23, she/her. I write OC sickfic once in a blue moon. Feel free to drop in my inbox but just know I am prone to dropping off the face of the Earth for months at a time lol
Okay this got a little out of hand. I didn't know how to end it so...maybe a part 2 if this gets any interest?
Some queens (Mallory) can't handle puke or stressful situations but that's okay
CW: head trauma, discussion of hospital (no hospital scene), vomiting, hints of a toxic relationship / some uncomfortable moments
---
The initial alert came in the form of a shout. Mallory was halfway through whipping her head towards the source of the noise, when in the edge of her vision she saw two skaters about to collide. Before she could even blink, someone’s board was flying out from under them. Every noise in the skatepark was pushed to the background as the subsequent thud of a curly-haired figure smacking into the concrete rang deafeningly loud in her ears. Her eyes rested on the full scene just in time to see his helmet-less head bounce off the ground. Kellen. His skateboard clattered into stillness and flipped onto its back several feet away, wheels still spinning in the air as it searched for traction.
Mallory didn’t hear her own scream of terror and nearly catapulted herself off of the skate deck to get to the bottom of the bowl. She hit the ground beside him on her knees and caught herself on one palm, grateful for the thick kneepads she was wearing. “Are you okay?!” She screeched, “Kellen?” He didn’t respond. “Kellen!”
She only released half the breath she was holding when he twitched to life and his face slowly twisted into an expression of unspeakable pain. His lips parted in a silent curse, deep wrinkles forming at the corners of his eyes and the bridge of his nose as he screwed up his face.
Mallory glared daggers when the other party of the near-collision that Kellen had crashed trying to avoid kneeled down beside him, eyes stricken with panic. “What is wrong with you?!” She snarled at the stranger. “Are you blind?!”
“I-I’m sorry, I didn’t see him--”
“Look where you’re going!” She spat, tears from her own fear quickly rising. She looked back down at Kellen, darting forwards to put a hand on his shoulder as he pressed his palm into the ground in an effort to start to push himself up, eyes still tightly shut. “D-don’t move,” she stammered.
The other skater shrank back at her volume, slowly backing away as a crowd formed around them. Kellen was pushing weakly against her hand as she tried to keep him down, but he was unsteady and slow. A man, maybe in his 40s, tattoo-covered and carrying the confidence of a veteran skater, pushed his way through and knelt down, setting his own skateboard to the side. He held an arm out to push the group of onlookers back. “Give him space, back up,” he said authoritatively, then leaned in close. “You’re good, man, you’re good. We’ll get you up in a second, just lay back down; that was a hard fall.”
“‘M fine,” Kellen finally groaned hoarsely, but he sank back into the warm concrete. His face wavered in discomfort as he shifted against the ground and he clenched his teeth.
“What hurts?” Mallory and the man asked in tandem, their eyes briefly flickering up to each other before quickly focusing back onto Kellen. His breathing was noticeably labored as he tried to form a coherent thought.
“Everything,” he croaked, “...head hurts.”
“There’s a reason we oldheads tell you dumbasses to wear your damn helmets,” the older man said sternly but not unkindly, tapping his own. “Can you tell me your full name and where you are? Does your neck hurt?”
Kellen inhaled sharply in overwhelm, finally opening his eyes a sliver. “Kellen Clark…the skatepark. No.” He started to push himself up again, more determined this time. “Told you, ‘m good…let me up.” His thin arm trembled as he rose to a sitting position and brought his palm to his forehead. Mallory gasped; the side of his face that had been pressed into the ground bore a nasty friction burn--but more concerning was the blood trickling down his temple and cheek from somewhere in his hairline. His elbow and knuckles were also scraped up and bleeding. “Fuck…”
“Y-your head is bleeding,” she choked out. Kellen looked at her through half-lidded eyes, hazy and unfocused. His face was growing paler by the second, and he dragged his hand away from the center of his forehead and towards his temple, coming away wet with blood. He stared at his bloodied palm, blinking multiple times. Mallory didn’t notice the way his Adam’s apple bobbed up and down as he started to rapidly swallow, or the way his head swayed back and forth as he tried to maintain his sense of balance. But the older skater did.
“Get out of the way, he’s going to puke,” He warned, scooting quickly to Kellen’s side. Mallory flinched in surprise and scrambled backwards from in front of him, unable to bring herself to help him as he doubled over his own lap with a half-formed gag and covered his mouth. The remarkably level-headed stranger gently guided him to the side, away from his own legs. “You’re good, kid,” he repeated softly, looking back over his shoulder to glare at everyone still watching.
A loud retch careened Kellen forward, forcing him to shift his hips and catch himself on his hand. Mallory inched further away, breath halting as her heart began to race faster. She couldn’t tear her eyes off of him as he jolted with a burp and a liquidy wave of pale vomit splattered onto the ground in front of him, splashing the top of his bare hand. He moaned, cutting his own rising complaint short with a gurgling noise as more puke rushed up his throat and cascaded to the concrete. The crowd of bystanders surrounding him quickly dispersed in a frenzy of shouts and screams as people frantically rushed to escape the sight and sound. She was completely frozen in place, seized by panic and at a loss for what to do. Mallory wasn’t the best with vomit on a good day; least of all when it was coming from the love of her life in a high stakes situation.
“Did you drive here?” It took her a few seconds to realize the man currently filling the position she should be in was addressing her. She shook her head, pressing a hand to her chest as hyperventilation threatened to take over. “Well, call a friend who can take you guys to the ER. His head is bleeding a lot,” he gestured to the blood dripping from the tips of Kellen’s curls, bright red droplets joining the vomit covering the ground. “It might not be as bad as it looks, but it’s too hard to tell where it’s coming from.”
“W-who do I call?” She cried helplessly, cringing away as her sort-of-boyfriend heaved up another slurry of his stomach contents, breaking into a harsh coughing fit as he choked on the mouthful of liquid.
He threw up a hand in frustration. “I don’t know, lady. Figure it out!”
Mallory finally snapped out of her paralysis at his exasperated tone and pulled her phone out of her pocket with a trembling hand. Her fingers were shaking so severely that it took several attempts to unlock it. When she finally managed it, she hovered over her contacts uselessly. She didn’t have the number of anyone he knew. She cursed under her breath and clicked on the only person she could think of--Sarah. Her roommate, who was unabashed in her disdain towards Mallory’s situationship and fiercely protective.
Sarah picked up the phone on the second ring. “Hey girl--”
“Sarah,” Mallory couldn’t get through her name before her voice dissolved into a sob, “Kellen--I need you to p-pick us up.”
“What? Kellen? What happened, where are you?” Sarah barked, and Mallory heard the jingle of keys in the background. She sucked in a heaving breath, choked for a response. “Mallory!”
“The skatepark--” she inhaled again, “He hit his head--fuck, he needs to go to the hospital, please--”
Sarah let out a string of curses over the phone. “Okay, okay, I’m coming.”
--
Kellen’s vomiting had abated by the time Mallory ended the phone call, his wet sniffles punctuated by an occasional aborted heave as he fought to regain control over himself. He exhaled a shaky groan and finally sat back, drawing his knees towards his chest and absent-mindedly wiping the back of his vomit covered hand against the side of his jeans. He instantly winced in disgust when he realized he’d done it. He seemed more alert now, the initial shock of his impact fading. “Mallory,” he panted, “I’m--mnnh--’m okay. Stop,” the word came out garbled as spit coated the inside of his mouth and he spat between his feet. “Stop crying.” With his eyes fully open now, she could see the pupils in his hazel eyes were blown wide, but luckily the same size. That was a good sign, right?
Mallory looked wide-eyed between him and the tattooed man, monitoring his expression. His cool-headed demeanor through all of this made his judgement feel trustworthy. When he made eye contact with her, he nodded slowly, an encouragement to calm down. It was still impossible to take Kellen at face value with the blood coating the side of his face and coagulating in his dark auburn hair. She wiped the tears from her cheeks and scooted clumsily back towards him, her clunky rollerblades impeding the movement.
“But you threw up,” she whimpered, “and you’re bleeding.” Her voice was fragile, and Kellen’s knee was shaking when she reached him and laid her hand on it. The smell of vomit beside them and clinging to him made Mallory’s stomach turn, but she tried to force it to the back of her mind. “You could have a brain injury.”
Kellen reached the hand he hadn’t puked on towards his affected temple, but their helper quickly interjected before he could make contact.
“Don’t even think about it. She’s right,” he snapped.
Kellen mumbled something under his breath but ultimately obeyed, letting his hand fall back down. He stared at the ground for a few seconds, slowly tensing when his situation seemed to dawn on him. “I’m in the way,” he muttered to himself, preparing himself to try and get to his feet. “Where’s my board?”
“Easy,” the man said quickly, “take it slow. I’ll get your board in a second.” He reached out to grab Kellen’s arm and support him, but the younger man shrugged him off.
“I-I’ve got it,” he tripped over his words, embarrassment flooding through him now that he’d returned to himself for the time being. He shifted onto his hands and knees and pushed himself up with agonizing difficulty. His long, skinny legs shook like tall buildings trying to withstand the force of an earthquake when he finally righted himself. Mallory stood on equally unsteady feet, nearly falling right back down while she fought to balance on her inline skates. She made the quick decision to take them off so she could walk alongside him better, bare socks on concrete be damned. Kellen ducked his head down when he noticed the stares from every direction. “Fucking hell…” he grumbled, color returning to his face in the form of a red blush across his cheeks. Her heart twisted with pity, but seeing him stand on his own brought her immense relief.
“Don’t worry about it, we’ll never see any of them again,” she snaked her arm around his waist when he stumbled off-balance from moving his head towards the ground. “Just keep walking.”
--
Kellen hadn’t spoken the entire drive, intently focused on staying awake per Mallory’s instruction. She’d barely taken her eyes off of him except to exchange non-verbal check-ins with Sarah in the rearview mirror. They were about halfway to the ER when Mallory noticed it. In her hypervigilance, she picked up on a sluggish swallow from him that seemed to catch halfway down his throat, and the stifled burp that followed from the subtle puff of his cheeks and jerk of his ribcage.
“You okay?” She whispered, keeping her voice as low as possible.
Kellen shut his eyes and exhaled through his nose, clenching the fabric of his jeans between his fingers. “My head’s…spinning,” he admitted under his breath, thick brows furrowing in concentration. The arm he was using to hold a rag to his bloodied head was shaking. Before Mallory could respond, a deep hiccup burst out of him, breaking the silence in the car. Sarah’s eyes darted to the rearview, wide with alarm over the unexpected noise.
“Do not throw up in my car,” she warned, “I don’t have bags and I swear to God, I will--”
“Sarah, pull over,” Mallory cut her off, leaning away from Kellen as he dropped the rag from his head and let out an involuntary belch, “Kellen, please don’t. Please don’t!”
He swayed back and forth and pressed his hand into the headrest in front of him, trying to stabilize himself amidst a wave of vertigo. “‘I…I don’t feel well,” he slurred weakly in response. There was a sudden thickness to his voice, his salivary glands starting to work overtime.
“Fuck!” Sarah swore, “I can’t believe I agreed to this, oh my God.” She hit the brakes hard as she pulled off onto an illegal shoulder and the tires screeched against asphalt. Throwing open the car door was as far as Kellen got before he curled over with an empty heave, straining against his seatbelt. It was the only thing preventing him from falling out of the car, but too restrictive to allow him to aim fully over the ground. When a spurt of bile came, most of it hit the outer door frame of the car. Mallory and Sarah both shrieked in horror and exited the car in a frenzy. Sarah started pacing back and forth, hands clasped tightly on the back of her neck. “What the fuck, Mallory,” she cursed when she saw Mallory standing in place, “go help him!”
Mallory looked wildly between the car and her roommate. “I--I can’t, I can’t,” she gasped, bringing her hands to her ears to block out the sounds. It had been bad enough to watch him vomit in an open space. The thought of being in a trapped space with him while he was throwing up, or worse, trying to get him out of the car and risk getting puked on…nausea sprung to life inside her at the mental image.
Sarah’s eyes bulged, blazing with rage. “You owe me,” she growled, marching determinedly towards the other side of the sedan.
-
It took everything Sarah had not to turn away from the sad sack in front of her. She was not a squeamish woman by nature; it was her burning dislike for this man that made it hard to see him in such a vulnerable state. Feeling empathy for Kellen was…novel to her. It wasn’t like he’d ever been unkind to her personally; but the endless back and forth games he was always playing with her friend made him impossible to like. Anger bubbled up like acid. She shouldn’t have been the one standing here. Under her frustration, though, was a nagging fear. What if he was in more danger than they thought? The massive scrape on his face and clotted blood in his hair was scary enough without this. Maybe they should have called an ambulance instead, but who could afford that?
He hadn’t brought up much other than the initial bile. Tears of exertion were streaming down his face from the force of his heaving. He was barely keeping himself up, the seatbelt doing most of the work. “Kellen, you’ve got to get out of the car,” she said firmly, taking a tentative step towards him when there was a lull in his efforts to expel whatever was still lingering in his gut. She was nothing if not a problem solver. “Unbuckle your seatbelt, grab the door to hold yourself up and get out. You can do it.”
To Kellen’s credit, he managed to do as she said and extricate himself from the vehicle. Standing was not in the cards though, as he quickly sat down on the pavement and ducked his head between his legs, spitting. Sarah winced. “Hey, you’re gonna vomit on yourself,” she warned, moving closer. “At least get on your hands and knees or something.”
“C-can’t,” Kellen gasped, “‘m so fuckin’ dizzy, my head--” he burped, a grating noise that started empty but cut off wetly. “Can’t move, ‘m sorr--urgh--y.”
Sarah, against every instinct screaming at her to leave him and go smack her roommate out of her trance instead, knelt down beside him and laid a hand between his bony shoulder blades. She was still human. “It’s…it’s not your fault,” she sighed, “get it over with, I guess. We’ll deal with it afterwards.”
The first wave came laboriously. And as she had predicted, it didn’t land in an ideal location. The retch that brought it up was drawn out and slow, and she tilted her head up to look at the sky in despair when Kellen puked up a mouthful of thick vomit that didn’t quite have the trajectory to hit the pavement. Instead, it poured out over his chin and splattered his t-shirt. He choked on the viscous fluid and attempted to lean forwards to aim the next wave away from himself. Saliva streamed from his mouth, rendering him unable to properly breathe as he sat slack-jawed and waiting.
“Fuck,” Sarah groaned under her breath when the smell hit her. And it was going to be permeating her car after he was finished. Every emotion under the sun was flitting through her. Anxiety that he could be severely injured. Annoyance that anytime he appeared in her life, it was to be a nuisance. Anger that she was the one forced to deal with it. Empathy to see another person suffering like this. She pushed him gently forwards while he struggled to keep his head up.
