#sick!shiro

[witnessmysin]

Shiro is a sick boi.

Show people be saying it, him getting a new body don't matter. Shiro is sick™.

As in, sickly white haired anime character!Shiro.

[butteredonions]

so anyone who’s been around me for a while knows I love sick!fic. Anyone who’s been around me for a while also knows I am indecisive terrified of writing one for whatever reason. One of my new year’s resolutions is to write a full-fledged sick!fic, so I guess - I mean - I found this. Consider this a warm-up. (thanks a LOT @andriseup)

Shiro is so miserable he barely notices when the door swooshes open; barely notices when Lance comes in.

“Hey,” Lance says. His voice is soft, but even so Shiro flinches. “Sorry, sorry. Just wanted to come check on you since you didn’t swing by for breakfast. You doing okay?”

The answer’s obvious enough Shiro doesn’t even need to try. He does anyway, peeling his eyes open just an inch. Lance is standing at the side of Shiro’s bed, staring down with gentle concern. He crouches to a better height; the movement alone sends everything spinning. Shiro squeezes his eyes back closed with an involuntary whimper.

“Oh, Shiro,” Lance whispers. “Why didn’t you call? You’re supposed to call us if it gets that bad.”

Shiro has no idea how to answer that. He shouldn’t have to. He shouldn’t still be this sick; he shouldn’t still be dependent on his friends; should be able to at least get out of bed in the fucking morning.

“Where is your comm, anyway,” Lance mutters. He shifts, searching; the sounds of his efforts fill the room as Lance brushes his hand over Shiro’s little bedside nook, the crack between the sheets and the bed frame, the floor. Shiro just lays there and listens. His head’s pounding. He’s too warm.

“Ah, here it is,” Lance says, at last. “No wonder. How’d it end up on the floor?”

Shiro doesn’t have an answer for that, either. Maybe he can get away with pretending to be asleep.

“Well, here it is for later,” Lance says, “I’m setting it on your table, okay? Now, big guy, what’s wrong? Is it your head?”

His palm carefully presses against Shiro’s forehead, under Shiro’s limp bangs. His touch is gentle, and somehow grounding - at least until Lance jerks his hand back in surprise. He presses it back almost immediately, his palm cool and kind. Shiro groans.

“You’re burning up,” Lance murmurs, mostly to himself. His frown is audible. “Why is your fever back?”

No, Shiro thinks, tries to say. The word sticks in his throat. No, don’t. I can handle this. You shouldn’t have to.

“I’m calling the others,” Lance says, softly.

“No,” Shiro groans, finally. “No, Lance…”

The words are barely a whisper.

“I’m not leaving,” Lance promises, deliberately misinterpreting. There’s a soft little click when Lance pushes down the call button on the comm. “Just getting someone else. I’m staying right here with you. I’m not going anywhere.”

[fluffyllamas-23]

Day 2 - Emeto

Ayyyyyy *finger guns* don’t mind me, walking into @vldwhumpmas2017 15 minutes late with Starbucks in my hand.  

I would blame school for this being so delayed but...i really can’t do that lmao.  I’m combining this with a prompt I have sitting in my inbox, and as the title suggests, there’s an emeto warning

“Nnnngh…Allura, this is the worst,” Shiro whines miserably, curled up as tightly as humanly possible, arm wrapped protectively around his middle.  

Allura rakes her fingers through his hair,  guilt gnawing at the pit of her stomach. It was her fault he was this sick, after all.  She should have insisted he stay away when she had come down with it less than a week ago, but she had felt so awful, and was so emotional from the fever that she just let him be around her.  She was selfish, that’s what she was.

“I know, I know,” she soothes, “luckily this is only a twenty four hour bug, you should be feeling better by tomorrow.”

He groans, pressing his face into her thigh as his stomach rolls again. He’s so sick of being sick, and he’s only been sick for two hours.  

“Allura,” he croaks out, and she shoves the bin under his face.  

She puts her hand between his shoulder blades, rubbing his back soothingly as he empties what little he has left in his stomach.  The back of his neck pricks with heat and he can feel himself breaking out in a cold sweat as he coughs and splutters into the bin.  

“Alright.  Alright, just breathe,” she soothes, “I’m so sorry, ‘Kashi.”

