Sickness
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Death... he felt like death.
That was the easy way to put that. He didn’t want to get up out of bed, he didn’t want to see anyone, not as he was now. Yet he still found himself pulling off the covers and throwing his robe over his white nightgown. He wouldn’t make the same mistake twice of allowing someone to see him all messy and out of sorts, Hop saw that and the embarrassment he felt was unrivaled. He didn’t put makeup on, but he at least straightened out his messy bedhead. With slippers on his feet, the blond made his way down the stairs. Bags under his eyes, face pale as a sheet, he looked terrible in all senses of the word. One hand held close his robe, the other was leaning on any object he could in order to maintain stable footing.
He felt as though his stomach would force up everything again, spilling his guts onto the floor as though the inside of a waste bin wasn’t already suffering the same fate. He felt as though just a small gust of wind would knock him over, if it succeeded he’d probably just lay on the ground and accept his fate. Yet the door had a gentle rapping and he felt the need to answer it. He had to answer it. He already had closed down the gym, if he closed down his home too than if someone needed him for an emergency than that was the end of the line. Bede carefully made his way over to the door and pulled it open, waiting for some person to just go on and on asking where he was.
But that’s not what happened at all. Who stood there, upon his doorstep, was quite the surprise.