#jessime

[feelingsick]

"excuse me, where's the nearest restroom?" And "my friend isn't feeling so well" for Jessy?

((Written with @sicklyfeels))

Even from his place at the other end of the large banquet table, Shinya could tell that Jessime was struggling. The young man’s face had been growing more and more pale as the dinner stretched on, and it was obvious that he was only picking at his meal without really eating any of it. He was still doing his best to smile and keep up with the conversations, but it looked to be a losing battle. Twice Shinya caught him dabbing the sweat from his brow when he thought no one was watching. When Jessime brought a cautious hand to hover over his mouth, Shinya decided it was time to step in.

There was no way to get to him without causing a scene, and the last thing that either of them needed was to draw too much attention to themselves. Thinking fast, Shinya drew his cell phone from his pocket, glancing at it briefly before pushing his chair back.

“Sorry, I’m afraid I need to take this,” he said to the people sitting near him. He stood, walking briskly from the room as he held the phone to his ear. Once he was out of sight from the table, he dropped the nonexistent phone call.

He waited for a minute, then made his way back to the table, still holding the phone. He moved to where Jessy was sitting, placing a firm hand on his shoulder.

“I apologize, but I need to borrow Jessime for a moment.”

Jessy turned toward him, his brow furrowing in confusion. “What?”

“This call pertains to you,” Shinya said briskly. “It can’t wait.”

Jessy still looked confused, but he pushed his chair back and stood, following Shinya obediently as they left the room again.

“Who’s on the phone?” Jessy asked once they got into the hall.

“No one,” Shinya replied, giving Jessy a smirk. “It’s a ruse. I can tell that you’re sick, and knew you wouldn’t just excuse yourself.”

“Oh,” Jessy mumbled, a hand straying to rest over his midsection. “Um…thank you.”

“You’re welcome. Now, let’s find you a restroom or something,” Shinya suggested. “You look like you’re going to be sick any second.”

Jessy nodded. “Yeah, that’s probably a good idea.”

Shinya rested a hand on Jessy’s shoulder, leading him down the hall in search of a restroom they could take refuge in for a while. Poor Jessy looked paler by the second, his steps getting more staggered and unsteady as they walked. Thankfully, a waitress was walking by, and Shinya flagged her down.

“Excuse me, where is the nearest restroom?” he asked.

Seeing Jessime, the waitress flashed them both a sympathetic smile. “Down this hall and to the left,” she said. Shinya thanked her, tugging Jessy in that direction.

The restroom came into view as soon as they turned the corner, and Shinya let out a relieved sigh. Unfortunately, as they walked towards it, another man stepped into view and began opening the door.

“Pardon me, sir,” Shinya called out. The man paused, one foot already in the bathroom, and turned to them as they approached. “I’m sorry,” Shinya continued, “but we need this restroom. My friend isn’t feeling well,” he added, gesturing towards Jessy. The man’s eyes widened, and he quickly stepped away with a nod.

“Thank you very much,” Shinya said, helping Jessy into the restroom and hoping the man wasn’t too inconvenienced. Jessy definitely needed the room more.

As soon as the door closed, Jessy took his place in front of the toilet. He crouched on the balls of his feet, one hand pressed into his stomach and the other pushing back his curls.

“I thought I’d be alright,” he muttered. “But these dinners are always so damned /long/.”

Shinya looked down at him sympathetically, hesitating a moment before he knelt down beside him. “Just try to relax. If you can’t make it back to the dinner, we’ll just leave. I’ll walk you to the car, then go back inside with some lie to excuse you.”

Jessy huffed out a sigh, shifting forward to lean over the toilet. “Whatever I’m paying you, it’s not enough.”

Shinya laughed a little, putting a hand on Jessy’s back. “I am very good at my job. Maybe you should give me a raise.”

Jessy opened his mouth to answer, but whatever quip he was about to make was lost as he gave a sudden heave. Shinya frowned, rubbing Jessy’s back comfortingly.

“You’re alright. If you need to throw up, don’t hold it in.”

“It hurts,” Jessy whined, his voice thick. He burped, lurching forward when that turned into another heave. Jessy’s back arched as he heaved a third time, this one managing to bring up a gush of vomit. Shinya continued to rub his back as Jessy coughed, drawing in a quick breath before he brought up another wave.

“You’re okay,” Shinya soothed, reaching a cool hand up to rest on Jessy’s warm forehead. “I’ve got you, Jessy.”