“What for?” He asks once he’s finished.

She winces, “it’s my fault you’re sick…I should have told you to stay away.”

“I couldn’t have done that to you,” he mumbles, clenching his jaw at the nausea swirling in the pit of his stomach. “You were so miserable…I wasn’t going to leave you alone.”

“And I love you for that, but now you’re sick and I feel bad.”

He shrugs listlessly, “it’s been going around campus, I would have caught it from someone else.  Don’t feel bad ‘Lura.”

“How’s your stomach now? Are you okay?”

“I think m’done for now,” he mumbles.

“I have some gatorade for you.”

“I don’t want it.”

“You need it or you’ll get dehydrated.”

“I don’t want it,” he croaks grumpily, sounding very much like a petulant child.

“How about some water?”

There’s a beat, and then, “no.”

She lets out an exasperated sigh, “Shiro, if you don’t drink anything I’m going to have to take you to the emergency room.  Do you really want an IV?”

“No…I just…I don’t think I can keep anything down.”

“Oh, Shiro,” she frowns.  “I’m sorry you’re so sick.”

*

Allura, despite her better judgment, decided to take a trip to the store.  She figured that it would be fine - Shiro was sleeping and hadn’t been sick in almost an hour.  

Unfortunately, the minute she left, the nausea (which had dulled to a slight queasiness) came back full force, and he suddenly he was falling over himself in an attempt to make it to the bathroom in time.

By the time Allura is back, he’s slumped over the toilet weakly, his old shoulder injury throbbing angrily.  

“Shiro?”

“In here,” he calls out weakly.

“Oh, honey, what happened?”

“I don’t feel well, Allura…hurts,” he groans, body trembling.

“What hurts?” She asks, crouching down next to him.

“Shoulder.”

She frowns - he had dislocated his shoulder last year playing football, and it mostly didn’t bother him, except when he used it too much.

She rubs his back soothingly, “yeah?”

“Was leanin’ on it too much, I think.”

“How’s your stomach now?”

“S’okay…I think.”

“Good…how about we get you back on the couch?”

“Okay,” he mumbles.

Allura coaxes him up, and helps him back to the couch.  

She drapes a blanket over him and kisses his burning temple, “get some sleep, I love you.”

“Love you, too.”

She sits so that his head is in her lap, and she starts running her hands through his hair again, watching him with a smile as he drifts to sleep.

[sillyshiro]

I’ve pulled through worse, you know

when Shiro gets a cold, Shiro really gets a cold | a late and slightly all-over-the-place ficlet for voltron whump week prompt 1, fever ♡ | platonic Shiro/Keith | [ Ao3 link ]

Nobody saw it coming, and least of all Shiro.

One second he’s leaning over Pidge, they’re both deep in thought as Pidge replays the security footage. The next Shiro’s pitching sharply to his side, he raises his sleeve as he stumbles over a breath and-

“-jeez!” yelps Pidge, she’s half-fallen out of her chair in surprise.

“Bless you!” Lance yells back equally loudly, grinning. Hunk’s expression veers toward concern, Shiro pops up watery-eyed and sniffling, his face still half-buried in the crook of his arm.

“Excuse me,” he mutters quickly, takes an apologetic step backward and clears his throat. The sneeze sounded as harsh as it did unexpected, Shiro’s voice low and tacky in the aftermath. Pidge hunts for a tissue in her pockets, offers a hug when Shiro apologises to her again.

Keith doesn’t realise he’s staring until Shiro happens to blink in his direction, and Keith scoots his gaze away before either of them can acknowledge it.

Shiro’s mouth tugs down in regret, he folds his arm around his waist as he shivers.

Shiro’s quiet at dinner, Keith’s convinced he’s sitting further away than usual.

He sniffles thickly whilst Hunk clears the plates, leakier still as Hunk offers dessert. Shiro sips a breath, he looks like he’s about to answer.

He doesn’t.

Keith sinks down in his chair as Shiro brings up both hands, his expression crumpling to a desperate grimace. He wrenches away from the table, head thrown forward and his eyes squeezed tight above his fingers.

“Oh man, you’re on a roll!” exclaims Lance, he nearly drops his spoon as he startles. The sneeze was forceful enough to warrant Allura pouring out more tea, even Coran looks concerned. Shiro’s cheeks are flushed vaguely pink, he winces as he hauls himself upright.

