Strawberry's Sickfics

[strawberrysickfics]

Sickfic Prompt Idea: Introverted/Reserved Sickee losing their voice/having a sore throat and trying to hide being sick because they don’t want Caretaker to worry or fuss over them.

Caretaker doesn't notice for most of the day because Sickee doesn't usually talk much anyways. Maybe Caretaker asks them a question and Sickee can't answer. Or maybe they catch them looking through the medicine cabinet or eating/drinking something cold (🍦?) they wouldn't normally have instead...

[sicklybelly]

70 Reasons For Vomiting :

Adrenal Insuffciency

Alcohol

Alcohol Poisoning

Anesthesia Drugs

Anorexia Nervosa

Antidepressants

Anxiety

Antibiotics

Appendicitis

Bad Smells / Odors

Bowel Obstruction

Brain Tumor

Bulimia Nervosa

Cancer (Certain Types)

Carbon Monoxide Poisoning

Celiac Disease

Chemotherapy

Chronic Pelvic Pain Syndrome

Chronic Nausea & Vomiting Syndrome (CNVS)

Concussions

Crohn's Disease

Cyclic Vomiting Syndrome

Dehydration

Diabetes

Ear Infection

Eating too quick

E. Coli

Empty Stomach

Endometriosis

Excessive Coughing

Food Allergies

Food Intolerances

Food Poisoning

Gallbladder Disease

Gastroparesis

GERD (Acid Reflux)

Hangovers

Heat Exhaustion

Heat Stroke

Heart Attack

Heart Failure

Hiatal Hernia

Indigestion

Iron Supplements

Irritable Bowel Syndrome (IBS)

Kidney Stones

Lactose Intolerance

Liver Disease

Marijuana Use

Meningitis (Viral, Bacterial, Fungal)

Migraines / Headaches

Motion Sickness

Norovirus

Opioids

Overeating

Pancreatitis

Period Pain

Panic Attacks

Poisoning

Post Nasal Drip

Post- Surgery

Pregnancy

Prolonged Crying / Screaming

Sensory Triggers

Sepsis

Severe Pain

Stomach Bug (Gastroenteritis)

Stomach Ulcer

Stress

Stroke

Thyroid Disorders

Urinary Tract Infection

Vertigo

Viral Hepatitis

Viral Infections (Flu, Covid)

Withdrawals

[sickfic-shiz]

Different kinds of stubbornness when sick… they all refuse to stop and take a break, but the different flavors are fun

- Pragmatic, “I’m already at work and I’m not THAT sick” “it’s only three hours before I can go home” type, that’s the most stubborn when they’re already halfway through the day and it’s such an inconvenience to leave now. They can take tomorrow off instead. They don’t mind acknowledging they’re unwell but refuse to leave anyway.

- Classic refusing to be a burden, “don’t worry about me”, they don’t want people to know they’re sick, and they feel bad when the people around them even try to make things easier, they can keep going, they’re fine, nothing is wrong even if they’re feverish and nauseous and on the verge of throwing up.

- In denial, “I’m just tired”, doesn’t want to accept that they’re sick. Maybe they’ve been exposed to some kind of bug at home or at work but it sounds miserable from what other people have said and surely they’re not that unlucky that they’ve caught it…

- Delirious, so sick that they’re not thinking straight, but they just mumble and insist that they’re fine out of habit even though they can barely stand or walk. They can’t understand why everyone is so worried about them.

- Someone else is more sick/more urgently in need than them, so they mask their own illness stubbornly so they don’t take attention away from them. They help take care of the other person even though they start to feel worse, and they insist they’re fine until they throw up on the floor or something equally damning

[bellysoupset]

Bad Luck - 2

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 — he really wanted to know how that had gone down. By how devastated she was, he assumed Tim had cheated on her — and Henderson's third kid arriving that summer — third kid! In this economy?! — 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.

[bellysoupset]

Bad Luck

"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 — pure, unmitigated guilt for not being there sooner — 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."

"What's going on?" A new voice. More black dots.

Stupid lilac sneakers.

Chris went down.

[secretobsessionstuff]

I haven't written for these guys in quite a while. But gosh I will love them til the day I die.

---------

Madix’s stomach tried its hardest to digest the sludge of food that he had forced down his throat all that day. It wasn’t his fault—the 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 goated 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.  

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. 

Poutine, easy. Ice cream, no problem. He simply sighed contently after every bite that got Madix feeling more and more like a zombie. 

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. 

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 Madix’s deteriorated state. He jumped excitedly in line for a beaver tail. 

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. 

“I think I want the brownie one!” he said, pointing to the sign ahead. “It has Nutella on it! Do you want to split it with me?” 

Madix moaned and jammed his head into Dakota’s shoulder. “…. Ugh.” 

“Okay fine, jeez? How about the strawberry cheesecake?”

"Noooo..."

He gave his arm a jerk. “Why you sound so mopey, Maddy?” 

“Too much food…” he slurred out. His chest hitched with a hiccup. The nausea made all his muscles stiff. “I don’t feel good. How can you still be hungry?” 

“Classic mistake.” Dakota pulled his greenish friend into a side hug. “We’ve moved beyond our primitive needs. Hunger has nothing to do with it anymore. It’s all about the experience.” 

“Oh, I think I’m in for a doozy of an “experience” any minute now.” 

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. 

He took off his sunglasses, only then realizing how quickly the sun had set. The sky was now purple and pink, and Madix’s cheeks were grey. “You do look pale, buddy. Maybe take a break from the rides and food.” 

“Yeah, I think I have to. I’d like to sit down as well, but I don’t want to lose Riley and Blair.” 

Dakota waved this away. “I’ll text Blair that we stopped for a break. Look, we can sit under that tree, there’s a bench.” 

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, he’d 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. 

Dakota was not helping with the way he devoured the chocolate mess of dough and oil.  

“Ugh, Kota. I want to go home. I think I may actually throw up, but there’s a lot of people here.” He hugged his belly.

“You feel that bad?” The sudden development surprised him. “I’ve seen you eat way more."

“I don’t know why…” Madix burped and let out a nauseous moan. “I just feel really fucking sick.” He glanced at his friend with his glassy eyes. “Would you hurry up and eat that already. It’s dripping onto your hand.” 

Dakota licked the precarious drop of icing. “It’s messy, I’m sorry.” After three huge bites and finger licking, he finished the treat in time to see Madix shudder and gag. 

Madix suddenly stood up on shaky legs. This was bad. He could feel pressure growing in his throat. Rising. 

“Oh God, I can’t keep it down.” He tried to speak through the nausea and the hand that covered his mouth. “One second.” He wandered away from the main road, away from the bench where they sat, and beyond the fenced in grass. 

Dakota quickly followed his swaying friend. 

“Oookay, I guess we’re going on a little excursion.” He grimaced at the retch that tore up Madix’s throat. He grabbed his friend’s arm to steady him. “This is a good spot to let loose, Maddy. I’ve got you.” 

A shower of vomit came gushing from Madix’s 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. 

A groan of misery escaped him. 

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. “Kneel here, Madix. You’re swaying a lot and I don’t like it.” 

“Don’t feel good,” he slurred. A hiccup made his chest jump and more slushy vomit splattered onto the grass. The sound gurgled in his throat. “Ugh, my belly. I’m so full.” 

Wave after wave came up from Madix’s 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. 

Dakota brushed the hair off his forehead. It was not a hot night and yet still Madix was melting. “You’re so out it, man. I think you have a fever.” 

Madix nodded lazily. “Yeah probably. This is a lot.” He blinked quickly. “I can’t focus long enough to…to…do anything.” 

“You don’t have to do anything but sit. Wait until you feel better. Do you still need to puke?” 

“I think so.” He rubbed his stomach. “It’s like gurgling, my belly. This was not a good time to eat fair food.” 

“No kidding,” Dakota laughed, “I’ll jot that down: don’t go to fair with flu.”  

[bellysoupset]

D-A-T-E

Max was floating on his feet, as he walked inside the store. It was bright out, a nice day, not the type of day he'd pick to go shopping, but he had had little to no say on this, simply following Leo's directions.

It was a local Goodwill and he had been to the one in Doveport enough times to know how to navigate. Welton's was more well packed, though. Less religious cheap trinkets and a whole lot more wood.

Leo was standing on the far left aisle, inspecting a twin set of pots, crouching slightly so he could glare at them.

"Found you," Max said, sneaking on him, and causing Leo to jump just a little.

His, normally sunny, friend squinted at him, scoffing, "hi, Max."

Oh?

Max immediately perked up at the change of attitude and sour tone to Leo's voice. Not that the guy couldn't be a major bitch, but generally Leo kept that part of him private and normally he was annoying, but not sour. This was new.

"Hi," Max smiled, staring at him intently as he tried to piece together what was different about the guy, "did you wait too long?"

"No, just got here," Leo shrugged, planted the pots back on the shelf with a dejected sigh, "I drafted you a list," he rubbed his face, fishing out his phone and Max stepped closer so he could inspect him a little better.

"A list?"

"Yeah, of all the shit we gotta find for your place," Leo drummed his fingers on his phone screen, where he had written down a couple words on the notes app, "lamps, at least three. Curtains, one gotta be black out-"

"I can order all of that online..."

"It's not the same as thrift shopping and you told me, and I quote, you didn't wanna spend money on this decorating bullshit," he mimicked a deeper tone, which was meant to be Max's voice and the guy scoffed, rolling his eyes.

"I don't sound like that, you gave me an accent."

"You sound like you chain-smoke, oh, which you do," the little shit insisted, leading the way. Max did not chain smoke, "how was the date with Vin?"

"It wasn't a date," Max groaned, although his stomach filled up with butterflies at the memory of their little intimate dinner, "he just cooked me dinner because he says I can't live on a beige diet."

"Honestly," Leo agreed, gloomily, "all you eat is rice, potatoes and the occasional avocado. That cannot be healthy."

"I have steak sometimes!" Max cried out, speeding up to keep up with Leo, "and I'm perfectly healthy."

Leo looked pointedly at his stomach, "yeah, except for the Curse," he snorted, then let out a weird choking noise and braced against the shelves as he started coughing.

Max jumped back, raised his hand to smack his friend on the back in case he was choking, but those were deep. chesty coughs. Leo whimpered at the tail end, clutching his throat.

"Urgh, fuck."

"Are you sick?" Max guessed, squinting at Leo. The other guy had a bright pink splotch in the middle of his cheeks, but other than that he was pale as a ghost.

"Probably," Leo groaned, walking ahead as if leading the way, "it's just a cold, don't worry about it."

"Why the hell are you thrift shopping when you have a cold?" Max rushed to keep up, just as Leo beamed as he found a big lava lamp.

"This is cool-"

"Leo," Max scoffed, "why are we shopping if you're sick? Shouldn't you be in bed? Did McDreamy even allow you to leave home if you're sick?"

Leo huffed out a chuckle, which quickly morphed into a cough and he had to shove the lamp into Max's arms in order to turn around and fold in the middle. It sounded painful.

"Sh-she-et," Leo whined, grabbing onto a shelf to straighten up, and pretending Max wasn't seeing it, "I'm fine. I wanna shop, I'm excited. Besides, I don't need Jon's permission to leave home, he's not the boss of me."

"He doesn't know, uh?" Max grinned, rolling his eyes, "sneaky little shit."

Leo blushed, but shrugged, "leave me alone," he mumbled and kept walking, "help me pick a rug."

Max sighed, rubbing his forehead in a frustrated manner and following the guy around, "do you have siblings?" He asked, as Leo continued to pile random items on his arms, unbothered.

He froze on his tracks, eyebrows up and looking around as if Max had been talking with anyone else, "Uh- me?"

"Yes, you," Max rolled his eyes impatiently, procuring a basket to dump all the trinkets he was carrying.

"No," Leo snickered, cheeks turning pink slightly, "none that I know of, anyway."

Max narrowed his eyes at the cryptic answer, "your parents aren't together anymore?" He guessed, already imagining Leo as the child of a nasty divorce. It would explain why they got along so well, damage recognized damage.

"You could say that," Leo mumbled to himself, not as an answer to Max, rubbing his chest and then holding up a finger, as he turned around to cough mercilessly. They were turning really nasty, wet and deep, obviously painful.

