, practically jumping over the coffee table to get to Avery before he gave himself a concussion, - âdonât . . . I canât . . . just hold on -â - he reached the guy in time to grab him by the shoulders and wrench him down into the chair. It wasnât that gentle and Avery hissed with pain.
âOw . . . fuck,â he groaned, folding in half over his lap like a puppet with its strings cut. Adam kept his hands on his shoulders to make sure he didnât tumble out of the seat again. Avery breathed slowly, in and out, chest rising and falling under Adamâs fingers. His breath was still coming unevenly when he twisted his head to look up, âhelp me . . . tâthe . . . sofa,â he panted, the words punctuated by a soft burp at the end, âcareful.âÂ
He was trying to sound tough, Adam could tell, and failing miserably at it. He rolled his eyes. âIâm always careful, Morrison.â Instead of hauling the guy up by his armpits, which would have been the easy solution, Adam held out his arm, right in Averyâs line of sight, âcâmon, donât make me do all the work.âÂ
âAsshole; Iâm injured,â Avery snarked back, but Adam didnât miss the almost grateful look that flashed across his face when he grabbed onto Adamâs arm and pulled himself to his feet. âFuck, fuck, fuck.â He wasnât exactly standing totally upright, but supporting his own weight, which Adam knew heâd count as a win. âBe useful, Calder; isnât that what you came over for? Or was it just to watch my big TV?âÂ
âIt was to make sure you donât fall on your ass.â Adam tried to make it seem like he was letting Avery walk by himself; neither of them were really fooled, though. After only two steps Avery blew out a breath and leaned against Adamâs side and Adam tried not to enjoy the feeling of the agentâs body pressed solidly against his side. He forced a tease into his tone, âbesides, my televisionâs bigger and you know it.â They shuffled across the floor and Avery huffed out a laugh.
âThatâs the only thing thatâs bigger and donât you forget itâ he retorted easily, squeezing Adamâs arm to keep his balance, âhere, help me get down.âÂ
âIs that an offer?â Adam matched Averyâs tone; flirting with him was just too easy. But he couldnât really get into it, not with Gabe there and so sick, but it distracted him from the panic. For a second, at least. He glanced down the hall to the still-closed bedroom door. âShould I go check him?âÂ
Avery had curled himself up at the other end of the sofa from where Gabe had been. âI dunno,â he muttered, whatever energy heâd had for teasing Adam sliding away into a wall of fresh pain. He gagged emptily and winced before blowing out a queasy breath, âYeah.âÂ
Adam wasnât sure which question he was agreeing to but it didnât really matter because at that second his phone buzzed. It was a FaceTime request from Drew and Adam had barely connected the call before the nurse was demanding to be marched down the hall to, as he said, âput a visual on Gabe.âÂ
âUhh, I think heâs in the bathroom and heâs uhh . . .â Adam made a lame gesture with his hand that he hoped Drew would interpret without Adam having to say the words, losing half his insides out through his ass. But even the thought of what he might find in the bathroom didnât stop him from following Drewâs orders. He could admit it was a relief to let someone else be in charge right now. He squinted at Drewâs image on the screen. Scrubs, stethoscope around his neck, eyes sharp. The guy looked calm and competent - exactly the opposite of what Adam was feeling at the moment. âShould I open the door?â There werenât any sounds coming from inside and he didnât know whether to be relieved or worried.
âMaybe you should knock first,â Drew said wryly. He didnât add the idiot, but Adam heard it loud and clear. He rapped his knuckles against the bathroom door.
âYou alive in there?â Adam tried to sound unconcerned, âIâve uhh, got Drew on FaceTime.â He held up the phone in the direction of the door as if Gabe had somehow developed x-ray vision and could see him.Â
âWatch it, Calder; I canât help your brother if Iâm motion sick. Hold the damn phone still.âÂ
Only then did Adam realize his hand was shaking. He stilled it and then knocked again, and steeled himself to burst in and see - whatever he was going to see. There was a soft groan from inside. âYeah . . . câmin,â Gabe answered, just barely loud enough for Adam to hear. He held the phone up near his head so Drew would see whatever he did, and pushed open the door.
Thank fucking god it wasnât as horrible inside as Adam had been imagining. Gabe was slumped over on the floor next to the - thankfully flushed - toilet and his jeans were mostly pulled up, although unbuttoned and unzipped. His skin was sweaty and gray and there was a pool of cloudy liquid on the floor under his mouth that Adam didnât look too closely at. âHey,â he muttered, twisting his head to squint up at his brother, âwhereâs Drew?âÂ
âRight here, sweetheart; best telehealth in Boston,â Drew sang out, sounding almost like he was standing right there in the bathroom too, ââwanna tell me whatâs going on? What did your brother do to you?â
âI didnât do . . .â Adam began weakly, and then snapped his mouth shut when Drew shushed him.
âPut the phone down by his head,â he instructed briskly, âI need to see him.â Adam obediently propped the phone against the bottom of the toilet, level with Gabeâs face. He was going to have to sanitize it later but this wasnât the time to be prissy about germs.Â
Drew began questioning Gabe and Adam knew he should probably pay attention but his mind kept drifting to the other room, and whether Morrison needed help too. Just because it was kind of normal for him to be puking blood, that didnât mean he was okay. And Gabe had someone looking out for him now, kind of. He cleared his throat.
â. . . .minutes. My shiftâs about done anyway.âÂ
That snapped Adam back to the present. He snatched up the phone. âWhatâs going on?âÂ
Drew stared at him a moment too long. âWerenât you listening? Iâm coming over. Gabe may need the hospital and I canât tell over FaceTime.â His tone was faintly disappointed, as if he expected that Adam would have figured that out already and brought him in.Â
Morrisonâs here too, he wanted to say, and heâs also sick and I couldnât just leave him. But that sounded whiny and too close to the truth, that it was really too much for Adam, trying to manage Gabe and Avery by himself. âThanks,â he muttered instead. He actually meant it, but he wasnât sure Drew believed him. The fact that all of this was taking place in Morrisonâs apartment would obviously not be lost on the nurse, whoâd probably have plenty to say about it later.Â
â. . . Gatorade; only a few sips, if he can keep it down.â Drew was still talking and Adam didnât want to admit he hadnât been listening again. Â
âYeah,â he muttered into the air, eyes landing on his brother. Maybe heâd be able to tell him what Drew had said but he wasnât too hopeful. Gabeâs eyes were glassy and unfocused and kept fluttering shut. He was shivering, so Adam grabbed a towel off the hook on the wall and laid it over his shoulders. Gabe shifted and looked up at him.Â
âThanks,â he mumbled through cracked lips. âIâll get up inna secon.âÂ
A snort came out of the phone, still propped against the toilet. âDonât you dare move, Calder, not until I get there. Thereâs no way your brother can lift your ass by himself.â
âHey,â Adam protested, although Drew probably wasnât wrong. Gabe looked like dead weight, lying there on the bathroom floor. He could drag him, maybe, but that was about it. He picked up the phone.
âText me when you get here,â he said, âIâll buzz you in.â Â
Even through the phone, Adam could see how Drewâs lips tightened. âMorrison canât do that?â he asked, and again Adam felt like heâd done something wrong.
âHe tried to eat,â he explained, feeling awkward but unsure why, âit uhh, didnât go too well.â
âWhat did he have, if you know?â Drew was in his car now, only half his face visible on the screen. Adam tried to remember how far Mass General was from Morrisonâs apartment. Â
âScrambled eggs,â he answered promptly. At least that was something he knew, âand I brought him yogurt; he had some of that.â
Drew made an impatient sound. âDairyâs still tricky; he should have known that.â
âSorry,â Adam said, feeling guilty since heâd been the one to bring the apparently tricky yogurt. Not that heâd forced Morrison to eat it or anything.