“Bless you,” says Hunk, sincere, he sets down the armful of plates and hands Shiro the clean dishcloth from his apron.

“I’m sorry,” Shiro says huskily, he keeps the dishcloth scrunched in his lap.

“Anyone feel like a round of Mercury GameFlux 2?” Pidge says after a moment, and Shiro’s expression softens ever so slightly.

“I’ll get the converter?” Keith manages, he can’t bring himself to look at Shiro as he pushes his chair back from the table.

“It’s alright, you guys go ahead,” Shiro says gently. “I’m going to turn in early tonight.”

Keith finds Shiro in one of the hotpools, his towel tucked behind his head. His lock of white hair droops over one eye, his thumb and forefinger pinched warily on the bridge of his nose.

He gives the beginnings of a cough as he exhales, quickly reaches for his towel to cover the rest.

“You okay?” Keith says gruffly, and something close to relief passes across Shiro’s features to see him.

“Hey. Yeah,” Shiro croaks, tries a half-smile back. “Just a bit stuffy-” he raises a fist, blinks, then shakes his head, makes a sheepish gesture toward the steam. “-but this might help.”

Keith nods, crosses his arms uncomfortably over his front. Shiro’s nostrils flinch as he sniffles, he grazes a knuckle below his nose.

“It’s just a cold,” Shiro ventures again, reassuring. “I’ll knock it over in a day or so-”

His voice wavers, eyebrows snagged as his expression pulls uneven, he sucks a despairing inhale. Shiro clenches his fist over his mouth, his chest lifting as he jerks toward his shoulder, aims a violent sneeze away from Keith.

The sound echos in the silence that follows, Shiro’s breath hitches and he scrambles with his Galra hand for the towel, mouth trembling ajar, before-

Keith squints, sympathetic, Shiro sneezes for a second time and lowers the towel from his face, exhausted.

“Uugh, that kind of hurt...” Shiro gives a crooked smile, his voice far heavier for the outburst. “I’m usually only good for one.”

His smile slowly falls as Keith doesn’t answer.

“Thanks for keeping me company,” Shiro says quietly, unsure. He brushes a hand to Keith’s shoulder, lets go before Keith can squeeze back.

Shiro’s still awake when Keith slips into his bedroom, gently sits on one side of Shiro’s bed. Shiro’s turned toward the wall, doesn’t shift to face him.

Tentative, Keith touches his palm to the middle of Shiro’s back, the warmth of a fever prickling through the taller man’s shirt. Shiro muffles a hoarse-sounding cough, then manages to suppress it as Keith curls in closer, wraps an arm over Shiro’s middle.

“I’m sorry I’m being weird,” Keith whispers, Shiro’s posture relaxes a fraction as he gives a bleary sniffle.

“I’m here if you want to talk,” Shiro says softly, his voice coarse and ruined. “And I’m still here if you don’t.”

Shiro’s chest expands a little beneath Keith’s arm, he taps a finger to Keith’s wrist, hesitates.

“Keith-” Shiro says anxiously, when Keith rests his face against Shiro’s broad shoulder.

It’s as much warning as Shiro can manage. He gasps, then ducks toward the front of his shirt, his chest seizing as he flinches from the waist. 

“Bless,” Keith says miserably. Shiro sniffles- awfully- then carefully turns to face him.

“Thank you?” Shiro whispers, and he sounds so grateful that Keith feels an unfamiliar sting behind his eyes.

“It’s okay,” Shiro murmurs again, understanding. “Believe it or not, I don’t want anyone to catch this either.”

“What, no, that’s not it at all-” Keith blurts, while Shiro’s expression becomes oddly panicked. His brow barely misses Keith’s chest as he holds in a last sneeze, he looks near-delirious as he comes up for air.

“It’s- oh my god, again, bless you,” says Keith, and he gathers Shiro in his arms, rubs a small, soothing circle to the middle of Shiro’s back.

Shiro leans into him, drained and shaky.

“I’ve pulled through worse, you know,” he jokes weakly, peers up at Keith through the mess of his hair, then, “…sorry.”

Keith shakes his head and hugs tighter, listens as Shiro’s breathing eases, his cheek tucked below Keith’s jaw.

