Loud coughing and gagging echoes out from Snotlout's hut and travels down the road where Eret is currently walking, arms laden with supplies from Gothi. The sound grates on Eret's nerves. He knows that it's perhaps a bit cruel to feel annoyance when presented with the sad sound of his sickly mate, but it really isn't coming from a place of malice! And maybe he isn't sure where the feeling comes from, but he knows it isn't hateful.
Eret shoulders open the wooden door and closes it behind him with his foot. He's immediately greeted by a-- frankly ridiculous-- sight. Snotlout was stood above the cooking fire, which Eret suspects Hookfang helped the witch start, leaning heavily on the snout of said great beast. Eret's pelt is draped over Snotlout's head, making Snotlout look less like the adult man he is and more like a pup wearing his mother's pelt. The jammy, tangy scent of elderberry soup wafts from the cooking pot.
"Darling," Eret starts, voice dropping into something tired. "My North star, my beautiful witch, light of my life." He steps closer with each pet name that leaves his lips until he finally reaches Snotlout's side. His arm curls around Snotlout's waist and he fights off the urge to push away the feverish man. "Does this look like rest to you?"
Another cough rattles Snotlout's chest. The younger man reeks of crushed mustard seed. It takes nearly a full minute for Snotlout's cough to clear, and in that time Eret guides him to sit back in their shared cot.
"I can't get better if I just sit around," Snotlout argues. He sounds awful, like he had been gargling gravel and Terror teeth, and Eret has to strain even his superior selkie senses to catch the raspy words.
Eret sighs as he pushes Snotlout into a supine position. "Surely you hear how ridiculous that sounds, darling." He doesn't know why he bothers arguing; he knows damn well by now that all that accomplishes is working Snotlout up.
"It isn't ridiculous, Eret," Snotlout snaps back. "It's perfectly reasonable for me to-" The younger viking is cut off by horrific hacking and coughing. Snotlout jolts up into a seated position and then doubles over until he's coughing up a lung into Eret's lap.
He hesitantly places a hand on Snotlout's back, his hand easily spanning from shoulder blade to shoulder blade and covering Snotlout's spine. Eret can feel the heat that radiates from Snotlout's body even through the younger man's tunic and the usually rather cool skin of Eret's pelt. "Easy, love," Eret says softly. "There it is."
Finally, the shuddering coughs subside, leaving Snotlout a trembling mess in Eret's lap.
Eret cradles Snotlout's flushed and clammy cheek in one hand-- the other still providing stability to Snotlout's back-- and tilts Snotlout's head back. He leans down and bunts his head against the younger man's feverish forehead. "Are you done?"
"You're a jerk," Snotlout mumbles quietly. Eret stays silent until Snotlout sighs-- the sound raspy and thick with mucus-- and buries his face into Eret's shoulder. "Yes."
A smirk pulls at Eret's lips. He scratches the nape of Snotlout's neck. "Yes what?" He teases.
In a flash of smoke Eret is left alone. In Snotlout's place sits a wheezing black bunny in a pile of fabric.
"You dramatic little beast," Eret groans. And yet, he still lifts Snotlout up and tucks the witch against his chest with a single hand.