âNot your fault,â Drew said, and strangely, Adam thought he actually meant it. âIâll be there in ten and weâll get both of them sorted out. Donât worry.âÂ
Adam latched on to the we. Gabe seemed to have fallen asleep, curled up on the floor and there were no terrible sounds coming from the living room. Adam felt a little bit of his panic ease. âThanks,â he said, hoping Drew could hear the sincerity in his voice.
I'm not dead
May is just a really crazy time for me both personally and professionally
I've had to lock in on things not related to writing
I'm still doing it, just very slowly
But I'll be back
Im terrible and horrible at this consistency thing, as far as posting and storyline. Just for clarity purposes, Drew had the baby in December and this fic is taking place in the present.
Anyway enjoy my unapologetic bullshit.
~~
Finn sat up and kneaded his palm into his stomach, his stomach hurt before he went to bed but now he was just plain nauseous. He had attempted to sleep through it but had given up. He got out of bed without waking Drew and went downstairs.
He slipped into the half bath and braced himself on the vanity, spitting into the sink before looking at his reflection in the mirror. He looked like shit. His cheeks flushed and his hair was sticking up in all directions. He closed his eyes and took a breath, trying to gauge if his stomach was just unsettled or if he was about to puke.
His mouth flooded with saliva and he spit into the sink again, opening the tap to wash it down. He turned off the water and prodded at his stomach, working up a small burp that triggered a gag but nothing came up.
Finn sighed and rubbed his face, nothing was going to happen yet. He left the bathroom and got as comfortable as he could on the couch, turning the TV on even though he could barely hear it. He didnât want the noise to disturb Drew or Maesie, especially Maesie. The baby had only recently started sleeping through the night and he didnât want to mess that up.
It was around 4:30 when Drew padded down the stairs, carrying the baby monitor in one hand as she rubbed her eyes with the other. Finn was still awake, sprawled across the couch, his hand under his shirt cradling his stomach.
âWhat are you doing down here?â Drew asked, the end of the sentence swallowed by a yawn.
âTrying not to wake you up.â His voice came out weaker and more raspy than he had expected. âApparently I failed.â
Drew shook her head and perched on the arm of the couch near Finnâs feet, âIâm still in sync with Maeâs old schedule, she sleep trained me apparently.â She poked his foot, âHow about you, whatâre you doing up?â
âMy stomach hurts.â Finn grumbled, rolling onto his side. âI couldnât sleep.â
Drew frowned âAchey or nauseous?â
âNauseous,â He said, sitting up. âI thought I was going to throw up, but I didnât. Just feeling gross.â
âEw.â She said, scrunching her nose. âYou think you can come up to bed?â
Finn nodded, turning off the TV and rubbing a hand across his stomach, âIâm so bloated.â
âIâm sorry, baby.â Drew cooed, carding her fingers through his hair. âLetâs go lay down.â
~~
âYou okay?â Drew asked when Finn sat up and swung his legs over the side of the bed. She was sitting up against the headboard, feeding the baby that was cradled against her chest. Finn had woken up when Drew slid out from under him to grab Maesie and hadn't quite gotten back to sleep before his stomach demanded his attention.
Finn muffled a burp into his fist and then cleared his throat, âI donât know.â He got up and walked into the ensuite, closing the door behind him. His stomach flipped and he lowered himself in front of the toilet, lifting up the lid to spit into the water. He stared into the water, waiting before he retched dryly. Nothing but drool falling into the toilet.
âHey,â Finn jumped, too preoccupied with the storm swirling in his stomach to notice that Drew had come in. âWhy donât you drink some water.â
She stood behind him, a hand rubbing his back as she held a bottle of water over his shoulder.
âI'm so nauseous, but nothing comes up.â He wrapped his arm around his stomach and propped his head over the toilet with the other arm. âI just gag and dry heaveâŠIt hurts.â He whined.
âI know, baby.â Drew cooed, gently squeezing the back of his neck âIt might help if you drink some water.â
âDid Maesie go back down?â He asked, weakly taking the water from her, the lid was already cracked.
âShe went right back to sleep after eating.â Drew lowered herself to the floor, sitting against the wall behind Finn. Still rubbing circles into his back.
âYouâre a really good mom.â Finn said quietly, taking a sip of the water and grimacing as it landed heavily in his stomach. âI might be a little biased, but I think youâre a natural.â
Drew scoffed, âIâm trying my best, but youâre not doing too bad either.â
Finn took a longer sip of water that resulted in a gag when he tried to swallow.
Drew gently directed him to lean back over the bowl. âRelax, Baby. Just breathe, itâll happen if it needs to toâ
He shifted to stare into the toilet more comfortably, he was growing impatient and he felt so sick. He gagged again, wetly this time a small amount of water coming back up.
Finn was frustrated, feeling the nausea swell and another dry heave leaving his body spitting into the cloudy water. He shifted again, propping himself up on one arm before bringing the other to his mouth. Taking a breath before shoving his fingers down his throat, gagging harshly around them before pressing on the back of his tongue again, this time yanking them out of his mouth as a torrent of vomit came up and splattered into the toilet.
He heard Drew exclaim behind him, but couldnât put together the words as he coughed and spluttered around another wave. He had a second to breathe, tears running down his face from exertion, his nose burned and his throat was raw but his stomach squeezed again. A smaller mouthful of sick coming up.
âWhy did you do that, you fucking psycho.â Drew asked as soon as it seemed that Finn was done, she was shuffling around the ensuite, handing him tissues and a washcloth.
Finn didnât answer, cleaning off his hand and blowing his nose.
âDo you at least feel better?â Drew huffed, her arms crossed over her chest as she leaned against the sink.
He did feel better, his stomach still felt uneasy and he was wrung out and tired, but he felt less bloated and nauseous.
âYeah.â He breathed, flushing the toilet and pushing himself up on wobbly legs. âMuch better.
She sighed and moved out of the way for Finn to rinse his mouth in the sink, and properly wash his hands âPlease donât do that again, you could hurt yourself.â
âIâm sorry. I just felt so sick and nothing was happening.â
âI know, but there are better ways to make yourself puke, okay? Weâre not teaching our daughter to stick her fingers down her throat.â She looked at Finn once he straightened and her face softened. He was still pale with a fever flush across his cheeks, dark circles under his eyes.
âLetâs lay back down, you look like death walking.â
They laid back in bed and Finn tucked himself against Drew, his head resting between her thigh and stomach as she sat on her phone, absentmindedly running her fingers through his hair. They only got to sit like this for a couple minutes before Maesie started babbling over the baby monitor.
Drew sighed and sat her phone down, âDuty calls.â she said, gently nudging Finn off her lap.
âI can get her.â He said, weakly.
âUh, no you canât. You have the plague.â
Finn didnât even have a chance to argue before Drew disappeared down the hall and Finn let his eyes drift close, listening to Drew coo at their daughter through the baby monitor.
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 Ryosukeâs 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.Â
And, and, andâŠ
The work never seemed to stop. He was home so late most nights, that if it hadnât 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 werenât so wary of upsetting Mei after the fiasco that had been the last few weeks, he might also have said something about how theyâd 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 wasnât able to be home for meals, heâd been eating like shit too. Sasha packed him leftovers to go every morning for his lunch, but by dinner he inevitably ended up at McDonaldâs 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 couldnât 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 âhuh?â.
His ghastly visage lingered in Sashaâs 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 Kuroâs 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 cousinsâ 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 Sashaâs cooking that kept him around - the sex was just a bonus - and normally, he would have run to the kitchen, examining the eveningâs fare with wide-eyed excitement. Instead, he crumpled onto the couch with a weary groan.