“Sometimes it just hits me,” Keith finally whispers, when he’s almost sure Shiro’s asleep. “That you can get sick. That you can get hurt. That one day, I might not be there to-”

Slowly, Shiro meets his gaze, his scar bright and eyes dark, he leans his brow into Keith’s when no words are enough.

“I won’t,” Shiro stops him, firm, he’ll believe it because Keith needs to. “You will be.”

But he doesn’t let go.

[flushed-and-fevered]

Sick Day

This is for the amazing @societyslostone for our art/fic trade! They wanted a Shance fic... and you know I just had to make one of them suffer a little. ;) I’m half asleep so I hope it’s okay! 

It didn’t take long before Shiro awoke out of an unusually deep sleep to realize his throat was on fire.

Every swallow was like forcing razor blades down raw skin, causing him to wince and groan under his breath. Shiro didn’t get sick often, but when he did, it was never just a light cold. It was as if his immune system built up all this sickness at once, and then would find the most inopportune moments to quit on him. As he laid in bed, trying to take his mind off of the scratching pain of his throat, he began to come to grip with his other symptoms. Headache, achy, not to mention he was freezing. Shiro sighed and sat up slowly, coughing a few light times behind closed lips. Every cough sent bursts of pain behind his eyes. He kept them shut tight, waiting for the pain to ease before he swung his legs over the side of his bed. He didn’t have time to be sick, he needed to get to work. Sure, he had plenty of sick days to use, but when was Takashi Shirogane known for taking a sick day?

Though one step out of bed told him self-affirmation wasn’t going to be enough this time. His head swam as if he’d just been dunked in water—more like thrown in a washing machine— the room tilting drastically as his prosthetic gripped the wall for balance.

Just get to the bathroom. Splash some water on your face. You’ll be good to go.

Shiro repeated this mantra to himself as he stumbled into the hallway of the home he and Lance shared. The closed bathroom door was only roughly 10 feet away, though his tunneling vision and clouded head made every step feel like a mile. Just a little farther, and—

His shuffling foot caught the corner of the hallway rug, bringing him down hard onto his knees. Shiro winced, the jolt sending a blinding pain behind his eyes as he put his flesh hand over his face, trying to breathe through the pulsing discomfort.

It wasn’t a few seconds later before the bathroom door opened, Lance emerging from the other side. He froze momentarily, staring wide eyed at his boyfriend on the ground. “Shiro…?” he voiced quietly, laced with concern. He finally snapped out of his stupor, walking over quickly as he dropped down in front of him, “Shiro?? What’s wrong?”

Shiro groaned, opening his mouth to say something affirming, tell Lance that he was fine. But what came out was a bit different. “M’fine… bathroom… wash face…” Shiro rasped with a cough.

Lance frowned and slowly pulled Shiro’s hand away from over his eyes before he brought the back of his own hand up to his boyfriend’s clammy cheek, sparking a hum of relief as Shiro leaned his feverish head against it. Lance raised it up to his forehead next, hissing and retreating his hand as if he’d just touched fire. “You’re burning up, Shiro. Like, bad.”

Lance finally had the chance to give Shiro a once over. Pale, shaky, covered in sweat. The flu, he guessed. And a bad case of it. “Come on, can you stand? Let’s get you back in bed.”

“Noo…” Shiro whined—Shiro never whined, Lance thought. That wasn’t a good sign—“M’fine Lance I just… I gotta… with work and… can’t miss… just wash face.”

“Takashi, I’m about to call an ambulance if you can’t tell me something coherent in the next ten seconds.” Lance chided, though his voice had risen an octave or two from sheer panic. He’d never seen Shiro this sick.

No no no, Shiro thought, he wasn’t going to the hospital.

He cleared his throat weakly, wincing as he did so. Forcing his eyes open, he rode out the wave of dizziness that sparked before looking up at his boyfriend. “I’m… alright, Lance.” He said slowly, every word coming out a bit too forced for Lance’s anxiety level. “I don’t need… a hospital.” He exhaled, his mind finally conceding to his body’s screaming wishes for rest. “I just need sleep.”