Max finally managed to find a basket and got rid of the items — a lava lamp, a welcome mat, a bathroom rug, a black and white biker poster and an assortment of containers for shit like dish soap — and moved so he could pat Leo's back. His hand hung in the air for a split second before he made up his mind and planted it on the guy's back, putting force into the pats and rubs.

Leo spluttered for air, face pink and eyes teary, bracing against a wall as he took difficult breaths, "fuck," he whined, pitifully, clutching his throat. Max pursed his lips, now he was close enough to be able to tell Leo had a fever.

"Yeah, that's enough, I'm driving you home," Max decided and Leo raised a hand in the air and shooed him away as if he was an inconvenient dog.

"Not yet," he said, or rather, whispered, his voice shot. Leo groaned, a hand clutching his throat, a grimace on his face, "the quicker you help me, the quicker we leave."

Max rolled his eyes dramatically, Leo was such a prick. Dying, but still being stubborn, "fiiiine, what do you need me to look for?"

"Uhm-" Leo squinted at his phone screen, the glare of it bothering him enough he reduced the brightness to nearly dark. He tapped on the screen for Max to see and he had to step closer in order to see what was written.

"Curtains, okay- Uh, why the fuck is there cat written here?" Max chuckled, taking the phone from Leo's hand in order to make sure he hadn't read it wrong. Sure enough, the word "cat" was written under curtain and above "lava lamp", "I don't think Goodwill has those, buddy."

"You need a kitten," Leo said, defensively, stretching and snatching his phone back with a bit of a pout, "cute and cudd-Aw," he hissed, hand curling around his throat. He gulped down, then gestured as if locking his mouth, meaning he wasn't planning on speaking further.

Max groaned, dramatically, "I'm gonna end up killing it! I'm not fit for a pet!"

"Jon said the same," Leo grinned, his eyes sparkling with fever, "c'mon, curtains."

It took them fifteen more minutes before they finished Leo's list and a whole lot more bitching from Max as he paid for all of it, then they were off.

Leo was sneezing now, the tip of his nose red, as well as his cheeks and he looked miserable. On his way out he had grabbed a box of tissues and he sniffled as he walked side by side with Max.

"Are you finally gonna go home?"

"Nuh-huh," Leo gulped down, shuddering. His voice had grown really hoarse, "pet store."

"Dude!" Max cried out, finishing shoving his bags on Leo's backseat. Now he regretted not having driven there, because he felt like he was in a hostage situation, but on the other hand there was no way Leo could drive himself back. So whatever, "I cannot keep a pet alive, I can barely keep myself alive-"

"Exactly the reason you need one," Leo jiggled the car keys and Max considered manhandling him for it. He wasn't as tall, nor did he frequent a gym half as often, he definitely couldn't win in a fight on a good day, but Leo looked sick enough he might just get lucky.

Or he could call Jonah, Max thought smugly, but gave up on the idea immediately. Him and Jonah weren't friends, it felt awkward calling him about anything that wasn't an emergency.

"Lessgo, Max!" Leo jumped ahead of him, way too much energy for someone who was sick, entering the driver's side and slamming his door. Max sighed, heavily.

"You're like a toddler," he declared, entering the passenger side and glaring at his friend. The car started before he even managed to put his seat belt on, "such a pain in the ass."

"You're just sooo much fun to rage bait," Leo beamed at him, then ducked his head to sneeze loudly, rubbing at his nose, "aww'sfycks," he reached blindly for the tissue box and Max handed it to him with a judgemental glare, watching as he blew his nose and it triggered a coughing fit.

"You're in no state to drive," Max scoffed, as soon as they stopped on a red light and Leo lowered his forehead to the steering wheel, coughs harsh enough Max was half convinced he was gonna bring up his lunch, "pull over."

"Nuh," Leo shook his head, grabbing three different tissues and pressing it to his mouth as he shuddered, spitting into it. Gross, Max thought with a grimace.

"I'm serious, pull over, you're gonna end up crashing," Max gestured for him that the light had turned green, "I'll drive."

"To the-" Leo sniffled, his nose starting to run, so he pressed a tissue under it, voice coming out muffled, "pe'sfore?"

"Leoo-"

A stubborn, feverish glare answered him and Max sighed, loudly, "Fine! To the fucking pet store so I can pick the animal that will end up killing!"

Leo squinted at him, from the corner of his eye, the car going so slow that they received a honk and a swear. His shoulders dropped, "M'kay..."

Max had half a mind to just ignore his promise and take Leo straight home, but he decided against it because he was about 50% sure this might cause Leo to cry and he really wouldn't know how to fix that.

There was a pet store near the Wagner-Banks building anyway, one where Leo was apparently a regular, because the guy behind the counter perked up at seeing him and said, "Leo! Where's JD?"

Max shifted uncomfortably, looking around the place. Rows and rows of canned pet food, all sorts of trinkets... There were birds in the back and Max abandoned Leo with his acquaintance, in order to go inspect it.

He thought birds were cute, but too noisy and, honestly, too fragile. The chances of him killing it were exponentially higher than a cat, and they were already pretty high for the cat.

On the opposite wall there were three large tanks, with fishes and Max grinned. He should get one of those, they seemed easy enough-

"You're not getting a fish," Leo spawned next to him, as if reading his mind, "they're boring."

Max rolled his eyes, "they're fine-"

Leo grabbed him by the elbow, guiding him further inside, grumbling like an old man. Max ignored his bitching in favor of trying to gauge just how high was his fever. Seemed higher than it had been in Goodwill and he seemed more pale now, sweaty.

"Are you nauseous?"

Leo did not dignify him with a response. Max groaned, dragged his feet.

They passed by a tank with snakes and he perked up, "those are cool-"

"You need something you can cuddle," Leo shook his head and then nearly walked straight into a shelf as the movement made him dizzy. He braced a hand against the nearest wall, taking measured breaths through his mouth.

"Sorta looks like you're gonna hurl," Max egged him on, deciding if Leo did puke in the store, maybe he could walk away pet-free. Though the snakes had looked truly really fun.

"M'not," Leo gulped down, coughing in the crook of his elbow and finally managing to get Max where he wanted him, in front of a playpen with four little cats inside of it, for donation.

Two of them were tabbys, with blue eyes and stripes all over. One seemed to be wearing a tuxedo and the other one was a very fluffy ginger.

"Pick'em up," Leo shoved his arm in a friendly way, then collapsed against the fire exit, glaring at the floor as he very clearly was fighting nausea. Max rolled his eyes, bossy motherfucker.

They were wriggly and yeah, adorable... Just not enough, Max decided, inspecting a kitten that tried to swat at his face. Meowing pitifully.

"Eh, they're fine," he shrugged, "I don't know, Leo..."

"Are you more of a dog person? You don't seem like one," Leo seemed genuinely puzzled by not knowing Max inside out. Which was crazy, because as this day had made clear, Max didn't even know if he had siblings. How did Leo decide he just knew him so well, uh?

"No, I'm not a dog person..." He put the cats back down, crossing his arms... Then glanced back to the enclosure with the repetiles, leaving Leo behind as his friend hacked up a lung. Stubborn idiot.

There were three snakes inside of the tank, all skinny and tiny, like freaking zip ties. Max immediately lowered himself to get a better look, unable to stop himself from smiling when he got a clear view of their derpy faces and long, darting tongues.

"Oh, they are cute," he sighed, dreamily.

"Wanna pick 'em up?" The store clerk asked and Max nodded, eagerly.

One of them was red, with orange markings all over its body, the other one was plain brown and the third one was yellow. He had never held a snake in his life, so he was surprised by how friendly they were and stiff, holding themselves up in his hands.

"This one is really cute," Max decided, bringing the red snake up to his face, to the point they were almost nose to nose. They were babies, he could tell by how skinny and tiny they were, "how big does it get?"

"Eh, no bigger than 4 feet," the clerk shrugged, "they're corn snakes, they're not large."

"How much is he?" Max carefully petted the head of the snake who was watching him curiously. It's whole head was about the size of his thumb, a little bigger.

The pet was only 60 bucks, but he needed a bunch of extra crap, so Max ended up spending more in the pet store than he had in the previous one... Not that he minded, feeling like a kid as he cradled the snake in his palm and wondered what the hell to name him.

Leo had, at some point, slipped outside the store and Max met with him as he loaded up the trunk of his car with his new pet's enclosure and a box of frozen pinkies.

"I can't believe you're getting a snake," Leo groaned, glaring in the direction of the animal, as he pressed his overheated forehead to the cool metal of Max's car.

"Aw, c'mon, he's super cute!" Max cried out, circling the vehicle so he could hold it up to Leo, "look at him!"

Leo squinted, eyes rimmed red and nose too, looking about ready to collapse. Max lowered the snake, "okay, you're done for today," he said, strongly, "c'mon, get in the car, Leo."

"What- What are you gonna name him?" Leo collapsed on the passenger's seat, flinching as Max put the snake inside of a styrofoam carriage he had been given and planted it on his lap.

"I don't know," Max shrugged, "Snake?"

"What the fuck, you can't name your snake snake," Leo glared at him, flabbergasted.

"How about Serpent?"

"Absolutely not," Leo waved him off.

Several minutes passed and they were in a comfortable silence when Leo groaned, "I'm getting carsick."

Said point blank and deadpan like that, Max took a minute to process it, "you- What?"

"Speed up," Leo bossed, wrapping an arm around his stomach, "don't feel well..."

"Goddammit, Leo," Max scoffed, pressing on the gas pedal, "do I have to pull over? I think I gotta-"

"Urrk-UURK-" Leo heaved, grabbing the snake box at the last second as he leaned forward, to avoid puking on its head.

"LET ME PULLOVER!" Max squealed, blindly reaching to grab his pet while his eyes scanned the street for a spot to park. Leo's back convulsed with another empty retch.

There was a parking spot a meter away-

"Max-" Leo warned him, voice clipped, pressing a hand to his mouth as his whole body shook. Max ignored him, driving a little manically in order to stop the car and then clicking the release button of Leo's seatbelt, shoving the passenger door open, just as Leo leaned to the side and brought up a stream of his lunch.

"Aw, dude..." Mx cooed, heart racing from the little adrenaline spike, planting a hand on Leo's trembling back as the guy coughed and ended up vomiting even more.

"Did I..." Leo groaned, then sneezed loudly, body lurching. He gasped for air for a couple minutes, not seeming to realize he was making a breathless, whining sound, before he tried again, "did I puke on him?"

Max took a second too long to realize Leo meant the snake, who was still in the styrofoam box clutched in his other hand. He snorted, looking at it. Sure enough, there was a disgusting dot of orangey saliva on top of the white box and he wrinkled his nose, using the hem of Leo's sweater to clean it, because fuck this kid.

"Almost," he grimaced, opening the box and beaming when the snake immediately poked his head out, clearly curious about what all that jostling around had been, "I think you just startled him."

"Should..." Leo spat and straightened up, falling against the seat's back with a laborious breath, clutching his chest, "name him Barfy."

"Absolutely not," Max glared at the side of his head, closing the lid of the snake's enclosure again, "how are you holding up, Leo?"

"Awful," he wheezed, voice all croaky, "think I got a fever..."

Without hesitating, this time around, Max pressed his hand to Leo's forehead and groaned out loud, "yeah, you're burning up... Are you done? We're about a block away from your place..."

Leo gulped down, seeming to think it over, then ducked his head quickly as three rapid sneezes overcame him. He let out a loud, long groan, "fuuuuck- Yeah, led'sjustgo..." his words slurred together and he sniffled, pitifully.

Max smiled, "If I put him back on your lap you promise not to puke on him again?" he said, already planting the little box on Leo's lap. The other guy let out a huff, a smile breaking in his pained face.

"No promises."

[bubble-up]

imagine a sickie trying to hide the fact that they are going to hurl at the mall or whatever

Public illness is one of those things that’s not usually in my top favorite, but I feel like you can get really interesting with how each person would react to it.

Like, how would they be likely to end up in that situation? Would they go even though they don’t feel great, or would they only be stuck in that situation because it developed while they were out already and they wouldn’t ever go somewhere if they weren’t feeling well?

Are they going to try and leave? If so, at what point? Do they need to only feel a little nauseous by the time they’re trying to get out of there, or do they tend to wait until it’s super urgent or awful nausea?

Do they stay vague with how they feel the whole time no matter how bad it gets—“I’m just not feeling great,” or are they way more explicit about it—“I feel awful, I honestly might puke”?