âRest a while,â Sasha urged him, draping a throw blanket over his partner's limp body. âI can leave the stove on low, we can eat later.â
âNot really hungry,â Ryosuke mumbled, curling into the cushions. â...sorry.â
Sashaâs 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. âOh, um, I'll⊠put the food away,â 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?
âThânks,â 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.
âHey. How are you feeling?â
Ryosuke groaned loudly, letting his head loll against Sashaâs hand.
âYou don't look good,â Sasha said, pushing Ryosuke's hair back with forced calm. âWhat can I get you?â
ââsâ a minute,â Ryosuke slurred, cracking a weary half smile. âGod, my headâŠâ
Sasha kept his face stoically smooth, but worry clenched in his chest. âI'm going to make tea,â he murmured. âIt'll only take a minute, the kettle's already on.âÂ
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.
âMaybe some water,â Ryosuke mumbled, fingers tangling into the hem of Sasha's t-shirt as he stood up. âAnd Tylenol if you've got it.â
Sasha clasped his hand over Ryosuke's, renewedly loath to step away. âI've got it. Can I get you anything else? More blankets, pillows, cold compress? Thereâs the nice one upstairs, the one Vody sent.â
âNuhhhh, sâokay,â Ryosuke mumbled. He struggled upwards, propping his shoulders against the arm of the couch and blinking slowly. âSorry âbout dinner, I know you worked hard on it.â
âDon't worry about it,â 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.
âYou look exhausted,â Sasha grumbled. âTell that bitch you don't need this many fucking jobs next year.â
âThey will not be in charge next year,â Ryosuke grumbled. âI feel like I've been hit by a bus. And I need to ice my wrist.â
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.
âThanks,â Ryosuke sighed. He wrapped it gingerly around his wrist, the little line down his forehead softening as the throbbing heat retreated. âSorry I'm not up for much tonight - but we have the whole of Boxing Day to ourselves, I made sure.â
âGood,â Sasha huffed, feeling rather possessive now that he finally had his boyfriend back. âTake your medicine and get comfy,â he ordered, picking their current book up off the coffee table. âI want to read. We've been stuck on this chapter for a month.â
âSorry,â Ryosuke repeated, snuggling into Sasha's chest. âIt's just beenâŠa time. Don't be mad if I doze off.â
âWhatever you need,â Sasha shrugged, looping an arm around him and flicking through to find their page. âThat's okay.â
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.
âTime for bed,â Sasha said matter-of-factly, making effortless work of the stairs despite the borderline dead weight of Ryosuke in his arms.
ââmkay,â Ryosuke nodded, head lolling against Sasha's shoulder as sleep dragged him under once more.
He seemed so exhausted that Sasha was loathe 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 Ryosukeâs 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.
âHey,â he murmured, stroking his fingers through the sweaty strands. âWhat's -â
âSâsha,â Ryosuke groaned, shuddering as cold lanced down his spine. âI don't feel so goodâŠâ
âI can get water. Or make tea. Just give me a-â
âDon't,â Ryosuke mumbled, cutting him off and burying his face in Sasha's thigh. âFeel sick.â
âOhâŠâ
Sasha frowned, cupping the back of Ryosukeâs 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.
âSasha,â Ryosuke groaned again, just as lethargic yet twice as urgent. â...think âm gonnaâŠâ
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. âJust a second,â he begged, âI'll get the bin.â
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.
âJesus,â Sasha muttered, wrinkling his nose as sour vomit splattered the bin. âGo on, then, get it up.â
Ryosuke groaned, swiping a clumsy hand across his mouth and rolling heavily back onto the mattress.
âGod, my head,â he whined, squeezing his temples with long, trembling fingers. âOh, I feel like death.â
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. âAnything I can do?â
âCan you take that away?â
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.
âI'll get you some tea while I'm downstairs,â he said eventually, stroking Ryosukeâs hair back in what he hoped was a reassuring way. âTo help settle your stomach.â
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.
âHe's sick,â he said shortly, when Ollie answered with a yawn. âI'm keeping him here. You'll make his apologies to the family?â
After a moment of groggy groaning, Oliver finally seemed to register. âOh. Uh, yeah. Of course. If people ask where he is, he'sâŠ?â
âAt home. Sick. Not taking visitors.â
âMom will want him to come be miserable with us instead,â Oliver warned him. âWe're serious about Christmas in this family. And sheâs been a little nuts since Daichiâs accident. He came home yesterday, she wants everything perfect.â
âWell he can't,â Sasha snapped. âHis fever's through the roof. He needs to be on bed rest, not making small talk with all your million other cousins.â
âSure,â Oliver agreed amenably. âSo 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.â
âWhatever you need to do,â Sasha replied. âJust keep my name out of it.â
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.
âStay here,â Sasha said, voice low. âDon't make a sound.â
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.
âIt's your fucking cousins,â 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. âNot. Taking. Visitors.â
âHe'll see us,â Oliver shrugged, pushing carelessly past Sasha into the penthouse apartment. âGood 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 likeâŠpalatial?â
âPrivacy. Where did you even get my address?â Sasha demanded, crossing his arms.
âRyo sent it a while back,â Shiro answered, following his brother inside, âwhen he sent a selfie from your sexy balcony and we asked where he was. I believe he called it âflexing on us hatersâ.â
âSpeaking of haters,â Oliver continued, âwho left a stocking stabbed into your door with a knife?â
âLeft a -?â
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 Irinaâs 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 Sashaâs 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.
âYou guys really didn't have to come over here. I'm probably contagious,â he said ruefully.
Oliver shrugged. âI'm off till the spring semester starts.â
âBesides, we couldn't let you spend Christmas alone with Mister Grinch,â 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,
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.Â
Have a smoke, have a drink, get the stick out of your ass.
Cheers,
Irina
âI am not the Grinch,â Sasha grumbled, stuffing the stocking under the seat. âI am just Russian.â
âOh, boo,â Shiro scoffed. âValentina has been talking about her Christmas plans since Thanksgiving. It's the most I've ever seen her smile.â
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.
âDo you want a drink?â He asked, sounding impressively inhospitable despite his words.
âYou should take a nap, love,â Ryosuke said gently. âI know you won't have slept, and the boys can get me things if I need them.â
âYou think I can sleep when there's people in my house?â Sasha asked, his gaze locked on the dog laying peacefully at Shiro's feet.
âThen just go stare at the ceiling if you want. You're clearly exhausted and in a mood about it.â
âI'm in a mood because I have uninvited guests,â Sasha grumbled, taking the bottle Irina had given him and stalking up the stairs.
âDon't drink the whole thing,â Ryosuke called weakly. âItâll ruin your sleep tonight. Honestly,â he turned to his cousins and rolled his eyes so hard his head hurt, âit's like living with a toddler sometimes.â
âI'll live with a toddler if the toddler's in a penthouse.â Oliver laughed. âCome on, sit down. You look ready to keel over.â
âHave you eaten yet today?â Shiro asked, Momo mirroring his movement as he cocked his head to peer worriedly at his cousin.
âI'm not hungry,â Ryosuke shrugged, folding himself down onto the sofa. âYou know what they say, feed a cold and starve a fever.â
âCan I at least make you some tea?â Shiro asked. When Ryosuke nodded, he hopped up right away. âMomo, keep an eye on Ryo,â 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.