Kellen made a sound like he was going to speak, but was silenced by his own heave as he rocked forwards and let up the next pitiful stream of sickness. This time it landed squarely between the pavement and his groin, splashing the ground and one of his inner thighs with a disgusting brown color. “Shit,” he slurred, “s-sorry.” His voice was choked and high-pitched, like he was about to start crying. “Where’s Mal-hic!”
Sarah rolled her eyes. “Listen, I love that girl but she is not what you need right now. When you stop throwing up--” she cringed when he interrupted her with a retch from the bottom of his stomach, sounding painfully empty. “Dude…you gotta breathe before you pass out or something. It’s getting scary.”
Kellen coughed a few times in an attempt to clear his throat, clutching the unwounded side of his head as if every cough was a jackhammer to his skull. “Sorry,” he repeated quietly, eyes fluttering closed where he sat. “I’m so…tired.”
She hissed in exasperation and grabbed his shoulder. “No no no, no you are not,” She snapped, “we really have to go. God, fuck, I-I’ll give you my jacket, okay? Puke on that in the car if you have to.” What the hell was she even saying? That was her favorite one. All of this for her roommate’s dumbass fling. “But you owe me a handle of Grey Goose for this. And two cases of Busch apple. And an eighth, minimum.”
She was pretty sure she heard him give a weak laugh at that. Despite her annoyance a relieved smile briefly tugged at her lips. “Come on, get up.”
“I’m not gonna puke on your jacket,” he croaked. His voice was wobbling, but he didn’t sound seconds from bursting into tears anymore, eased by the moment of levity. He lifted his head the best he could, but quickly dropped it back down. “I…” he trailed off, sucking in a breath, “I can’t…”
Sarah moved to his front, turning her face away from the sight of the vomit splattered down his shirt and chin. “I know. I’ll help.” She extended a hand towards him, grimacing at how clammy his palm was when he accepted the gesture. At least it was clean. “Seriously though, get puke on my seats and I’ll end you. Not even my friends would get away with that.”
“Aww, we’re not friends?” He asked drowsily, sarcasm weaved through every word.
“No, we are not,” she replied flatly, pulling him to his feet. Kellen had half a foot on her easily, but he was thin as a board and light as a feather; it didn’t take much effort to help him up. He stumbled sideways and caught himself on the car door, knees wavering as he started to lower himself into the seat. “Good,” she mumbled, wrinkling her nose when she caught herself praising him. Gross. Once he was sitting, she grabbed her coat from the back of the car and tossed it on his lap. He blinked down at it, throat bobbing uncomfortably. “...Keep it clean if you can,” she sighed woefully, hoping beyond hope that he would be able to uphold his promise not to soil it.
Mallory finally appeared from the other side of the car and wordlessly started to climb into the front passenger seat. Sarah looked at her irritably. “Girl, no. You need to sit back there with him and make sure he doesn’t accidentally kill himself or fall asleep.”
Her friend shot her a sulking glare. Her lower eyelids were swollen, irritated by tears. “But--”
“He’s your boyfriend, I can’t do all of this myself,” Sarah cut her off. She was losing patience. Kellen started to protest the label, but she shushed him. “Don’t start. We’re going.”
--
Mallory begrudgingly made her way into the back again, visibly cringing away at the sight of Kellen’s vomit coated shirt and chin. She rolled down her window halfway as Sarah pulled back onto the road, pressing her forehead into the top of the glass. It should have been her there helping him. Jealousy sparked in her chest. He was going to remember this; that she had shied away while Sarah ran to his aid. Her roommate didn’t even like him, where did she get off on showing him her caring side?
She shifted her head to glance at him. He was pale still, eyes only halfway open with his head tilted back against the headrest. “Are you doing okay?” She finally murmured uncertainly, sliding a bit closer and fighting the overwhelming desire to plug her nose.
“Yeah,” he replied hoarsely, making a face at the sound of his own voice. “Jus’...dizzy. Tired.”
“Are you feeling sick? Nauseous?” She quizzed, heart rate kicking up a notch.
“What do you think?” Kellen said brusquely, “you’re…” he breathed in deeply and bit back a soft burp that petered out in his throat, “not helping.”
“Is there anything I can do?” Her voice cracked guiltily, “I’m really sorry, I’m trying to help, I should have been there--”
Kellen didn’t turn to look at her, but she could see the scowl deepening on his face as she blubbered the apology. “Mal, just..stop talking,” he groaned, “I don’t care.”
“Don’t care about what?”
“I don’t care that you weren’t there.”
She froze. That was even worse than if he was mad. He didn’t care at all? Maybe he was even glad that Sarah was the one there instead of her. She crossed her arms instead of reaching towards him. “Kay,” she muttered, lapsing into uneasy silence. Kellen replied with a long sigh in lieu of words. Sarah met her eyes in the mirror and furrowed her eyebrows, giving Mallory a confused look that screamed what are you doing? Mallory glared in return. She blinked away the burning feeling at the back of her eyes. No. He was hurt; this was no time to be assuming ulterior motives.
The rest of the drive was blissfully uneventful, marked only by occasional muffled groans from Kellen, his inner ear locked in a stalemate with the inertia from the car. Sarah parked the car and quickly got out, but Mallory was faster. She darted around the side of the car to open Kellen’s door, blocking Sarah’s way. “I’m closer to his height,” she explained quickly, “It’ll be easier for me to help him.”
Sarah shrugged. “Sure. Watch the puke, though. It’s all over him.”
Kellen locked eyes with Mallory as she hovered over him nervously, hesitant to touch him. His expression was unreadable, but he was just as tense. His pupils responded sluggishly to the changing light, the large dark pits nearly overtaking his hazel irises. It was slightly uncanny, and she recoiled at the sight. “I can walk by myself,” he finally grumbled when she didn’t reach out, unbuckling his seatbelt and fighting not to slump over the seat from that small motion alone.
“N-no, I can help!” She insisted when he attempted to push past her and stand. She grabbed his elbow, not letting go when he flinched. “Come on, we’ll take it nice and slow.” She made brief eye contact with her roommate, who looked immensely uncomfortable as she stood off to the side and watched the stilted interaction.
“I, uh--I’m gonna get a head start to the front desk and let them know you’re coming,” Sarah said, taking off at a light jog without waiting for a reply. Mallory nodded in approval, eyes burning into Kellen as he stood swaying at her side, hazily tracing Sarah’s path as she left.
“What, are you gonna miss her?” She couldn’t stop herself from making the snide comment, incensed by the way his gaze was following the other woman.
Kellen grunted in confusion, at war with his own two feet as they made their way towards the ER. “Huh--wha? Who?” When he finally processed what she was getting at, he clicked his tongue against his teeth and hissed in annoyance. “Jesus…’m not fuckin’ doing this with you right now,” he ground out, sounding markedly woozy. “My head…hurts.”
Mallory swallowed down the urge to snap back, and tried not to think about the vomit on his clothing that was inches from her as his lanky frame sank deeper into her side.
“I know it does,” she nodded, “let’s…let’s just get you fixed up. I’m here.”
Okay but it’s been so long since we seen a burpy, bloated Jonah?
Like nothing serious, just simply Not Feeling Too Hot and some comfort from Leo
This comes after a fic that still hasn't been published, so you'll be confused for a second, but... Trust the process! The muse is fickle like that.
-------------------------
He had offered to drive Wendy home, but the woman had shaken her head, rubbing at her eyes and sniffling, told him she'd just go lie down in the doctor's headquarters until she felt more put together.
Worry ate at him and Jonah had promised himself he'd go check on Wendy as soon as they took Angie back home, crossing his fingers that his sister wasn't as shaken up as he expected her to be from what Wendy had told him about the morning encounter.
Once Wen was gone, Jonah rubbed a hand over his face, texting Leo to figure out where he was.
Leo: Upstairs, at the nurses' station. They have donuts 😋
Jonah smiled at his phone, pocketing it and moving towards the elevators.
Leo was sitting down on the nurse's lounge as if he belonged there, a box of 24 donuts in front of him, one perched on his hand, as he chatted with two nurses excitedly.
He glanced up, then smiled, a sugar mustache on, "speak of the devil," he sounded amused, "hi, angel."
Jonah felt his cheeks heating up at the petname being used in his workplace, but he didn't correct Leo, smiling at the nurses and sidestepping his husband so he could plant a hand on his shoulder, instead of kissing him.
"Let's go home?"
"Yeah," Leo got up, holding a donut still and smiling around. Jon bit down a smile as he watched the nurses gawking on his husband, Leo completely unaware of how nice he looked at the moment, even with a sugar mustache. Jon wanted to kiss it away, "where's Angie?"
"Upstairs, I'll go collect her and you get the car?" Jonah asked, waving his goodbye to his coworkers and taking Leo's hand in his as they stepped outside of the lounge. It would always be weird for him, being in the hospital but not as a doctor.
Angie was already in the hallway, before Sophia's room, hands intertwined behind her back as she stared vacantly at a wall. Or maybe it was pensively, Jonah wasn't really sure.
"Are you alright, darling?" He stepped closer, considered reaching in and touching her shoulder, then thought better of it. Angie nodded, slowly, chewing her bottom lip.
He expected some sort of answer, but since he got any, Jonah tried again, "are you ready to go back home?"
"Yes," Angie's eyes finally met his and Jonah could read the confusion in them, a spark shining from within that he couldn't pinpoint.
"Are you-" okay? He had already asked that, so Jonah interrupted himself, "hungry?"
"Oh, yes," Angie nodded, the serious expression from before melting away, "can we have whoppers?"
Jonah snorted, rolling his eyes and nodding, "yeah, sure," he gestured for her to follow, "you wanna have fast food."
"Yessss," Angie beamed at him, bouncing on her feet as she followed him to the elevator and Jonah couldn't help smiling at her antics, all the worry from before seemingly forgotten.
Leo was waiting for them outside of the car, and since they had parked in the street instead of the parking lot he had sunglasses on, hands stuffed in his pockets and Jonah bit down a dreamy sigh.
"Everything good?" The blonde asked, twirling the car keys around his finger, "where to now?"
"Burger King," Jonah stepped closer, just enough he could steal a quick peck, "the lady's choice."
"Ooh, good one," Leo raised his hand to high five Angie, then they were off.
They stopped on the drive-through and ate in the park outside of their apartment, while Angie told them in a soft, conspiratory voice all that had happened that morning, Leo's eyes getting bigger and bigger until his shocked expression caused Jonah to laugh.
"I talked with Wendy after," Jonah said, as Leo stole some of his fries, appetite untouched by the fact he had had donuts earlier.
"Oh?" Angie leaned in, interested, her burger she had been starving for, already forgotten. Jonah picked it up, since hers had more cheddar than his.
"She's really sorry," he threw Leo a meaningful look that said later and the blonde nodded. Angie didn't catch on that, "I think Sophia broke her."
"Oh," Angie pouted, completely missing that Jonah was saying it as a positive, as in finally she's coming to her senses, "I mean, she was really mean to Wendy, yeah..."
Leo made a face, but refrained from commenting, sucking the ketchup from his thumb, "is she okay?"
"No," Jon shook his head, finished the rest of Angie's burger, "but she'll be."
He truly believed that. Wendy was resilient and he was so so relieved that she had seen reason, he felt nearly dizzy.
"Do you think her and Vince..." Leo trailed off and Angie perked up, curious, while Jonah shrugged.
He felt stuffed, so he leaned back on the bench, arms spread out to relieve some of the pressure on his middle. His sister was watching him like a hawk, eyes pausing on every square inch of him and he felt weird, like a bug under a microscope.
"Dunno."
"Weren't they really in love?" Angie asked, balling up their trash and jumping up, "why wouldn't they get back together?"
Leo's cheeks turned pink, his eyebrows climbed and Jonah could tell he had so many opinions on the matter and was chewing on them. He poked his husband's side to urge him to speak up.
"She was really mean to Vince, Ange," Leo said, carefully picking his words as if Wendy and Angelina were related or saw each other so often that he'd offend her with his honesty, "I don't think Vince has to forgive her... Or that he can."
"If they were in love," Angie pouted, looking upset at the prospect, even though it was not her relationship, "I don't see why not."
Jonah's stomach churned and he wasn't sure if it was all the grease he could still feel coating his mouth or the subject manner. He tuned them out, brain annoyingly insisting on making this about them, him and Leo, not Wendy and Vince. As if there was any comparison to be made.
Shut up, he told himself.
Leo seemed to sense his distress somehow, because he reached across the bench and laid a hand on Jonah's knee, squeezing it, "wanna head inside?"
They were not Wendy and Vince, Jonah scoffed, taking Leo's hand and twirling his wedding band, admiring it.
"Yeah."
Once inside, Jonah smiled uneasily as he watched Angie chase JD around, the cat meowing indignantly at his sister's attempts of petting her. Normally he'd be amused by this, certain that JD could easily disappear or hiss if she was that bothered, but right now the amusement was barely palpable as he could feel his stomach churning, struggling with the greasy lunch they had just had.
"What's with the long face?" Leo asked, throwing his arms around Jonah from behind, slotting his chin on his chin on his shoulder, "what made you grumpy?"
"I'm not-" he gulped down, his belly gurgled and pressed against his pants. He wanted to lie down and strip from these clothes, but he needed to be a decent host to Angie, it was so rare she visited...
"You're a little pale," Leo's voice dropped to a whisper, brows meeting with concern as he moved from Jonah's back to get a good look of his face, "what's wrong?"
"Just a little indigestion," Jonah's voice came out thick, as he felt a gurgle roll through his belly and gas try to climb up his throat, "I'm fine."
Leo raised an skeptical eyebrow and opened his mouth to say something, but Jon beat him to it, shaking his head, "I'm fine, Leo. Angie's here."
His husband's lips pressed into a thin, annoyed line and he looked around the room, eyes pausing on Angie in a way that made Jonah feel annoyed, because he could tell in that minute Leo wanted his sister-in-law gone. Not that Jon didn't share that feeling, but for a split second he felt defensive, it was not the girl's fault his stomach was giving him grief.
"Leo," he said, preemptively, as if Leo would ever, in a million years, dismiss Angie or purposefully say something to upset her. As if reading his mind, the blonde turned to glare at him, eyes rolling.
"Relax."
"Uhm-" Angie had successfully managed to capture JD, so she was now sitting on the middle of the living room, petting the cat, eyeing them in a way that was obvious she had caught on that half a second interaction, "is it okay if I go draw or... Uh, do you guys wanna hang out...?"
Jonah felt vindicated, then guilty when he saw the way Leo lit up. He just felt gross, uncomfortable and gassy and he really didn't want to be a host right now, let alone an understanding husband, or even a person, his own thoughts were pissing him off.
"What are you working with?" Leo asked, stepping closer and plopping on the ground unceremoniously, so he could pet JD and they could talk in a lower tone. Jonah sucked in a breath as a cramp went through his intestines.