Jessy groaned, leaning into Shinya’s hand. “I don’t think I’m going to make it back to the dinner.”

“That’s okay. I’ll cover for you, and we’ll go back to the hotel so you can rest,” Shinya assured him, letting his hand linger at the small of Jessy’s back. Only for a moment. “...Wait here. I’ll go excuse us, then come back to take you outside.”

Jessy nodded, resting his forearms on the rim of the toilet. “Thank you, Shinya.”

[feelingsick]

May I request Jessime with a hella fever, if you’re in the mood?? (Or Foster, honestly I love all your characters but I haven’t seen Jessime in awhile haha)

(Written with @sicklyfeels)

“You’re really burning up, Jessy,” Shinya muttered worriedly, sitting on the edge of Jessime’s hotel bed with a hand on his brow. “I think you should go to a doctor.”   

Jessy shook his head, pulling the comforter around himself. “I just need to take some more Tylenol,” he said.

“You’ve taken plenty, and you don’t feel any cooler at all,” Shinya insisted. “I wish I had a thermometer or something here. I swear, I’m going to start keeping a first aid kit with me wherever we go.”

Jessy hummed, his eyes closing as he leaned into Shinya’s touch. “We have a meeting to go to this afternoon,” he mumbled.

“No, absolutely not. I’ll call and tell them you’re ill and won’t be able to make it. They can email me the information later,” Shinya replied.

“We can’t waste this trip,” Jessy argued. He shoved the blanket off and forced himself to sit up, rubbing a hand over his face. “I’ll be okay for one afternoon.”

“No, you won’t. You look like death, Jessy. You’re even paler than usual, you’re sweating, and you look exhausted.”

“Such flattery,” Jessy quipped as he pushed himself to his feet. He swayed for a second before gaining his balance, then shuffled over to the dresser, drawing out a crisp white button-down shirt and a pair of dark dress pants.

“Jessy, I’m serious,” Shinya said more sternly, standing up from the bed. “You’re not going to this meeting. You can either lay down and rest, or I can take you to the hospital, but those are your only choices right now.”

“One meeting,” Jessy said, slipping on the shirt. His fingers shook as he attempted to button it.

Shinya let out an exasperated sigh, taking Jessy’s hands in his own to stop him. “Would you please just listen to me? You’re too sick to go. There’s nothing wrong with cancelling.”

Jessy stilled, keeping his eyes downcast. “Please, Shinya,” he said quietly. “You know my father won’t like it if I’m not there.”

“I...I know, but Jessy, you can’t help being sick. You need to stay and rest, or you’re just going to make it worse.” Shinya tried to nudge him back towards his bed, but Jessy did little more than sway on his feet. He thought to argue more, but when he looked at Jessy’s face, he noticed that his eyes looked even glassier than before.

“...Jessy?” he called. He received no answer, and Jessime’s eyes suddenly rolled back in his head. Shinya barely had time to catch him before he hit the floor.

He heaved Jessy over to the bed, lifting him onto it carefully. He called his name again, patting Jessy’s cheek and feeling just how hot he’d gotten.

Trying to push down his panic, Shinya unbuttoned Jessy’s shirt and pulled it off of him. He ran to the bathroom and soaked the hand towels in cold water, bringing them back and laying them across Jessy’s feverish skin.

Jessy moaned, trying to shift away from the sudden cold sensation. His eyes flickered open, his brow furrowed. “Shinya?”

“I’m right here,” Shinya assured him, draping a cold cloth over his forehead. “You passed out.”

“I don’t feel very well,” Jessy mumbled. He shivered hard, instinctively pushing at the dampened cloths.

“No, no. Leave them there. They’ll help,” Shinya said, gently moving Jessy’s hands away. “Just relax. I’m going to get more medicine for you to help your fever go down.”

As quickly as he could, he went to Jessy’s suitcase, finding the bottle of Tylenol stashed there. He grabbed a dose and a bottle of water from the mini fridge, and brought both back to Jessy. “Take these, and drink as much as you can.”

Shinya had to help him sit up, and even open the bottle for him, but Jessy dutifully swallowed down the pills, gulping down nearly half the bottle of water before Shinya took it away.

“Okay. That’s good,” Shinya praised, making sure the cloths were all back in place to help Jessy cool down. “I’m sure this’ll pass if you just rest, but I’m going to take you to a doctor if you don’t start improving.”

“He’s going to be angry,” Jessy moaned weakly. “He’ll be angry if I don’t go…”

“He won’t. It’s okay. I’ll handle everything, I promise,” Shinya assured him. “All you have to worry about it resting now.”