Lance nodded, taking a moment to slowly help Shiro to his feet before bringing him back to the room as he gently laid his ill boyfriend back in their bed. “Just relax. I’m going to call your work and tell them you’re not coming in, then nurse Lance is on the case to make you feel good as new.” Lance winked with a fond grin, leaning over to kiss Shiro’s sweat covered forehead.

Shiro chuckled softly, though he already felt exhaustion tugging at the corners of his mind. “Thank you, Lance…” he mumbled, his head drifting to the side as he fell back into a deep sleep. He guessed he could take a sick day. Just this once.  

[fluffyllamas-23]

@ya-nurse feels like death, and I'm worried and want to make her better, but I can't so I'm just gonna settle for a feel better fic

Anyways, the fic is under the cut.

Shiro tosses his empty coffee cup into the trashcan before hiking his backpack up his shoulder.

He rubs his eyes tiredly - it was only noon, and he’s already had four cups of coffee.  He knows that won’t be the last cup he’ll have - he’s been running on little to no sleep for a couple of days now, and coffee is his lifeblood.

College sucks ass; always has, always will, and Shiro just has to keep trucking along, because he only has two more days of exams, and then he can sleep.

Even though he’s stressed beyond belief, he needs a break, and he misses the friends he hasn’t seen in a solid two weeks.  He walks down to the pizza place on campus, and promptly pours himself into the chair across the table from Keith.

He looks up from his phone, and then does a double take, “you look like hell.”

“Thanks, Keith,” he mutters, resting his head in his folded arms.

“Well at least finals are done, and you can sleep.”

“What? Finals are until Friday.”

“Not if you only have Monday and Wednesday classes,” he grins.

“When’s the last time you’ve slept?” Lance presses, leaning back in his chair.

“Uh…a few days? I don’t know.”

“Dude, you’ve gotta sleep.”

“Two more days…I can sleep in two days,” Shiro mumbles, eyelids drooping.

~

“Um, Shiro?” Lance says, knocking on his bedroom door.  

When there’s no response, Lance walks inside to find Shiro sprawled out on the bed, and tangled up in his sheets and comforter.  He’s still fast asleep, and while Lance is glad he’s getting sleep, he’s fairly certain Shiro needs to be in class right now.

Lance walks over to him, and places a hand on Shiro’s back, “dude.  Wake up.”

Shiro jolts awake, “Lance? What-“

“Don’t you have a final to get to?”

“Yeah, at ten,” his voice is rough with sleep, and, Lance suspects, the beginnings of a cold.

“It’s ten oh five.”

“Huh? No, my alarm is set for nine thirty.”

“Yeah I don’t think that it went off.”

Shiro bolts into a sitting position and fumbles with his phone before letting out a string of angry curses,  He immediately launches into an angry rant as he rushes around the room to get ready, tripping over his feet a few times.  Most of the ranting doesn’t make sense, he’s so tired and frustrated and just done, that he’s mostly incoherent. His sentence is punctuated by a sneeze, and he groans in discomfort as a headache blooms across his forehead and throbs behind his eyes.  

“Bless you.”

“I’m screwed,” he moans, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“No you’re not, just go to class.  Talk to your professor, it’ll be fine.”

~

Shiro can barely focus on his final.  He’s exhausted, and embarrassed that he was twenty minutes late, because who does that? Luckily he has the most relaxed professor on the planet, and he doesn’t mind letting Shiro take it.  

Not only is Shiro exhausted and emotionally distraught (he’s on the verge of tears the entire time), but his headache morphs into a migraine halfway through taking the test.  

He just wants to go to sleep and forget these last few weeks have even happened.

“Shiro,” his professor says, jerking him out of his thoughts. He glances around the room, stomach clenching as he realizes it’s just him and professor Coran. He isn’t quite sure when everybody left, but his head is throbbing too badly for him to care.

“Hmm?”

“Are you alright?”

“I’m so sorry.” Shiro moans, holding his head in his hands.  

“What’s going on, Shiro? You’re one of my best students, this isn’t like you.”

Shiro finds himself telling Coran everything - how stressed he’s been, how little sleep he’s gotten, and how terrible he’s feeling.

“I’m sorry…I-I’m just...I’m really sorry,” Shiro groans, rubbing at his forehead.

“Well,” Coran starts, pursing his lips, “here’s what I’ll do. What question did you get to?”

“Um…fifty two.”