"I'm gonna go to the bathroom," he mumbled, so low he doubted either one of them had heard him, not that it mattered because Angie had lit up like a Christmas tree at Leo's interest in her art and they had forgotten about him.
He was annoyed about that too.
As soon as Jonah made it inside the ensuite, he removed his sweater and shut the door behind him, reaching to unbutton his pants as he walked to the bathroom.
Leo hadn't been lying, he did look pale, rich complexion suddenly looking a little ashy, perspiration dotting his face.
He didn't feel like he needed to use the bathroom, but nevertheless he kicked off his jeans and sat on the toilet, a leg bouncing nervously as Jonah stared ahead, feeling uncomfortable in his own skin, grossed out by the constant whining he could feel from his tummy. He hated how bloated he already looked, belly resting on his thighs, taut to the touch and crampy.
A minute passed, nothing happened, so he pulled up his boxer briefs and walked back to the room. exchanging them for just pajama pants and falling onto the bed with a groan. The burger they had had rolled inside of him and Jonah muffled a burp in his fist, shuddering with revulsion at the aftertaste it brought up.
He had ditched a shirt, so Jon planted a hand on top of his stomach, leaning his head back on the pillows and curling his legs. Under his palm, he could feel the vicious writhing of his guts.
Another sickly little burp rolled up, popping in his mouth before he managed to even blow it out and he made a face, getting up from the bed and back into the bathroom so he could spit in the sink, since the taste was making him nauseous.
Jonah moved back to the room, but this time he didn't collapse dramatically onto the pillows, only sat on the edge, an arm wrapped around his middle, trying to gauge if he was feeling queasy enough he should sit in the bathroom instead.
His palms were damp and his guts slippery, somehow. A whine came from his belly, wet and long, rumbling right under his navel. He pressed his fingers there, then gagged out of sheer disgust when the pressure caused a bunch of bubbles to move around.
He groaned, resting his elbows on his knees and let out a watery burp, aimed at the rug right under his feet. His back was clammy with sweat and their room was cold, since Jonah hadn't bothered with the heater, so now he started shivering slightly.
"Hey," the bedroom door opened just a bit and Leo pushed his face into the gap, "how are- Oh, okay," the blonde frowned, opened the door further and stepped inside, shutting it behind him, "are you nauseous?"
"Yes," Jonah nodded, gulping down, "and more."
Leo's face scrunched up as he wondered what more could mean, then opened with realization, "diarrhea?"
"Not yet," Jonah's cheeks burned with embarrassment, "I don't even- Maybe it's just gas. I don't know, I'm just not feeling well..."
Leo had circled the bed, so he could crouch in front of Jonah, planting a hand on his knee, "what do you need?"
"Nothing," he shrugged, then muffled a belch in his hand, gulping down after, "sleep it off, probably."
"You're sleepy?" Leo reached in, planted his hand to Jonah's forehead and he leaned his head into it, because Leo felt dry, unlike him who felt all sticky and clammy.
"Not really," his voice came out muffled by Leo's wrist. His stomach chose that moment to let out a loud, whine. So loud that Leo pulled back, eyebrows raised.
"Wow," he grimaced, "don't you wanna try the bath-"
"Already did," Jonah rocked, wrapping an arm around his belly in a feeble attempt of both muffling its gross noises and bloated appearance, while his other hand was clenched in a fist, that he used to muffle another wet burp. His chest was burning.
"How about tea?" Leo's fingertips traced his forearm, a mindless soothing gesture Jon wasn't sure he was even aware he was doing, "or meds? We have TUMs, I just checked."
"How- Where's Angie?" He answered, instead, hating being sick around her. Leo scoffed.
"Your adult sister?" He huffed, impatiently, "she's in the balcony, drawing. She said the trees of the park are pretty and it's looking like it's gonna rain, she wants to capture that."
Good, so she wasn't worried nor offended by his absence. Or grossed out.
Jonah nodded, curtly, then leaned forward and planted his forehead to Leo's shoulder, bringing up another belch that made his mouth water, cheddar kicking his ass, "I'm going to vomit."
Leo took a second to realize he was being serious, "Oh- What, now?" He pulled back, causing Jon's head to loll without the support, "get up, baby-"
"No, not now," Jonah gulped down, "but- But soon. I don't think it's settling..."
"Like I said," Leo's voice was just a little clipped, "we have meds, angel. What would help? You're the doctor."
Jonah moaned, "I don't know," talking was making him queasy and existing was annoying him, he wanted to curl up, but moving felt risky, "I-URorup-" a thick, wet burp came up, causing Leo to lean back with a groan.
"Straight on my face? Jonah, what the fuck-"
"So'rurp-urp-" he suddenly seized with a burpy fit, stomach churning violently, and pressed a hand to his mouth as they got wetter, "I'm-"
"Going to puke," Leo decided, grabbing his bicep, "c'mon, love, let's go to the bathroom-"
Another loud gurgle came up and Jonah groaned, whole body getting covered with queasy goosebumps as he nodded and grabbed Leo's shirt to hoist himself up. Goddamn fucking whopper.
They stumbled together inside the bathroom and Jonah didn't lower himself to his knees, hearing an annoyed sigh from Leo, "you're gonna make a mess, Jon..."
"I..." He planted both hands on the wall in front of him, head hanging on the space between his arms as he drooled inside the toilet, "hol'on-"
A hand rested on his back, fingers curling on his nape in a steady hold, "get that mess out of your tummy, angel."
Jonah huffed out a laugh, shutting his eyes, "won't come up..."
"Okay, uhm-" Leo's hands was suddenly on his belly and Jonah recoiled at the touch when he already felt so gross and vulnerable, pressing around, "damn, you look so round."
He sorta felt like crying at the comment, which was ridiculous, but it must've shown on his face, because then Leo let out a huff, "oh, angel," a kiss pressed to his naked shoulder, "as if I care. Your tummy is adorable."
"I don't think-" he spat in the water and rubbed his face, straightening up. His stomach rolled, more burning in his chest, "Don't think I'm gonna be sick."
Leo squinted at him, "I don't believe that," he said, but shrugged, "let's settle you in bed with a bucket."
"Gross," Jonah mumbled, to himself, as he followed Leo back out of the bathroom.
He curled up on the bed, feeling every little bit as whiny and dramatic as he could possibly be, watching Leo move around the room to settle it for him. A glass of water put on the bedside table, the blankets tugged from under his form with a huff, the bathroom bin on the floor near his head-
"Leo, would you-"
"Duh," the blonde rolled his eyes, crawling on the bed and pausing just enough he could open his own jeans, but he didn't remove them. Jonah rolled on the mattress, so he could press his face to his husband's lap and groaned as his upset stomach continued to roll around.
Leo's fingers started scratching his scalp and Jonah sighed, "I feel terrible."
"It'll pass as soon as it digests, baby," Leo sounded unconcerned, thumb stroking Jonah's cheek, "try to nap."
"I'm not sleepy," Jon closed his eyes nonetheless, "we abandoned Angie."
"She's a grown up, she doesn't need supervision," Leo chuckled, then his other hand moved down Jonah's naked back, resting on his belly, "want me to rub your tummy?"
"No," Jonah gulped down, cheeks puffing out with another belch, "it's too sensitive."
"Cheap fast food is too bad on your poor, fancy belly, uh?"
"Yes," Jonah scoffed, "greasy and horrible."
Leo snorted, stirred as he leaned in to press a kiss to Jonah's temple, "what am I gonna do with you?"
"That is depressing," Leo said, voice dripping disdain, as soon as he walked inside of Max's apartment, carrying a six pack of beer cans and a brown grocery bag.
Max let out a huff, stepping aside from the door to let the other guy in and followed his gaze, "what is?" he asked, puzzled, once he saw nothing of note, "what are you looking at?"
"Nothing," Leo said, walking further in as if he owned the place and dumping his bags on the kitchen counter, opening Max's fridge to put in the beers.
"Uh?"
"Nothing," Leo repeated, "you've been in this apartment for at least a month now and you haven't put up a single decor item? Psychopath behavior."
"Ugh," Max rolled his eyes, "the place is perfectly functional, you're just a dick."
"It's not about being functional, it's about being pretty!" Leo whined, his voice coming distorted since he still had his head inside the refrigerator, painstakingly putting away can per can.
"My apartment is pretty," Max pouted, walking away and falling on the couch. He already regretted inviting Leo over. Granted, he hadn't really invited him over, as much as the other guy had texted him "what are you doing, can I come over" and Max had simply acquiesced.
"Structurally, sure," Leo continued, unbothered by the lack of incentive, walking back with two cans and handing Max one, falling on the couch with him, "but there's no charisma. You need a pet... And I don't know, some paintings. A wall that isn't eggshell white. That shit is depressive."
"Hmm," Max grumbled, sourly, opening the can and taking a big swing of it, "it's fi-"
"What is your favorite color?" Leo interrupted him, turning eagerly on the couch. Max glared at the other guy's sunny face, rolling his eyes.
"Leo, my place is fine-"
"No, it's not," Leo glared right back at him, "and you're always holed up here unless I invite you out, or Vince- But Vin is busy having the worst year anyone has ever had, so it is my duty to make sure you're not driving yourself insane, sitting in the dark staring at blank walls."
"I'm not your duty," Max groaned, cheeks burning at the implication he was someone's burden. What the fuck?
"Yes, you are?" Leo frowned, seeming puzzled, "aren't you my friend?"
"Uh- Yea-"
"So, my duty," he said, as if that was the only logical conclusion. Max scowled at his lap, taking another big swing of his beer.
"Hmm, whatever," he shrugged, forcing a nonchalance he didn't feel. This was all so new and weird. Even with Vince it had been just as weird, but at least then he had the butterflies that explained why he felt so odd about everything Vince did or said. Now he didn't have any of those, but he still felt... Odd. Like he was learning how to ride a bike, but blindfolded.
"You look like you like red," Leo decided, after a minute of uncomfortable silence. Or at least, uncomfortable to Max, because Leo seemed perfectly content.
He did like red, a whole lot, but Max only squinted at Leo in return, "why? What makes you think that?"
"How dare I perceive you," Leo snorted at his antics, jumping from the couch, so he could pace around the living room, "you dress like an emo teenager, it was either red, purple or black and black is not a color."
"Black is absolutely a color," Max couldn't help a small smile from tugging at his lips, masking it by taking another drink. His beer was now empty, so he busied himself by going to get another can. Was Leo hungry? Max was, so he opened his fridge, pointedly ignoring Leo rambling about leather couches or whatever.
His fridge was depressing, a thought that caused Max to frown. It was a fridge, how could it possibly represent anything? Damn Leo, getting in his head.
Inside of the appliance were the cans of beer, a singular package of sliced white bread, some ricotta, a gallon of milk that he should throw away because it was probably spoiled and two remaining croissants of the batch Vince had brought to the school under the guise of "I made too many, Luke's fridge can't fit anything else", which Max highly doubted was the truth, if solely for the fact he had seen Lucas' fridge before and that shit was the size of an wardrobe.
"Do you wanna order pizza?" Max asked, closing the fridge door with his hip and Leo, who was now by the little balcony area of his apartment and tsking under his breath, mumbling to himself, beamed at him.
"Oh hell yeah."
---------------
Pizza had been a mistake.
One that Max had been well aware off, from the second he picked up the first slice, covered in stretchy cheese and with pepperoni sliced on top. It was so greasy, so delicious, and he hadn't had pizza in forever, so he had done more than a singular slice and splurged with two and a half.
Mistake number two.
Not because he couldn't handle two slices, of course he could quantity wise, except that greasy food like that upset his little bitch of a stomach and he always tried to keep it to the bare minimum.
Now he was lying on the couch, with Leo sitting next to him, one hand holding a slice of pizza, while paint shopping for Max, because apparently he had decided that what his living room really needed was a colorful wall.
"And maybe some warm lamps too," Leo grumbled, cheeks puffed out like a squirrel, "these overhead white lights make it look like a hospital."
"You're such a jerk," Max scoffed, but his voice was clipped. He could feel there was a bubble of air sitting in his chest, waiting to come up, and he didn't want to burp in front of Leo.
"A jerk who's being oh so helpful," Leo snorted, ignoring his bitching, "look at this one," he turned his phone so Max could take a look at a swatch of paint that looked exactly the same as the last four he had been shown.
"It's red."
"Oh my god, it's not red," Leo groaned, turning his phone back immediately, "it'ss burgundy."
Max rolled his eyes at him, then tried not to wince as he could feel a gas cramp go through his gut. He had been wearing sweatpants already when Leo arrived, so it wasn't like he could open his jeans and he had bloated so much that even loosening the drawstrings hadn't done much. He hoped Leo wasn't paying enough attention to realize Max looked sort of pregnant.
"What about stripes!" Leo perked up, swiping to a picture of a wall with alternating stripes of a dark, toasty red and a shade of beige, "or like this-" he swiped to one where the stripes were deep red and rich brown, "that's cool right. Very manly."
Uh-huh.
Max snorted, "very-URerp-" a belch rushed up mid sentence and he clamped a hand over his mouth, but it was too late. Leo was staring at him, eyebrows up.
"Pfff," the other guy giggled, "what was that?"
"Very manly?" Max finished what he was going to say, cheeks burning. His stomach rolled, as if that singular burp had dislodged something, but not in a good way. In a lets start this party, sort of way.
"Yeah, very manly, hold on-" Leo thumped on his chest, trying to force up a burp and Max shook his head.
"What the hell are you doi-"
Pffft.
"Dude, did you just fart!?" Max cackled, bewildered, as Leo's cheeks turned crimson and he covered his face.
"Shut uuuup," he groaned, face hidden, "was trying to burp to make you less embarrassed!"
"Oh, you idiot," Max giggled, tension easing off his shoulders, bellyache momentarily forgotten over that one pathetic commiserating fart, "I'm fine."
Leo scoffed, cheeks still ablaze and turned back to the phone, now pouting out of sheer humiliation. Max bit down a smile.
"Don't pout."
"I'm not," Leo grumbled and Max would've kept teasing him, wasn't it for the fact his gut picked this moment to remind him that people with glass houses shouldn't throw stones, by whining loudly, gas battling it out, unsure of where to go.
Fuck.
If Leo heard, he chose not to say anything, glaring at his phone now. Max cleared his throat, "uhm- So you were showing me the manly stripes."
He felt stretched. Max squirmed on the couch, inconspicuously lowering the waistband of his sweats. It brought little to no relief. Leo had started talking back up, pointing at the striped walls in his phone and gesturing to the little area that marked Max's entry hall, but Max was barely listening.
His stomach flipped, not just gas now, but genuinely off. The greasy after taste of the pizza was doing him in and he gulped down, goosebumps covering his body.