When push comes to shove and they’re imminently about to be sick in the next few minutes, do they want to be away from the public space more than anything, or would they be comfortable enough with just a public bathroom or public seating area with a trash can?

[writing-whump]

Bubble guts

Have this short little drabble where Ren overeats and Zara is annoyed.

Ren wiggled on the sofa, almost jumping up with the hiccup. "Zara, help me..."

"Stop whining," the silver haired girl said. "Isn't my fault you don’t listen to reason."

"I didn't know this would happen," Ren sighed, both hands kneading into the dome of his stomach. It was grumbling so much she could hear it through the whole living room.

"You could have known, cause I told you," Zara said, crossing her arms. She was sitting opposite him on the comfortable couch, trying to read with no success. "Besides, aren't you a little old to underestimate human stomach capacities? This isn't your first time in this form."

Ren curled up on the sofa even more, his stomach so bloated and hard it resembled a watermelon. His shirt was stretched up, slivers of skin peeking underneath. "That really hurts."

"Ow ow, little dragon with a stomach ache. What a fearless wandering beast you are," she said, no pity in her voice. If she hadn't been there and haven't tried to prevent exactly this scenario she would have shown more sympathy.

"You are so mean," he said, hugging himself, as if that could calm the upset organ. A burp came up from between his lips and Ren shuddered, chocolate-brown curls plastered to his forehead with sweat. "Ugh. I don't know if I want to burp or throw up or fart..."

Zara grimaced. "Whatever you do, would you be so inclined to go do it in the other room? Or the bathroom, preferably."

"Is it fun talking like you are in a medieval castle?"

She rolled her eyes. "I work at a castle. I manage it." Pride dripped from her tone like honey from a teaspoon.

"Wrong century, sweetheart." He hiccuped again, the end of it carrying a bubbly burp with it.

"I have an entirely time-appropriate post-modern office inside the castle, thank you. And who could be better at history keeping than a dragon?"

"Any history on stomach medicin-huuurp-" he burped again, louder and longer and groaned at the end. "Owwwwww."

Zara sighed and then got up to sit beside him. "Come on, up with you. Lying down won't help."

"I hope you don’t want me to walk-" the next belch came from deep down, shaking his entire torso as Zara helped him sit up and stretch his legs.

"No. Just stay here and breathe. Relax. Give the organs space to work through your indulgence."

"It wasn't even that much, just a goulash..."

"Three giant bowls of it and a whole bread," she said, now slightly amused at his skewed memory of the food.

He whined, hugging his stomach close again. "I feel like I'm gonna explode."

She thumped his back hard and it urged up a string of burps that had him panting over his puffed out belly.

"Keep bringing up air. And please, do use the bathroom, this is not a forest."

[when-jaguars-are-sick]

Feveruary Prompt #18 with Keegan as sickee

He's my fav and I feel like this prompt suits him super well (obviously with someone else saying it)

KEEGAN: Feveruary Day 18

Prompt: "You're not being needy. You're being human."

Thank you for the request!!

Alright, so February's over, and I made it through a grand total of - checks notes - 5 fics. Not quite what I was aiming for, but oh well, real life handed me stressful things this month that took away from writing time.

I do have lots of ideas moving forward though, so that's exciting.

-- -- -- -- --

Keegan slumps down in his car, head in his hands. Today felt impossibly long, and his stomach grumbles in agreement. He's been battling the uncomfortable churning in his stomach for the last two hours, his placement taking priority over whatever storm was brewing in his gut.

Now, though, in the quiet, it rages. His stomach bubbles and flips, and he grimaces, swallowing back another sour burp. He quickly undoes his belt, and even the pressure from his fingers is enough to send a rumbling burp up his chest.

Running a hand across his face, he feels the clammy coolness of his skin, and winces when another gurgle resonates through the car.

Whatever, he tells himself, Get home, sleep, it'll be fine.

He forces himself to straighten, the change is position adds pressure to his middle which forces up a burp, and it squeezes past his throat, loud in the small space.

Home, home, home, he repeats to himself, starting the car.

Halfway there, he starts to wonder if he's going to make it. He was hoping to get through this without puking, but that's seeming more like a pipe dream the longer he drives.

He pulls into his parking space, releases his white-knuckled grip on the steering wheel, and slowly releases his breath. He hesitated a moment longer before going inside, not wanting to upset whatever balance currently exists in his body.

But he can't stay here all night, so he climbs out of the car, moving very deliberately. Holding himself stiffly, he walks into their building, and up the stairs to their apartment.

Once he's inside, he lets the door close behind him, and drops his bag on the floor, toeing off his shoes. As he's shrugging off his jacket, Jayden wanders over, leaning against the kitchen table as he greets him.

He considers, for half a second, not saying anything. He considers telling him everything.

Instead, he says, "Hey," voice squeezing up his throat, which is feeling four times smaller than normal, his stomach weighing him down.

Jayden frowns, blue eyes scanning him analytically.

"What's wrong?" he asks.

This time, Keegan is unable to answer, freezing with his jacket in hand. The question reminded Keegan of everything wrong that he's feeling (not that he ever, like, forgot, but it was a solid attempt).

Realizing he never answered Jayden, and that's a sure-fire way to worry him more than he already has, he offers a shake of his head, the best he can do in this state.

The motion throws him off, and it's as though the floor falls out from under his feet, and he stumbles, dropping the coat in a heap on the rug and scrambling away.

He can feel Jay's eyes following him, is sure he's probably saying something, but the rushing in his ears and sudden rush of adrenaline blocks all external sound.

That is, until he's hunched over the toilet breathing raggedly, and sound floods back in.

His own choked gasps as he tries not to lose his lunch, Jayden's half-panicked voice rushing after him, his stomach still protesting under his button-up shirt.

The world fades out again as he finally gives into the pressure, lurching forward with a gag, tired of fighting with his stomach. Puke rushes out of him, landing messily in the toilet. He braces his head on his arm, angling his head properly to aim.

He's still a quiet puker, not fighting his body so much as giving in. His stomach groans in warning, before his muscles clench and he ejects another wave of vomit.

When his abdomen stops seizing and he feels a little bit more settled, he fumbles for the roll of toilet paper, tearing off a piece. He wipes his mouth, and flushes the toilet, then heaves himself to his feet. He braces on the counter as his head spins, fine tremors running through his body.

When he settles enough for his vision to stop swirling, he washes his hands (it doesn't matter how sick he is - touching the toilet is just gross), and swishes some water through his mouth, spitting it back into the sick. It's not worth it to risk this reprieve his body has granted him.

He turns around to leave the washroom, hoping to sleep while he can, but he stumbles back a step when he finds Jayden leaning against the door jamb, hands stuffed in his pockets. Clearly he hadn't left, but Keegan hadn't realized he'd stayed.

"How're you doing?" Jayden asks, taking a half-step forward.

He's not sure how to answer that. When his stomach is upset, and especially when he's been puking, he always feels… raw. Like an onion with too many layers peeled back. It's uncomfortable, and in addition to the physical challenges, he always feels closer to the little kid who was trapped in his house.

Jayden is safe, he reminds his brain as he fights the instinct to move back a step in response.

"Wanna sleep," is what he finally mutters, which is true, but doesn't really answer the question.

"Sure, of course," Jayden agrees easily, and he must see Keegan's hesitation somehow, because he retreats out of the doorway, moving into the kitchen space and leaving a clear path for Keegan to make his way to his room.

Even though it's what he needs in his current mental situation, it feels kind of lonely to cross the flat by himself and curl up in bed. He almost wishes Jayden would follow him.

He consciously relaxes his mucles, starting in his legs and working his way up, a trick he learned to help him fall asleep better when he's not feeling his best, whether mentally or physically.

He slips into sleep easily enough, tired from the effort of holding himself together, then vomiting, and then piecing himself back together again.

— — —

The sound of the latch clicking. His door is opening.

His eyes pop open, and he sits up way too fast and his head is spinning and wow he's really dizzy. His stomach jumps into his throat, and he freezes, carefully swallowing to make sure nothing comes up.

When the black spots clear from his vision enough to make out the form at the door, he thinks he must be dreaming. He must not have woken up yet. There's no logical reason for his boyfriend to be standing in his doorway right now.

Still, he whispers, "Jamie?"

"Hi honey," he answers, voice soft and gentle, "I hear you're not feeling well?"

He's so… opposite of what he subconsciously expects, calm and sweet and careful.

"Nope."

"Can I come in?" Jamie asks, always so careful about boundaries and making sure he's not pushing too far.

Without overthinking the action, he slides an arm out towards Jamie, fingers reaching forward. Jamie gets the (not very subtle) hint, and crosses the room easily, hand sliding into place against his own. When their hands meet, there's a shock of warmth, and Keegan feels himself melt into a puddle.

Jamie, understanding that the offered contact usually means he's alright with expected touches, steps a little closer, slowly cupping his face.

"You don't have a fever," he murmurs. Keegan closes his eyes and leans into the comfort of his touch, which is why he feels Jamie stiffen.

Reflexively, he pulls his head back from Jamie's hand gazing at him warily.

Jamie seems to realize the reaction he had, and he withdraws his hands enough to give Keegan control over the situation, "It's okay, I'm sorry, I just realized you're still wearing your work clothes," he explains.

Keegan looks down at himself, frowning as he realizes Jamie's right, he's still in his button-up shirt and slacks.

"I'm gonna find you something more comfortable, yeah? What do you want?" Jamie asks as he moves over to Keegan's closet.

It's neatly organized, clothes in properly stacked rows, so Keegan instructs him from his post on the bed, "Um, grey pants from the bottom drawer, t-shirt from the top drawer, and, um, your hoodie from the hook."

Jamie efficiently finds the requested articles, and teasing, "Hey, I asked if you knew where this hoodie had gone!"

"It's big and warm," he says, then mutters under his breath, "And it smelled like you."

"It's sweet, it's okay. I'm not upset," he reassures, passing it over to Keegan.

He fumbles with the buttons on his shirt, his usually nimble fingers feeling clumsy and uncooperative.

"Can I help?" Jamie asks, inching forward, and Keegan nods, hands dropping back to his lap.

Jamie reaches out, making quick work of the buttons and Keegan's just focused on his little frown as he concentrates and how he's so painstakingly considerate.

When Keegan shimmies out of the shirt, Jamie averts his eyes, waiting until Keegan has the t-shirt on before meeting his eyes again.

Keegan finally unbuttons his pants, and it releases a pressure from his stomach that he hadn't even realized was there, and he makes quick work of sliding into his sweatpants.

"Oh, you're really bloated," Jamie comments quietly, and his cheek flush pink at the idea that Jamie noticed that much. His stomach chooses that moment to let out a long whine, and he tightens his arms around his middle, partly to try and muffle the sound, and partly because the sound is accompanied by a sick bubbling.

He brings his knees up closer to his chest, instinctively making himself smaller. Jamie perches on the edge of the bed now, a hand resting on his blanket-covered leg.

After a moment, Keegan frowns, and asks, "Wait, why are you here?"

Jamie reels backwards, looking surprised and a little hurt, "Oh. Um, I don't have to be. I can go get Jayden, if you want. Or Alix!" he offers, smiling to try and mask the sadness.

He goes to stand up, but Keegan's hand stops him, a loose but firm grip on his hand.

"No!" he exclaims, "No, wait, that's not what I meant! I meant how? How did you know to come?" After a second, he adds, "I don't want you to go," relieved when Jamie immediately sinks back onto the bed.

"Oh," he chuckles, "Jayden called me, said you were sick." He seems proud of this, since it's a definite mark of their relationship, that Jayden is willing to call him now.

Keegan looks shocked, blinking slowly as he processes this, "Jay called you?"

"Yeah. I'd call that progress, huh?" he says, with a teasing tone, shimmying up the bed to sit next to Keegan properly.

"Mm-hmm," sighs Keegan, leaning back and sinking against the pillows. His hand finds Jamie's again, pinkie fingers hooked in a way that doesn't restrict motion but still keeps them connected.

— — —

Keegan wakes to sharp pain in his stomach that has him going from sound asleep to wide awake in a second, panic gripping him as he realizes that throwing up is imminent.

A body moves next to him and he reflexively pulls back into himself, flinching away from even the possibility of contact, the writhing in his stomach making him too vulnerable to any potential attacks.

And then a voice filters through the panic. His boyfriend, his bookworm, Jamie.