It looked like Jessy wanted to argue, but he didn’t have the strength anymore. He slumped back into the pillows, watching Shinya with watery, fever-bright eyes. “Promise?”

“Of course,” Shinya promised. “Now try to sleep if you can. I’ll be right here if you need anything.”

[feelingsick]

“You really don’t look good” from the caretaker right before the sickie passed out and pukes on themself??

Camille had developed two seperate sets of protocol for dealing with an intoxicated Jessime depending on whether he was “sad drunk” or “happy drunk”. 

“Happy drunk” was fairly straightforward and usually just meant corralling her brother in his room to keep him out of trouble until he passed out, at which point he’d sleep it off and wake the next morning with nothing more than a hangover. It helped, too, that Mel was usually with him when that happened, and while the two of them often got each other into trouble, they could at least look after each other.

“Sad drunk” was another story. When Jessime was upset, he drank alone and to excess. There was no Mel to look after him, and simply shutting him into his room would only make the problem worse. When her brother got like this, it was because of a deeper problem.

When Jessime stumbled into the manor at nearly midnight alone and reeking of alcohol, she had no doubt which version she was dealing with.

“Jessime,” she called, drawing his attention. He startled, turning towards her so fast that he nearly lost his footing and had to catch himself against the wall. Up close, she could see that his shirt had been haphazardly buttoned, and his lips were red and puffy in a way that spoke of hungry kissing.

“Jessime,” she said again, furrowing her brow, “what have you been doing?”

Her brother shrugged, once hand still braced against the wall to keep him upright. “Just having a drink,” he slurred.

“Yeah?” Camille challenged. “With who?”

Jessime’s eyes narrowed, his posture turning instantly defensive. He didn’t answer.

Camille sighed, fighting the urge to roll her eyes. “Come on,” she said, grabbing him by the sleeve. “It’s late. You should sleep.”

Without the wall holding him up, Jessime swayed precariously on his feet, but Camille was prepared. She looped his arm around her shoulder and held him around his waist, guiding him up the stairs one slow step at a time.

It took a long while before they made it to Jessime’s rooms. She sat him down on the edge of a lounge sofa, making sure he was steady before she knelt down and began unlacing his shoes.

“Don’ be mad, Cami,” Jessime slurred. Camille felt herself soften at the use of the nickname. She tugged off his shoes and stood, looking him over.

“Do you think you can manage to undress yourself, or do I have to do that, too?”

Jessime at least had the good grace to look chastised. He pulled himself back onto his feet, wobbling a little before he got his balance, and began unbuckling his pants. But as he bent to pull them off, a sharp burp made Camille turn her attention back to him.

“Jessime?” she questioned, watching as he tossed his pants aside, a hand over his mouth. She placed a hand on his arm. “Maybe we should go to the bathroom. You really don’t look good.”

If she hadn’t been standing right in front of him, she would have missed the moment his eyes rolled back, sending his knees buckling under him. Camille caught him by the front of his shirt and heaved him back towards the sofa, managing to at least get him sitting, although his head still flopped limply on his shoulders.

“Jessy,” Camille said urgently, tapping his face. “Come on, you can’t pass out on me yet.”

Jessime blinked a few times, his eyelids fluttering as he fought back to consciousness.

“That’s it,” Camille coaxed. “Come back to me, Jes.”

Her brother’s eyes fluttered once more before snapping open, and Camille only had a second of relief before he suddenly vomited down his front. She cursed, gripping him by the shoulders as he heaved again, the smell of bile and alcohol nearly making her gag as well.

“C-Cami,” he choked, retching up another wave all down his already soaked shirt.

“Shh,” she soothed, reaching out to cup his cheek. “I’m right here. Just breathe.”

Jessime sucked in a few quick breathes. He gagged again.

“That’s it,” Camille murmured, watching her brother fight against the nausea. She waited a few minutes, and while Jessime continued to gag intermittently, he wasn’t bringing anything else up. “You’re done, Jes,” she said after another moment. He made a pained sound but allowed her to ease him back against the arm of the sofa.

She got to work unbuttoning his shirt, gagging as she peeled the soiled fabric off his chest. After making sure he was steady enough not to topple off the sofa, she went to retrieve a damp cloth from the bathroom. He looked like he’d fallen asleep by the time she returned to his side, but he flinched awake again when she brought the cloth to his lips.

