#flu is awful enough and now im throwing up

[socctime]

everything is terrible

[catastrothy]

here is a little chronicle of my sickness journey btw. bc i feel like i need to write this down because its been hilariously awful lol

warning 4 gross stuff, oversharing, and me bitching, unsurprisingly

back in early august i got sick with what i thought was a cold. basic symptoms, fever, achiness, runny nose, etc. things are relatively normal at first, i've gotten sick dozens of times because i'm particularly prone to sinus and ear infections so i brushed it off

And Then The Hives Began.

all over my limbs and very rarely on my torso and neck. even had one on my face. at one point my throat got very itchy and i had a panic attack thinking i would get anaphylaxis for the first time in my life. thankfully i took a shitton of claritin + pepcid + benedryl and it kicked in fast enough that i was okay

i go to the local urgent care. the doctor is amazing and gives a shit and prescribes me some steroids + recommends i keep taking what i've been taking. tells me to follow up with my primary doctor and to come back if things get worse.

Things Continue To Get Worse.

i go to my primary doctor. she is not very helpful. i've been thinking of switching providers anyway because i'm moving and this has kind of solidified this decision because i'm told "well that's weird! just uhh. keep taking your antihistamines and don't go out in public. good luck :)" the only thing is its been a hot minute since i switched providers and i dont really remember what the process is like and i will inevitably get social anxiety about it.

this continues for a while. i'm managing, i feel like shit. but i am managing. now here comes the really gross part. this morning (9/15/23) i am chilling on my computer. i go to scratch my stomach, only to find... there is crust. around my belly button. why is my belly button so crusty? what? it turns out there is discharge of some sort coming from there. why? who knows! it's not too painful but between the fact my fever is now higher than it's ever been (although still a low grade one) and i have this unexplained discharge it throws me into one of the worst panic attacks i've had in a while. all the worst case scenarios (sepsis, my second greatest phobia besides anaphylaxis) are running through my head but i remind myself every time i've thought shit was mega fucked it turned out okay. mira also helps comfort me and im able to collect myself and go to the urgent care (again). also on top of this i have like 3 cold sores and my period going at the same time so i am extra suffering!!!!!!!!!!

the doctor there is again really understanding and wonderful. i love this woman. she tests me for flu, covid, strep, and mono. she says she tests for mono specifically because a lot of other doctors miss it and make patients suffer for no reason. all tests come back negative thankfully (or maybe unthankfully... because we still dont know what the fuck i got). she puts me on like 5 new different meds (antiviral, antibiotic, steroid, nausea meds, and an antifungal to help if i get a yeast infection while on the antibiotic). at this point i am genuinely wishing i could make this lady my primary doctor but alas, 'tis not to be.

i am now given 1 shot each of antibiotic and steroid. one in each butt cheek. my ass hurts so badly. sitting is vaguely uncomfortable.

i am given some gauze and also told to buy dial soap for the belly button infection. i go home and lay on the couch. and thus this is where we are now

also my electric company charged me like $200 for electricity which we do not have atm so thats a cool cherry on top

anyway moral of the story is that my immune system is garbage and i wish it attacked the virus instead of me <3

[biffhofosho]

Hello! I'm so sorry I haven't responded in awhile, I came down with the flu lol. However, I am in awe that your favorite discography is No Limit(that's mine too🥰). I hope that you enjoyed your weekend with your family, I'll try to save my longer asks for week days as to not infringe on your deserved family time.

Im excited to start working on your gift, I already have a few ideas. Bare with me as I throw random questions at you haha

What is your favorite Hyungwon photoshoot? I'd love to know, or what about a favorite Hyungwon era lol? I personally am all about Gambler and No Limit.

You mentioned listening to Mercy so I HAVE to ask, do you have other favorite tracks written by him or the rest of the boys? Speaking of the rest of the guys, what's your favorite monsta x photoshoot if you have one? They can all be the same but for me personally they're different for some of these questions which is why I ask.

Anyway, I tried to keep this message rather short as to not consume too much of your time, Biff. However, during the days between responses, I wish you good heath and lovely days💚

xox mbb Secret Santa

The flu??? NO! I hope you are recovering well and that it wasn't too bad! But I did miss you, so I'm glad you're feeling well enough to send me another ask. <3

Hahaha, you were concerned about taking up too much of my time, but the joke's on you, babe: I can't do anything in a timely fashion when it comes to the Monstas. This reply has taken me an hour and a half legit because after collecting six years' worth of content, it's easy to get so lost in it. MBB are so spoiled. *sobs*

(Also, that's not a complaint. I had fun, but I promise that this is a lot more than you bargained for loooooooooooooool.)