Words flowing like a melody, he gently tells him, "You're sick, but you're safe. Jayden and Alix are in the other room, I'm right here."

"Ssssick," he repeats, and Jamie starts talking again, thinking he's still disoriented, but that train of thought is quickly disproved when Keegan gags, throat working to hold his stomach in check.

"Oh shoot! Here, here!" Jamie exclaims from behind him, and then he's nudging Keegan's hand with a plastic-lined bin.

Keegan hunches over the bin, grimacing as his stomach clenches again, and then he's puking. Harsh and louder than normal, he strains over the bin as acid squeezes up his esophagus. It burns, and it leaves him trying to breath through panting gasps as his stomach continues its torment.

The heaving eventually tapers off, and he's left trying to catch his breath while spitting out remnants of sour bile and wiping away tears of exertion that leaked from his eyes.

Jamie's cooing softly behind him, but for once, that's not enough. He feels unmoored, and he slowly realizes that the feeling tugging at his chest is want. Desire for contact, for safety, and most importantly, for Jamie.

His hand releases it's iron grip on the bin, shakily reaching back for Jamie, a pleased hum escaping his mouth when their hands connect.

Later, when he's cleaned up, and the sick-spattered bin has been removed, Keegan finds himself curled up with his head in Jamie's lap.

It's quiet now, but there's a tension running through Keegan that he's not sure what do with. He's not sure he can explain how comfortable he is here, but how that's scaring him too. It's not even the addition of another safe person that's the problem, but rather the idea that he's condemning Jamie to be that safe person.

"'M sorry," is what he ends up murmuring, his shredded voice sounding loud in the quiet room.

Jamie hums, fingers skimming his hair, "You don't have to be sorry," he says, confusion lacing his tone.

"You shouldn' have to deal with thiss," he expands haltingly, willing his brain to string his thoughts together, even though he feels like he could sleep for a year.

"With…?" Jamie's hand cups the back of his neck, somehow turning it into a gesture of soft touches and solace.

"Me, this," he explains, gesturing at the room which bears the signs of his illness. Besides Jayden and Alix, he's never had someone willingly accept the ugly parts of his parts, and part of him worries that Jamie's here out of obligation, some unspoken "boyfriend rule".

"Sweetheart, this isn't a chore for me. This is literally my job, as your boyfriend, and I want to be here for you." That… doesn't reassure him as much as it probably should.

"You're only here 'cause Jay called," he adds, almost whining as his wrung-out brain reveals his true thoughts.

"No hon. I'm here because you're sick, and you deserve someone in your corner. I really would rather be here with a sick you than at home without you." Well. That doesn't quite fit with the narrative Keegan's brain was telling him.

"But I'm - it's too much."

Jamie sighs gently, not as if he's annoyed, but as if he's thinking through his wording, carefully telling him, "You're not too much. Not for me. I think you're stuck with me." He's trying to lighten the mood, and remind Keegan that he's here of his own free will, but Keegan's not so easily swayed.

"Still. You shouldn't have to be."

"Keegan," Jamie says, a touch more stern, nudging him gently until he sits up so they are face to face, "Lovely, you are not "too much", and you're not being needy. You're being human. And right now, you're a sick human, who's allowed to ask for what you need. In fact, you're allowed to ask for what you want."

It's not going to magically fix everything, but for right now, it soothes Keegan's worries, reminding him that Jamie is one of the best people he knows, and also happens to care a lot for Keegan and his feelings.

"Okay," he offesr to the space between them, feeling Jamie relax with his agreement, as if he was physically holding the weight of Keegan's doubts.

They move back towards each other, Jamie reaching out first and Keegan fitting back against his chest, more entwined than they usually would be, but right now that's okay, both needing the physical reassurement of the other's presence.

As the room settles into that comfortable silence that exists only when two people are on the same wavelength, Jamie murmurs, "I like spending time with you, and while I wish you weren't feeling so bad, I'm really glad I can be here with you."

Keegan huffs sleepily, muttering, "Careful, you're starting to sound like one of your cheesy romance books."

"You mean the one's you read as soon as I'm done?" Jamie teases, fingers finding Keegan's chin and tipping his head up.

"I'm gonna kiss you now," he whispers, leaning down to press a quick kiss against his lips.

"Predictable," Keegan mutters against his lips, and Jamie leans back with a laugh.

[when-jaguars-are-sick]

Request: Keegan getting food poisoning while him and Jamie are on a date where they decide to go out for dinner and then do some other activity afterwards (I'm single, idk what couples do on dates) and it hits him while they're still out...

KEEGAN: Cheesecake and Chocolate

Thank you for the request! Sorry it took me awhile :)

This was fun, a bit of a deeper look into Jamie and Keegan's relationship more as we'd see it now in the timeline, I think. Not plot related though!

-- -- -- -- --

Keegan turns down his road, his car groaning at the effort. His eyes flick to the clock once more, reassuring himself that he has time. When he's finally able to pull into his parking spot, he grabs his bag and hurries inside, every movement intentional.

He calls out "Jay, Lex?" but he doesn't wait for an answer, already pushing into his bedroom, and putting his bag by his bed.

Alix bounces in after him, "Hello! Welcome home, how was your day?"

He smiles, "It was good. The kids seem reasonably invested in the book we're reading, and we had some good conversations. You?"

"Great! You should see the painting I'm working on now, I think you'd like it…" they go on to describe the colours, and the progress they made today, but Keegan's only half listening.

He pauses, forms a list in his head, and then methodically finds his wallet, the book he's reading, his water bottle, a hat, and then fishes his phone out of his work bag.

Alix, now sitting on his bed, watches him. "You didn't hear a word I just said, did you?" he teases, and Keegan winces in apology.

"No… sorry."

Alix laughs, waving him off, and flopping back on the bed, "Where are you off to?"

"Uh," he mutters distractedly, rummaging in his bag for the missing mitten, "I have plans with Jamie, in," he glances up at the clock, "17 minutes."

"And you're leaving me here, all by my lonesome," Alix proclaims dramatically, hand over his heart, laying splayed across the bed.

Keegan rolls his eyes fondly, then exclaims "Aha!" as he finds the elusive mitt. He gestures for Alix to follow him from the room, as he asks "Where is Jay?"

"He has a group project right now, so I think he's meeting with them after his lecture, so he won't be home for another few hours."

"Oh. Well, sorry to leave you alone for dinner," he starts a little sheepish.

Alix just grins, "It's fine! There's only a 30% chance I burn the house down."

He lets out a startled laugh, then teases back, "Only a 30% chance? Maybe you'd better order in then, I quite like having a place to live."

"Just goooooo," Alix whines, gently pushing him towards the door. He tugs on his boots, lacing them up, and zips up his heavy winter coat, shoving the mitts in his pocket and double checking he has everything.

"Okay. I'm going. Oh, and I want to see that painting later, 'kay?"

"Yep, I'm going to try and get it to cooperate for a little longer tonight."

"Good luck, love you, bye!" he calls as he pulls the door shut behind him.

Pushing back outside, the cold air nips at his face, and he hurries to the car, cranking the heat. As old as it is though, the car takes a full 10 minutes to actually start warming up, so he can already feel the cold seeping in as he starts it.

The car grumbles to life and heads down the road. Keegan's always wary of driving in the snow, especially since his car struggles a little at the best of times, and he's glad to find that, despite the snow, the roads are not icy and it should be a relatively good drive.

He mutters to himself as he drives, letting himself complain for a minute about the cold, and the stupid daylight savings making it dark at 5pm, and the snow for making the drive more stressful than it should be.

He makes it to the restaurant without incident, thankfully. He takes a deep breath, calming himself after his mini rant, and readying for the next few hours with Jamie. He knows he's a couple minutes late, at this point.

Back into the blustery cold, he rushes into the building, relieved when a front of warm air washes over him, and he can already feel himself starting to thaw.

He cranes his head, looking for the familiar face of his boyfriend. Not immediately spotting him, he tugs his phone from his pocket, just in case Jamie texted him, which he hasn't.

Scanning over the people once more, he frowns, about to double check their plans, when Jamie rushes through the door behind him, having just arrived. Keegan can't help the grin that flares across his face.

"Hey, sorry I'm late!" Jamie greets, and he laughs.

"I just got here too," he answers, "It's okay."

Jamie looks adorable, his nose flushed red from the cold, and bundled up in one of his cardigans under a winter coat, with a scarf pulled hastily around his neck.

The hostess leads them to a table, and they settle in, both shedding their layers and commiserating over the gloomy cold, dark, night.

It's a cute little Italian restaurant that Keegan's heard some teachers raving about. They settle on an appetizer to share, and then he gets a pasta with spicy sausage and tomato sauce.

It's been a few days since they've seen each other, and conversation flows between them, catching each other up on their lives.

Keegan finds himself rambling about the kids in his class, and the book they're reading. This peaks Jamie's interest, of course, and they get into a friendly debate over the message of the book and the intricacies of the storytelling.

The pasta turns out to be really good, the sausage just spicy enough to complement the sauce, and the noodles perfectly cooked. When Jamie offers him a slice of pizza, he's eager to try it as well, and Jamie steals some noodles from his bowl. A few minutes later and they're essentially sharing meals.

With such a delicious dinner, they decide to splurge on dessert too. For once, they are unable to agree on one, and instead end up with two slices of cake on the table.

Keegan slides his fork into the raspberry cheesecake he ordered, and Jamie groans in pleasure as he takes a bite of his chocolate mousse cake.

"I still don't understand how you could get cheesecake when there was chocolate on the menu," he teases.

"Not all of us have your chocolate addiction," he replies, with a little smirk, and Jamie gasps in mock offense.

"It's not an addiction!"

The banter continues, and Keegan's enjoying it so much that the cheesecake is gone before he realizes, and he's left with a sweet aftertaste clinging to his tongue. His stomach is full, and he feels very satisfied.

Jamie licks his fork clean of any remaining chocolate, and sighs in pleasure.

Leaving the restaurant hand in hand, they discuss their next plans. They had decided to go to the park, where they have a festive Christmas light show that you can walk through. Initially, they were going to drive separately, but Keegan has basically no desire to get back in his icicle of a car, so he ends up riding in Jamie's teal punchbuggy instead.

Somewhere during the drive, Keegan notices his stomach starts feeling a little tight, squirming a bit under the seatbelt, and he bites back a grimace.

At the park, they both bundle up again, Keegan tugging on his hat, and pulling his mittens out of his pocket… or his one mitten. Where's the other one?!

"Are you fucking kidding me," he mutters under his breath, Jamie looking over inquisitively.

He sticks his hand back in his pocket, finding nothing but his phone. No mitten. Did he seriously lose his mitt from the time he put it in his pocket until now?

"I think I lost a mitt," he informs Jamie, frowning in displeasure, hoping it's in his flat somewhere and not on the floor of the restaurant.

"Hmm," Jamie hums, glancing around his car as if it might suddenly appear.

"It's fine, forget it," Keegan says, trying to tuck the annoyance to the back of his mind, and focus on tehe excitement instead.

"Okay," Jamie half laughs, meeting Keegan at the front of the car, scarf pulled around his face once more, "Let's go?" Keegan nods, glancing at the forest in front of them.

They can already see the lights twinkling through the trees, before they even leave the car. Jamie's practically humming with a child-like joy. They follow the path, the colourful strands of light weaving a story before their eyes.

Jamie is immediately invested, looking around in wonderment. It's cold, though, and without his mitten, his fingers are already going numb with cold, and he tucks it deeper in his pocket. He can admit it's pretty though, especially with the way the lights reflect off Jamie's eyes making his joy even more infectious.

He can also admit that he might not be in the best mood for this. It's cold, and he's tired, and honestly not feeling too great. His stomach feels full and tight, in a foreboding way, rather than the just-ate-a-full-meal way of 20 minutes ago, and he's starting to regret deciding to walk around for an hour.

Snowflakes flutter around them, turning it into a scene from some kind of Christmas movie, and dusting their shoulders and the tops of their heads in white.

Jamie pauses a step ahead of him, staring at the scene in front of him, full of sparkling penguins, then glances back at Keegan to wave him over. When Keegan joins him, trying to distract himself with the penguins, Jamie looks up at him with a soft smile, and he lets himself get pulled into the magic of the night, for the time being at least.

