@hcppiestcoveonearth
Whom: Brant & Scott
Where: Their place
Brant had made it exactly thirty-seven minutes after getting sent home before surrendering to the couch. One shoe was still on. The other had been abandoned somewhere between the front door and the coffee table. Astro had appointed himself Brant’s emotional support paperweight across his legs, while Snoopy hovered nearby with the intense concern of a small supervisor. A half-finished glass of ginger ale sat on the table beside a bowl he was pretending he didn’t need.
He hated this. Being sick was bad enough. Being sick with a stomach bug felt like betrayal. Especially when he’d had plans. He’d been thinking about dinner all morning. He’d been thinking about Scott. About maybe picking up something good on the way home. Instead, he’d been quietly pulled aside, handed a bottle of water, and told in that careful voice that maybe he ought to head home before he passed out in someone else’s kitchen had been… humbling. And extremely annoying. Naturally, he hadn’t texted Scott. Not because he didn’t want him to know. Just because he did know Scott. And Scott would’ve worried. He would’ve tried to leave work and come home early. And there was absolutely nothing romantic about a stomach bug and a firefighter currently being defeated by his own digestive system.
The front door opened just as Brant was attempting to sit up and immediately regretting the decision. Astro lifted his head. Snoopy’s tail began thumping like a notification alert system. Brant squinted toward the entryway, trying to keep his voice sounding normal. “Hey,” he managed. “Before you get too close, I should probably tell you I got sent home sick. And this is officially the worst possible illness for someone whose personality is mostly food.”