Oh boy, gifties! Let's do this! ;)

Favorite Hyungwon photoshoot? In order to answer this, I had to endure the pain of going back through my comically large Hyungwon folder, and it was nothing but pain, but I endured for you, dear Santa. Since I am forced to choose, I will go with either the newest Dazed magazine shoot, which I imported a copy of, you better believe (heh heh), or his spread in Xiesta, which I just MIRACULOUSLY acquired a copy of after a full year of searching (mbb be going to their graves with that photobook in hand).

Evidence A:

Evidence B:

Don't let this confuse you though--my all time FAVORITE boy looks (and this goes for all the MX boys, though I'm in a mood now thanks to having to comb my folder, so I'm gonna double-down on the HW ham here) are:

1) [most fave] white tee/jeans (bonus points, ballcap)

2) GLASSES.

3) Hoodies

4) Candid boyfriend looks

5) One-of-a-kind features

(Hyungwon's lip freckle and his special ear make me scream incoherently into the abyss on the regular just like Wonho's bellybutton freckle or Minhyuk's slow blink or Kihyun's lip corner beauty mark do.)

Favorite era for Wonnie though??????? Okay, the ones you named are top-tier to be sure, but as far as I'm concerned his era for me is now. I've never seen him living so bravely or truly, and it is doing all kinds of funny things to my brain. He's grown into such a confident man that it has me, a very confident woman, quaking.

My other favorite Hyungwon tracks are "Nobody Else" and "Wildfire." Head empty. Only Hyungwon. Oof. As far as other songs: "Night View" destroys me; "Kiss or Death" remains my favorite MV and I absolutely HATE that that gem of a song was relegated to the Universe app and I never even got my gd choreo; "Love" in headphones is a masterpiece; "Champagne" is my fave Japanese track; and "Monsta Truck" is my fave OT7 song.

Favorite group shoots are: OT7 - Are You There? album shoots, specifically Versions II & III

(Is my bias showing??? haha)

OR

Fatal Love shoots, specifically this one where they are all millionaire CEOs:

And the Chillax Mode photobook (though the MX University is a close runner-up as well).

Sorry this was excessive. I spiral easily. ;) Forgive me?

Real talk: I love that we have so many things in common! You are the perfect Santa for me, beloved! <3 And as you can see, you remained anon! I have been TERRIFIED of doing that myself. I check and re-check and re-re-check before I send mine lol!

Have a wondrous day/night/twilight/whatever, my precious Santa!

[miekasa]

the pre-pancetta snippet: early december, 3 months before the world went to shit

💉levi gets sick [levi grumbles in the background]

it was the pre-pandemic flu season. levi caught it at work and just his luck, it was pretty bad for him. but healthcare is expensive, capitalism sucks, so he wore a mask and still went to work the next day, thinking bedrest during the weekend would be enough. erwin kindly dropped off some sports drinks while hange gave him a new bag of black tea leaves. oc comes home to find him almost asleep at the table while waiting for water to boil for his tea and her senses tingle. she just knows. levi is pretty out of it by then, very pissed, feeling like shit, but still thinking about the slack he has to pick up at work. oc is very concerned because he looks awful. she bugs him and asks him if he’s okay with her checking him up. he is about to tell her to piss off but what the hell, lucky his roomie’s a doctor and he’ll take free healthcare when he can. so he nods once in dramatic brooding levi fashion.

her hands are cool on his forehead and neck, it feels so good, and levi is really trying not to accidentally moan out loud. when she brings out her stethoscope and asks him to take deep breaths, his focus is on her hand absentmindedly rubbing his shoulder [levi thoughts: he’s really out of it if this is all he can focus on]. oc’s brow furrows when she finds out he’s had only one cup of tea for the entire day and only one meal the day before. he says he’s brewing more, but oc is not having it! she heats up some leftover soup she has and makes him eat before handing him a tylenol. levi feels unsteady and weak but he’s trying to keep up the i’m-fine-it’s-just-the-flu facade. oc sees right through it and tails him to his room.