"So?" Leo blinked expectantly at him, "which one do you like most?"
He didn't care. Max's face was pinched and he realized a second too late that he had snuck a hand under his shirt in order to cradle his stomach. He removed it, "the brown-" his voice was thick, deep, as a bubble of air pressed in his throat, "uurp- brown and beige one."
"Ooh okay," Leo perked up, criss crossing his legs on the couch, "I thought you'd pick the brown and wine one, that's interesting."
Was it? Max nodded, not really agreeing with anything, and pressed the back of his hand to his mouth, muffling a sickly burp. His mouth was feeling slimy, greasy meal sitting in his stomach like a brick.
"Okay, so I'm gonna save these-" Leo wasn't paying him any mind, fiddling around his phone and saving a couple different inspiration pictures that featured the brown and beige stripes, "and we can look at lamps."
Didn't Leo need to go home? What time was it anyway?
"Where- Where's Jon?" Max asked, fidgeting on the couch to try to find a more comfortable position. There wasn't one, he was feeling clammy and queasy, a gas ball sitting in the middle of his stomach.
"Working," Leo wrinkled his nose, didn't bother looking up from his phone, "overnight shift."
"Uhmmm," Max wiped his face, then jumped up, "uh- I'm gonna go smoke."
"I thought you were trying to quit," Leo's head snapped, eyes zeroing him in.
"I never said that," Max scoffed, rolling his eyes at the other guy. He searched his pockets for his crumpled cigarettes pack and didn't find it.
"Yes, you did, last time I came over," Leo pouted, "you said Vince hates it."
"He does- Uurerp," Max let out a burp as he stretched to grab his backup pack on top of the fridge. It was thick and wet, bringing a sliver of relief, but tasting so disgusting that his mouth flooded with nauseous saliva. He gulped down, "uhm- yeah, he does hate it."
"And then you said you'd quit," Leo pointed out, having moved to sit on the couch's arm, so he could watch Max stumble around. His gravity felt off center with that lump of congealed food in his belly.
"Nev'r saidthat..." Max mumbled, then stepped outside in the balcony and lit up his cigarette, making a show of sucking it and letting out the smoke in a cloud, if only because he knew Leo hated it and wouldn't step any closer.
His belly cramped, a gurgle running down, and he turned around, pressing the upset organ against the banister and staring at the 8 stories high fall. It was one of his favorite things about his apartment, how high it was, how quiet, windy... He really liked the place, maybe Leo was right and painting a wall wasn't such a bad idea...
Paint felt permanent, though. Felt like saying, yeah, I'm staying, I'm gonna extend my lease one more year, I'll stay in this town, I like it here- Which he did. When he thought of going back to Doveport, no matter how much simpler things were there, Max didn't feel any excitement. Instead, he shuddered at the thought. No, he didn't have any plans to leave Welton, it was permanent... He might as well start treating it like that.
The banister pressed against his stomach pushed up a deeply relieving burp and Max let out a groan, pushing himself further against the metal. It felt great, even if he was still queasy from the items alone. Pizza and beer, what had he been thinking?
"Dude?" Leo's voice was close, too close, and Max jerked, looking to the side. His friend was leaning against the balcony door, eyebrows furrowed, mouth downturned and clearly upset, "why are you nearly throwing yourself off the balcony?"
Max frowned right back, a nagging voice in the back of his head telling him this was important for some reason... Leo's honeymoon disaster, his brain supplied, and yeah, that, but something else also... Leo knowing how to handle an extremely drunk Vince with way too much ease, hinting at having experience...
"So?" Leo had pressed his lips into an annoyed line, "step away from the edge, Max."
"Chill out," Max groaned, "give me a minute, I'm just getting some fresh air."
"You can get fresh air without leaning so much you're nearly falling," the other guy's voice was clipped, the lightheartedness from before was gone.
"Ookay," Max stumbled back, bracing against the balcony's door and now he was close enough to Leo for the guy to be able to tell he was definitely not doing great, Max could tell because his eyes widened and then squinted, studying him.
"What's wrong?"
"Nothing," Max gulped down, fighting the urge to burp again, "I think you should go."
Leo rolled his eyes, "I will, as soon as you fess up. I'm not gonna leave you alone if I don't think I should-"
My god, this guy, Max thought with a groan.
"I'm not gonna jump off the building, I just have a stomach ache!" He cried out, frustrated, "one I'd like to nurse on my own, so if you could be so kind-"
"Ah," Leo's expression cleared up, then he giggled, "why didn't you just say you had a tummy ache? What's the big deal?"
"A tummy ache," Max groaned, wrapping an arm around his, very bloated, stomach, "I don't have tummy aches, I was cursed by a witch or something."
Leo cackled at that, shaking his head and stepping back into the living room, "okay, okay, a curse then," he shrugged, looking around in search of something, "uhm- Do you want some tea before I leave? Peppermint is really good for tumm- The Curse," he smirked, finally finding his sneakers ditched near the front door.
"No, I'm fine," Max muffled a gross belch in his hand, shuddering violently at the taste of the pizza and how frothy the beer had made it, "sorry, I ruined the night-"
"Nah," Leo rolled his eyes, "I should've left an hour ago, I knew I was pestering you... I just wanted to know how long until you bit my head off," he beamed, causing Max to scoff and glare at him. This little shit.
Vaguely, he thought it was weird that Leo was, he assumed, an only child, because he had all the energy of a younger sibling, "get out of here, Leo."
"Going, going," Leo grinned, moving around to grab his stuff and fixing his performative tote bag around his shoulder, "see you tomorrow?"
"Why tomorrow?" Max asked, confused, walking him to the door even if every step was hurting. His mouth was watering up, he was definitely gonna end up puking. Not now, in the close future.
"We're going paint shopping, remember?"
"Now, I know for a fact I didn't agree to this-"
"See you tomorrow," Leo winked at him, walking out of the door, "I'll bring you peppermint tea in a thermos!"
Okay this got a little out of hand. I didn't know how to end it so...maybe a part 2 if this gets any interest?
Some queens (Mallory) can't handle puke or stressful situations but that's okay
CW: head trauma, discussion of hospital (no hospital scene), vomiting, hints of a toxic relationship / some uncomfortable moments
---
The initial alert came in the form of a shout. Mallory was halfway through whipping her head towards the source of the noise, when in the edge of her vision she saw two skaters about to collide. Before she could even blink, someone’s board was flying out from under them. Every noise in the skatepark was pushed to the background as the subsequent thud of a curly-haired figure smacking into the concrete rang deafeningly loud in her ears. Her eyes rested on the full scene just in time to see his helmet-less head bounce off the ground. Kellen. His skateboard clattered into stillness and flipped onto its back several feet away, wheels still spinning in the air as it searched for traction.
Mallory didn’t hear her own scream of terror and nearly catapulted herself off of the skate deck to get to the bottom of the bowl. She hit the ground beside him on her knees and caught herself on one palm, grateful for the thick kneepads she was wearing. “Are you okay?!” She screeched, “Kellen?” He didn’t respond. “Kellen!”
She only released half the breath she was holding when he twitched to life and his face slowly twisted into an expression of unspeakable pain. His lips parted in a silent curse, deep wrinkles forming at the corners of his eyes and the bridge of his nose as he screwed up his face.
Mallory glared daggers when the other party of the near-collision that Kellen had crashed trying to avoid kneeled down beside him, eyes stricken with panic. “What is wrong with you?!” She snarled at the stranger. “Are you blind?!”
“I-I’m sorry, I didn’t see him--”
“Look where you’re going!” She spat, tears from her own fear quickly rising. She looked back down at Kellen, darting forwards to put a hand on his shoulder as he pressed his palm into the ground in an effort to start to push himself up, eyes still tightly shut. “D-don’t move,” she stammered.
The other skater shrank back at her volume, slowly backing away as a crowd formed around them. Kellen was pushing weakly against her hand as she tried to keep him down, but he was unsteady and slow. A man, maybe in his 40s, tattoo-covered and carrying the confidence of a veteran skater, pushed his way through and knelt down, setting his own skateboard to the side. He held an arm out to push the group of onlookers back. “Give him space, back up,” he said authoritatively, then leaned in close. “You’re good, man, you’re good. We’ll get you up in a second, just lay back down; that was a hard fall.”
“‘M fine,” Kellen finally groaned hoarsely, but he sank back into the warm concrete. His face wavered in discomfort as he shifted against the ground and he clenched his teeth.
“What hurts?” Mallory and the man asked in tandem, their eyes briefly flickering up to each other before quickly focusing back onto Kellen. His breathing was noticeably labored as he tried to form a coherent thought.
“Everything,” he croaked, “...head hurts.”
“There’s a reason we oldheads tell you dumbasses to wear your damn helmets,” the older man said sternly but not unkindly, tapping his own. “Can you tell me your full name and where you are? Does your neck hurt?”
Kellen inhaled sharply in overwhelm, finally opening his eyes a sliver. “Kellen Clark…the skatepark. No.” He started to push himself up again, more determined this time. “Told you, ‘m good…let me up.” His thin arm trembled as he rose to a sitting position and brought his palm to his forehead. Mallory gasped; the side of his face that had been pressed into the ground bore a nasty friction burn--but more concerning was the blood trickling down his temple and cheek from somewhere in his hairline. His elbow and knuckles were also scraped up and bleeding. “Fuck…”
“Y-your head is bleeding,” she choked out. Kellen looked at her through half-lidded eyes, hazy and unfocused. His face was growing paler by the second, and he dragged his hand away from the center of his forehead and towards his temple, coming away wet with blood. He stared at his bloodied palm, blinking multiple times. Mallory didn’t notice the way his Adam’s apple bobbed up and down as he started to rapidly swallow, or the way his head swayed back and forth as he tried to maintain his sense of balance. But the older skater did.
“Get out of the way, he’s going to puke,” He warned, scooting quickly to Kellen’s side. Mallory flinched in surprise and scrambled backwards from in front of him, unable to bring herself to help him as he doubled over his own lap with a half-formed gag and covered his mouth. The remarkably level-headed stranger gently guided him to the side, away from his own legs. “You’re good, kid,” he repeated softly, looking back over his shoulder to glare at everyone still watching.
A loud retch careened Kellen forward, forcing him to shift his hips and catch himself on his hand. Mallory inched further away, breath halting as her heart began to race faster. She couldn’t tear her eyes off of him as he jolted with a burp and a liquidy wave of pale vomit splattered onto the ground in front of him, splashing the top of his bare hand. He moaned, cutting his own rising complaint short with a gurgling noise as more puke rushed up his throat and cascaded to the concrete. The crowd of bystanders surrounding him quickly dispersed in a frenzy of shouts and screams as people frantically rushed to escape the sight and sound. She was completely frozen in place, seized by panic and at a loss for what to do. Mallory wasn’t the best with vomit on a good day; least of all when it was coming from the love of her life in a high stakes situation.
“Did you drive here?” It took her a few seconds to realize the man currently filling the position she should be in was addressing her. She shook her head, pressing a hand to her chest as hyperventilation threatened to take over. “Well, call a friend who can take you guys to the ER. His head is bleeding a lot,” he gestured to the blood dripping from the tips of Kellen’s curls, bright red droplets joining the vomit covering the ground. “It might not be as bad as it looks, but it’s too hard to tell where it’s coming from.”
“W-who do I call?” She cried helplessly, cringing away as her sort-of-boyfriend heaved up another slurry of his stomach contents, breaking into a harsh coughing fit as he choked on the mouthful of liquid.
He threw up a hand in frustration. “I don’t know, lady. Figure it out!”
Mallory finally snapped out of her paralysis at his exasperated tone and pulled her phone out of her pocket with a trembling hand. Her fingers were shaking so severely that it took several attempts to unlock it. When she finally managed it, she hovered over her contacts uselessly. She didn’t have the number of anyone he knew. She cursed under her breath and clicked on the only person she could think of--Sarah. Her roommate, who was unabashed in her disdain towards Mallory’s situationship and fiercely protective.
Sarah picked up the phone on the second ring. “Hey girl--”
“Sarah,” Mallory couldn’t get through her name before her voice dissolved into a sob, “Kellen--I need you to p-pick us up.”
“What? Kellen? What happened, where are you?” Sarah barked, and Mallory heard the jingle of keys in the background. She sucked in a heaving breath, choked for a response. “Mallory!”
“The skatepark--” she inhaled again, “He hit his head--fuck, he needs to go to the hospital, please--”
Sarah let out a string of curses over the phone. “Okay, okay, I’m coming.”
--
Kellen’s vomiting had abated by the time Mallory ended the phone call, his wet sniffles punctuated by an occasional aborted heave as he fought to regain control over himself. He exhaled a shaky groan and finally sat back, drawing his knees towards his chest and absent-mindedly wiping the back of his vomit covered hand against the side of his jeans. He instantly winced in disgust when he realized he’d done it. He seemed more alert now, the initial shock of his impact fading. “Mallory,” he panted, “I’m--mnnh--’m okay. Stop,” the word came out garbled as spit coated the inside of his mouth and he spat between his feet. “Stop crying.” With his eyes fully open now, she could see the pupils in his hazel eyes were blown wide, but luckily the same size. That was a good sign, right?
Mallory looked wide-eyed between him and the tattooed man, monitoring his expression. His cool-headed demeanor through all of this made his judgement feel trustworthy. When he made eye contact with her, he nodded slowly, an encouragement to calm down. It was still impossible to take Kellen at face value with the blood coating the side of his face and coagulating in his dark auburn hair. She wiped the tears from her cheeks and scooted clumsily back towards him, her clunky rollerblades impeding the movement.
“But you threw up,” she whimpered, “and you’re bleeding.” Her voice was fragile, and Kellen’s knee was shaking when she reached him and laid her hand on it. The smell of vomit beside them and clinging to him made Mallory’s stomach turn, but she tried to force it to the back of her mind. “You could have a brain injury.”
Kellen reached the hand he hadn’t puked on towards his affected temple, but their helper quickly interjected before he could make contact.
“Don’t even think about it. She’s right,” he snapped.
Kellen mumbled something under his breath but ultimately obeyed, letting his hand fall back down. He stared at the ground for a few seconds, slowly tensing when his situation seemed to dawn on him. “I’m in the way,” he muttered to himself, preparing himself to try and get to his feet. “Where’s my board?”
“Easy,” the man said quickly, “take it slow. I’ll get your board in a second.” He reached out to grab Kellen’s arm and support him, but the younger man shrugged him off.
“I-I’ve got it,” he tripped over his words, embarrassment flooding through him now that he’d returned to himself for the time being. He shifted onto his hands and knees and pushed himself up with agonizing difficulty. His long, skinny legs shook like tall buildings trying to withstand the force of an earthquake when he finally righted himself. Mallory stood on equally unsteady feet, nearly falling right back down while she fought to balance on her inline skates. She made the quick decision to take them off so she could walk alongside him better, bare socks on concrete be damned. Kellen ducked his head down when he noticed the stares from every direction. “Fucking hell…” he grumbled, color returning to his face in the form of a red blush across his cheeks. Her heart twisted with pity, but seeing him stand on his own brought her immense relief.