âIf you look in the freezer,â he called, âthere should be an ice pack. For my wrist.â
âIs it bad again?â Ollie frowned, pausing from taking wrapped presents out of his backpack. âHave you been to a doctor?â
âThey'll just say to rest it,â Ryosuke murmured wearily. âWhat's the point?â
âThey might give you drugs,â Shiro chirped. âMaybe even the good drugs.â 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. âGod, everything here is so nice. I knew Valentinaâs dad was loaded, but I didn't know he was loaded loaded.â
âHave you seen how Valentina dresses?â Oliver scoffed. âThat ice rink is like fashion week, every week.â
âYeah, but she's the favorite.â Shiro shrugged, grabbing the ice pack from the freezer. âI figured she was the one daddy spent all his money on.â
âSasha does have a salary,â Ryosuke interjected. âHis dad gave him some fancy title in their US operations. But yeah, their dad is likeâŠoligarch rich.â
âAnd you never host us for D&D?â Oliver cried, looking indignantly up towards the loft.
âI bring dinner. Accept it or fuck off.â Sasha called back.
Panic flashed in Oliver's eyes as he remembered the cheap pizzas the party had shared before Sasha joined the group. âNo, no, it's fine, you're fine, please don't stop bringing dinner.â
âHe likes cooking,â Ryosuke reassured him, blinking up with heavily lidded eyes. âHe's emotionally stunted, but it's how he shows love.â
âDid you send me up here just so you could gossip about me?â
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, âValentina makes the exact same face.â
A pillow whizzed down from the mezzanine and thunked Shiro in the back of the head.
âNot his head,â Ryosuke groaned, waving his middle finger vaguely in Sasha's direction. âOr I'll send the dog up to snuggle you.â
âDon't you dare,â Sasha growled, though the threat was lost when his voice cracked at the end.
âI'm fine, Ryo,â Shiro assured him. âIt's a pillow, not a brick.â
âHe knows better,â Ryosuke sniffed. âSasha, 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.â
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.
âSasha,â his voice was gentler this time. âGo lie down.â
âYeah,â 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.
âYou guys are so nice,â Ryosuke sighed, âI feel like a dick. I've been so busy, I don't have anything for you.â
âYou never do,â Shiro shrugged. âBut you always do birthdays and they're harder to remember.â
Ryosuke smiled weakly. âItâs 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.â
âNaw, you know Mom cooks a feast,â Shiro grinned. âI ate so much at lunchâŠI probably could just live off that for a week. Like a snake.â
âI could eatâŠ,â 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. âIs that a whole roast duck?â
âUhâŠâ Ryosuke racked his brain, a sudden weight sinking in his chest. âYeah, he cooked for me yesterday but I was already feeling kind of shittyâŠâ
âI'm sure he understands,â Shiro said hastily, clocking the mood shift that Oliver had inadvertently brought about.
âYeah,â Ryosuke sighed. âBut it's a shame isn't it. He probably made plum sauce and everything.â
âIs that what this is?â Oliver mused, picking up a Tupperware of suspicious goo next to the meticulously saran-wrapped duck. âI've never had plum sauce before.â
âPlum is in sweet and sour sauce. You just didn't know you'd had it.â Shiro said.
Realization dawned on Oliver's face. âOh. That sounds really good.â
âEat whatever you want,â Sasha called, his voice rumbling down from the mezzanine to make Oliver jump. âCan't promise it will reheat well.â
Frowning across at Ryosuke, Oliver mouthed, âHe's like a bat!â
Ryosuke snickered. âJust grab whatever you want, it'd be nice for someone to enjoy all that hard work.â
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. âYou just have to look around. Honestly, how are you the one with a PhD?â
âBecause philosophy isn't a real subject,â Ryosuke called from the living room, cackling at Oliver's indignant pout.
âJust because you don't understand it doesn't mean it's not real,â he complained. âI'm just book smart, not street smart.â
âI wouldn't say navigating a kitchen is street smarts,â Shiro countered, âmore basic adult functionality.â Having found where Sasha kept the forks, knives, and plates, he set out everything Oliver would need. âHere, cut what you want and then⊠I guess microwave it?â
âAir fryer,â came Sasha's raspy voice from up the stairs. âTwo hundred Celsius. Check after five minutes. Give five more if middle is cold.â
âThank you!â Shiro called.
âBat,â Oliver mouthed, gesturing dramatically while Ryosuke rolled his eyes.
âHe's particular about his food,â Ryosuke told him. âIt would be a shame if you wrecked it.â
âThat's totally fair,â Shiro said, âhe clearly worked hard on it.â
âYâknow what's not fair?â Oliver sulked, still staring at his cousin. âHow'd you find somebody who's rich and cooks?â
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.
If you feel like writing any mini/fluff fics Iâd love to see Vince with a lactose induced belly ache
on it boss.
TW: some toilet issues, nothing graphic but its definitely there. ÂŻ\_(ă)_/ÂŻ
-------------
"So here are your options," Bella was saying, arms thrown around Luke's neck from behind, and essentially choking him, since even on her tiptoes there was still a height difference. He had a hand around her wrist to keep from suffocating completely and they were waddling to the back yard as she spoke, "we build a pool."
"We live in Maine, babe," Luke chuckled, bringing up her forearm by the wrist and kissing the inside of it, "our summer is not long enough to enjoy it."
"Okay," Bell sounded like she expected this reply. Vince tuned them out, stopped following the couple further inside the house and fell down on the couch with a groan.
His whole body was aching, after another night spent in the hospital. Sophia was due to come home tomorrow and he was planning to drive her all the way to Doveport, so she could heal for a week before returning to college, and fuck he was not looking forward to that.
Luke and Bella's voice vanished as they walked out to the back of the house and Vince leaned his head back, pressing his eyes shut. A bunch of colorful dots exploded behind his lids, a nagging headache.
He felt like crap, not just emotionally, but physically too. With his luck lately, Vince was half convinced he had picked up a bug in the hospital or food poisoning from their cafeteria food, because on top of the headache and overall muscle soreness, stiff neck from sleeping all wrong by Soph's bedside two nights in a row, his stomach was also churning and bubbling.
Vince opened his eyes, glaring at his belly. Usually, it wasn't flat, by any means, always rounded and pudgy, a good layer of fat covering up the muscles he knew were under, but today it was really bloated. Like, bloated enough his jeans were digging into it to the point of leaving a pink mark, and that his t-shirt was stamping his navel.
"Fuckin' hell," Vince whispered, tugging on the jeans, but refusing to undo the buttons, not when Bella was just a door away. It was stupid of him, he knew it. Bell had no pudor whatsoever on walking with no bra under her shirt, undoing her pants when they dug on her, straight up removing her shirt as she stripped when walking to the bedroom... But A. that was Bella, the most shameless person he knew, and B. this was her house. He was a guest, a damn right burden, and he had to have some sort of decorum, no matter that his friends-and-hosts did not have it in the least.
Vince had half a mind to get up from the couch and go to the guest room, where he could strip from the uncomfortable clothing and nurse his stomachache, hopefully get a nap... But he was too sluggish to do so. Everything hurt, he was cranky and annoyed... And he missed Wendy.
Shit. Don't go there, Vin thought sourly, mind flashing to yesterday's morning and the argument in Sophia's hospital room. How horrible the whole ordeal had been... And he still missed her so much, it felt like an open wound. Papercut between his fingers, stinging when he least expected it to.
"-Like a greenhouse?"
"Yeah, with a bunch of poisonous plants-"
"Absolutely not, Bella."
"Awww c'mooon!"
Vince huffed out a laugh as he overheard his friends banter, only for it to get cut off by a thick, gross burp rushing up and past his lips. His cheeks burned, hand rushing to cup his mouth as if to muffle a noise, but far too late to do so. He glanced around, but Luke and Bell hadn't heard or hadn't cared, he could faintly still hear them bickering outside.
His belly was bubbling. Vince moved on the couch, so he could sit facing forward and stared at the rug, considering his bellyache. He felt clammy and the aftertaste of lunch â some thick cafeteria sludge and a bunch of rice, a steak and some broccoli â was causing him to shudder. Most importantly, his belly was feeling heavy and sloshy, as if he had chugged liquid, little cramps erupting right under his navel.