“Sorry,” he slurred as she moved to clean the puke from his chest. “M’sorry, Cami…”

“I know you are,” she said, a little more harshly than she’d intended. She sighed. “Let’s just get you into bed,” she said, more gently. “You’ll feel better once you sleep this off.”

[feelingsick]

maybe someone’s in a foreign country and something about the food there just doesn’t settle right with their stomach- maybe it’s the spices? either way, they try to hide it from the rest of the vacationers they’re with as to not ruin the fun, but eventually they become too miserable to hide

((written with @sicklyfeels <3 ))

Their trip to Dubai was technically a business trip, but Jessime and Shinya had a lot of free time on their hands after their meetings ended in the early afternoons. They’d spent the first couple of evening sampling the most expensive venues and restaurants in the city, but Jessy was eager to check out more of the local scene, not just the places where rich travelers settled in.

So, albeit a bit begrudgingly, Shinya agreed to go with him to explore the downtown area, where music was playing and food trucks were making the streets smell amazing.

“How about that?” Jessy asked, pointing to a popular looking food truck. A small crowd was gathered around it, and it took Shinya a moment to even be able to see what the truck was selling.

“I’ve never tried shawarmas before,” Jessy said excitedly, already moving in the direction of the truck.

Shinya rolled his eyes, but couldn’t keep himself from smiling fondly at Jessy. “Alright. Let’s get some,” he said, following after Jessy. “I’ll order us a couple. I’ve had them before, and liked them. I think you’ll like them, too.”  

Jessime didn’t speak any Arabic, but Shinya knew enough to get by. He ordered them each a shawarma, handing one of the foil wrapped meals to Jessy as they started back in the direction of their hotel.

“Oh, wow! These look amazing,” Jessy said, peeling the foil back to take a bite. He made an appreciative sound.

Shinya smiled at him, taking a bite of his own food and humming in agreement. They were delicious, generously seasoned and spicy. He chuckled at how quickly Jessy finished his off.

“Good, right?” he said. “I’ve always loved the food here.”

“I can see why.” Jessy tossed the empty wrapper into a trashcan as they passed. “I’ve only been here with my family, and they definitely wouldn’t have eaten anywhere that wasn’t Michelin-starred.”

“Well, my family can be like that for the most part, but I always insisted on trying different foods when we traveled. I guess it’s always been a sort of passion of mine,” Shinya explained. “And if you really want to learn about a different culture, you have to eat their food. Real food, not the kind that costs twenty-nine thousand yen per meal.”

“I couldn’t agree more, mon ami.”

Jessy let out a slow breath, placing a hand over his stomach.

“Man, I’m full. I’m ready to head back to the hotel, maybe grab a nap before we head out again.”

“That sounds like a good idea,” Shinya agreed. “I wouldn’t mind a quick shower, either. I’ll call the driver.”Shinya pulled his phone out of his pocket to dial the number for their transportation. The driver wasn’t too far away, so they didn’t need to wait long before he pulled up in a black town car. They climbed into the back, and headed towards their hotel.

Jessime shifted and fidgeted the entire ride, and by the time they arrived at the hotel, he’d definitely started looking a little off. Even sitting across from him, Shinya could see the thin sheen of sweat on his skin.

“Are you feeling alright?” he finally asked, furrowing his brows worriedly as he stared at Jessy. “You look a little pale.”

Jessy forced an unconvincing smile. “Just a little stomach ache. I must have eaten too quickly.”

The door was opened for them and they each filed out of the car. Shinya noticed how Jessy’s hands trembled as he tipped their driver.

“Let’s get to our room,” Shinya said, trying to sound encouraging. They got into the elevator, heading up to their suite on the top floor. With each floor they passed by, it looked like Jessy was getting more and more uncomfortable.

When they reached their room, Shinya expected Jessy to climb the stairs to the mezzanine where his bedroom was, but he completely bypassed the stairs in favor of moving towards the guest bathroom on the lower level.

“Jessime?” Shinya called after him, definitely worried now. He hurried after him, not wanting to impose on Jessy’s privacy, but also concerned for him. “Are you sure you’re alright?”

He found Jessy hovering over the toilet, a hand on his stomach.

“I’m not feeling very well,” Jessy admitted. “I don’t think those shawarmas agreed with me.” He gave a convulsive swallow and quickly crouched down, positioning his head over the rim expectantly.

“Chikushō,” Shinya cursed, moving to Jessy’s side. He hesitated, but decided to put his hand on Jessy’s back, rubbing gentle circles over it. “Too much spice, maybe? We got them at the same time, and I feel fine. It shouldn’t be food poisoning or anything like that.”