Jamie tugs off his glove, and Keegan looks on in confusion as he shoves it into his pocket, realization blooming across his face as Jamie offers his now ungloved hand to him. A newfound warmth tingles through him as their warm palms meet, and his frozen fingers lace with Jamie's.

The touch sustains him for awhile longer, as they wander easily through the park, commenting on more impressive displays, or storytelling devices, or simply listening to the conversation and delight happening around them.

The festive energy is infectious, and Keegan feels it seep into him, his voice becoming a bit more animated, and his enjoyment less forced. He manages to completely forget the discomfort brewing in his gut.

The real problem starts when they encounter a hot chocolate stand, conveniently placed along the path, handing out samples, the warm chocolatey smell wafting along the air.

"You want one?" Jamie asks, inching towards the stand.

"No thanks, I'm okay," he answers, stomach bubbling. He's starting to think this is more than indigestion; it seems actually upset. Jamie snags a cup for himself, the steam curling around his face as he inhales and it fogs up his glasses.

Jamie squeaks in surprise, not being able to see anything, and Keegan tugs on his arm, leading them away from the stand and back along the path.

His stomach groans, displeased at being jostled while they walk, and even though they left the stand behind, Jamie's savouring his hot chocolate, and the scent is trickling into his nose, and his mouth fills with saliva. He gulps down carefully, relieved when it settles for the time being.

When he glances down at Jamie, he meets his eyes, and can't help the chuckle that bursts from his mouth when he notices the little spot of chocolate on his lips.

"So much for not having a chocolate addiction, huh?" he jokes, and Jamie laughs, bright and easy.

"Fine, fine. I admit, there might be a little bit of an obsession, but I refute the notion of it being an addiction." He scrunches his nose as he look up Keegan, a teasing glint in his eyes.

Keegan laughs, pulling him closer and giving him a small kiss, swiping the chocolate off his lips, and then leaning back, relishing the way Jamie's face goes pink and looks back at him bashfully.

He's still kind of in awe of his ability to fluster Jamie, and the sight of his adorable boyfriend makes the twist in his stomach completely worth it.

It's only once he registers that Jamie's talking to him, clearly waiting for an answer to a question that he didn't know was asked, that he realizes he was distracted by the sloshing of his stomach and wasn't paying any attention to his surroundings.

"Uh, sorry, what?" he asks dumbly.

"I asked if you- Hey, are you okay?" Jamie interrupts himself, clearly realizing something's off.

"Oh! Yeah, I'm fine. It's nothing," he reassures quickly, not willing to call an end to the night for an upset stomach.

"Oooookay," Jamie answers, only slightly unconvinced, "D'you want to finish this loop, then head back?"

"Sounds good," Keegan answers, despite the cramping in his stomach. He makes an effort to listen to Jamie, answering his questions and acknowledging his commentary, even as his voice thins with the effort of holding in his discomfort.

Actually, it's starting to pass discomfort entirely and head into "risky" and "pained", a roiling in his gut warning of incoming danger. His tongue is coated in the sticky sweetness of the cheesecake once more, only this time, it's not satisfying in the least.

— — —

Jamie knows something's going on with Keegan. He notices it first when Keegan zones out, losing track of the conversation entirely.

One thing he's noticed about Keegan, is that he's very attentive. He's almost always on high alert, especially in crowds. He recognizes body language and hidden meanings better than anyone he knows, and for Keegan to be losing his train of thought and his awareness… well, it tickles the worried part of his brain.

He said he's okay, and Jamie's not a suspicious person, but something in his gut tells him that might not be the whole truth.

He knows that something's wrong when Keegan withdraws entirely. They go from holding hands, and walking close enough to brush arms, and he initiates the kiss which left Jamie wanting more. But then, his fingers are brushing air instead of Keegan's hand, and he glances over to see that it's retreated into his pocket. He slips his glove back on, understanding the boundary.

It's only really when he glances back to find Keegan a few paces behind him that he realizes just how much he's tucked into himself. The worry makes itself known, and he frowns, stepping back until he's in front of his boyfriend, and he looks up at his face.

"Woah, hey, what's going on?" he asks, noticing how pale Keegan's gotten, even the flush from the cold being driven away by the clamminess of his skin.

Keegan grimaces, his whole face scrunching up too much to be anything but discomfort, maybe even pain, and Jamie winces. Instinctively, he reaches a hand out to cup his face, but Keegan pulls back, away from his hand. It's not as intense as it might have been a few months ago, but the reaction is still clear, and evidently he's not in a good mindframe anymore.

Now, it takes some self-restraint and some quick rationalization to understand that it wasn't anything he did. He's familiar enough with Keegan's mannerisms to understand that this isn't panic or fear. It feels more instinctive, like some outside factor trapped him in his head and body, but it doesn't seem like anything triggering, per say.

He's still trying to puzzle it out, but then a family walks by talking loudly, and Keegan's eyes dart the them, then back to Jamie.

"Are you okay?" he asks, and Keegan's eyes widen slightly, as if he's been called out.

"I- I'm fine," he answers, voice shaking despite his efforts to control it.

"Okayyy," Jamie draws out the word, somehow managing to sound comforting and disbelieving at the same time, "It's okay, let's start heading back, alright?"

He gestures for Keegan to follow him, keeping his movements quick and close to his body, checking once to make sure he does, and then leading them along the edge of the path, back the way we came.

"Wait," Keegan mumbles behind him, "I'm sorry, I'm okay."

Jamie sighs gently, half turning around, "Hon, it's okay. I saw enough lights to sustain me all year, and something's clearly bothering you. I'm alright, I promise. Let me worry about you now."

Keegan makes a frustrated sound, "Nothing's bo-" he cuts himself off for a moment before trying again, and Jamie glances behind him again, worry increasing when he sees Keegan braced over his knees. He hurries back, hovering over him uselessly.

After a couple seconds, he stands up straight, grimace firmly in place.

With his voice measured and even, the strain of holding himself together clear in his tone, he mutters, "Nothing's bothering me, I'm fine."

Jamie softens, "Yeah. And I'm alright leaving a little earlier to make you more comfortable. Come on," he reassures, leading him back along the path. He questions himself for a moment, wondering if this could be overstepping, if this is a time to listen to Keegan and respect that he knows his own limitations best. One glance back at Keegan, and his resolve hardens again; Keegan's still pale and clammy, and in obvious distress.

Jamie's so focused on the goal of getting out of there, that it takes him admittedly too long to realize Keegan has stopped again. This time, they're right past the hot chocolate stand, and he's standing stock-still, eyes fixed on the ground.

Jamie returns slowly, waiting until Keegan's eyes flick up to meet his own before doing anything more than inch forward.

"Hey, talk to me," he encourages.

"J'mie," he mumbles, sounding weird and muffled, "'M gonna be sickkk," he pushes out, as he jolts forward with a heave, fingers flying towards his mouth as he tries to will his body together for a little longer.

"Aw shoot," Jamie replies, glancing around. The only garbage can in sight is directly next to the hot chocolate stand which doesn't seem ideal for anyone involved. And the next best thing would have to be… I guess behind a tree, he realizes.

"C'mon," he nudges (verbally), hands hovering over Keegan's back until he starts shuffling off the path. As soon as they are tucked away from the central path, they are shrouded in darkness, the lighting angled toward the path and leaving them in the shadows.

Keegan stumbles the last few feet towards a tree, bracing against its trunk as he leans forward with a retch that grates up his throat.

Jamie lingers just behind him, grimacing in sympathy as he heaves again, vomit starting to splash onto the snow below. He's grateful it's so dark, in part because it keeps the attention on the lights and not them, and partly so he doesn't have to see the gruesome sight of his boyfriend losing his dinner. Just the thought makes him picture the red of the pasta sauce, and he bites back a gag of his own, focusing all of his attention on Keegan, and none of it on the mess melting into the snow at his feet.

Keegan leans into the tree as his legs tremble, trying to hold himself through another bout of vomiting, the puke spraying the bottom of the tree, and leaving him panting raggedly.

When there's a moment of quiet, save for Keegan's quivering breath, Jamie moves half a step closer, "Hey," he starts calmly, "How're you doing?"

Keegan grunts in response, spitting stringly saliva onto the ground, and he huffs out a nervous laugh, "D'you think you're done?"

"Dunno," Keegan answers, his voice rough, "Think so? Stomach feels a bit better, maybe."

That's the most he's admitted to all night, so Jamie takes that as a win.

"Alright, let's head back to the car, or do you need a minute?" Jamie's not sure what the right next step would be, half hoping Keegan will take the lead, or tell him what to do.

Keegan staggers around the tree and starts to sink to the ground.

"Wait! Key, hang on," Jamie darts forward, reaching for his arm before he can think it through, and tugging him back to his feet, "The ground's all snowy - you do not want to be wet right now."

Keegan clearly hasn't processed a word he said, eyes fixed on Jamie's hand on his arm, and by the time Jamie follows his gaze and processes what he did, Keegan's already accepted it.

Jamie barely has time to connect the dots before Keegan's weight is sinking against him, Keegan clearly understanding, even through whatever haze of illness he's in, that Jamie's safe and can help.

The amount of trust it must have taken to give up control of his body in a public place like this, leaning into touch instead of away from it… Jamie's going to do whatever he can to live up to it.

Jamie tugs his glove off with his teeth, shoving it back in his pocket. "This okay?" he asks, barely a breath, bringing his now-unconvered hand up to cup Keegan's head, still half expecting him to pull away. He doesn't. If anything, he leans more into him, Keegan's legs shaking under the effort of trying to hold him up after the impressive display of vomiting.

"Hmm, my hands are too cold. I can't tell if you have a fever," Jamie muses, mostly to himself.

Keegan croaks, "Don't think so. Don't really feel sick, just pukey."

Jamie hums, starting to lead them back to the path. Once the glow from the Christmas lights washes over them, he runs an assessing eye over Keegan, before nodding assertively. He wraps a protective arm around his shoulders, and makes no comment on how Keegan practically sags against him, instead just setting an easy pace back to the car. Jamie can hear his teeth clacking together as he shivers, vibrating under his arm.

Keegan stumbles a few times, his legs clearly not wanting to cooperate, but he still seems reasonably aware, eyes flicking between families and light displays, and Jamie's face.

"M'sorry," he mumbles so softly that Jamie almost misses it. His heart clenches at the apology, only wishing he'd known how crummy he was feeling so it hadn't come to this, almost feeling like he owed Keegan an apology instead of this way around.

"It's okay, I promise," he reassures instead, pushing as much intention behind his words as possible.

Jamie almost trips as they're nearing the car when Keegan says, "Guess I should've gotten the chocolate after all."

He catches himself, staring at his boyfriend for a minute until the joke registers, and then he laughs brightly feeling Keegan shake with a few laughs beside him.

When they finally spill into the car, Jamie immediately turns it on and reaches for the heat.

Keegan sinks into the seat, tilting his head up towards the roof and sighing wearily, body still trembling with both adrenaline and cold.

"Here," Jamie offers quietly, passing him a slightly crumpled water bottle. He unscrews it and takes a small sip until Jamie hums in satisfaction.

He starts to pull out of parking lot, muttering "Let's get you home."

A few minutes into the drive, just as he's starting to warm up, Keegan exclaims, "Shit! My car!" and Jamie jumps, but he catches himself before the car can react.

"Jeez Key!" he laughs, still startled and glancing over at him, "What about it?"

"It's still at the restaurant," he groans.

Jamie pauses, not sure what Keegan means.

"Drop me off?" he finally requests, and Jamie's mouth drops open.

"Um, no?!"

"Come on, I'm not even properly sick. No fever, remember?"

"Yeah, well I never actually confirmed that. And you seem to have forgotten that I essentially dragged you back to the car in the first place."

"Jamie. Seriously, I'm okay. Can you just drop me off at my car please."

He hesitates for a moment longer, "Where are Jayden and Alix tonight? Could they come get it?"

Keegan huffs impatiently, "Jay was doing some group project, and I don't know who has the car. Anyway, it doesn't matter, it's like a 15 minute drive, I'll be fine."

"Okay," Jamie sighs in defeat, "But can I at least meet you at your place?"

"Yeah, sure," he agrees, at least seeming to recognize that it's all from a place of concern.

So Jamie drops him off at the car, pushing the water bottle into his hand as he leaves, and watching as he climbs into the driver's seat, admittedly more steady than he'd expected to see.

He lets Keegan go first, trailing after him until they both pull into the parking lot for Keegan's building, following him up the stairs to the apartment.