Vince pressed his fist to his mouth, muffling a bunch of little, airy burps that brought him no relief, safe from causing him to nearly gag from the smell of his lunch. Disgusting.
His intestines weren't happy either and the jeans, that already weren't comfortable, were starting to straight up cut into him. He should get the fuck up, go use the bathroom. Yep-
"Yo," Luke's voice startled the living shit out of him, hand ruffling Vince's curls, casual and completely oblivious to his plight, "what are you doing?"
Vince's head snapped, a confused frown forming, meeting Luke's own identical puzzled expression, "uh?"
"You're staring at the rug... Are you alright?"
Both Bell and Luke had been tiptoeing around him since yesterday, because even if Vin had left with Max, he had returned to the Atwood's by nightfall and told them what had gone down during morning. Vince abhorred this. He hated feeling like they were using kid gloves with him.
"I'm fine," he clenched his jaw, gulped down as another gurgle ran through his belly, rushing up but fizzling out in the back of his throat, only making his voice deeper.
Bella had circled the couch and sat down criss-crossed next to their turntable, which he knew she had restored all on her own and was very smug about, and started to comb through her record collection that was on display near the fireplace, along with Luke's books.
"I feel like it's a Radiohead evening," she voiced, to no one in particular. Vince bit down a whine as his intestines cramped, hard. He rushed up, the ginger turned her head to look at him, "don't start, they're not that bad," she said, misreading his reaction.
"Yes, they are," Vince groaned, fighting the urge to grab his stomach or fold in the middle. He wanted Wendy, fuck he wanted her so bad, he was nearly overlooking everything and calling her. Nope, bad, bad choices, bad thought trail, bad, "depressed people music."
"I'm not depressed," Bell scoffed, showing him her tongue, like a child, then returning to the task at hand, "it's Radiohead or The Smiths, pick your poison."
"And you say you're not depressed?" Vince planted a hand on the back of the couch, partially to support his weight, trying to gather up courage to climb the set of stairs, so he could go to the guest' suite.
"Damn, Vin," Luke was watching him like a hawk, "you don't look so hot."
"Bad food," Vince shrugged, hoping it was enough of a explanation. As if he didn't know damn well by now that only one thing caused him to feel this urgent sense that he needed a bathroom soon, as well as giving him the low-level nausea, pressing in his throat, "or stress, who knows."
Luke didn't so much as smile at his lighthearted tone, frowning and seeming all concerned. Vince let out a heavy sigh, "I'm fi- Oh, Bella, c'mon!" He interrupted himself as the turntable started blasting a Smith's song, Morrissey dramatically singing: Last night I dreamt somebody loved me-
Bella looked very smug with herself, having jumped up, arms spread out as she loudly proclaimed the words. He bit down a smile, gross feeling partially forgotten-
A cramp caused Vince to hiss, urgency growing, "ah, fuck-"
"Vin?" Bell stopped mid singing, eyebrows jumping up, "you went super pale, what-"
"Scuseme-" he mumbled, hurriedly rushing out of the room, cheeks burning with humiliation.
Vince stumbled inside the guest room suite, nearly tripping over his own feet in his haste to for the toilet. He didn't even bother undoing his jeans, shoving the whole thing down with all his force and causing the fabric to scratch and burn his skin.
The runs hurt. Vince whimpered, rocking on the seat and tugging off his shirt, using it to wipe at his face, since he was getting covered with cold sweat.
He muffled a nauseated burp against the fabric, knowing for a fact now that the sludge in the cafeteria had had some sort of milk in it, despite not looking like it had. Fucking gross. His mouth was all watery, but he couldn't really turn around to puke, so Vin fished out the trashcan and planted it on his lap, crossing his arms over it and resting his forehead on his forearm as he waited.
He wasn't queasy enough to puke, but he couldn't stop spitting up and burping, tethering on the verge of it. His belly squeezed, harshly, and Vince whimpered, eyes filling up with tears that had nothing to do with actual pain or sadness, just overwhelmed by all the sensations. Cramps always did him in.
"Fuckfuckfuckfuck-" he chanted, rocking a leg manically as the pain continued to squeeze him by the middle. He spat in the trashcan again, feeling a little woozy, lower back aching from sitting hunched like that, all body tense.
Vince's stomach let out a loud, gross whine and he gagged over the trashcan, as his intestines vacated once again. His head spun and for a second he really thought he was gonna puke, but just a bit of colored orange saliva fell in the can and his body stopped trying to kill him, apparently wrung dry.
His hands were shaking so badly, he nearly dropped the trashcan as he planted it down. Vince wiped at his forehead and over his lip, panting as if he had run a marathon. He didn't even bother trying to clean up, just stepped straight into the shower.
The warm water felt heavenly, but it also made him even more dizzy and Vince ended up plating his forehead to the tiled wall, taking deep breaths as it ran down his shoulders. He belched once more, turning to face the drain in case something came up. There was a disgusting pressure in the base of his throat, his mouth wouldn't stop watering, even though he didn't think he was going to vomit.
After what felt like forever, he had enough energy to step out of the shower and wrap a towel around his hip, unlocking the bathroom door and stumbling back into the bedroom.
The bed covers had been turned over and there was a steaming mug on his bedside table. Bella's heating pad sitting on top of his pillow. Vince's eyes prickled with tears and he scoffed at himself, sick of crying all the time.
"Get it together, dude," Vin whispered, turning to the dresser and fishing for his most stretchy sweatpants.
There was a soft knock on the bedroom door, "Vin?" Luke's voice travelled through.
"Come in," Vince said, once he put the pants on and dropped the towel, eying it with exasperation at the thought of leaning down to grab it.
Luke pushed the door opened, a sympathetic smile on, "lactose or food poisoning?"
"Lactose," Vince groaned, picking up the damn towel and moving at a snail pace to go hang it back up in the bathroom. He glared at his reflection, pale, eyes sunken in, "feel like crap."
"I brought you pepto," Luke planted the little pink bottle on his bedside table, next to the steaming mug, "that's peppermint tea."
"You're a saint," Vince breathed out, collapsing on the bed, with no energy to pick up the mug or drink the medicine. Luke chuckled, crouching before him.
"What can I do to help?"
He looked sorta like a puppy, Vince thought with an amused huff, crouching in front of him and blinking those round, green eyes at him, all earnest to help.
"Nothing, dude, I just gotta ride it out," he grimaced as his stomach rolled, "I feel like I'm gonna be sick."
"Have you?" Luke asked, frowning, "or just diarrhea?"
Vince knew why Lucas was so fine talking about gross things â taking care of someone on a terminal stage really put things in perspective â but goddammit, it didn't make Vin any less embarrassed. His face burned.
"Just the runs," his cheeks puffed with a burp, mouth all sticky, "I don't think I'll hurl, but- Feel like it."
Luke grimaced, "I'm gonna get you a bowl, just in case," he eyed the bed, "are you gonna crash?"
"I'm not sleepy," Vince mumbled, "but I do feel like curling up with the heat pad is the best it's gonna get."
"Wanna curl up downstairs with us?" Lucas perked up and Vince bit down a smile. A normal person would be eager to get rid of him, but this was Luke, "Bell promised she's not gonna play Smiths or Radiohead, she said you can even play Michael Bolton and she won't complain."
"She's sweet, but she's lying," Vince did grin now, heart squeezing nearly as much as his stomach was, "I think I'll stay in bed, Luke. Need some privacy."
"That's fine," Luke straightened up, "gonna grab you a bowl, okay?" Then, without any other warning, he ran his fingers through Vin's wet curls, affectionate and gentle, "life really gotta give you a break, man."