“Don’t worry about it, we’ll never see any of them again,” she snaked her arm around his waist when he stumbled off-balance from moving his head towards the ground. “Just keep walking.”
--
Kellen hadn’t spoken the entire drive, intently focused on staying awake per Mallory’s instruction. She’d barely taken her eyes off of him except to exchange non-verbal check-ins with Sarah in the rearview mirror. They were about halfway to the ER when Mallory noticed it. In her hypervigilance, she picked up on a sluggish swallow from him that seemed to catch halfway down his throat, and the stifled burp that followed from the subtle puff of his cheeks and jerk of his ribcage.
“You okay?” She whispered, keeping her voice as low as possible.
Kellen shut his eyes and exhaled through his nose, clenching the fabric of his jeans between his fingers. “My head’s…spinning,” he admitted under his breath, thick brows furrowing in concentration. The arm he was using to hold a rag to his bloodied head was shaking. Before Mallory could respond, a deep hiccup burst out of him, breaking the silence in the car. Sarah’s eyes darted to the rearview, wide with alarm over the unexpected noise.
“Do not throw up in my car,” she warned, “I don’t have bags and I swear to God, I will--”
“Sarah, pull over,” Mallory cut her off, leaning away from Kellen as he dropped the rag from his head and let out an involuntary belch, “Kellen, please don’t. Please don’t!”
He swayed back and forth and pressed his hand into the headrest in front of him, trying to stabilize himself amidst a wave of vertigo. “‘I…I don’t feel well,” he slurred weakly in response. There was a sudden thickness to his voice, his salivary glands starting to work overtime.
“Fuck!” Sarah swore, “I can’t believe I agreed to this, oh my God.” She hit the brakes hard as she pulled off onto an illegal shoulder and the tires screeched against asphalt. Throwing open the car door was as far as Kellen got before he curled over with an empty heave, straining against his seatbelt. It was the only thing preventing him from falling out of the car, but too restrictive to allow him to aim fully over the ground. When a spurt of bile came, most of it hit the outer door frame of the car. Mallory and Sarah both shrieked in horror and exited the car in a frenzy. Sarah started pacing back and forth, hands clasped tightly on the back of her neck. “What the fuck, Mallory,” she cursed when she saw Mallory standing in place, “go help him!”
Mallory looked wildly between the car and her roommate. “I--I can’t, I can’t,” she gasped, bringing her hands to her ears to block out the sounds. It had been bad enough to watch him vomit in an open space. The thought of being in a trapped space with him while he was throwing up, or worse, trying to get him out of the car and risk getting puked on…nausea sprung to life inside her at the mental image.
Sarah’s eyes bulged, blazing with rage. “You owe me,” she growled, marching determinedly towards the other side of the sedan.
-
It took everything Sarah had not to turn away from the sad sack in front of her. She was not a squeamish woman by nature; it was her burning dislike for this man that made it hard to see him in such a vulnerable state. Feeling empathy for Kellen was…novel to her. It wasn’t like he’d ever been unkind to her personally; but the endless back and forth games he was always playing with her friend made him impossible to like. Anger bubbled up like acid. She shouldn’t have been the one standing here. Under her frustration, though, was a nagging fear. What if he was in more danger than they thought? The massive scrape on his face and clotted blood in his hair was scary enough without this. Maybe they should have called an ambulance instead, but who could afford that?
He hadn’t brought up much other than the initial bile. Tears of exertion were streaming down his face from the force of his heaving. He was barely keeping himself up, the seatbelt doing most of the work. “Kellen, you’ve got to get out of the car,” she said firmly, taking a tentative step towards him when there was a lull in his efforts to expel whatever was still lingering in his gut. She was nothing if not a problem solver. “Unbuckle your seatbelt, grab the door to hold yourself up and get out. You can do it.”
To Kellen’s credit, he managed to do as she said and extricate himself from the vehicle. Standing was not in the cards though, as he quickly sat down on the pavement and ducked his head between his legs, spitting. Sarah winced. “Hey, you’re gonna vomit on yourself,” she warned, moving closer. “At least get on your hands and knees or something.”
“C-can’t,” Kellen gasped, “‘m so fuckin’ dizzy, my head--” he burped, a grating noise that started empty but cut off wetly. “Can’t move, ‘m sorr--urgh--y.”
Sarah, against every instinct screaming at her to leave him and go smack her roommate out of her trance instead, knelt down beside him and laid a hand between his bony shoulder blades. She was still human. “It’s…it’s not your fault,” she sighed, “get it over with, I guess. We’ll deal with it afterwards.”
The first wave came laboriously. And as she had predicted, it didn’t land in an ideal location. The retch that brought it up was drawn out and slow, and she tilted her head up to look at the sky in despair when Kellen puked up a mouthful of thick vomit that didn’t quite have the trajectory to hit the pavement. Instead, it poured out over his chin and splattered his t-shirt. He choked on the viscous fluid and attempted to lean forwards to aim the next wave away from himself. Saliva streamed from his mouth, rendering him unable to properly breathe as he sat slack-jawed and waiting.
“Fuck,” Sarah groaned under her breath when the smell hit her. And it was going to be permeating her car after he was finished. Every emotion under the sun was flitting through her. Anxiety that he could be severely injured. Annoyance that anytime he appeared in her life, it was to be a nuisance. Anger that she was the one forced to deal with it. Empathy to see another person suffering like this. She pushed him gently forwards while he struggled to keep his head up.
Kellen made a sound like he was going to speak, but was silenced by his own heave as he rocked forwards and let up the next pitiful stream of sickness. This time it landed squarely between the pavement and his groin, splashing the ground and one of his inner thighs with a disgusting brown color. “Shit,” he slurred, “s-sorry.” His voice was choked and high-pitched, like he was about to start crying. “Where’s Mal-hic!”
Sarah rolled her eyes. “Listen, I love that girl but she is not what you need right now. When you stop throwing up--” she cringed when he interrupted her with a retch from the bottom of his stomach, sounding painfully empty. “Dude…you gotta breathe before you pass out or something. It’s getting scary.”
Kellen coughed a few times in an attempt to clear his throat, clutching the unwounded side of his head as if every cough was a jackhammer to his skull. “Sorry,” he repeated quietly, eyes fluttering closed where he sat. “I’m so…tired.”
She hissed in exasperation and grabbed his shoulder. “No no no, no you are not,” She snapped, “we really have to go. God, fuck, I-I’ll give you my jacket, okay? Puke on that in the car if you have to.” What the hell was she even saying? That was her favorite one. All of this for her roommate’s dumbass fling. “But you owe me a handle of Grey Goose for this. And two cases of Busch apple. And an eighth, minimum.”
She was pretty sure she heard him give a weak laugh at that. Despite her annoyance a relieved smile briefly tugged at her lips. “Come on, get up.”
“I’m not gonna puke on your jacket,” he croaked. His voice was wobbling, but he didn’t sound seconds from bursting into tears anymore, eased by the moment of levity. He lifted his head the best he could, but quickly dropped it back down. “I…” he trailed off, sucking in a breath, “I can’t…”
Sarah moved to his front, turning her face away from the sight of the vomit splattered down his shirt and chin. “I know. I’ll help.” She extended a hand towards him, grimacing at how clammy his palm was when he accepted the gesture. At least it was clean. “Seriously though, get puke on my seats and I’ll end you. Not even my friends would get away with that.”
“Aww, we’re not friends?” He asked drowsily, sarcasm weaved through every word.
“No, we are not,” she replied flatly, pulling him to his feet. Kellen had half a foot on her easily, but he was thin as a board and light as a feather; it didn’t take much effort to help him up. He stumbled sideways and caught himself on the car door, knees wavering as he started to lower himself into the seat. “Good,” she mumbled, wrinkling her nose when she caught herself praising him. Gross. Once he was sitting, she grabbed her coat from the back of the car and tossed it on his lap. He blinked down at it, throat bobbing uncomfortably. “...Keep it clean if you can,” she sighed woefully, hoping beyond hope that he would be able to uphold his promise not to soil it.
Mallory finally appeared from the other side of the car and wordlessly started to climb into the front passenger seat. Sarah looked at her irritably. “Girl, no. You need to sit back there with him and make sure he doesn’t accidentally kill himself or fall asleep.”
Her friend shot her a sulking glare. Her lower eyelids were swollen, irritated by tears. “But--”
“He’s your boyfriend, I can’t do all of this myself,” Sarah cut her off. She was losing patience. Kellen started to protest the label, but she shushed him. “Don’t start. We’re going.”
--
Mallory begrudgingly made her way into the back again, visibly cringing away at the sight of Kellen’s vomit coated shirt and chin. She rolled down her window halfway as Sarah pulled back onto the road, pressing her forehead into the top of the glass. It should have been her there helping him. Jealousy sparked in her chest. He was going to remember this; that she had shied away while Sarah ran to his aid. Her roommate didn’t even like him, where did she get off on showing him her caring side?
She shifted her head to glance at him. He was pale still, eyes only halfway open with his head tilted back against the headrest. “Are you doing okay?” She finally murmured uncertainly, sliding a bit closer and fighting the overwhelming desire to plug her nose.
“Yeah,” he replied hoarsely, making a face at the sound of his own voice. “Jus’...dizzy. Tired.”
“Are you feeling sick? Nauseous?” She quizzed, heart rate kicking up a notch.
“What do you think?” Kellen said brusquely, “you’re…” he breathed in deeply and bit back a soft burp that petered out in his throat, “not helping.”
“Is there anything I can do?” Her voice cracked guiltily, “I’m really sorry, I’m trying to help, I should have been there--”
Kellen didn’t turn to look at her, but she could see the scowl deepening on his face as she blubbered the apology. “Mal, just..stop talking,” he groaned, “I don’t care.”
“Don’t care about what?”
“I don’t care that you weren’t there.”
She froze. That was even worse than if he was mad. He didn’t care at all? Maybe he was even glad that Sarah was the one there instead of her. She crossed her arms instead of reaching towards him. “Kay,” she muttered, lapsing into uneasy silence. Kellen replied with a long sigh in lieu of words. Sarah met her eyes in the mirror and furrowed her eyebrows, giving Mallory a confused look that screamed what are you doing? Mallory glared in return. She blinked away the burning feeling at the back of her eyes. No. He was hurt; this was no time to be assuming ulterior motives.
The rest of the drive was blissfully uneventful, marked only by occasional muffled groans from Kellen, his inner ear locked in a stalemate with the inertia from the car. Sarah parked the car and quickly got out, but Mallory was faster. She darted around the side of the car to open Kellen’s door, blocking Sarah’s way. “I’m closer to his height,” she explained quickly, “It’ll be easier for me to help him.”
Sarah shrugged. “Sure. Watch the puke, though. It’s all over him.”
Kellen locked eyes with Mallory as she hovered over him nervously, hesitant to touch him. His expression was unreadable, but he was just as tense. His pupils responded sluggishly to the changing light, the large dark pits nearly overtaking his hazel irises. It was slightly uncanny, and she recoiled at the sight. “I can walk by myself,” he finally grumbled when she didn’t reach out, unbuckling his seatbelt and fighting not to slump over the seat from that small motion alone.
“N-no, I can help!” She insisted when he attempted to push past her and stand. She grabbed his elbow, not letting go when he flinched. “Come on, we’ll take it nice and slow.” She made brief eye contact with her roommate, who looked immensely uncomfortable as she stood off to the side and watched the stilted interaction.
“I, uh--I’m gonna get a head start to the front desk and let them know you’re coming,” Sarah said, taking off at a light jog without waiting for a reply. Mallory nodded in approval, eyes burning into Kellen as he stood swaying at her side, hazily tracing Sarah’s path as she left.
“What, are you gonna miss her?” She couldn’t stop herself from making the snide comment, incensed by the way his gaze was following the other woman.
Kellen grunted in confusion, at war with his own two feet as they made their way towards the ER. “Huh--wha? Who?” When he finally processed what she was getting at, he clicked his tongue against his teeth and hissed in annoyance. “Jesus…’m not fuckin’ doing this with you right now,” he ground out, sounding markedly woozy. “My head…hurts.”
Mallory swallowed down the urge to snap back, and tried not to think about the vomit on his clothing that was inches from her as his lanky frame sank deeper into her side.
“I know it does,” she nodded, “let’s…let’s just get you fixed up. I’m here.”
I think that some good Luke/Bell smut is what we need in these trying times. The topic: tummy love. After waking up one morning, Bell shows Luke's belly some casual love with kisses and strokes, but it turns out he is in dire need of a thorough rub and TLC because his belly hurts (hunger/indigestion/virus). May or may not develop into a full sickness.
Bella let out a yawn, rolling on the bed, a hand stretched ahead of her in an attempt to grab Luke's abandoned pillow. It was a morning tradition, he got up super early, so she'd wake up and grab his pillow, mush her face in it to smell him, and get ten to fifteen minutes more sleep.
Today, her hand melt warm skin and she startled, opening her eyes. Luke's naked back was facing her, going up and down as he breathed in deeply, asleep.
"Lu?" Bella whispered, scooting closer on the bed. He didn't even stir with the name calling. Bell raised her eyebrows, then bit down a smile as she saw his slack face, swept dark hair falling over his forehead and the pillow, the cheek she could see with a pink mark in the middle of it since they were buried under blankets... He was so damn handsome.
Bella latched onto his back like a tick, wrapping an arm around his middle and throwing a leg over his hip, happily planting her mouth to his naked shoulder and peppering it with kisses, "Lucaaaas," she called, softly, "wake up."
It was a Saturday, so she wasn't worried about him sleeping in, since they had nowhere to be but there. It was really unusual, though.
This time his brow twitched and she smiled, pressing herself even closer and scooting up just enough she could nibble at his ear, "wakey wakey, baby."
"Uhmm?" Luke mumbled, lifting an arm to rub his eye and narrowly missing elbowing her, "Bell?"
"Hey," she pressed a kiss to his cheek, "you slept in."
"Whaa-" A yawn, him rolling on the bed and taking her with. Bella unwrapped herself, so she could move to lie nearly on top of him, "what time is it?"
"Uhm," she reached over him, grabbing his phone on the bedside table, "nine thirty."
"Wow," Luke was still slow, brain powering up, He reached in to grab a curl of hers, kinda dizzy and loopy from sleep, "it's late..."
"Please," Bella made sure to let her tone drip disdain about the "late" hour. She squirmed on top of him, smiling devilishly as she could feel a hard on pressed to her thigh, less about him being horny and a whole lot more due to the fact he had just woken up. Didn't matter in her books, a boner was a boner.