This time when Keegan enters, he doesn't call out, glancing to the couch instead where Alix and Jayden are lounging, Jay's head pillowed on Alix's lap. They both look up when they walk in, and Alix nudges Jayden up enough so he can slide out.

"Hey!" he greets brightly, and Jamie smiles from over Keegan shoulder as they both unlace their boots and shed their jackets.

"Hi," Jamie answers gently, keeping an eye on Keegan's careful movements.

"Oh, Key! After you left, I found this on the floor: figured you'd be looking for it," Alix explains, tossing him the missing mitt, but it just hits his chest, flopping pathetically onto the floor.

"Oh, thanks," Keegan says, leaning down to pick it up, and stumbling just enough to be noticeable.

"Oof, must've been some date," Jayden teases from the couch, noting Keegan's tired expression.

"Oh yeah, one for the ages," Keegan answers with an eyeroll, "If only every date ended with me dramatically puking against a tree," sarcasm coats his voice, and he smiles at their small yelps of surprise.

Jamie can't help but laugh at the blunt Keegan-esque phrasing, leaning against the wall as he watches his friends start to fuss.

While Jayden wanders the flat apparently collecting things, Alix comes closer to Keegan, frowning.

"You're okay?" they check, and Keegan smiles softly, nodding, and Alix tugs him over to the couch. Jamie wonders if the check-in related to his comfort with touch as well, or if Alix just knows him so well they can tell when he'd be okay with it or not.

"Holy cow! You're freezing!" Alix exclaims, when his hands finally touch Keegan's, dragging a blanket off the back of the couch and onto Keegan's lap.

"We went to the light show," he explains, shrugging, even though he immediately stretches the blanket over his legs and snuggles into it's offered warmth.

"Jamie, you coming?" Alix calls back, and he grins, pushing himself off the wall, and over to join them.

"Okay, this is excessive. I'm fine," Keegan stresses, as they flutter about unecessarily, "I'm good, guys, seriously."

"You're the one who pronounced it like a big deal," Alix pouts as they settle next to him.

Jamie smiles at Keegan, feeling relaxed now that he's home and there's proof he's okay. He's not shivering anymore, and there's no indication that was a fever after all. It must've just been a bit of food poisoning. See, this is why you should always get the chocolate, he smiles to himself at his own joke.

[strawberrysickfics]

[its-a-goddamn-heartbreak]

Run ragged

We wanted to write a little Sasha and Ryosuke fluff to balance out all the terrible, torturous ordeals we put them through...

Written always with @lickstynine

The door to Sasha’s apartment slammed open, the sound echoing in the empty space of the high ceilings. It clattered all the louder in his head, and Sasha staggered inside, his face twisted into a grimace. He didn't even register the presence in his living room, stumbling blindly forward until he collapsed on the couch.

After a morning of fierce training, Sasha was more shocked than anyone he'd made it upstairs by his own power. His head ached. His body was sore and stiff. The world seemed to be wobbling around him. He groaned.

“What the fuck happened to you?”

Ryosuke's voice cut through the haze, and Sasha blinked up to see him lounging in the arm chair, feet up on the coffee table, book dangling from his fingers. Sasha blinked again, something like relief flooding his limbs.

“No, really,” Ryosuke continued, dog ear-ing his page and throwing the book onto the table beside his feet. “You look like you've been run over.”

“Training,” Sasha mumbled into the cushions, as if working hard at the gym would leave him with the waxy pallor of a corpse. His head was still pounding, and he couldn't consider a more complicated answer, too busy shifting himself gingerly on the couch to ease the aches in his body.

Ryosuke snorted, and Sasha heard him shifting his feet to stand. “You sure about that?”

Sasha grunted. Moments later, he heard the tap running and Ryosuke's voice floating over the top again.

“It's okay to say when you're not feeling well, you know?”

There was a long silence as Sasha processed what he had said. He was so accustomed to continuing on with his day regardless of feeling, that he wasn't used to noticing, much less acknowledging, when he felt bad. Now that he was actively thinking about it though, he really did feel awful, a nauseous malaise spreading through his chest while all his muscles groaned in protest even as he sat still.

“...I guess I'm not.”

“Yeah,” Ryosuke agreed. His voice was closer now, and Sasha opened his eyes just in time to see him crouch down beside the couch, a glass of water held in one hand. “Remember what we agreed?”

“...oh.” Sasha turned away sheepishly, staring into the depths of the couch. “Right.”

Ryosuke rolled his eyes. “I'm not mad at you, idiot. I'm just worried. You look fucking terrible. Did you feel this bad when you were at the gym, or did it come on recently?”

“Um…” Sasha hesitated, knowing Ryosuke wouldn't like the answer. 

“Earlier then,” Ryosuke nodded, one hand coming to rest on Sasha’s shoulder. His thumb stroked slowly back and forth over the soft fabric of Sasha's Henley. “Alright. What hurts? Talk to me.”

Sasha groaned, his head aching just from the effort of stringing together a sentence. As he thought, he came to the realization that he certainly hadn't drank enough water during his workout. He let out a shaky sigh, finally forcing out, “Just… sore, like I'd been too hard in the gym yesterday.” The discomfort in his belly bloomed anew, and he swallowed thickly before adding, “Nauseous.”

“‘Gonna puke’ nauseous, or just uncomfortable?” Ryosuke asked patiently. “I can get you the bin if you want.”

“Uhhh… just uncomfortable. I think.”

Ryosuke eyed him skeptically, having heard the wobble in Sasha's voice. “Have you eaten today?”

“...does pre-workout count?”

“You know it doesn't,” Ryosuke groaned, shaking his head in disbelief. “Especially when you're training so much. We talked about this.”

“...right. Sorry,” Sasha mumbled. The more he remembered the pre-workout, the more he wished he hadn't had that either. He could almost taste it in the back of his throat, sweet and acid and too full of supplements to ever have a chance of actually tasting good.

“What do you have in?” Ryosuke asked. “Or…what's on your meal plan or whatever? I'll make you something.”

“Uhhh…” Sasha hesitated. He knew he ought to eat something. He hoped if he did, it might stifle the acidic burn rising in his chest. But he felt too sick to have any sort of appetite.

Ryosuke seemed to understand, because he changed tack almost immediately.

“What about some toast?” He suggested. He'd set the water down on the coffee table in favour of stroking Sasha's hair. “Or I can make okayu, it'll just take some more time.”

Sasha perked up slightly. “Can you? That sounds… really good.”

“Yeah, of course,” Ryosuke agreed. “I'll get it started,” he said, hopping up and making a beeline for the kitchen.

Sasha almost immediately regretted his request. Ryosuke's hand in his hair had been comforting, and he missed the gentle touch the second it was gone. Rolling onto his side, he watched Ryosuke as he banged around the kitchen trying to find the utensils he needed. It was strange to have someone in his space like this, especially when he wasn't feeling well. There'd never been anyone who spent enough time here to know their way around his kitchen, not even Valentina.

He wondered why he had allowed this to happen. He didn't mind having Ryosuke around - he quite liked it in fact - but every time he thought about how vulnerable it made him, how it made both of them… he felt sick just lingering on the idea.

Shoving his father as far out of his mind as he could, he could admit that there was something cozy about being able to drift off to the sounds of someone else getting on with their day. He liked knowing that Ryosuke would be there when he woke up, would probably stay the night even though there was no guarantee of a decent sleep. He closed his eyes, trying to let his thoughts dissipate enough to relax. The sun drifting in from the window warmed him, combined with the reassuring sound of Ryosuke humming while he cooked. If only his stomach would get the message and settle down.

Sasha eyed the glass of water Ryosuke had left on the coffee table. His mouth was dry and bitter tasting, and he hoped that if he drank slowly enough, it might actually stay down.

Just sitting up was more of an ordeal than Sasha had anticipated. His stomach teetered wildly with the motion, his aching, overworked body fighting to stay upright. He grabbed the water with both hands, not trusting himself to keep it steady otherwise. The glass still trembled slightly, but he managed to avoid spilling, taking slow, cautious sips as his stomach would allow. He managed about three mouthfuls before his stomach growled unhappily. Putting the glass down, he shifted uncomfortably in an attempt to find a position where his belly didn't feel quite so twisted up.

The more he moved and squirmed about on the couch, the more Sasha became convinced that position didn't exist. It felt as if the water in his stomach were expanding, swelling and swirling into a full typhoon, and he knew it wouldn't stay down much longer. His belly grumbled, the need to belch rising in his chest, but he didn't dare risk it. Not out here. In one last attempt to settle, Sasha swallowed down the tightness in his throat, hoping he might be able to push past it and get a bit of rest. He lasted about three seconds before his stomach lurched anew, the bitter taste of pre-workout returning to the back of his throat. Staggering to his feet, he made a mad dash for the bathroom.

When he stumbled out some time later, Ryosuke was reclined on the sofa. He had one knee up, the other foot dangling off the edge. Sasha walked over, folding himself down into the space between Ryosuke's legs.

“You look like death warmed up,” Ryosuke commented, readjusting a little to take Sasha's weight against his body.

“Feel like it, too,” Sasha lamented, resting his head against Ryosuke's chest with a weary sigh. Even knowing he was empty, there was an awful acidic churning in his stomach that made him hesitate to get fully comfortable. He groaned softly, rubbing a hand gingerly across his middle. “‘s the okayu ready yet?”

“It's gonna be a bit,” Ryosuke said, running his fingers through Sasha's disheveled hair. “I'll get you a bowl as soon as it's done.”

Sasha nodded, tilting his head so that his cheek rested on Ryosuke's pec, one ear pressed against Ryosuke's beating heart. The last time he'd been ill he had woken screaming, near delirious with fever, and Ryosuke had held him like this for what seemed like an age. For once, he hadn't said anything, just cradled Sasha's head against his body until his breathing evened out and his heart settled to match the pulse thrumming in his ear.

Seeing some of the tension leave Sasha's face, Ryosuke smiled softly. He didn't need to talk right now - he was happy to sit and cuddle until the food was ready. He wondered absently, amongst all the people he'd been with before, if he'd ever cuddled with any of them like this. Sure, he'd had plenty of post-sex snuggles, but when, if ever, had he cozied up to someone with no intention of being intimate? He wondered whether Sasha had, whether the way he'd crawled into his arms just now was indicative of experience that Ryosuke himself didn't possess.

Ryosuke was drawn out of his thoughts as Sasha stirred against his chest, groaning softly as his brows knitted together in discomfort. “You alright?” Ryosuke murmured, cupping his fingers gently against Sasha's jaw to feel for fever.

“Just… nauseous,” Sasha muttered. “Not gonna puke again, I just feel… ugh.”

“Poor baby,” Ryosuke murmured, the gentle kiss he pressed to Sasha's forehead belying his teasing tone. “What can I do? Might sitting up a little bit help?”

“Maybe,” Sasha shrugged, not motivated enough to actually move.

“Maybe…” Ryosuke mused. He, too, made no move to actually sit up. “Okay. Tell me if you need something though.”

Sasha nodded, and at first it seemed as if he wasn't going to say anything. After a long pause, he timidly ventured, “Rub my back?” Almost immediately, he felt Ryosuke's hand slip from his shoulder. He settled down, sighing contentedly as Ryosuke rubbed slow, firm strokes up and down the space between his shoulders. His body filled with warmth. Though he still didn't feel well, Sasha found himself able to relax, and he settled into Ryosuke's arms with a snuffling sigh. Before long, his eyes had fallen closed with a leaden weariness, and his breathing steadied out in a sleepy, rhythmic huff.

[jeminirising]

a long walk home

A drunken head guard conquers an excess of booze with the aid of his lover, bathed in moonlight and lantern glow. ☆ OCs: Jemini, Aleksei ★ CW: Vomiting/Emeto, Alcohol Consumption/Drunkenness, Sickfic ☆ Word Count: 937

“That’s it. Get it up, quickly.”

“You know,” Jemini spits, sucking in a long, ragged breath, and exhaling it as a wet belch, “ugh – you could afford a bit more patience.”

He sways in place for a moment, attempting to rebalance himself with a grip on his knees. Still, the world seems to maintain a relentless, dizzying spin, and Jemini yields, leaning against the siding of one of the buildings they stand nestled between.