"Tell me about it," Vince said, leaning forward so much, that his forehead met Luke's rib. His best friend didn't pull back, despite the fact he had just said he was leaving, only kept petting his hair. His hand drifted down, squeezed Vin's shoulder, thumb rolling soothingly on his nape.
Vince let out a deep, whole body sigh, and didn't pull back either.
A/N: This is unedited and probably has a million continuity and other errors because I've been writing it for like two months. But it needs to be posted so I can get this train back on the tracks.
âWhatever you want, itâs on me as a thanks for helping Logan last weekend.â Gabe waved expansively at the steakhouse menu, âdrinks too; Iâm getting the bourbon flight.â He was feeling generous, not that even a super fancy lunch with his brother was going to hurt his wallet much. His last deal had been brutal, but his bonus was well into six figures, so Gabe wasnât going to complain. He was still feeling guilty that Adam had been the one to rescue Logan when sheâd gotten sick, even though theyâd both assured him it hadnât been a big deal. Whoâd ever heard of Japanese sweet potatoes anyway? And added to hummus? Last heâd heard, Noaâd gotten their entire meal reimbursed, and a promise from the restaurantâs manager to give the staff better training on hidden allergens. His sister was a force of nature, and when used for good, it was convenient. But he did not envy Rory having to deal with her and two mothers while they planned their wedding.Â
âThatâs some serious day drinking.â Adam raised his eyebrows at the row of bourbon glasses and made a show of checking his watch, âyou sure you can handle it? Weâve got a lot of basketball to watch.â He took a careful sip of his espresso martini.Â
âThatâs what March Madness is for,â protested Gabe, âgood brackets and bad decisions. Besides,â - he picked up one of his stuffed mushrooms - Loganâs on some yoga retreat for the weekend, so what else do I have to do?â He stuffed the entire mushroom in his mouth and chewed shamelessly. Grease from the sausage dripped down his chin and Adam sighed and shoved a napkin at him.
âI thought your girlfriend was supposed to improve your manners,â he complained, but Gabe could tell he really didnât mean it. It had been a long time since the two of them had been able to hang out together and the overwhelming feeling was one of relief that they could, and somewhere else than in a hospital room. Now he opened his mouth wide to show Adam his chewed up sausage and mushroom.
âWanâsome seefood?â He shook his head back and forth and sprayed gooey crumbs on the table.
âYouâre a menace.â Adam flipped Gabe off and then flicked a chunk of sausage back at him. âSeriously, youâre almost as bad as Morrison. Man practically needs a bib when he eats spaghetti.âÂ
Gabe swallowed the next mouthful a little too quickly, wincing at the slimy feeling of the unchewed lump of mushroom falling into his stomach. It wasnât exactly a secret that Adam and Avery had been hooking up, but heâd never heard Adam talk so openly about one of his partners before - and he didnât normally have meals with the guys he slept with. And yet here he was, casually sharing that he and Morrison had spent enough time together to eat spaghetti as if it was no big deal. Gabe forced a cough, trying to clear his throat of the feeling that something was stuck in his esophagus. He took a bigger-than-normal gulp of one of the bourbons. âSo youâve. . . ahem . . . seen him since heâs been home from the hospital?â The bourbon went down, fortunately taking the rest of the sausage and mushroom with it and landing heavily in his stomach. Gabe blew out an uneasy breath, not sure if he felt better or not.Â
Adam didnât notice. Heâd frozen at Gabeâs question, and Gabe got the impression he hadnât quite realized what heâd said, or maybe how revealing it sounded. He recovered quickly though, snorting before taking a bite of his quesadilla and purposely chewing with his mouth shut and swallowing before he answered, âI had to pick his ass up from the hospital, didnât you hear? Rory had a conflict, Noa was sick, I was free.â He shrugged and took a sip of his drink, âand I was coming down with the fucking stomach flu so Rory owes me, big time. And then I ended up giving it to Morrison, so Rory probably owes him too.âÂ
âOr maybe you owe him, since youâre the one who got him sick.â Gabe hadnât heard any of this; heâd had the bug himself and even before heâd fully recovered heâd gone back to work, where the deal heâd been working on had consumed all his time for the past week. Usually Logan caught him up on the news he missed but then she got sick herself and Gabe had spent what little free time he had making sure she was really okay from her allergic reaction.Â
âFuck yeah, it totally sucked. He was a mess - puked on me.â Adam grimaced, but Gabe thought he sounded more sympathetic than disgusted. âActually I need to stop by and pick up my clothes; do you mind?âÂ
âWhen did he puke on your . . .?â Something occurred to Gabe, something he wouldnât have considered before dating Logan - but Adam must have been talking to Avery regularly, to know heâd caught Adamâs stomach flu, â - you went back later, didnât you?â If he thought he was being observant, figuring that out, he was disappointed when his brother rolled his eyes.
âOf course I went back,â Adam scoffed. âMorrisonâs also recovering from being shot, remember? Iâm not such an asshole that I was going to leave him to deal with that plus a stomach bug all by himself.â He shook his head at Gabe as if heâd been stupid to even suggest anything else. âHe was in a ton of pain.â Adam signaled at their server for the check, âhopefully heâs feeling better now.â
Gabe was startled. âWeâre leaving? I thought we were watching basketball.â He frowned at his empty plate - he didnât even remember finishing his stuffed mushrooms - and most of his bourbon was gone too. He wasnât exactly hungry anymore but heâd been eyeing the menu anyway - maybe something sweet to clear the taste of greasy sausage from his mouth. Adam shrugged.Â
âMorrison has a big TV.â That was all he said, so when the server came over, Gabe just handed over his credit card. Apparently they were going to watch the NCAA basketball tournament at Averyâs apartment. Or maybe Gabe was going to watch the tournament and Adam was going to watch Morrison? Gabe had questions about what exactly was going on here, but he wasnât Noa; he didnât need to know any more than what he could see and hear himself. And anyway, the thought of sitting on a comfortable sofa instead of a hard wooden chair didnât sound exactly bad right now. He could probably even unbutton his pants. They were digging into his stomach more than made sense, for the amount heâd eaten; maybe theyâd shrunk or something?Â
âWe have to stop and pick up Gatorade; thereâs a Key Foods two blocks from Morrisonâs apartment.â Adam had been texting while Gabe was paying and now he looked up. âAll heâs got left is the blue shit Thorton brought him; I told him weâd get the orange. And some more melba toast; he likes that more than saltines.âÂ
Again, Gabe kept his mouth shut about how much his brother seemed to know about Averyâs habits. âI thought you said he was over the flu?â Standing up eased some of the pressure of his pants around his middle but the uncomfortable heaviness in his stomach remained. He forced up a burp and followed Adam out of the restaurant, wondering if he should pick up some Pepto at the market.Â
âHe got shot in the gut, bro.â Gabe couldnât see Adamâs face but he was sure he was rolling his eyes. âEatingâs been a fucking chore.â He waved down the Uber and climbed in after Gabe, âmaybe I should pick up some yogurt too - that should be gentle on his stomach, donât you think? Or pudding - the kind with protein should be good.âÂ
âI didnât know you had a dieticianâs degree,â Gabe teased. He didnât mention that neither sounded that appetizing to him at the moment. He kept his mouth shut at the grocery store too, even while Adam debated whether to get plain yogurt or fruit flavored, and vanilla or chocolate pudding. There was a heavy dull pressure in his middle, not quite a cramp, but with the suggestion it could go that way. When Adamâs back was turned to the yogurt, Gabe dug his hand into his side, trying to ease some of the discomfort. A bubble of air worked free and traveled up his throat, but before Gabe could properly burp it dropped back down. Now he felt even more bloated. He rubbed uneasily at his chest. Fucking indigestion.