Jessy gave a queasy hiccup, leaning forward. “I don’t know. It just...it feels bad.”

“Get it up if it’ll make you feel better,” Shinya said, his voice coming out more gentle than he’d meant it to. He couldn’t help it when it came to Jessy.

Jessy shook his head, breathing deeply in an effort to keep his dinner down. At first it looked like he might actually manage it.

“I’m sorry about this,” Jessy said, his voice thick. “You don’t have to stay if—“

He went suddenly still, pressing his lips together tightly before shooting forward with an unproductive heave.

“Oh, Jessy...” Shinya helped him lower himself all the way down to his knees, and knelt down beside him to continue rubbing his back. “Don’t fight it. Just get it up, you’ll feel better.”

Jessy groaned, letting his head hang over the rim. A second later he retched again, this time managing to bring up a thin trickle of vomit.

Shinya pressed upward a little harder, encouraging Jessy to throw up again. He was really hoping that once it was out of his system, Jessy would feel better. He hated seeing him so vulnerable.

Sure enough, the next heave was deeper, bringing up a rush of vomit that splashed over the rim and onto the floor. Jessy coughed once before giving another gurgling retch, and then a smaller heave after that.

He gripped the edges of the toilet until his knuckles turned white. He was beyond fighting it now, and simply hung his head over the basin, his mouth open as his stomach urged up a few more gushes of bile.

All Shinya could do for him was continue massaging his back, one hand even going around to gently rub his upset belly. He murmured softly in Japanese, words of affirmation and affection that he knew Jessy wouldn’t understand.

After a few more minutes of deep breathing, Shinya felt Jessy begin to relax. He leaned back from the toilet, accepting the towel that Shinya offered him.

“I think I’m done,” he said, wiping the mess from his mouth.

“Alright, that’s good. Let’s get you to your room, okay? You can lay down, and I’ll bring you a glass of water,” Shinya offered.

Jessy nodded, letting Shinya help him to his feet. “I don’t think I’m going out again tonight,” he said.

“No, you’re not,” Shinya agreed, laughing softly. “Get into bed. Get some rest, and I’ll bring the water pitcher to you. I’m sure you’ll feel better in the morning.”

[feelingsick]

hmmmm all emeto questions for Jessi because uh,, he's a good boi

I misread this as “good bi” which is also Correct 

1. Cough or burp or hiccup when throwing up? 

If he’s drunk, he tends to hiccup. 

2. Make the biggest mess in the world or make it to the toilet in time? 

Unless he’s absolutely shit-faced, he prides himself on being able to keep himself together until he gets to a toilet. 

3. Little and often or one huge gush and everything’s done? 

One huge gush

4. Like belly rubs when having an upset tummy or don’t like being touched at all? 

He loves tactile affection when he’s sick, but a lot of times having his stomach rubbed only makes it feel worse. 

5. Retch loudly or quietly? 

He’s on the louder side

6. Sticks their fingers down their throat to get everything up or leave it to happen naturally? 

Leave it to happen naturally. He’d have to feel really bad to make himself puke. 

7. Prefer the toilet or a bucket?

Toilet, just because it makes clean-up easier

8. Feel comfortable to vomit in front of their S/O or like to be alone? 

He’s pretty shameless about puking in front of friends and/or partners.

9. Slow nauseous build up or sudden vomiting? 

Slow, nauseous build-up

10. Feel better straight away or take a long time to recover? 

It takes him awhile to recover if he’s been sick from an illness. If he’s just drunk, he’ll likely feel better after puking. 

[feelingsick]

Too Feverish to Think

When Jessime woke the first time, it was still dark. He slid out of bed without really thinking about it and shuffled into the adjoining bathroom on autopilot. He wasn’t even aware that he felt bad until he reached the toilet and promptly emptied his stomach into the water. Fifteen minutes later, he made his way back to bed, not feeling any better but at least feeling empty. He wrapped the comforter around himself to fight back the chill that clung to his sweat-damp skin and tried to sleep.

The next time he woke, he didn’t feel any better. Sunlight filtered through his windows, and a quick glance at his phone told him it was already well into the afternoon. He’d overslept, and worst of all he didn’t feel at all rested. He ached right down to his bones, and the chill he’d been fighting still lingered.

It took a long time for him to muster the strength to get out of bed, and even then he spent nearly ten minutes simply sitting on the edge of his bed while he waited for the dizziness to pass.