“I’ll grade your test out of fifty two instead of one hundred.  How does that sound?”

Shiro nods, and then winces as it aggravates his headache, “thank you so much. I really, really appreciate it.

“Now go home and get some rest.”

Shiro manages to make it back to his apartment in one piece, despite how achy and nauseous he’s starting to feel (thanks, migraine).  

He only makes it as far as the couch before he collapses onto it with a groan.

“You’re back! How did it go?”

“I havva migraine,” he mumbles, hiding his face in the couch cushions.

“Oh shit.”

“He let me take it still…but I only finished half of it.”

“Oh shit.”

“It’s okay though…nnnngh, I really don’t feel well, Lance,” he mumbles.

Lance places his hand on the back of Shiro’s neck, and then inhales sharply. “Yeah no kidding, you have one hell of a fever.  What do you need?”

“I dunno. Just kill me, end this.”

“Let me just go grab you a blanket,” Lance says, “killing you will have to wait.”

“Thanks,” he mumbles when Lance returns a few moments later and drapes a thick blanket over him.  His voice is thick with congestion, and he’s beginning to sound more and more miserable as the minutes tick by.

“You’re welcome…anyways, Coran is the best.  I told you everything would be okay.”

“Yeah…ehh..hhh…heh’ihnGNX! NnngCHT! *Snff* you were right.”

“How’s your head?”

He just groans and squeezes his eyes shut, coughing lightly, “it still hurts.”

Lance grimaces, “You sound like hell…what’s bothering you?”

Shiro shrugs listlessly, exhausted.  

He feels awful - sluggish, and stuffy, and shaky and cold - but he’s just so overwhelmed by existing that he can’t find the words to voice what’s wrong.  

He settles for, “everything,” because that seems sufficient enough.  

“How the hell are you going to make it home?”

“Huh?”

“Aren’t you planning on going home for winter break?”

Shiro groans and rubs at his eyes, “shit…oh yeah…um…maybe not for a few more days.”

“I think that’s a good idea.  You should go back to sleep.”

He sniffles, blinking heavily, “when are you going home?”

“A few more days.”

He groans, “Lance, don’t stay just because of me.”

Lance rolls his eyes, “don’t flatter yourself, I just don’t want you to die, because that means I have to find a new roommate, and that’s a process I don’t want to go through. Do you know how many weirdos are out there? With my luck, I’d probably end up with Keith, or something,”

Shiro chuckles lightly, which flings him into a rough sounding coughing fit.

“Gee, thanks,” he croaks once the fit dies down.

“Anytime,” he grins, patting Shiro’s cheek. “I’m going to get you some medicine and then you can sleep forever.”

“That vaguely sounds like you’re going to kill me.”

“Don’t worry, you’re safe. Like I said, if you die, I have to find a new roommate.”

Shiro rolls on his side and pulls the blankets over his head. The blanket blocks out all the light, which helps his migraine somewhat, but his head is still throbbing mercilessly.  

“Shiro, here,” Lance says a few minutes later.

“Hmm?”

“Medicine…and an icepack.  It should help your migraine.”

And it does.  He’s asleep moments after the medicine kicks in enough to dull the pain. 

Maybe, Lance thinks, Shiro will feel better once he’s finally gotten a decent amount of sleep. 

[fluffyllamas-23]

So I know I have a thousand prompts to fill, and I apologize to all of you who’ve sent me a request forever ago.  I fully intend on working on them once I’m on winter break (in about three weeks).  Anyways, here’s a prompt fill for anon, I hope you don’t mind a college AU and that you feel better soon <3

*

It starts with a sneeze - it’s a scratchy, just barely congested sneeze that signals the beginning of a cold.  It’s the kind of sneeze that tears Allura’s attention from her textbook to her husband who’s been lying on the couch with a blanket, watching Netflix through half-lidded eyes for the last two hours.  

“Bless you…you okay?”

He sniffles, shivering lightly as he shrugs.  He’s not - he’s felt awful all day - but those five words feel like they’ll take too much effort to get out, so he resigns to just shrugging with the hope she’ll pick up on it and come sit with him.  

Allura stands up from the table and walks over to where he’s laying, presses a cool hand to his forehead and then purses her lips.  