Aleksei huffs, glancing off to the blissfully empty pathways and wondering briefly what time it must be. The only passerby left are the occasional stragglers, stumbling along in a similar state to the man beside him. Jemini, for all his usual, insufferable presence, is trembling in a way that’s almost pathetic. Aleksei rests a hand on his back. A fruitless heave rolls up from the base of Jemini’s ribs, doubling him forward. His throat works around a convulsive swallow.

↓ read more under the cut ! ↓

“You will thank me in the morning when you are far less drunk.” Aleksei pushes his glasses up the bridge of his nose and returns his gaze to the pathway. The muscles of the other man’s back tense and ripple beneath his fingertips with the effort of another unsuccessful retch. “You’re empty. Now move.” 

Jemini makes a pitiful sound, almost alarmingly so, and spits again at the ground. In spite of the obvious, Aleksei decides the most certain tell that he must be utterly inebriated is the way that he actually obeys. They have known each other long enough by now to bloom awareness that this never means good things. After a moment’s rest, Jemini pushes himself up to stand as upright as he can muster, which is admittedly not very. Aleksei keeps a steadying hand on his back and guides him out of the alley and back onto the path. 

The lantern lights are burning low. The town is bathed in quiet gold. It would be serene, and even romantic, if Jemini knew how to control himself around a tavern. But control was never among Jemini’s strengths. Aleksei had learned that the moment they’d met, and at some point between then and now, he'd come to accept it.

“You don’t have to be so mean all the time, Leks.” 

Aleksei nearly startles at Jemini’s voice, which now sits at the hoarse base of his throat rather than in its typical confidence, resonant and low in his chest. His own chest clenches in sympathy. He pushes Jemini to walk a bit faster. “Yes, well. You could exercise more control of yourself. No need to be so reckless, either.” 

A beat passes. 

“And I am not mean,” Aleksei adds, muttering, “you are annoying. I am justified.” 

Jemini’s ear twitches. He jolts with a hiccup. “I heard that.”

“It was not intended for you not to hear it.” 

For a moment, Aleksei is hopeful that Jemini might’ve stabilized. This is the furthest they’ve managed to walk since leaving the tavern, and shockingly, the most Jemini has managed to speak. It’s almost comforting. 

Almost. 

Until Jemini stumbles and abruptly pitches forward with a guttural belch, bringing up an acidic mouthful of dark liquid. Aleksei pulls back just in time to avoid getting it on him as a much more productive wave spills onto the gravel. He shoves Jemini off the side of the path to lean over the grass and gathers the length of his hair in one hand, the other never leaving Jemini’s spine. 

Aleksei runs a gentle touch along the curve of it. Jemini hiccups again. He coughs and spits and then brings up more sick, smelling distinctly of liquor and something sweet. Aleksei grimaces.

“Alright. You’re alright. Breathe,” he says, tender without trying, and Jemini seems receptive to the shift in tone. 

He attempts a breath in and fails first, cut short by a gag. Jemini rubs at his chest and lets out a sour belch from the very pit of it, ending with a mouthful of froth. He attempts another breath, and this time, he succeeds. A little knot in Aleksei’s chest unfurls as the other man steadies again.

“Done?” 

Jemini makes a noncommittal noise. Aleksei decides for both of them that there’s no time to analyze that any further; if anyone were to find the head guard indisposed out here, it would do nothing good for anyone’s reputation. Not that much is ever secret in the close communality of Haaywyn. 

And so the journey back to the central building begins again, in teetering, swaying steps beneath moonlight. They fall into something akin to a rhythm. Aleksei leads the taller man into pace as he follows along, pliant with drink and seemingly content.

By morning, he’ll be miserable. Likely, he’ll be entirely indisposed by the consequences of a lack of inhibition and an excess of hubris. Aleksei might just want to kill him, then, if he weren’t so sorry for him, which he certainly will be by the end of it. But for now, with just the two of them in the quiet of night, with Jemini tamed and giggling softly to himself about nothing, Aleksei can’t really be mad.

Maybe it’s the warmth pooling in his own stomach, feeble in comparison to his companion. Maybe it’s the way heat radiates off of Jemini’s skin and the comforting familiarity of being close to him. Aleksei doesn’t have it in him to be mad. Steadying Jemini as he almost trips, he actually finds himself toeing the edge of something sentimental and soft.

But all of it will collapse into a haze by morning anyway, so he settles for a fond roll of his eyes.

[strawberrysickfics]

Usually I'm not a big fan of alcohol consumption in sickfics but I actually really liked this one. I love the dynamic between these two characters.

[lisupandowntown]

I have one more that's super tiny, but we haven't seen Avery sick with Adam for a while👀 what about something lowstakes like Avery with a terrible cold and cough (hint emeto chance when choking on a drink lol), doesn't want to go home early and Adam runs onto him (during lunch maybe?) and is like "are you really waiting for Rory to take home? Are you 12?" Just Adam generally being like so done with the situation and Avery being whiny and emebrassed and Adam putting up a show but taking him home, you know?🙏🙈 @writing-whump

This ask crawled into my brain and set up camp until I wrote it. That's all I have to say. Except that all of the asks I've gotten so far have been for Adam and Avery, or Adam and Drew, which I think should tell me something. For the anon who just asked for a fic - I like the ask and am going to try to write it next. @writing-whump

Adam shows his hand, a little bit

Whenever his work took him anywhere near North Boston, Adam made it a point to stop in at Gale’s Diner. He told himself it was because it was a convenient place for a good cup of coffee and quick breakfast or lunch between meetings. Truth was, the coffee was weaker than he liked and the food only fair, but Gale’s was half a block from Boston’s FBI headquarters and frequented by the agents who worked in the imposing red brick building. 

Not that Adam cared about that.

Like today, he definitely didn’t care about the figure in a back booth, hunched over a steaming mug. Even with his hoodie up and face practically touching the table, there was no question. Adam slid into the other side of the booth.

“You look terrible,” he announced without a greeting. “What’s wrong?” It wasn’t an exaggeration. Avery’s lips were chapped and his cheeks were red, which only made the circles under his eyes look deeper. This close, Adam could hear the rattle in his chest when he breathed, and he winced in sympathy.

Avery lifted his head, seeming unsurprised at the sight of his guest. Or maybe he was just feeling too bad to offer any snark. “Sick,” he muttered, as if that wasn’t obvious. “Prob’ly contagious.” He took a hesitant sip of his drink - tea, Adam could now see - and winced as he swallowed.

“I’ll risk it.” Without really thinking about it, he reached across the table and planted his palm on the agent’s forehead. “You’re burning up.” 

Avery rested his head against Adam’s hand for a couple of beats. “No shit. Do you have anything useful to say?” 

Adam snorted. “Glad to see the fever hasn’t fried your sense of humor. Why aren’t you in bed?” 

Avery lifted his head enough to smirk in Adam’s direction. “Propositioning me?” A second later he leaned back and began coughing, a wet, throaty sound that made Adam worry the guy was going to choke or something.  But before he could climb over the table so he could thump Morrison on his back to help him breathe, the man shoved a napkin against his mouth and gagged into it.  

“Fuck,” he gasped, spitting out whatever he’d coughed up. “Sorry.” 

Adam grabbed a couple more napkins off the next table and handed them over. “Let me ask you again; why are you still here?” 

“M’ working.” He gestured vaguely at his computer, which was sitting closed on the table. “Waitin’ for Rory.” 

“Cause he’s your carpool home? What are you, 12?” Adam tugged at Avery’s arm.  “C’mon, my car’s across the street. I can babysit you just as good as Landis can.” When Avery didn’t immediately move, Adam huffed. “I mean it, Morrison. You look like you’re about to keel over.” 

“M’ fine,” Avery croaked.  He tried to swallow more tea but after two sips ducked his head and began coughing again. When he couldn’t catch his breath this time, Adam got out of his seat and pulled Avery to his feet.  

“Outside. Now,” he ordered. “You’re disturbing all the nice customers.”  

Avery shot him a withering look but that’s all he could do, burying his face in his cupped hands and heaving while Adam threw twenty dollars on the table for a $3 cup of tea. 

“Don’t puke here,” he muttered, pushing the agent until his feet began moving. Avery’s coughs were so deep his face was turning red with the effort of trying to clear his chest and Adam finally gave in and began patting him on the back - anything to try and get him some relief.  They had just made it outside when one of Avery’s attempts to breathe caught in his throat.  He let out a sudden, choking burp, spraying tea all over the sidewalk and Adam’s pants. 

“Seriously, Morrison?” Adam huffed in frustration but didn’t loosen his grip. Avery pulled away though, gulping, and then leaned over to brace his hands on his knees until he half coughed, half vomited up more liquid. 

“Kay . . .” he gasped, burping again and then finally catching his breath. “You win. Take me home.” Tears streamed out of his eyes and he rubbed at them with his fists. 

“You really are a child,” Adam sighed.  “Good thing you’re cute or I’d leave you here in the street.” He wrapped an arm around Avery’s waist and let the man lean against him while they shuffled to Adam’s car. 

“No you wouldn’t.” Avery’s voice was wrecked and he was shivering uncontrollably but he sounded oddly cheerful. He waited while Adam dug around in the trunk and produced a shopping bag and a towel, both of which he handed over before tucking Avery into the passenger seat. 

“Don’t test me,” Adam warned. “And if you decide to have another coughing fit while I’m driving please aim for the towel or bag.” 

“Whatever you say,” Avery mumbled, sounding sleepy. “Cause you think I’m cute.” 

“Hopefully your fever’s too high to remember this conversation later,” Adam muttered. He wasn’t sure how he was going to get out of this one, but at the moment, he didn’t mind being stuck.

[lisupandowntown]

Mini fic request: Gabe queasy af and Logan's conditioner sets him off

Enjoy some hungover and miserable Gabe. I have one more minific request but it has enough plotty elements that it may just end up a regular fic.

Mistakes Were Made

Gabe knew before he even opened his eyes that he’d fucked up. He was curled up on his side in what he was pretty sure was his bedroom and there was not a single part of his body that felt okay - not the throbbing behind his eyeballs, not the putrid taste in his cottony mouth, not the sour nausea rolling in his stomach. Even his legs hurt, but when he tried to remember why, the effort caused spikes to erupt across the center of his brain. Nope, thinking was definitely a bad idea, after what had clearly been a night full of bad ideas. He cracked open his eyes and winced at the gritty stickiness because shit, he’d slept in his contacts. Trying to focus made dizzying spots dance in front of his face and when his stomach gave a queasy churn he quickly closed them again.

Logan wasn’t next to him but Gabe was in too much pain to roll over and try to figure out if she’d spent any time in his bed last night. God, he felt awful. Hangovers like this were supposed to be a thing left in college, when stupid decisions could be thrown up and slept off and then drowned in a greasy breakfast eaten at 2 pm. But Gabe was 25, with a stressful job and a loving girlfriend and a lower tolerance for alcohol than he’d had at 20.  Now he was suffering. 

Staying horizontal and very still was probably the best idea, but of course Gabe needed to pee. That wasn’t something he was able to do in bed, or even in the garbage can sitting on the floor right near his head, already helpfully lined with a clean bag. So apparently Logan was in the apartment. That fact was comforting; at some point she’d reappear and take care of him. But right now, he needed the bathroom. 

Sitting up caused a whole new set of problems. Gabe was barely upright before all the liquid in his stomach sloshed sideways and he retched over his lap before he could even think about grabbing the garbage can. Shockingly, he didn’t puke, just gagged emptily and managed to force up a burp that tasted like a disgusting mix of bourbon and onions. Gabe didn’t remember where they’d gone for food after the bars but obviously that had been a mistake too.

He was still sitting on the bed, trying to find the energy to move further, when the door clicked open and Logan peeked her head in. “Hey,” she whispered. “You’re alive.” 

“Wish I wasn’t,” Gabe muttered. “Feel like ass.” 

Logan grimaced with sympathy and walked over to sit next to him on the bed. “That good, huh?” 

Instead of answering, he buried his head in her shoulder. She scratched her fingernails over his scalp and Gabe tried to convince himself it was helping his headache. “You passed out last night before you drank water or took any meds,” she explained, voice still low. “That’s probably why you feel so bad.” She chuckled. “Well that, and enough whiskey and beer to drown yourself in.” Her cool hands drifted to the back of his neck. “I’ve got Gatorade and crackers; think you can stomach them?” 