âEh, Iâll get both.â Adam dumped the containers into the basket heâd given Gabe to hold. It was weighing down his arm now, filled with not only the food but a half dozen bottles of Gatorade and a couple of boxes of Pedialyte popsicles. Oh yeah, and the melba toast.Â
âWhat the hell is melba toast?â he asked, squinting at the picture on the front of the package. âLooks like cardboard.â The basket was pressing against his stomach and he tried not to wince.
âTastes like cardboard,â Adam laughed, âbut Morrison likes it - says itâs so dry it soaks up all the extra stomach juices that make him nauseous.âÂ
Gabe choked back a gag, masking the sound with a cough, âewww,â he complained, shoving the basket at Adam. âHold all your crap.â It was getting harder to ignore how often Adam was dropping random bits of knowledge about Morrison, to the point Gabe knew he probably should say something. Give him shit at least - and Gabe would have, if not for the fact that it was also getting harder to ignore the persistent burbling in his stomach, or how his last couple of burps seemed to linger in his mouth, making his breath feel heavy and sour.Â
Adam took the basket without complaint. âDâyou want to grab some beer? Morrison doesnât have any.â He was checking his phone again, texting something with one hand. Gabe blew out a breath.
âYou seem to know a lot about Averyâs . . . groceries,â he teased, swallowing down air in another futile attempt a at better burp. His guts grumbled at him, and when he saw a small box of Pepto tablets near the checkout lane he threw them in the basket.Â
Adam didnât take the bait, which Gabe thought was weird itself. âI pay attention,â he said mildly, handing over his credit card to pay for the groceries. âIsnât that something Logan taught you to be better at?âÂ
On another day Gabe might have pointed out that Logan was his girlfriend and therefore had an interest in Gabeâs behavior, and what exactly were Adam and Avery to each other? Today, with his stomach sour and heavy, it just felt like a lot of work. He grabbed the Pepto out of the grocery bag and shoved a tablet in his mouth while he followed Adam down the street to Avery Morrisonâs apartment.Â
******
Adam wasnât an idiot. He knew what his brother meant, teasing him about Avery. And yeah, maybe heâd gotten a little too invested, given that the guy had turned him down so thoroughly and kindly, but Adam was still determined to be a good friend. Besides, it was Gabriel, one of the most chill people on the planet. Adam certainly didnât need to edit himself for his brother. Especially not his brother who was currently bitching at him as he huffed up the steps to Morrisonâs apartment.
âNo . . .ahem . . . elevator?â Gabe glared at Adam, who was already up to the second floor landing and waiting impatiently outside of Morrisonâs door. Adam rolled his eyes.
âItâs one fucking flight, Gabe. Donât tell me investment banking has made you that soft.âÂ
Gabe finally joined him at the top of the stairs. âFuck you, itâs like twice as many as a normal staircase; itâs like a tower.â He rubbed at his middle. âI have a cramp.â Â
Adam ignored him; Gabe could be such a baby sometimes when he wasnât getting all the attention. He could hear shuffling around inside Morrisonâs apartment and tried not to count how long it took him to get to the door. What he couldnât help were the words that burst out of his mouth as soon as it did.
âFuck; donât tell me youâre still sick.â Avery had said in their last text that he was over the stomach flu, but the man standing in front of the doorway still didnât look well. Morrisonâs face was pale, except for the circles under his eyes that looked like bruises - Adam knew he hadnât been sleeping well. And he was hunched over a little bit, his arms wrapped around his waist like a shield. He hobbled back to let Gabe and Adam into the apartment.
âIâm not; Iâm fine,â he said unconvincingly. âI was about to eat something.â He gestured at the counter where a carton of eggs was sitting next to a loaf of bread and one of his bottles of liquid nutrition. âJust trying to figure out what will . . . taste good.â
Adam could hear the doubt in Averyâs voice that anything was going to taste good. While Gabe plopped down onto the sofa and began flipping through television channels, Adam put the groceries heâs brought on the counter. âI brought pudding and yogurt,â - he began lining the containers up on the vinyl-topped card table that Avery used for meals - âif either of those sound appealing.â Avery gave the items a slightly disgusted frown, so Adam added, âand Melba Toast.âÂ
That earned a slight smile. âNo, youâre right,â Avery sighed, âI need to eat something besides crackers. I was thinking about a scrambled egg and . . . yogurt?â He picked up one of the containers and sighed again, as if just the sight of it was exhausting. âYou can have the chocolate pudding; I know itâs your favorite.âÂ
âI forgot I told you that.â Without asking, Adam took Averyâs sole frying pan out of a cabinet and dropped it on the stove. He did have a weird affection for pudding, a habit left over from childhood bouts with strep throat. âIâll make enough eggs for both of us - Hey Gabie, dâyou want scrambled eggs or pudding? Or both?â - he waved one of the plastic cups enticingly in the air, - âweâve got the vanilla swirl flavor.âÂ
Gabe lurched to his feet and Adam assumed he was coming over to grab one of the desserts. âCan I . . . bathroom?â His hand flustered in the air in the direction of Averyâs bedroom.Â
âYeah, of course.â Avery waved him towards the hallway, âI even put a new roll of TP in this morning; have at it.âÂ
Gabe disappeared and Adam turned back to the stove and began cracking eggs. âItâs okay if we stay for basketball? I know I said Iâd bring you Gatorade and stuff but if you want us to leave . . .â he left the rest of the sentence hanging. Of course he didnât want to leave, but maybe Morrison wasnât up for Adamâs usual brand of bulldozing. Especially with Gabe tagging along. As much as Adam usually didnât edit his behavior, right now Avery seemed kind of . . . fragile. Still hot as fuck, though. But Adam wasnât going to give him a lot of shit if he wasnât in a place to give it back.Â
âYouâre making me food and I didnât even have to put out?â Avery shot Adam something close to a smirk. âI wonât say no to that.â
âAsshole.â Still Adam couldnât help but grin back. He carefully stirred the eggs while Avery took a tentative spoonful of vanilla yogurt and hummed with appreciation.Â
âNever thought Iâd be so excited about eating yogurt. Iâm so tired of those stupid hospital nutrition shakes.â He took a bigger bite and Adam tried not to watch the way his tongue chased the food off his spoon.Â
âWait until you taste these amazing eggs, then.â Adam pushed a plate across the table. âI didnât put any seasoning on them because I donât know what you can handle.â He divided the rest of the scrambled eggs onto two more plates for him and Gabe and added salt and pepper to his before taking a big bite. âDelicious.â
âIf you do say so yourself,â Avery laughed. He nudged one of the other chairs. âSit. You already cooked; I donât want to feel like youâre actually serving me too.â
Adam understood immediately. âYou sure you didnât mean âservicingâ you?â he grinned before plopping down into the chair across from Morrison. âCause if you need some exercise, the offer stands.â He flexed his hands suggestively, knowing Morrison wouldnât think he was really propositioning anything. Indeed, the man didnât even look up from his eggs while he flicked him off. Some of the tension had left his shoulders by the time he looked up from his empty plate. âDid you say you brought Gatorade?âÂ
Adam was about to snark back when Gabe appeared suddenly back in the living room. Adam whistled. âFuck, bro, what happened to you? You get in a fight with Morrisonâs showerhead?â At some point while heâd been gone Gabe had pulled off his button-down and the t-shirt he was wearing underneath was sticking to his skin. The front of his hair was damp too, as if heâd splashed water all over his face - his weirdly pale face, Adam noticed. Somehow in the fifteen minutes heâd been gone, Gabeâs skin had turned almost gray.