she helps him to bed, all while saying he’ll need meds for the virus and he needs to eat and drink more fluids because he’ll need an IV drip if not. even if it’s just the flu, he got a pretty bad case. levi strips off his shirt before he drops onto his pillows, grumpy and dismissive, telling her to just leave the prescription. he can handle it. oc snorts before leaving him alone (for now)

levi wakes up to rustling sounds and finds oc by his bedside setting up some stuff. his head is pounding, entire body is aching, and his cough is killing his throat. he’s very grumpy and is about to tell oc to just let him be but he gets a coughing fit. oc rubs his back while checking his vitals, her voice soft with worry as she asks him how he is feeling. he says he went to the bathroom but that’s it. he doesn’t see oc frown, but he’s more than annoyed that he is disturbed when she digs him out of the blankets. she helps him sit up, propping him on his pillows, and she makes him eat more soup, drink some tea, and take his meds. his throat is cooling and he realizes belatedly that she made him strong mint tea. he’s just swallowing whatever so he can go back to sleep [levi is trying very hard not to vocalize his disappointment whenever her hands leave him]. oc sighs at the little care her patient has for himself, but she tells him that he needs a drip at this point. she’s not satisfied with how little he’s been eating and drinking. levi is ready to throw hands because he refuses to spend thousands of dollars for 2 hours at the emergency room and get scammed by health insurance just so they can give him IV fluids, but oc surprises him by saying she’s all set up, and if he’s okay with it, she can do it here.

he shrugs and holds out his hand. the skin of her hands are a little rough with a few calluses, her touch so light and sure. the needle pinches but the pain dulls after a few seconds. he watches oc taping up the line and securing his hand to some makeshift splint so it doesn’t move around much. oc hangs up the bottle on the hanger she installed on the wall lamp by his bed before heading out. levi tries to fall back into sleep again. suddenly, he feels a damp cool cloth brush his forehead and his face while another hand runs through his hair gently. he’s groggy and he squirms because what. he hears oc shushing him, saying something about sponge baths for fever, and he’s just so not used to tenderness and care, and she’s sponging down his neck and his chest, running over his arms, turning him on his side gently so she doesn’t jostle him into wakefulness. her hands are firm and gentle as they wipe down his back and it’s cool and soothing and so good over his heated skin. he falls asleep in minutes. this never happens.

he thinks oc drops in once more in the middle of the night because he remembers someone holding him up to take something. when he wakes up the next morning, his fever is gone and he feels like himself again. he sees an empty bottle on his bedside table which means oc must have changed his drip too. the one he’s hooked to is almost gone. he’s in the middle of answering a work email on his phone when oc, already dressed for work, pops in to check on him. she has a tray in hand, looking genuinely relieved and happy that he’s better. his knows his appetite is back because the smell immediately makes his mouth water. he is very hungry after 3 days of soup and tea. she made really good pancakes, fried bacon to a perfect crisp, and the scrambled eggs are savory and creamy. it’s killing him. he can forgive the tea bag from a packet. levi is still a tea snob. oc is cheery, chirping that he’s good to go without a drip as long as he keeps up his food and fluids.

oc: water, tea, or pocari sweat, levi! none of the sugary sports drinks erwin left you, that stuff is a scam.

levi: i don’t have pocari—

oc: i bought you some, they’re in the drinks cupboard!

levi: why—

oc: it’s not just sugar, it has the electrolytes you need!!

she unhooks the IV and takes out his line, lays out his medication regimen and tells him to please call her if he starts feeling bad again. levi rolls his eyes and bats her concern away, grumbling that he’s fine and well enough, but he’s listening to every word she says. he utters a small thank you because how on earth does he convey his immense gratitude in words, he is not used to words!!! his cheeks feel very warm. oc giggles and ruffles his hair. she understands her roomie’s not talkative, but his soft gaze betrays everything beneath his gruff exterior. his shyness is adorable even if he was a grumpy old man while sick. oc thinks that her theory of him being 89 years old deep inside might be right after all. she sternly tells him to rest and lay off strenuous activities until he’s really recovered.

oc: rest. no cleaning today.

levi: my room—

oc: no. cleaning. today.

and just like that, she’s off to work [levi thoughts: wtf she works on sundays?]. all that levi can think of for three days, or more like since that day, are her gentle, comforting touches, her kind smiles, and how pretty she is. he tries, he really tries to push back the thoughts and bury the memories, but all efforts become in vain for him the next week.

he’s reading on the couch and relaxing for the night when oc comes out of her room looking like a fucking goddess. she’s in a deep green dress of flowing silk with thigh-high slit, sporting a dark, vibrant red lip, complaining of some recognition ceremony she has to attend for one of her bosses at work. she pouts while slipping on pumps that make her legs look even more stunning. levi is aware that he is staring and has tuned out her voice, so he forces himself out of it. he remembers basic conversation etiquette and lamely asks about the party. oc says it’s a black-tie-long-gown thing that’s a waste of her time. she twists her hair up in a messy bun and puts on earrings, grumbling that this is the most formal she’ll go. levi is mildly amused when she says she’ll nick a bottle of good champagne and some desserts before she escapes the party in an hour. tops.