The thought of trying to swallow anything immediately made Gabe gag, and to her credit, Logan didn’t jump away from the threat of getting puked on. “Guess not yet,” she sighed. “What can I do to help?” 

Now that he had a girlfriend, Gabe wasn’t above whining to her when he felt sick. Even when the illness was purely of his own making. “Help me up,” he mumbled. “Gotta pee. Dizzy.” 

“I”m not holding it to make sure you don’t miss the toilet,” Logan warned. She pulled him to his feet and immediately the room started swimming sickeningly around the edges of Gabe’s vision. He swayed into Logan’s side and she grabbed him around the waist. “Or . . . maybe I will,” she sighed. “So I don’t have to clean the walls and floor later.”  She helped him shuffle to the bathroom, where thankfully he was able to stay upright to aim at the toilet without her assistance. Afterwards he braced himself over the sink - gulping and trying to burp - anything to relieve the gross feeling in his belly. 

“Are you going to throw up?” Logan had clearly read the look on his face. “You might feel better after.” Her voice betrayed how doubtful she thought that was. Gabe’s hangovers tended to keep him nauseous for hours whether he puked or not. He shrugged gingerly, trying to keep the slimy feeling in his throat from crawling any higher.

“Dunno. Wanna shower.” He was still in his clothes from last night, he realized, and they smelled like a combination of sweat and beer and greasy food. His shirt was plastered to his back, and every inch of him felt sticky and smelly and gross. He gagged again and spit into the sink, suddenly desperate to get out of his clothes. “I don’ like this,” he mumbled, fumbling with his belt. “Hangovers suck.”

“They do,” Logan agreed, and even through his nausea Gabe could hear the mix of patience and amusement in her voice. “Here, let me do that.”  She unbuttoned his shirt much more efficiently than he could and then pulled the t-shirt underneath over his head. “Finish taking off your jeans,” she ordered, turning on the shower and turning up the temperature so that steam began to billow into the bathroom. “Do you want me to get in with you? I could wash your hair.”

“‘Kay,” Gabe breathed out. Getting undressed hadn’t really helped his queasiness and the sound of the water pounding against the shower tiles went straight through his head like a jackhammer. He considered telling Logan to forget it, that he’d put up with his body odor and stickiness just so he could lie down again.  But he was already naked and Logan’s expression was caring and warm and he really wanted to nuzzle into her neck so when she shucked off her pajamas he followed her into the shower and leaned against the back wall with his eyes closed.

At first it was kind of nice. Logan did everything - lathering up a wash cloth and running it all over his body in a way that was comforting but not sexy, and then scrubbing his hair with shampoo. The nausea didn’t exactly go away, but after he burped a couple of times it kind of sunk to a mostly manageable level while Logan massaged his temples with her thumbs. 

“I’m going to condition my hair really fast; it’s all tangly,” she told him when he was finally clean. “You good for another minute?” 

Gabe nodded, even though the heaviness of the steamy air was starting to feel thick in his throat. He’d been breathing through his mouth to fight the nausea and it was making him feel heavy and full and like he wanted to burp again. “But go fast,” he mumbled, moving to stand closer to Logan so he could lean against her side and keep touching her skin. He closed his eyes. 

The air changed. One minute it was warm and tasteless, and then his next breath was cloying and sweet. It assaulted his senses when he inhaled, heavy and overripe and foul. Like he’d swallowed a mouthful of rotten fruit.

“WhassAtUhhHRrurk?” Gabe retched through the question, nausea surging up from his sour stomach and into his throat. Logan made a sound of distress but Gabe was already bent in half, vomiting a fountain of bitter liquid all over the floor of the shower. It wasn’t enough. As soon as he tried to catch his breath his stomach turned over again and he gagged, desperate to rid himself of the overpowering smell.

He threw himself out of the shower and collapsed over the toilet in a naked, dripping mess. The taste was still in his mouth - overly sweet and thick - and he drooled helplessly while his belly churned and flipped while his body geared up for another round. He was so nauseous he couldn’t breathe properly, instead panting out tiny burps that made him dizzy. 

“Fuck Gabe, are you okay?” A towel dropped onto his shoulders and with it the odor of fruit returned as intensely as it had in the shower.  Gabe’s body locked down again. “Sm-smells . . . “ he managed to gag out, and then he was puking up his stomach contents - more stale alcohol and acidic mouthfuls of whatever the hell he’d eaten last night. 

“Oh shit my conditioner. Hold on.” Logan disappeared from behind him but he continued to vomit, belching up more every time he tried to catch his breath until black spots danced before his eyes. The towel slipped off his shoulders.

By the time Logan returned, finally smelling only vaguely of soap, Gabe couldn’t hold his head up anymore so he’d rested his cheek  on the toilet seat while he gagged emptily. Logan’s hand touched his shoulder.

“Is it better? I washed out my conditioner.” She sounded incredibly guilty. “It’s apple, I didn’t realize it would make you so sick.”

“T’s okay,” Gabe gasped, coughing harshly to bring up something caught at the back of his throat. “Smell’s gone.” It was quieter too; Logan had turned off the shower. He shivered and she wrapped the towel around his shoulders again. “Still nauseous though.” 

“The garbage can is by the bed; you can’t have that much else to throw up.” Logan held out her hand and Gabe slowly climbed to his feet.

“Don’t test me,” he joked weakly, rinsing his mouth but not daring to swallow when even the feeling of liquid in his mouth made him want to gag again. “Not sure I puked up my breakfast yet.”

“Something to look forward to,” Logan deadpanned.

[sickly-qt]

Okayyy, here we are. The first fic with Matt and Amy.

~~~

Amy: Could you maybe pick up Oli from school for me? They’re asking me to stay a little late…

Matt: Yeah, I’m home.

Amy: Home? Already?

Matt: Got sent home early.

Matt: Sick.

Amy closed her phone and laid her head down at the nurses station.

“Can’t find anyone to pick up your son?” Mary, the head nurse, asked.

Amy shook her head and sighed, “No, Matty said he would but also said he was sick in the same text. He does so much already I can’t ask him to pick up Oliver while he’s sick. I’m sorry Mary, you know I would stay if I could…”

“Nonsense, dear. Your family always comes first. I just wanted to give you the first chance to pick up the shift.”

“Thanks, maybe next time when I don’t have Oli.”

Amy: Don’t worry about it… just worry about being sick.

Amy: Thanks though.

She walked away from the nurses station to collect her things and get ready to go pick up her son. She’d be lying to herself if she said she wasn’t a little concerned about Matt getting sent home from work. Amy knew that he had to be on his deathbed before he would go home early.

As soon as she stepped foot through the door she knew she must be right.

Amy helped Oliver pull off his shoes before sending him to the living room to watch TV before dinner. The house was mostly dark and very quiet which wasn’t normally the drill when Matt was home before her. Usually he would be watching TV or bumbling about the kitchen. She made her way upstairs which was equally dark and quiet, save for one light coming from under the bathroom door. She didn’t even hear him moving around from downstairs. Had he been in the bathroom this whole time?

A grating retch served as an answer to the question in her head. (Probably).

“Matty?” she knocked before opening the door without waiting for a response. “Are you throwing up?”

“No, I’m looking for my keys.” He grumbled, flushing before pushing himself away from the toilet.

Amy walked over to where he was sitting against the wall and pressed her hand against his forehead. This was the first time since she moved in with her childhood friend that he’s been sick and he looked rather pathetic, in a t-shirt and sweats, his dirty blonde hair plastered to his forehead, eyes dull and glassy.

“You feel a little warm” Amy went straight into nurse mode, grabbing a washcloth and running it under the sink before kneeling in front of him. “Do you think you picked up a bug?”

She reached out with the washcloth, and he took it from her, wiping his own face.

“I don’t know, probably.”

“Have you tried taking anything for your fever?”

“No, Amy, I’m fine-”

“Have you been drinking water? Does Alicia know you’re sick?”

“Yes and Yes, Amy, please-”

“Okay, then you need tylenol and water. You should probably-”

“Amelia! I’m alright. I don’t need any of that.”

Matt pushed himself up off the floor and walked over to the sink, snapping Amy out of her trance.

“Okay, sorry.” She also got up and retreated back to the doorway, watching as he rinsed out his mouth and washed his face.

“It’s alright, I just haven’t been able to stop puking. I want to lay down.”

“Okay… let me know if you need anything and I’ll come and check on you later. Please drink some water.” Amy called down the hall after him.

Matt waved her off and mumbled about her smothering him before going into his room and closing the door behind him.

The rest of the night was uneventful, Amy went through the motions of the night, making dinner and watching a movie with Oli before giving him a bath and tucking him into bed. She walked down the hall to Matt’s room and knocked lightly before cracking the door and looking in.

The room was dark except for the light streaming in from the hallway. She could see the outline of Matt sprawled in his bed, laying on his stomach with the blankets tangled in his legs. Amy walked further in and laid her hand on his bare back, feeling the steady rise and fall of his breathing, he had apparently lost his shirt before collapsing into bed. She gently felt his forehead for a fever, trying not to wake him up. He was warm, but not warm enough to wake him up for meds.

Amy backed her way into the hallway and closed the door behind her.

She went into her room, sighing when she noticed the little outline of a toddler in her bed. Ever since they moved in with Matt, Oliver had yet to sleep a whole night in his own bed.

Amy shifted him over, making room for herself before climbing under the blankets with him and settling in for the night.

She’s not sure when she fell asleep but it felt like no time at all before Oliver’s little hands were shaking her awake. Her eyes were barely open before he was trying to yank her out of bed and into the hallway.

“Oli, Oliver! Baby, what’s wrong?” She crouched down to look at him and could see tears welling in his eyes. “What’s wrong, sweets?” She asked again, wiping his face.

“Uncle Matty.” He said, grabbing her hand and pointing down the hall.

Amy was about to ask him what about Uncle Matty, when she heard a loud heave come from down the hall.

Amy sighed and pulled her five year old into a hug, “He’s okay, sweets. He’s just got a really upset tummy okay?”

“Can you make him better?” Oli sniffled, pulling back.

“Me? Make him better? Of course I can, your mom is the best nurse around.” She smoothed his hair and picked him up to put him back in bed. “I’ll fix him right up okay? In the morning it’ll be like it never happened. Get back to sleep, baby.”

After getting Oliver settled back into her bed Amy made her way down the hall. The bathroom door was cracked, and she nudged it open. Matt had his arm draped over the toilet, his forehead resting against it. He was still in his sweats from earlier, and still shirtless. That gave Amy the perfect view of his stomach tensing and his spine curling as he heaved again, watery vomit pouring into the water. He lifted his head and looked at her, opening his mouth as if he was going to say something, only for a soft burp to come up sending his face back into the bowl.

“Okay.” Amy stood behind him, one hand on his shoulder while the other rubbed up and down his back. “You’re alright. Get it all out.”

“I- I’m sorry-” He said between breathy burps, the last one only bringing up a small amount of bile. “Did I wake up Oli?”

“Don’t worry about it, you’re sick. You think you’re done?”

“I think I’m empty.” He mumbled, leaning forward to flush the toilet.

“I’m going to get you some water and meds. Brush your teeth and lay down.”

Amy went back into her room, tiptoeing into the ensuite so she didn’t wake Oli and grabbed a blister pack of meds and her own bottle of water from her bedside table before going to Matt’s room.

“Take this, let it melt under your tongue. Wait 15 minutes and see if you can keep water down.”

“What is it?” he asked, looking at the tablet she dropped into his hand.

“Something to make you a little less nauseous.”

“You couldn’t have given me this when I was puking 5 hours ago?” Matt huffed, putting the pill in his mouth.

“Sorry, someone was really insistent that they didn’t need my help.” She sat down next to him on his bed and handed him the bottle of water. “And you’re scaring my kid, so it’s also for my benefit.”

“I freaked him out?” He gave her an apologetic look and leaned back against his pillows.

“A little bit,” Amy shrugged, “He thought you were dying for a second, but then he remembered that I’m the greatest nurse.”

“The pettiest nurse maybe.”

“The pettiest nurse who gave you meds to help you stop puking your guts up.” She got up and stretched, “If you can keep water down for an hour, take some tylenol for that fever. I’m going back to sleep.”

“Amelia?” Matt called from bed, making her turn around in his doorway. “Thanks. And sorry for waking you guys up.”

Amy waved him off and shrugged, “You watch Oli for me all the time, we can call it even. Get some rest Matty, you need it.”