He collapsed gingerly onto the sofa. âFuck . . . fucking stuffed mushrooms,â he said, lip curling with disgust, âwent right through me.â He flicked his eyes at Avery, âsorry man, I lit a match when I was done.â He let his head fall back onto the sofa cushions. âFuck.âÂ
Avery waved him off. âNot the worst thing that bathroom has seen lately, I can assure you.â He glanced at Adam, face unreadable. âI get it if you need to leave though . . . if you need Adam to take you home, I mean.âÂ
Gabe huffed out a queasy-sounding laugh. âNot sure heâd forgive me for . . . that.â He immediately turned his head to muffle a burp into his shoulder. It was thick and wet-sounding and Gabe looked a little dazed after it ended.Â
But at least it was a distraction from what he'd just said. Adam jumped up and grabbed one of the extra Gatorades so he didnât have to acknowledge that yeah, he didnât exactly want to leave yet. âHere,â he said brusquely, shoving the bottle at his brother, âso you donât get dehydrated.â
Gabeâs lipped curled and he weakly pushed the bottle away. âCanât,â he mumbled, the word sounding sticky in his mouth, ââM nauseous too.â He sunk lower into the sofa cushions for a second, staring off into space, and then pushed himself up to his feet again. ââScuse me . . . â he belched, frothy and disgusting, and rushed back down the hall. He was walking nearly as bent over as Avery. The bedroom door slammed shut.Â
âFuck,â Adam groaned. He was thinking mostly about the mess if Gabe needed to puke while he was sitting on the toilet, âyou have a garbage can in your bathroom, right? Maybe I should go take him one,â - he reached for the cheap plastic container under Averyâs sink, pulling out the overfull bag inside and putting it aside so he could run the bin down the hall - âjust a second.âÂ
Gabe had closed the door to both Averyâs bedroom and the bathroom, and the sounds coming from inside made Adam wince. He knocked lightly on the bathroom door, focusing on the practical question first - âhey . . . dâyou need a garbage can?âÂ
More disgusting noises, and Adam really hoped he wouldnât be needed in there.Â
âI . . . got one,â Gabe gasped, his voice just audible through the door. The toilet flushed, and a few second later Adam heard water running. The door opened slowly.
âKill me now,â Gabe croaked, listing heavily to the side so he could lean against the doorway, âI mean it.â
âNah, too much paperwork, and I donât want to deal with mom,â Adam teased, but when Gabe swayed he grabbed his arm and hauled him over to the bed. âMaybe you got it all out of your system?âÂ
Gabe flopped heavily onto Morrisonâs unmade bed. âStill feel like shit.â He curled into a ball, drawing his knees up to his chest. âReally crampy and . . .hrHRUP! . . . nauseous.â He muffled the burp into a corner of the bunched up comforter and for a second Adam thought he was going to throw up. He didnât, but grabbed the trash can out of Adamâs hand so he could spit into it. âTotally thought I was gonna puke too.âÂ
âYou havenât?â Gabe was white as a sheet and there was a thin sheen of sweat across his forehead and the bridge of his nose. He gingerly shook his head.
âNauseous as fuck but nothingâs . . . ugh . . . coming up.â Gabe gagged off to one side and then froze, as if making sure that was still true. Then his body slumped again. âThereâs more in there; I just donât know if itâs gonna go up or down.â A full body shiver ran through him, strong enough that Adam could see it, and his stomach whined. Gabe palmed his side and gave an uneasy grimace. âTell . . . fuck . . . tell Morrision . . .â - Gabe slowly pushed himself off the bed, â - tell him Iâll pay . . . cleaning . . . â He gagged, hard, and stopped talking while he stumbled back towards the bathroom. This time he didnât bother closing the door, and Adam watched as he crashed to his knees in front of the toilet. His back arched with a harsh retch, and then another one, and Adam heard the plopping sound of Gabeâs lunch fall into the bowl. He groaned miserably, rocking back and forth, trying to bring more up.
Adam had seen his brother vomit before, plenty of times, and vice versa. It didnât usually bother him, but this was visceral and loud, and honestly, Averyâs small bathroom smelled disgusting. Adam bit back a gag of his own. âIâm gonna . . .â he began, trying to think of a reason to escape for a second that wouldnât make him seem like a total ass, â - Gatorade. Iâll uhh, be right back.âÂ
Gabe, busy burping up more of the tainted mushrooms, just gave a weak wave.Â
Glad Gabe seemed to be managing his own illness for the moment, Adam went back to the living room, fully intending to wait at least a couple of minutes before he returned with the electrolyte drink for his brother.Â
âHope you donât mind if Gabe . . . oh shit.â Adamâs joke about Gabe sleeping in Averyâs bed died on his lips. Avery was braced against the sink, leaning heavily on his arms and panting into the basin below. He glanced over at Adam, pain etched clearly across his face.
âYou took . . . garbage can,â he gasped. There was a line of saliva hanging from the side of his mouth and Adam had to resist the urge to run over and wipe it away.Â
âWhat happened?â he asked stupidly, Morrison had been fine ten minutes ago. He took a few steps closer, just as Averyâs body jolted with a hiccup. He turned back to the sink again. âEggs . . . fuck . . . eggs were a mistake.â His back arched with a dry retch and he whimpered, almost folding in half to rest his head on the counter. âFuck it hurts.â Â
Adam pulled over a chair. âFuck, here, sit down before you fall over,â he plunked the garbage can on the ground, âare there meds you can take?â He knew there were; Avery had come home with a whole drugstoreâs worth of painkillers. But he shook his head.
âIâll just puke âem up,â he groaned, âfuck, I thought Iâd be able to keep fucking eggs down. Stomach wonât stop spasming.âÂ
Even though he didnât want to say anything, Adam had to ask, âmaybe it was the yogurt?â Heâd take the blame if it meant Morrison would go easier on himself.Â
Avery huffed and there was almost a hint of amusement in it. âOnly had two bites; youâre off the hook,â he mumbled, âand I keep burping up the taste of eggs. Sorry if thatâs gross.â
âItâs a lot less gross than whatever is destroying my brotherâs body right now.â Adam handed Avery a paper towel to wipe his face, âI meant it when I said he might end up sleeping here.â And Adam needed to go check on him again, but he was having a hard time making himself leave the kitchen; surely Gabe was able to take care of himself for another minute or two?
âProbably wonât enjoy having that Calder in my bed nearly as much.â Avery looked like he was about to say something else, but then his entire body shuddered and he curled over the garbage can. âOh god it hurts,â he moaned. His knuckles were white from where they were squeezing the edges of the bin.Â
Adam felt helpless. âWhat can I do?â But Avery, lost in a series of horrible-sounding dry-heaves, didnât answer. He was trembling so badly Adam thought he was going to fall off the chair but he didnât want to grab his shoulders in case that hurt him more. He was hovering behind him, hands fluttering uselessly in the air, when Avery gave a huge burp and threw up into the garbage can, whining in pain. The next retches and gags were empty and violent and Adam gave in and rested his hand on the manâs heaving back.
Avery spit, trying to clear his throat, and Adam leaned in with another paper towel, ready to actually wipe Averyâs mouth this time. The saliva was tinged with blood and Adam felt his stomach drop. Was that normal? He didnât want to make Morrison panic, or panic himself - âummm,â he began, not sure what to say, âdâyou umm . . .â A movement out of the corner of his eye made him stop.
Gabe had made it back to the living room, somehow. Adam wasnât sure how he was upright - his skin was gray at this point, and his face and hair were soaked in sweat. It looked like heâd thrown up on his shirt and then tried to wipe it off - the stain smeared across his middle. Adam stood up.
âYou okay?â he asked stupidly, because of course Gabe wasnât. His brother shook his head. âSomethingâs wrong,â he croaked, and stumbled the few steps to the couch. âI think Iâm throwing up blood.âÂ
TBC
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