She flips her hand over so that she can run the back of her fingers up and down his cheek, “you seem warm…but not worryingly so.”

His breath hitches and he turns his head to muffle not one, not two, but three sneezes into the sleeve of his sweatshirt.  

“Mmmngh…Allura,” he rasps, voice shredded and congested beyond belief.

“No wonder you’ve been so off lately.  You sound awful, want some tea?”

“No…I just want to go to bed,” he whispers, rubbing at his throat with a grimace.

“Medicine and water first,” she says, leaning down to kiss his forehead.  

Shiro rubs at his nose, and then ducks his head into the blanket with a sharp sneeze that makes his head throb.  He sniffles, and pushes himself into a sitting position with a yawn before he pads into the kitchen, over to where Allura is rummaging through their stash of medication.

“I don’t need medicine,” he croaks, wrapping his arms around her and resting his chin on the top of her head, “I’m fine.”

“Shiro, you sound miserable.”

He sniffles pitifully, and twists away from her to sneeze twice into his shoulder.  

“See? You need sleep, and you won’t be able to if you’re sneezing all night.”

“Sleep is for the weak.”

She rolls her eyes, “not sleeping is what got you into this mess. Go lie down, I’ll be there in a minute.”

He opens his mouth to say something, but the buzzing in his sinuses distract him, and he stumbles backwards and slams into the counter as he goes into a sneezing fit.  

After the fifth sneeze, he groans and wipes at his nose with a miserable, stuffy sniffle, and Allura quirks a brow, “you are a hazard, go lie down before you hurt yourself.”

He groans and slides to the floor, holding his head in his hands, “give mbe a mbindute…dizzy.”

She crouches in front of him, and puts a hand on his cheek.  She frowns and flips her hand to feel his forehead, “I think I know why…your fever spiked…how the hell? You didn’t seem nearly this warm a few minutes ago.”

He groans and blinks rapidly, trying to clear the dots that are clouding his vision,  “I wandt to go to bed.”

“Do you think you’re going to pass out, or are you okay to move?”

“I’mb okehh…heh…Nngtsh! In’gsTCH! *snff*”

“Bless you,” she frowns, helping him stand up.

*

Three days later, Shiro and Allura are in bed. Shiro’s been awake for hours, and he already knows that he’s not getting up today, again.  Everything is aching, and he feels too tired to move, let alone get out of bed and go to work.  He already texted his boss that he wasn’t making it in, and then he promptly tossed his phone onto the ground, because the light was agitating his headache.  

Part of him is tempted to wake Allura up, because he’s miserably stuffy and has been muffling coughs and sneezes for the better part of the last three hours.  It’s only about six, though, and she was exhausted when she fell asleep, and he doesn’t want to bother her.  

“Ihh…ihhtchiew! *snff*”

Shiro’s watery eyes snap to his wife’s sleeping form, and when she starts coughing, he puts a hand on her back.

“Allura?” He rasps, “baby, are you okay?”

She groans and flips around so she can bury her face in his chest, “m’tired.”

“Yeah, mbe too,” he croaks, but looks down and strokes her hair, “I cand feel how warmb you are through mby shirt…I think you have a fever.”

She groans, “everything kinda hurts.”

“Sambe here…you sound awful, by the way.”

She coughs again, shivering as she presses closer to Shiro.

“I feel awful.”

“I’mb sorry, Allura,” he groans, “this is all mby fault.”

“Don’t blame yourself…it was going to happen sooner or later.”

He sniffles, “‘kay…wannda mbove to the couch?”

~

“Shiro, we need to call someone,” she rasps, voice shot from all the coughing.

“I kndow,” he groans, muffling another scratchy and congested sneeze into his shoulder.  

Allura coughs miserably, slumping into Shiro even more than before.  She pulls the blankets up to her chin, and pulls her knees to her chest.  Shiro’s head drops back, and he stares up at the ceiling, sniffling incessantly.  Although it seems his fever had gone away for now, he still felt exhausted.  He wraps his arm around her shoulders as she coughs, and stretches his legs out to rest on the coffee table.  

Shiro had managed to make them tea before collapsing onto the couch in exhaustion.  He was spent, and the short walk from the bedroom to the couch had exhausted Allura beyond belief.  Allura is fading fast and needs medicine, and his head is so stuffy and he’s so fuzzy, he knows he needs medicine, too.  