Luke blinked slowly, nearly falling right back asleep and she wouldn't have it, so she leaned in and pressed a kiss over his lips, "wakeee uuup, Luke."
"M'wake," he planted a hand on her back, heavy, and slid it up to her nape, fingers curling on her hair as he pulled her in. Although he kissed her back, he didn't initiate anything else and Bella let out a huff, moving her face so she could kiss his neck and then down his chest.
"Wake. Up," she punctuated her words with a little bite pressed to his skin, he had little moles scattered all over his back and chest and she played connect the dots with her mouth.
Luke was ticklish, so Bella smiled as she kissed him near the ribs and could feel his breath hitch, trying to suppress a full body shudder. Her hands curled on the waist of his sweatpants, inching them down to give her more exposed skin.
He wasn't hairy, almost no chest hair — he had to have some flaw, Bella thought with a snort — but there was a bit of peach fuzz that grew between his pecs and went down his normally flat stomach, thickening up under his navel and disappearing into his pants. Fine enough that it wasn't noticeable unless he was freshly showered and wet, the hairs darkening. Bella blew on the soft hair, hands pressed one to each side of him, mouth branding him right next to the navel-
A whine came from his stomach, so loud that Bell pulled back, with a startled chuckle, "oh, wow. Are you hungry?"
She folded her hands over his belly and planted her chin on top of them. Luke, who had scooted up slightly on the pillow, looked a whole lot more awake... And embarrassed too. He shook his head, rubbing his eye with one hand, in a way that reminded her of a sullen teenager, "no... Kinda queasy, actually."
Ah.
"Oh shit," Bella jumped away, so she wasn't all but lying on top of him, "why didn't you say something? I was all over you, that couldn't feel good..."
"You all over me always feels good," he rolled his eyes, "actually, the pressure was kinda nice..."
She had some sort of problem, like a Luke-addiction, Bella decided, because no way he was actually as cute as she thought he was right now. Luke-aholic.
"C'mere, you big baby," she moved so she wasn't fully on top of him, more on his side, but still with a leg dropped over his hip — the boner was gone, bummer — and her right hand could rub his stomach.
It wasn't bloated, but now that she was applying some pressure, it seemed sloshy and achy. Her husband's face pinched with discomfort, frustration too at the derailed morning plans.
"What exactly are you feeling?"
Luke grimaced, rubbing his chest with an uneasy expression that Bella knew well, "is it reflux? You didn't eat before bed." God, they were getting old, she bit down a smile.
"Seems like it," he shuddered, muffling a little burp in his hand, "stomach's just bleh."
"Just bleh, eh?" Bella grinned, stealing a kiss, "you're so adorable, I could chew you like a toy."
He snorted at her wording, then winced as a gurgle went through his belly, right under her palm, "I probably just need to get up and eat something light, to get rid of the acid."
"Hmmm," she wasn't convinced, but Bella didn't voice it. She trailed her fingers down his abs quadrants, faded and soft, he wasn't shredded like he had been in New Mexico and she preferred him like this. Her index circled his navel, nails scratching him, and she pressed on his right side, over the faint scar of his appendectomy. Sometimes she could barely believe that had happened, that whole stretch of their lives where they weren't together seemed like a fever dream.
"Ugh, hold on," Luke sat up on the bed, pushing her hand away from his middle and snapping her out of her thoughts, "gotta burp..." His voice was clipped, with pain or nausea, she wasn't sure, "can you-" a gulp, "thump-"
"Like this?" She thumped the middle of his back in a rhythmic manner and Luke nodded, a hand pressed to his mouth as he muffled a string of watery burps. Bella cringed.
"Baby, those are really wet... Are you gonna be sick?"
He shook his head, "stomach- acid," he shuddered, standing up abruptly and rushing to the bathroom, leaving Bella behind. She took a second to follow, expecting to find him curled up by the toilet, but instead he had spat up in the sink and was now washing the bowl and his pale face.
"Ugh," Luke said as she leaned against the door, drying his face with the hand towel, "I feel like crap."
"You don't think it's a bug?" Bella stretched a hand ahead of her, he was just close enough she could trace invisible patterns on his back with the tip of her nails.
"Don't think so," Luke braced against the sink, staring at the bowl, "my stomach hurts."
Bell stepped closer, pressed her mouth to his shoulder and slid an arm around his middle, knuckled brushing softly over his belly, "I think you're just old, Captain."
It earned her a huff, that pinched expression fading to give away to a boyish smile, "yeah, maybe," he blew out a burp under his breath, then grabbed her wrists and pulled her closer, arms crossed over his chest and her front pressed to his back, "I love you."
Bella rolled her eyes dramatically, biting down a grin, "couldn't have guessed, Luke."
everyone in the group is suffering, so the one who is in peril doesn't know they're going through it more than everyone else. yes, the heat is making them dizzy and nauseous and crampy and headachey, but they're all hot. every time they're asked if they're okay, they complain, but they don't know it's worse than anyone else's distress, and neither does anyone else.
well when all else fails at least there’s daydreaming about your oc getting tortured and abused and experimented on and assaulted and dehumanized and torn apart and surgically modified and
When Jason stumbled into the kitchen from his bedroom, Rubén was still asleep on the couch. He paused to admire his sleeping form. The thin blanket he’d been given was laying on the floor, his body splayed out over the couch. Jason’s eyes were drawn to the sliver of his stomach exposed by his t-shirt riding up and his mouth went dry. He quickly averted his eyes when his heart rate began to rise. Lifting the blanket, he draped it back over his friend as gently as he possibly could. Rubén didn’t even twitch. He’s out cold.
His head had already been swimming but when he straightened back up, stars exploded in his vision. He stumbled backwards until his hand found the arm of the other couch behind him and caught himself. God, he was still a little drunk from last night. Jason couldn’t help himself from groaning as he slowly sat down. He’d come out to make breakfast, always a habitual early riser even after the craziest of nights, but his head was pounding. Bringing a shaky hand to his face, he pushed his curtain bangs out of the way and pressed his palm into his forehead as if the pressure would stabilize his spinning brain. Being knocked out like Rubén sounded like the best thing ever. Jason instinctually picked his head up as he heard Elly’s footsteps approaching from her room.
Her eyes flickered with surprise when she rounded the corner, clad in her workout gear. She scanned his appearance, trailing her gaze towards where Rubén was passed out on the opposite couch.
“Busy night, it seems,” she said flatly after a moment, readjusting her grip on her gym bag.
Her monotone inflection couldn’t quite hide the amusement dancing on her lips in the form of a lopsided smirk; a facial expression that resembled her older brother Kellen’s own smile a little too closely. Jason glared at her. “Kiss my ass,” he grumbled, his voice so hoarse as to be nearly indiscernible. He cleared his throat harshly and sighed irritably when it did nothing to dissipate the clogged up feeling. He planted his face back into his hand and a low burp wriggled its way out of him, acrid and burning. “Ughhh,” he groaned dramatically.
Elly snickered at his expense, her footsteps retreating for a moment until she returned with a glass of water and tried to hand it to him. “Take it,” she instructed firmly. “What time did you guys get back, anyways?” Jason barely lifted his eyes to look as he took the glass from his roommate. He cradled it in both hands, relishing the cool feeling against his palms. It was a welcome distraction from the jackhammer pounding away inside his skull.
“I…dunno,” he admitted quietly. “Maybe, like, 3 AM? Rubén and I went on a side quest, but I don’t remember much after he puked in the Taco Bell parking lot. And then again on the walk back.” His voice rose a note at the end, a slight smile creeping onto his face as he remembered it. “Man, he was so fucked up.”
“Uh-huh, I’m sure you were so much better off,” Elly teased. Jason extended his leg to push her away with his foot, and she quickly shoved him off. “Get off of me you beast,” she rolled her eyes but couldn’t help giggling, cheeks pink. “I gotta get to the gym. Hang in there.” Her hand rested on his hunched shoulder for a moment, giving him a light squeeze before she slipped towards the door. He muttered his goodbyes, and then just like that it was him and Rubén alone again.
The front door slamming shut finally seemed to rouse the other boy slightly, and he rolled onto his side with a muffled groan, his black hair half covering his face. Most of it had fallen out of its ponytail by now and was mussed up in a terrific case of bedhead. Jason’s cheeks burned at the sight of him. He brought the glass of water to his lips to preoccupy himself while Rubén blearily opened his eyes. The water was cool going down his throat, but hit his stomach like a stone disturbing the surface of a calm lake, immediately sending a ripple of nausea through his guts. Jason swallowed the feeling down and plastered the best smile he could muster onto his face as Rubén’s hazy gaze finally found him.
“Morning,” Jason said, looking back and forth between the boy’s dark eyes as he reached up a hand to rub at them. Despite his own misery, his heart twisted in pity at the sallow tinge of Rubén’s face, his dark olive skin distinctly lacking its usual warmth. “How are we doing?”
Rubén took a shuddering breath and pushed his tangled hair away from his face, not making any move to fully sit up. “Hey…” He screwed up his face and licked his lips, as if tasting something sour. “Did I throw up last night?” He croaked without answering Jason’s question. “...I did, didn’t I?” His words were slow, and Jason could practically see the memories trying to filter back to him in real time, a concentrated expression taking hold of his face.
“You did,” he smirked, “a lot, actually.” Seeing a look of embarrassment flash across his friend’s cheeks, Jason tried to shake his head in reassurance. It was like moving in molasses, though. As if his vision and body were out of sync, and by the time they caught up with each other his head had been sent spinning all over again. “Ahh, fuck,” he grumbled, squeezing his eyes shut, “but don’t worry about it man, we all drank a lot.”
Rubén sighed, and Jason heard him shifting against the couch cushions. “I don’ even remember most of last night,” he said hoarsely.
Jason felt his breath catch in his chest. He had been wasted, sure, but not as drunk as Rubén. He remembered. Remembered how God damn flirty he’d been with the guy. Jason couldn’t help it; the passing touches and teasing comments, the way it always made Rubén freeze up in brief panic before he’d ease into a nervous grin--it was intoxicating all on its own. He had better self control when he was sober, but liquor made Jason’s flirtatious nature spiral out of control. Still, he found guilt gnawing at him, like he’d done something wrong. He thought back to the end of the night, when Rubén had pushed his face into Jason’s collarbone, chest to chest. He wasn’t used to his affections being returned like that, at least not from Rubén. The other man’s awkwardness was the most endearing thing about him, and whether alcohol-induced or not, last night’s reciprocation had left Jason conflicted. So if he didn’t remember most of last night, Jason found himself--disgustingly--hoping that he’d forgotten all of that as well.
“It was nothing special,” he murmured and finally raised his head again, “ but you puking in the Taco Bell parking lot was the highlight for me.” He sucked on his lower lip, biting back a smile. “You kept insisting you needed to take your jacket off even though it was like, 20 degrees outside. It was pretty cu--” He drew a quick breath to retract the word right before it came out, “--funny.”
Rubén didn’t respond to that but groaned in disgrace, ever so gently pushing himself into a sitting position. Jason watched him through half-lidded eyes all the while, hunched over with lips pressed to the rim of his cool glass. Rubén had shed his overshirt onto the floor at some point, leaving his toned arms exposed by his fitted t-shirt. His muscles flexed under the skin as he reached his arms above his head and stretched, face tense. Jason couldn’t muster the strength to look away until Rubén caught him staring, at which point he immediately darted his eyes to the coffee table in front of him, heat flooding his face.
“What?” Rubén asked obliviously, sluggishly pulling a hair tie off his wrist to throw his mid-length undercut back into a sloppy ponytail. He rolled his neck and huffed in discomfort, rubbing at it where it had become stiff in his drunken sleep.
“Hm?” Jason jolted in alarm, “Oh, just wondering how you’re feeling.” It was a rushed answer and sort of a lie, but Rubén technically hadn’t answered the first time he’d asked. Rubén’s eyes scanned Jason up and down with a quizzical look, like he knew he had been thinking about something else entirely.
He mulled over the question for a moment, fiddling with one of his earlobes, the golden cross dangling from it catching the light briefly. It transported Jason back to last night, where he’d pinched Rubén’s ear with his own fingers and leaned in close to tease him. He cringed, choking down a sip of water to wash the memory away. Finally, Rubén shrugged. “Hungover, but not terrible,” he answered, “throwing up the night of always helps the next day, ya know?” The sickly tinge to his face had already receded now that he was fully awake, healthy circulation returning to his skin. Jason imagined that the same could not be said for himself, though. He knew he looked awful from the clammy feeling at his temples alone.
He almost nodded, but stopped himself, unwilling to put his head through more unnecessary movement. “Yeah,” he agreed hoarsely, “Kinda wish I had thrown up last night. My head kills.” His voice dipped an octave as a rippling burp gripped him, and he pressed it into his fist to muffle it. “Ugh. I might later.”
“Aw,” Rubén chuckled softly, a lilting laugh that made Jason’s throat tighten, “is there anything I can do?” His friend shifted on the couch, turning towards him more directly. There was a shine in his eyes and a gentleness to his tone that made Jason want to squirm away like a pathetic worm.
It wasn’t that he didn’t like Rubén. Jason was starting to worry he liked him too much. Not a crush, but certainly a level of enjoyment from their flirtations that he had never experienced with another man before. He had admitted to himself that he was attracted to more than just women when he’d finally moved away from his conservative family and hometown; but he’d never pursued it really, aside from saving thirst traps on Instagram and ‘jokingly’ flirting with friends who didn’t really mean it back. That was how it had started with Rubén. But it was increasingly clear Rubén did mean it, and he didn’t know what to do with that. Jason was digging himself a hole he wasn’t sure he wanted out of. Was it a crush? How would he know for sure if it was?
He was pulled from his racing mind by Rubén’s expectant gaze still on him. “Don’t think so,” he muttered quickly. He took another sip of water, draining the glass Elly had given him. It brought a refreshing coolness to his throat, but not to his burning cheeks.
“Okay, well…” Rubén trailed off. A grin tugged at Jason’s lips watching him fight against his own awkward nature. He tried his best to shake off the ruminations he’d been allowing to plague him all morning; they were spending time together, and he was not going to overthink himself into not enjoying it.
“Throw on some Parks and Rec and I’ll make some eggs and toast or something,” Jason finally suggested after an extended silence between them. The mere thought of food made something acidic splash the back of his throat, but he knew they both needed something in their systems; especially Rubén. “Or the Taco Bell we didn’t eat last night, if you’re feeling masochistic.” He pressed a hiccup into his fist and grimaced.
Rubén’s face dropped at the thought. “Fuck no, bro,” he groaned, “do not talk to me about Taco Bell right now.” He shuddered and picked up the remote to turn on the show as Jason had asked. Then he paused and narrowed his eyes. “You sure you don’t want me to make somethin’? You look like shit.”