He knew he should probably eat something, but even the thought of food made him feel like gagging. No breakfast, then, but he needed something on his stomach. Water, if nothing else.

It took him much longer than usual to walk the distance from his bedroom to the end of his hall, and even longer to make it safely down the stairs. He had to stop several times and simply sit on the steps, a hand clapped over his mouth as he fought the urge to empty his stomach again right there.

By the time he made it to the kitchen, he was trembling, barely able to coax himself to reach above his head to take a glass down from the shelf. But no sooner had he grabbed it than it slipped from his fingers, shattering against the marble counter.

Jessy flinched at the sound, staring for a long moment at the shards of glass scattered around him. He should clean it, before someone hurt themselves, but he couldn’t quite grasp the steps necessary to make that happen.

“Jessime, what on earth?”

He spun to see Camille glaring distastefully at the mess he’d made.

“Well?” she pressed, apparently having expected some answer or another. She crossed her arms over her chest. “Just staring at it isn’t going to make it magically disappear.”

Jessime nodded, taking an unsteady step back from the mess. He must not have been paying attention, and he gasped sharply as something stung his foot.

Camille was immediately at his side, guiding him safely as he limped away from the broken glass.

“Jesus, Jessy, what’s wrong with you? Here, just sit down.”

She guided him to the floor, taking his injured foot in her hand. He could already see the small trail of blood he’d caused.

“It’s just a small piece,” Camille said, examining the bottom of his foot. She reached out and, before he had a chance to protest, pulled the offending shard of glass from his foot. He cried out sharply, more out of surprise than pain. Camille ignored him, snagging a clean towel from one of the drawers and pressing it to the still-welling blood.

“Honestly, Jessime,” she huffed, exasperated, but when she looked up and met his eyes, her expression changed. “Hey, are you alright?” she asked, her brow furrowing.

He opened his mouth, then closed it again, unsure of what to tell her. But Camille seemed to guess at the problem. She reached out and pressed her palm to his cheek, confirming her suspicions.

“Why didn’t you just say you were sick?” she asked. “For gods sake, I could have brought you some water.”

Jessy bit his lip. In all honesty, he simply hadn’t thought about it. Hadn’t even fully realized that she was home. Camille sighed.

“It’s fine, Jes. Let’s just get you back to bed.”

She set the cloth aside and stood before helping him to his feet, then let him lean on her to take pressure off his injured foot. Slowly, they made their way back to the stairs.

“I’m sorry,” Jessy said. Camille laughed.

“For what? Dropping a glass? It’s fine. I’m used to cleaning up your messes.”

He knew she didn’t mean anything by it, but her words still stung. Camille seemed to realize the double meaning behind her words. She gave him a sideways hug.

“Don’t worry about it, Jes. That’s what siblings are for.”

[feelingsick]

“C’mon, let’s get you back to bed.” with any character

The next time Camille went to check on him, she found him once again slumped over the toilet in his bathroom. He’d been in there off an on all evening, having apparently picked up some rather nasty virus. But after hours of vomiting, he’d all but emptied himself out. His stomach evidently hadn’t gotten the memo yet.

“Jessime, I think you’re finished,” Camille said, watching him from the doorway. He didn’t answer beyond another dry retch. Sighing, she padded across the floor, placing a hand on his back. The poor boy was shaking apart, and no wonder. His skin burned with fever.

“I don’t feel well,” he said miserably, letting his head rest on the rim of the toilet.

“I can see that,” Camille answered. “You’re not bringing anything up, though.”

Jessime swallowed thickly. “My stomach hurts.”

“You need to rest,” Camille said, frowning. “Come on, let’s get you back to bed.” When he didn’t make a move, she took hold of his arm, tugging at him until he grudgingly climbed to his feet.

His steps were unsteady. Camille tucked herself beneath his arm, letting him lean on her as they made their way back to his bed. It was strange to see him so subdued. He didn’t say a word as she tucked him back beneath the covers, his eyes glassy and half-lidded as they looked up at her. She ran his fingers through his curls.

“I’m not going anywhere,” she said, though he hadn’t asked. She knew how much her brother disliked being alone. All the more so when he was feeling poorly. That seemed to relax him. His eyes drifted closed. She pet his hair gently until his breathing evened out into sleep. True to her word, she stayed.

[feelingsick]

What languages do your OCs speak?

Sunny speaks Korean (first language) and English

Jessime speaks English and French 

Amory speaks English and Chinese