“Call Lance,” she croaks, “or Hunk…I really don’t feel well, Shiro.”

“I kndow,” he sniffles, “we’ll get you feeling better, I prombise.”

She’s half asleep when he dials Lance’s number, so he balances the phone between his ear and shoulder so he can rub her back with one hand and play with her hair with the other.

“Hey, Shiro, what’s up?”

He sniffles, “would you mbind doing us a f-feh…heh…Hih’ihGNXT!”

The phone falls to his lap, and Allura jerks awake as he mutters a string of curses.  

“Wha-?”

“Sorry, hondey,” he mutters stuffily, sniffling miserably.  He raises the phone back to his ear with a grimace, “Landce?”

“Are you dying? You sound like hell.”

“We’re both sick, guh *snff* would you mbind doing us a favor?”

“Yeah, sure.  What do you need?”

“Umb…just…we’re too tired to get up, but Allura ndeeds mbedicinde, and we ndeed tissues and stuff, could you combe and help us?”

“Shit, you guys are too sick to get up?”

“Yeah…we tried, but-”

“-I’ll be there in a few. Try not to die until then.”

“Thanks, Landce.”

“Of course. See you soon.”

Shiro hangs up the phone, drowsiness hitting him like a brick wall as he feels himself beginning to drift off.

The last thing he remembers is Allura coughing and the door opening, and then, nothing.

[fluffyllamas-23]

for the writing meme: Shiro with headache (migraine maybe??), curling up, & "I've had worse"

Hiiiii *waves* I’m so sorry this is so late, I hope you like it and thank you so much for sending it in :)

(Sickie’s POV)

Shiro grunts in pain, holding his head in his hands as his head throbs heavily. He woke up early that morning, head aching. He chose to ignore it, thinking that it would go away as the day went on, however now it’s been four hours and the pain only increased.

He had to excuse himself from class, because the lights and the noise were too much and were making his head feel like it’s about to explode.  Now, he’s curled up on the floor of one of the bathroom stalls, holding his head in his hands and is trying desperately not to lose what little he’d choked down that morning.

“Shiro?” He hears Lance say, “are you in here?”

“…yeah,” Shiro chokes out, voice small.  

“Class is over, I grabbed your stuff for you.  Um…are you okay?”

“M-migraine…nnnngh.”

“Can you open the door?”

After a few minutes, Shiro manages to get off the floor and opens the door to walk out.

“Th-thanks f-for…nnngh…m-my st-stuff.”

He was trying to keep up the conversation, but he was in so much pain he just wanted the ground to swallow him up

Lance nods, eyebrows furrowing, “are you alright? You look like hell.”

“I’m okay…h-had w-worse,” Shiro groans, clutching his head as he fights the urge to sink to the floor in pain.

(Caretaker’s POV)

“I know,” Lance says, “let’s get you home, though.  Are you alright?”

“H-hurts.”

Once they get back to the dorm, Lance instructs Shiro to go lie down and comes into his room with medicine and an ice pack.  

Lance gives him the medicine, places the ice pack over his eyes, pulls the blankets over him and then turns on the fan and points it right at him.  

“Thank you,” Shiro mumbles, exhaustion seeping into his tone.

“Yeah, get some sleep.”

Lance is hanging out on the couch when Shiro stumbles over to him and collapses next to him.  

“Hey, how’re you feeling?” Lance asks once Shiro puts his head in his lap.

“Not great,” Shiro croaks, curling into a ball as he shivers lightly.  

“Not just a migraine?” Lance asks, rubbing his back

“No…that’s gone…I’m sick, I think.”

“Well, shit,” Lance sighs, “do you need anything?”

“No, I’m okay…just…don’t feel well,” Shiro mumbles, eyelids drooping shut.

Lance look down and brushes Shiro’s hair out of his face. He pauses when his fingertips brush across Shiro’s burning forehead.  

“You have a fever.”

Shiro sniffles, “oh.”

“You need medicine.”

Shiro shakes his head and puts a hand on Lance’s knee, “don’t move…stay.”

Lance grabs the blanket off the back of the couch and drapes it over Shiro, “okay.  Just get some rest, yeah?”

Shiro nods, and almost immediately falls asleep.