Literally you could do those three sentence fics and I would rant about it for a good while. But... I love someone powering through illness until they pass out! Like the faint ‘catch me’ before they fall forward. With any of your boys, and if this prompt is not inspiring, that is okay 💜💕
Thanks for the prompt @itisasign!!! I did not succeed in using the words, but I think I got most of the prompt? My first boys, I hope you enjoy :)
Tristan stumbled slightly, clutching his choir folder to his chest as he climbed down through the pews. He stood for a moment when he got to the bottom of the choir stalls, the congregation milling around him giving him an excuse to catch his breath. The evensong that night had been twice as long as usual, a special service dedicated to survivors of the Second World War. Not only that, but the congregation that evening had been peppered with important people – big-name academics, University management, and donors who were responsible for funding vast amounts of research and uni activities. They’d spent hours extra rehearsing over the previous fortnight, and the whole evening Tristan had felt like a live wire, thrumming with nerves. Tentatively, he leant back against the wall; his knees still felt shaky from the concert rush, and he heaved in a gulp of air to try to steady himself.
“Tris!” Jamie pushed his way through the crowd as politely as he could until he was stood by his friend. “That was incredible,” he enthused. “So, so beautiful. I don’t even like church, but it was so moving.”
Tristan smiled weakly. Reluctantly, he pulled away from the wall to return Jamie’s hug and tried to ignore the way that his head swam as he soon as he had to support his own weight. Only a bit longer, he reminded himself. He had to stay a bit longer, for drinks and nibbles, and to sweet talk and network as he’d been taught, and then he could have a lie down.
“That’s good to hear,” he quipped lightly. “I would have hated for all that work to have been for nothing.”
Jamie took two glasses of sparkling wine from a nearby waiter, handing one to Tristan and taking a gulp of the other himself. “Come on then,” he encouraged with a wink. “We should celebrate your freedom.”
Tristan lifted the glass to his lips, taking a small sip. His mouth was dry, but his head felt so heavy already, he worried with the addition of alcohol it might fall off. “Hmmm, yeah…” He murmured. “Look, there’s that guy that wrote that book you love.” He grinned as Jamie turned, his eyes widening. “We should go and talk to him.”
“Ohhh…. No, I don’t think…” Jamie stammered, shaking his head warily.
“Oh come on,” Tristan urged, grabbing Jamie’s wrist and tugging him forward. Hopefully, with Jamie engaged in conversation, he could just stand and nod and still look reasonably coherent. “You’ll regret it if you don’t.”
Soon, Jamie was deeply engrossed in a conversation about some detail of economic history. At first, Tristan watched proudly – he hated how much Jamie underestimated himself, yet here he was holding his own alongside a published historian, barely missing a beat. But as the time dragged on, he felt his attention drift. The air seemed heavy and close, but he didn’t feel warm. Looking around he realised that no-one else seemed cold at all, and yet he shivered under his choral scholar’s gown. He forced his focus back onto the conversation, but his thoughts were sticky and he couldn’t keep up with the tempo of the discussion. He drifted again. The room was beginning to spin, the people around him blurring in and out like an old film. Or maybe a kaleidoscope. He raised his champagne flute, inspecting it carefully. He hadn’t drunk enough to feel this unsteady.
“Jamie.” He tried to interject, but his voice was barely a whisper. He cleared his throat. “Jamie, I don’t…”
He felt himself falling. He didn’t feel himself hit the ground.
To his shame, Jamie only realised that anything was wrong when the man across from him looked up in alarm. Then he heard the glass hit the floor, shattering shards of glass and sour grapes across the stones. Then, as if in slow motion, he watched Tristan collapse.
Afterwards, he wasn’t sure how he did it, but somehow he managed to catch his friend under the arms, pulling him away from the broken glass and lowering him to the floor. Around him, he could hear exaggerated gasps and shouts, and a gathering of prying eyes, but he could only focus on Tristan’s pale face and the fact that he hadn’t noticed sooner.
“Tris? Tris can you hear me?” He asked, shaking his friend’s shoulder. A little frantic, he pulled off his blazer, folding it like a pillow under Tristan’s head. “Tris, come on!”
“Mnnnnn….” Tristan’s eyelids fluttered.
“That’s it, can you hear me?” Jamie laid a hand against Tristan’s forehead.
He seemed a little warm, but nothing to warrant the way he’d swooned.
“Ughh, what’s happ’nin’?” Tristan moaned. He tried to open his eyes, but it was if exhaustion had glued them shut.
“You passed out,” Jamie explained gently. “Have you been feeling ill?”
“Wha’?” Tristan struggled to sit himself up but was firmly pushed back down.
He forced his eyes open a crack, seeing Jamie’s concerned face swimming above him. “No…”
“Are you sure?” Jamie probed dubiously. “People don’t just pass out for – no he doesn’t need an ambulance! – for no reason.”
Tristan buried his face in the soft fabric underneath his head. As he became more aware of his surroundings, embarrassment was beginning to creep in.
“I don’t feel sick,” he insisted. “Just…dizzy. And tired.”
Jamie sighed, resting his hand on Tristan’s shoulder. This wouldn’t be the first time that Tristan had worked himself to a breaking point, but he just never seemed to learn his lesson. “Okay. I’m going to phone Ruairi to come pick us up, but you can’t wait here in the middle of the floor.”
Tristan groaned. “Yeah okay, but… I need a minute.”
Jamie glanced around. People seemed to be gradually losing interest in the spectacle, although some stragglers were still hovering around. “Yeah. Yeah okay Tris. Take all the time you need.”