“Nah,” Jason said hoarsely and prepared to force himself to his feet, “I’m a good host.”
Rubén snorted and rolled his eyes. “Oh, you’re so gracious,” he teased lightly. Jason’s claim sounded extra ridiculous when accounting for the tipped over beer cans and shot glasses from last night littering the kitchen counter, flecks of sticky alcohol from unknown origins shining on the cheap vinyl. Jason smiled right back at him, even though squinting his eyes seemed to make the ache in his temples deepen. Rubén’s face shifted into something much more genuine, and he pushed a strand of black hair from his face. “Let me help, at least.”
He hesitated for a second, caught off guard. “S-sure,” he stammered, then quickly recovered his nerve, trying to recover with a joke. “I’ve been in the market for a sous chef.”
“Right on,” Rubén said, standing up with an ease that last night’s endeavors did not warrant. Throwing up last night must have truly been a blessing; Jason again wished that he had. Rubén did have to blink hard a few times and screwed up his face in momentary discomfort though, so he obviously wasn’t in the clear either.
Jason could hardly bear the thought of getting back up, but when his friend outstretched a hand, he was helpless to resist the draw. He didn’t make an effort to stand just yet, suddenly captivated by the feeling of the other boy’s hand in his. Rubén’s hand was warm, palm calloused and rough from years of volleyball. His fingers were long and slender, even a little bony. The veins and tendons on the back of his hands were stark, a feature Jason had never noticed before. It was nothing like his own hands, which he’d always found to be thick and clumsy. It was no wonder Rubén was so good at setting the ball.
“You ain’t gonna like this, but grabbing my hand is only half the battle here,” Rubén quipped, tearing Jason out of his weirdly obsessive train of thought instantly. The man gave his arm a gentle tug. Begrudgingly and ever so slowly, Jason rose on shaky legs. His stomach dropped to the floor and a full body shudder ran through him. Rubén didn’t release his hand right away, instead staring at him thoughtfully until he had steadied himself. As soon as he felt stable, Jason dropped his hand and cleared his throat awkwardly.
He trudged towards the kitchen and groaned under his breath as he grabbed a pan from the kitchen cabinet. Rubén was already fishing around in the terribly disorganized fridge for a carton of eggs, and he made a small sound of triumph when he found them. Jason set the pan down and pressed his palms into the counter, leaning heavily into it as dizziness washed over him. Another awful burp ripped up from his gut, tasting so strongly of tequila that it burned his nose.
“Didn’t sound great,” Rubén commented, and Jason could feel his observant stare burning into his back. “I’ll make the eggs, okay? You can make the toast.” Jason closed his eyes and breathed deep through his nose. He couldn’t recall the last time he’d felt this messed up after a night out, and he hadn’t even been close to blacked out. Should’ve drank more water.
“Sorry,” he apologized through clenched teeth for being so useless, fighting hard against a wave of rising nausea. Last night’s overindulgence had a vice grip on his guts now, churning and bubbling like a vat full of something evil that wanted vengeance for his poor life choices. He forced his eyes back open and shuffled over to the fridge to grab a half-used loaf of sliced bread off of the top, wincing as he reached his arm up and threw off his center of balance.
“You’re good,” Rubén replied simply, already cracking an egg into the pan. “Where do you keep your seasonings? Oh, and do you have black beans?”
Jason’s face went pale. “Can…can we just keep it plain?” He didn’t miss the way Rubén’s shoulders jolted as his friend tried desperately to contain his laughter. He frowned and reached over to flick the side of his neck. “Jerk,” he muttered, “I want it plain because I’m hungover, that’s all.” A gurgle echoed slowly from inside him, the contents in his stomach desperate to be let out.
Rubén turned away from the stovetop to face him, a smirk plastered across his otherwise tired-looking face. “Uh-huh,” he said slyly, “not even a dash of paprika? A sprinkle of black pepper? Nothing?” His eyes glittered with amusement at Jason’s downcast face. “It’ll taste less nauseating if it has an ounce of flavor, bro. Trust.” Rubén reached a hand out to rest it reassuringly on his bicep, and Jason found himself subconsciously leaning into his firm touch. He relished the feeling, but wished he didn’t. The tension he was holding in his shoulders gradually released, and for a moment, the nausea ebbed. Then, the sulfuric scent of the eggs starting to heat up and cook hit his nostrils.
Vertigo rushed over him in a tidal wave; he tried unsuccessfully to be subtle as he clumsily side-stepped and reached out his arm, searching for whatever stability the counter could offer him. Rubén’s hand didn’t release his other arm, and before he even realized he was about to trip over his own foot, his friend quickly grabbed his waist with his free hand, steadying him where he stood.
“Shit,” Rubén blinked in surprise, “y’alright?” Urgency had crept into his tone, disrupting his typical rhythmic cadence. Something acrid and hot licked the back of Jason’s throat and every sense he had lit up; the thick feeling on his tongue that came from unbrushed teeth in the morning, the disgusting dampness in his armpits, and the smell of those eggs. He couldn’t have responded if he wanted to. It overwhelmed him instantly.
Jason felt his entire torso lock up in preparation to start retching. His mouth flooded with acidic saliva; he could do nothing but tear himself away from Rubén and half-fall towards the kitchen sink to lean his face over the basin. For once--thankfully--it wasn’t full of dirty dishes. A gurgling burp full of regret rumbled up his chest, long and wet. He spit at its tail-end and then lurched with a slow, painful gag.
“Easy,” Rubén murmured from behind him. His hand came to rest on Jason’s back, notably low down. Not rested between his shoulder blades to rub comforting circles, but laid still across his lower back, grounding and...personal. “Breathe--”
His futile encouragement was abruptly cut off by the sound of thick liquid jetting against the metal sink, bursting past Jason’s lips in a long, wretched stream with little warning. He nearly choked on it, breaking into a hacking cough to try and clear a chunk from his throat. He needn’t have bothered, for the cough quickly devolved into an overpowering retch, straight liquid pouring out of him. It painted the stainless steel beneath an opaque yellow-ish and Jason squeezed his eyes shut to block out the stimuli. The vertigo rocked him forwards and he bent double to rest his arms on the counter in front of the sink, bending a knee and leaning against the counter.
“F-fuck,” he sputtered after another wet burp, “sorry.”
“Don’t be,” Rubén assured him, and then tacked on a dry, “it’s not my sink.” Jason barked out a harsh laugh at that, even though he was quickly forced to duck his head and vomit again.
He spit over and over again as the gagging slowed, trying in vain to clear the taste of tequila and acid from his mouth. His esophagus felt singed, as if he’d inhaled incorrectly on a cigarette and burned the skin in his throat instead. He slowly reached to turn the faucet on and wash what he could down the drain. Managing to straighten up, he took an experimental inhale and then blew out the air in one shuddering motion. It reeked of his stomach contents and nearly doubled him right back over the sink.
“Feelin’ a little better?” Rubén asked sympathetically, letting his hand fall away from Jason’s back once he stood up straight. Jason nodded feebly and stared intently down at his own mess, watching the running water slowly swirl it down the sink drain. “Maybe you should sit down while your stomach settles, then.”
Jason felt his cheeks burning at that, feeling a little infantilized. “I-I’m fine,” he said hoarsely, “I need to go brush my teeth; my mouth tastes like shit.” He turned away from his friend to clear his throat, avoiding his concerned gaze. Rubén let him relax for a second, dumping the long-since abandoned eggs into the trash while Jason collected himself and turned the faucet off. He’d need to disinfect the sink later. He trudged wordlessly to the bathroom to brush his teeth. A single glance in the mirror had him nearly retching at the sallow tinge of his skin alone. The toothbrush in his mouth was hell, and nausea swelled at the back of his throat in ebbing waves for an agonizing two minutes. By the time he spit and rinsed his mouth, he was lightheaded all over again. Jason braced himself on the sink and breathed deeply, drawing air as deep into his chest as he could, holding it for several seconds before he allowed himself to exhale. It was a shaky breath; miserable, anxious.
When he emerged from the bathroom, Rubén was sitting at the counter with his shoes on and backpack slung over his shoulder, probably wanting nothing more than to go home and brush his own teeth. A full glass of water sat to his side, and he gestured to it when he saw Jason stumble back into the hall. “For you,” he said simply. Jason reached for the glass and collapsed into the chair next to him, pressing his forehead into the counter. Rubén had wiped it down and cleared what he could. As soon as he realized, he righted himself and furrowed his eyebrows, guilt settling into the creases of his face.
“You didn’t have to clean up,” he murmured softly, “But, thank you,” he spoke against the cool glass, his voice muffled and distorted around its edge. “You’re amazing.” Despite the vertigo it ignited, Jason tilted his head to look at Rubén.
“No need to sound so genuine,” Rubén made an embarrassed face and laughed nervously, “it’s nothing.”
Jason coughed around his sip of water, the hair on the back of his neck on edge. “R-right,” he choked, “I…I’m just saying thank you.”
“Yeah, I got that. Are you good?” Rubén quirked a slim eyebrow, lips twitching in bemusement, “because I need to get home and take a shower. I’m disgusting right now.”
A wave of disappointment flooded Jason’s chest at his words. “Yeah, I guess you should,” he swallowed, uncomfortable with the emotions he was feeling, “I’m free tomorrow--if you want to hang out.” He cursed his stilted delivery. How could he casually flirt with anyone on Earth with ease including Rubén, yet freeze up after one ounce of reciprocation from him? His panic rose when Rubén stood and leaned towards him. The other boy hesitated, and for a moment Jason was certain he was about to reach out and touch him. Then, Rubén pulled back and adjusted his backpack, heading towards the front door.
“I’ll have to let you know,” Rubén said as he opened it and stepped halfway out. “Get some good sleep. And thanks for taking care of me last night.”
Jason flopped his head back down and raised a hand to wave goodbye. “My pleasure,” he grunted as his friend closed the door behind him, leaving him alone with nothing but his thoughts to keep him company.
When Jason stumbled into the kitchen from his bedroom, Rubén was still asleep on the couch. He paused to admire his sleeping form. The thin blanket he’d been given was laying on the floor, his body splayed out over the couch. Jason’s eyes were drawn to the sliver of his stomach exposed by his t-shirt riding up and his mouth went dry. He quickly averted his eyes when his heart rate began to rise. Lifting the blanket, he draped it back over his friend as gently as he possibly could. Rubén didn’t even twitch. He’s out cold.
His head had already been swimming but when he straightened back up, stars exploded in his vision. He stumbled backwards until his hand found the arm of the other couch behind him and caught himself. God, he was still a little drunk from last night. Jason couldn’t help himself from groaning as he slowly sat down. He’d come out to make breakfast, always a habitual early riser even after the craziest of nights, but his head was pounding. Bringing a shaky hand to his face, he pushed his curtain bangs out of the way and pressed his palm into his forehead as if the pressure would stabilize his spinning brain. Being knocked out like Rubén sounded like the best thing ever. Jason instinctually picked his head up as he heard Elly’s footsteps approaching from her room.
Her eyes flickered with surprise when she rounded the corner, clad in her workout gear. She scanned his appearance, trailing her gaze towards where Rubén was passed out on the opposite couch.
“Busy night, it seems,” she said flatly after a moment, readjusting her grip on her gym bag.
Her monotone inflection couldn’t quite hide the amusement dancing on her lips in the form of a lopsided smirk; a facial expression that resembled her older brother Kellen’s own smile a little too closely. Jason glared at her. “Kiss my ass,” he grumbled, his voice so hoarse as to be nearly indiscernible. He cleared his throat harshly and sighed irritably when it did nothing to dissipate the clogged up feeling. He planted his face back into his hand and a low burp wriggled its way out of him, acrid and burning. “Ughhh,” he groaned dramatically.
Elly snickered at his expense, her footsteps retreating for a moment until she returned with a glass of water and tried to hand it to him. “Take it,” she instructed firmly. “What time did you guys get back, anyways?” Jason barely lifted his eyes to look as he took the glass from his roommate. He cradled it in both hands, relishing the cool feeling against his palms. It was a welcome distraction from the jackhammer pounding away inside his skull.
“I…dunno,” he admitted quietly. “Maybe, like, 3 AM? Rubén and I went on a side quest, but I don’t remember much after he puked in the Taco Bell parking lot. And then again on the walk back.” His voice rose a note at the end, a slight smile creeping onto his face as he remembered it. “Man, he was so fucked up.”
“Uh-huh, I’m sure you were so much better off,” Elly teased. Jason extended his leg to push her away with his foot, and she quickly shoved him off. “Get off of me you beast,” she rolled her eyes but couldn’t help giggling, cheeks pink. “I gotta get to the gym. Hang in there.” Her hand rested on his hunched shoulder for a moment, giving him a light squeeze before she slipped towards the door. He muttered his goodbyes, and then just like that it was him and Rubén alone again.
The front door slamming shut finally seemed to rouse the other boy slightly, and he rolled onto his side with a muffled groan, his black hair half covering his face. Most of it had fallen out of its ponytail by now and was mussed up in a terrific case of bedhead. Jason’s cheeks burned at the sight of him. He brought the glass of water to his lips to preoccupy himself while Rubén blearily opened his eyes. The water was cool going down his throat, but hit his stomach like a stone disturbing the surface of a calm lake, immediately sending a ripple of nausea through his guts. Jason swallowed the feeling down and plastered the best smile he could muster onto his face as Rubén’s hazy gaze finally found him.
“Morning,” Jason said, looking back and forth between the boy’s dark eyes as he reached up a hand to rub at them. Despite his own misery, his heart twisted in pity at the sallow tinge of Rubén’s face, his dark olive skin distinctly lacking its usual warmth. “How are we doing?”
Rubén took a shuddering breath and pushed his tangled hair away from his face, not making any move to fully sit up. “Hey…” He screwed up his face and licked his lips, as if tasting something sour. “Did I throw up last night?” He croaked without answering Jason’s question. “...I did, didn’t I?” His words were slow, and Jason could practically see the memories trying to filter back to him in real time, a concentrated expression taking hold of his face.
“You did,” he smirked, “a lot, actually.” Seeing a look of embarrassment flash across his friend’s cheeks, Jason tried to shake his head in reassurance. It was like moving in molasses, though. As if his vision and body were out of sync, and by the time they caught up with each other his head had been sent spinning all over again. “Ahh, fuck,” he grumbled, squeezing his eyes shut, “but don’t worry about it man, we all drank a lot.”
Rubén sighed, and Jason heard him shifting against the couch cushions. “I don’ even remember most of last night,” he said hoarsely.
Jason felt his breath catch in his chest. He had been wasted, sure, but not as drunk as Rubén. He remembered. Remembered how God damn flirty he’d been with the guy. Jason couldn’t help it; the passing touches and teasing comments, the way it always made Rubén freeze up in brief panic before he’d ease into a nervous grin--it was intoxicating all on its own. He had better self control when he was sober, but liquor made Jason’s flirtatious nature spiral out of control. Still, he found guilt gnawing at him, like he’d done something wrong. He thought back to the end of the night, when Rubén had pushed his face into Jason’s collarbone, chest to chest. He wasn’t used to his affections being returned like that, at least not from Rubén. The other man’s awkwardness was the most endearing thing about him, and whether alcohol-induced or not, last night’s reciprocation had left Jason conflicted. So if he didn’t remember most of last night, Jason found himself--disgustingly--hoping that he’d forgotten all of that as well.
“It was nothing special,” he murmured and finally raised his head again, “ but you puking in the Taco Bell parking lot was the highlight for me.” He sucked on his lower lip, biting back a smile. “You kept insisting you needed to take your jacket off even though it was like, 20 degrees outside. It was pretty cu--” He drew a quick breath to retract the word right before it came out, “--funny.”
Rubén didn’t respond to that but groaned in disgrace, ever so gently pushing himself into a sitting position. Jason watched him through half-lidded eyes all the while, hunched over with lips pressed to the rim of his cool glass. Rubén had shed his overshirt onto the floor at some point, leaving his toned arms exposed by his fitted t-shirt. His muscles flexed under the skin as he reached his arms above his head and stretched, face tense. Jason couldn’t muster the strength to look away until Rubén caught him staring, at which point he immediately darted his eyes to the coffee table in front of him, heat flooding his face.
“What?” Rubén asked obliviously, sluggishly pulling a hair tie off his wrist to throw his mid-length undercut back into a sloppy ponytail. He rolled his neck and huffed in discomfort, rubbing at it where it had become stiff in his drunken sleep.
“Hm?” Jason jolted in alarm, “Oh, just wondering how you’re feeling.” It was a rushed answer and sort of a lie, but Rubén technically hadn’t answered the first time he’d asked. Rubén’s eyes scanned Jason up and down with a quizzical look, like he knew he had been thinking about something else entirely.
He mulled over the question for a moment, fiddling with one of his earlobes, the golden cross dangling from it catching the light briefly. It transported Jason back to last night, where he’d pinched Rubén’s ear with his own fingers and leaned in close to tease him. He cringed, choking down a sip of water to wash the memory away. Finally, Rubén shrugged. “Hungover, but not terrible,” he answered, “throwing up the night of always helps the next day, ya know?” The sickly tinge to his face had already receded now that he was fully awake, healthy circulation returning to his skin. Jason imagined that the same could not be said for himself, though. He knew he looked awful from the clammy feeling at his temples alone.
He almost nodded, but stopped himself, unwilling to put his head through more unnecessary movement. “Yeah,” he agreed hoarsely, “Kinda wish I had thrown up last night. My head kills.” His voice dipped an octave as a rippling burp gripped him, and he pressed it into his fist to muffle it. “Ugh. I might later.”
“Aw,” Rubén chuckled softly, a lilting laugh that made Jason’s throat tighten, “is there anything I can do?” His friend shifted on the couch, turning towards him more directly. There was a shine in his eyes and a gentleness to his tone that made Jason want to squirm away like a pathetic worm.
It wasn’t that he didn’t like Rubén. Jason was starting to worry he liked him too much. Not a crush, but certainly a level of enjoyment from their flirtations that he had never experienced with another man before. He had admitted to himself that he was attracted to more than just women when he’d finally moved away from his conservative family and hometown; but he’d never pursued it really, aside from saving thirst traps on Instagram and ‘jokingly’ flirting with friends who didn’t really mean it back. That was how it had started with Rubén. But it was increasingly clear Rubén did mean it, and he didn’t know what to do with that. Jason was digging himself a hole he wasn’t sure he wanted out of. Was it a crush? How would he know for sure if it was?
He was pulled from his racing mind by Rubén’s expectant gaze still on him. “Don’t think so,” he muttered quickly. He took another sip of water, draining the glass Elly had given him. It brought a refreshing coolness to his throat, but not to his burning cheeks.
“Okay, well…” Rubén trailed off. A grin tugged at Jason’s lips watching him fight against his own awkward nature. He tried his best to shake off the ruminations he’d been allowing to plague him all morning; they were spending time together, and he was not going to overthink himself into not enjoying it.
“Throw on some Parks and Rec and I’ll make some eggs and toast or something,” Jason finally suggested after an extended silence between them. The mere thought of food made something acidic splash the back of his throat, but he knew they both needed something in their systems; especially Rubén. “Or the Taco Bell we didn’t eat last night, if you’re feeling masochistic.” He pressed a hiccup into his fist and grimaced.
Rubén’s face dropped at the thought. “Fuck no, bro,” he groaned, “do not talk to me about Taco Bell right now.” He shuddered and picked up the remote to turn on the show as Jason had asked. Then he paused and narrowed his eyes. “You sure you don’t want me to make somethin’? You look like shit.”
“Nah,” Jason said hoarsely and prepared to force himself to his feet, “I’m a good host.”
Rubén snorted and rolled his eyes. “Oh, you’re so gracious,” he teased lightly. Jason’s claim sounded extra ridiculous when accounting for the tipped over beer cans and shot glasses from last night littering the kitchen counter, flecks of sticky alcohol from unknown origins shining on the cheap vinyl. Jason smiled right back at him, even though squinting his eyes seemed to make the ache in his temples deepen. Rubén’s face shifted into something much more genuine, and he pushed a strand of black hair from his face. “Let me help, at least.”
He hesitated for a second, caught off guard. “S-sure,” he stammered, then quickly recovered his nerve, trying to recover with a joke. “I’ve been in the market for a sous chef.”
“Right on,” Rubén said, standing up with an ease that last night’s endeavors did not warrant. Throwing up last night must have truly been a blessing; Jason again wished that he had. Rubén did have to blink hard a few times and screwed up his face in momentary discomfort though, so he obviously wasn’t in the clear either.
Jason could hardly bear the thought of getting back up, but when his friend outstretched a hand, he was helpless to resist the draw. He didn’t make an effort to stand just yet, suddenly captivated by the feeling of the other boy’s hand in his. Rubén’s hand was warm, palm calloused and rough from years of volleyball. His fingers were long and slender, even a little bony. The veins and tendons on the back of his hands were stark, a feature Jason had never noticed before. It was nothing like his own hands, which he’d always found to be thick and clumsy. It was no wonder Rubén was so good at setting the ball.
“You ain’t gonna like this, but grabbing my hand is only half the battle here,” Rubén quipped, tearing Jason out of his weirdly obsessive train of thought instantly. The man gave his arm a gentle tug. Begrudgingly and ever so slowly, Jason rose on shaky legs. His stomach dropped to the floor and a full body shudder ran through him. Rubén didn’t release his hand right away, instead staring at him thoughtfully until he had steadied himself. As soon as he felt stable, Jason dropped his hand and cleared his throat awkwardly.
He trudged towards the kitchen and groaned under his breath as he grabbed a pan from the kitchen cabinet. Rubén was already fishing around in the terribly disorganized fridge for a carton of eggs, and he made a small sound of triumph when he found them. Jason set the pan down and pressed his palms into the counter, leaning heavily into it as dizziness washed over him. Another awful burp ripped up from his gut, tasting so strongly of tequila that it burned his nose.
“Didn’t sound great,” Rubén commented, and Jason could feel his observant stare burning into his back. “I’ll make the eggs, okay? You can make the toast.” Jason closed his eyes and breathed deep through his nose. He couldn’t recall the last time he’d felt this messed up after a night out, and he hadn’t even been close to blacked out. Should’ve drank more water.
“Sorry,” he apologized through clenched teeth for being so useless, fighting hard against a wave of rising nausea. Last night’s overindulgence had a vice grip on his guts now, churning and bubbling like a vat full of something evil that wanted vengeance for his poor life choices. He forced his eyes back open and shuffled over to the fridge to grab a half-used loaf of sliced bread off of the top, wincing as he reached his arm up and threw off his center of balance.
“You’re good,” Rubén replied simply, already cracking an egg into the pan. “Where do you keep your seasonings? Oh, and do you have black beans?”
Jason’s face went pale. “Can…can we just keep it plain?” He didn’t miss the way Rubén’s shoulders jolted as his friend tried desperately to contain his laughter. He frowned and reached over to flick the side of his neck. “Jerk,” he muttered, “I want it plain because I’m hungover, that’s all.” A gurgle echoed slowly from inside him, the contents in his stomach desperate to be let out.
Rubén turned away from the stovetop to face him, a smirk plastered across his otherwise tired-looking face. “Uh-huh,” he said slyly, “not even a dash of paprika? A sprinkle of black pepper? Nothing?” His eyes glittered with amusement at Jason’s downcast face. “It’ll taste less nauseating if it has an ounce of flavor, bro. Trust.” Rubén reached a hand out to rest it reassuringly on his bicep, and Jason found himself subconsciously leaning into his firm touch. He relished the feeling, but wished he didn’t. The tension he was holding in his shoulders gradually released, and for a moment, the nausea ebbed. Then, the sulfuric scent of the eggs starting to heat up and cook hit his nostrils.
Vertigo rushed over him in a tidal wave; he tried unsuccessfully to be subtle as he clumsily side-stepped and reached out his arm, searching for whatever stability the counter could offer him. Rubén’s hand didn’t release his other arm, and before he even realized he was about to trip over his own foot, his friend quickly grabbed his waist with his free hand, steadying him where he stood.
“Shit,” Rubén blinked in surprise, “y’alright?” Urgency had crept into his tone, disrupting his typical rhythmic cadence. Something acrid and hot licked the back of Jason’s throat and every sense he had lit up; the thick feeling on his tongue that came from unbrushed teeth in the morning, the disgusting dampness in his armpits, and the smell of those eggs. He couldn’t have responded if he wanted to. It overwhelmed him instantly.
Jason felt his entire torso lock up in preparation to start retching. His mouth flooded with acidic saliva; he could do nothing but tear himself away from Rubén and half-fall towards the kitchen sink to lean his face over the basin. For once--thankfully--it wasn’t full of dirty dishes. A gurgling burp full of regret rumbled up his chest, long and wet. He spit at its tail-end and then lurched with a slow, painful gag.
“Easy,” Rubén murmured from behind him. His hand came to rest on Jason’s back, notably low down. Not rested between his shoulder blades to rub comforting circles, but laid still across his lower back, grounding and...personal. “Breathe--”
His futile encouragement was abruptly cut off by the sound of thick liquid jetting against the metal sink, bursting past Jason’s lips in a long, wretched stream with little warning. He nearly choked on it, breaking into a hacking cough to try and clear a chunk from his throat. He needn’t have bothered, for the cough quickly devolved into an overpowering retch, straight liquid pouring out of him. It painted the stainless steel beneath an opaque yellow-ish and Jason squeezed his eyes shut to block out the stimuli. The vertigo rocked him forwards and he bent double to rest his arms on the counter in front of the sink, bending a knee and leaning against the counter.
“F-fuck,” he sputtered after another wet burp, “sorry.”
“Don’t be,” Rubén assured him, and then tacked on a dry, “it’s not my sink.” Jason barked out a harsh laugh at that, even though he was quickly forced to duck his head and vomit again.
He spit over and over again as the gagging slowed, trying in vain to clear the taste of tequila and acid from his mouth. His esophagus felt singed, as if he’d inhaled incorrectly on a cigarette and burned the skin in his throat instead. He slowly reached to turn the faucet on and wash what he could down the drain. Managing to straighten up, he took an experimental inhale and then blew out the air in one shuddering motion. It reeked of his stomach contents and nearly doubled him right back over the sink.
“Feelin’ a little better?” Rubén asked sympathetically, letting his hand fall away from Jason’s back once he stood up straight. Jason nodded feebly and stared intently down at his own mess, watching the running water slowly swirl it down the sink drain. “Maybe you should sit down while your stomach settles, then.”
Jason felt his cheeks burning at that, feeling a little infantilized. “I-I’m fine,” he said hoarsely, “I need to go brush my teeth; my mouth tastes like shit.” He turned away from his friend to clear his throat, avoiding his concerned gaze. Rubén let him relax for a second, dumping the long-since abandoned eggs into the trash while Jason collected himself and turned the faucet off. He’d need to disinfect the sink later. He trudged wordlessly to the bathroom to brush his teeth. A single glance in the mirror had him nearly retching at the sallow tinge of his skin alone. The toothbrush in his mouth was hell, and nausea swelled at the back of his throat in ebbing waves for an agonizing two minutes. By the time he spit and rinsed his mouth, he was lightheaded all over again. Jason braced himself on the sink and breathed deeply, drawing air as deep into his chest as he could, holding it for several seconds before he allowed himself to exhale. It was a shaky breath; miserable, anxious.
When he emerged from the bathroom, Rubén was sitting at the counter with his shoes on and backpack slung over his shoulder, probably wanting nothing more than to go home and brush his own teeth. A full glass of water sat to his side, and he gestured to it when he saw Jason stumble back into the hall. “For you,” he said simply. Jason reached for the glass and collapsed into the chair next to him, pressing his forehead into the counter. Rubén had wiped it down and cleared what he could. As soon as he realized, he righted himself and furrowed his eyebrows, guilt settling into the creases of his face.
“You didn’t have to clean up,” he murmured softly, “But, thank you,” he spoke against the cool glass, his voice muffled and distorted around its edge. “You’re amazing.” Despite the vertigo it ignited, Jason tilted his head to look at Rubén.
“No need to sound so genuine,” Rubén made an embarrassed face and laughed nervously, “it’s nothing.”
Jason coughed around his sip of water, the hair on the back of his neck on edge. “R-right,” he choked, “I…I’m just saying thank you.”
“Yeah, I got that. Are you good?” Rubén quirked a slim eyebrow, lips twitching in bemusement, “because I need to get home and take a shower. I’m disgusting right now.”
A wave of disappointment flooded Jason’s chest at his words. “Yeah, I guess you should,” he swallowed, uncomfortable with the emotions he was feeling, “I’m free tomorrow--if you want to hang out.” He cursed his stilted delivery. How could he casually flirt with anyone on Earth with ease including Rubén, yet freeze up after one ounce of reciprocation from him? His panic rose when Rubén stood and leaned towards him. The other boy hesitated, and for a moment Jason was certain he was about to reach out and touch him. Then, Rubén pulled back and adjusted his backpack, heading towards the front door.
“I’ll have to let you know,” Rubén said as he opened it and stepped halfway out. “Get some good sleep. And thanks for taking care of me last night.”
Jason flopped his head back down and raised a hand to wave goodbye. “My pleasure,” he grunted as his friend closed the door behind him, leaving him alone with nothing but his thoughts to keep him company.
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