levi: what if you get caught?

oc: they can spare one bottle and a few cupcakes

levi: and what reason have you come up with if they start interrogating you?

oc: my roommate is sad and a stress-eat is essential after shitty weeks of being underpaid laborers *cheeky smile*

he rolls his eyes. when she steps out their door (her uber’s there), levi counts to ten before groaning very loudly to let his frustrations out.

but she really did steal and bring home the good stuff, squealing in excitement when she sees that he was still up. he actually waited for her to get home but she doesn’t need to know that. they shared fruit tarts and fancy mini-cakes and worked through the bottle of champagne while bonding over their mutual disdain for assholes at work. conversation was open and easy, and levi cannot remember when he has been this comfortable around others who weren’t old friends of his. he was in an old shirt and jogger shorts. oc was still in her dress, barefoot, lipstick still perfect and bun still messy, picking a strawberry off the last cake while laughing at his dry jab about her boss. and jesus christ, she was exquisite.

at this point, denial begins to trickle in, but levi doesn’t know that yet. it’s just the champagne, right?

end. this was so mf long, i’m so sorry 😭 anyway this is insanely self-indulgent, and this is me coping with the pandemic (and with SnK ending today)

AHHHHHHH I LOVE ALL OF THIS ANON!!! SO MUCH!!!! PLEASE THIS HIT ALL THE MARKS!! Levi being reluctant to having someone take care of him, oc picking up on him not feeling well even though he’s not really showing it, and eventually just giving him the care and attention he needs (without suffocating him because you know he would be grumpy about that). I love this wow, seriously. 

AND THE END!! When they’re drinking together and he’s feeling better, you know damn well he didn’t even want her to leave in the first place, and IM SO GLAD HE’S FINALLY REALIZING!! Levi, my beloved, you are in love it is not the champagne 😌😌

[iwritesickfic]

boy who cried flu

(yes I am aware of how stupid this title is leave me alone)

Peter rarely - if ever - got sick. Nobody who didn’t know him well would believe it though - he had a long track record of absences and missed assignments, despite being a 3.9 GPA student. He’s flaked from social events and parties countless times, always citing he’s not “feeling well.” It’s not technically a lie, though he does lie sometimes. 

People understand physical illness - they know what it feels like to be stuck in bed with a bad cold - but mental illness? Not so much. So...he bends the truth. A professor won’t be very forgiving if you say you spent all weekend in bed because you couldn’t find the motivation to move, but say you had a bad cough? No one bats an eye.

So most people assume Peter has an awful immune system. That or he’s just a pussy who won’t leave the house with so much as a sore throat. Everyone except a select few - Simon, Ashlynn, and Alex. 

Simon’d been his friend since undergrad, and they’d been roommates for a time, so he knows exactly what Peter means when he says he “doesn’t feel well.” Ashlynn is the type to show up unannounced with a quart of homemade soup. And Alex...Alex was there when things had gotten out of hand. 

But just because they knew he was lying when he said he was sick didn’t mean he stopped using it as an excuse. Ashlynn, despite herself, would usually not question it. Simon wouldn’t think twice about the lie, almost taking it as a direct confession. Alex would usually get pissed off and demand some kind of proof.

They were supposed to go to the beach tomorrow - get up early and take the train together to rockaway. But somehow, for the first time in years, Peter has something more than some congestion. Something way more.

It started a few days ago, a runny nose and swollen sinuses. He slept like shit, and the next morning his throat was raw and he absolutely could not breathe through his nose. But he had class, so he took the train in and sat in his lecture and tried to keep his sniffling to a minimum. By the time he was headed home, he’d long since run out of clean tissues, so he tends to his nose with a damp scrap of napkin he found buried in his bag, his nostrils red and irritated from the abuse. 

By the time he gets home, his congestion has gone from a clogged, static brick in his head to leaky, runny mess, but he’s well aware he can’t take a day off from work on his thesis, so he sits in bed working until 2 AM, one hand wiping the mess from his upper lip, the other scribbling notes in his worn out pad. 

He wakes the next morning not sure when he fell asleep, his head pounding heavily behind his eyes, sinuses throbbing and inflamed. His throat feels swollen and hot, and the relentless sneezing that started the night before isn’t helping any. The two days prior, everything seemed to be concentrated in his head, but now it’s clear it’s migrating into his chest as well. Halfway through his day at work in the library, he starts to cough, wet and harsh. 

It doesn’t help that his body aches like he ran a marathon, and chills are coursing through him like ice water in his veins. By the end of the day he can’t wait to finally sit down and rest. His body’s been screaming for it since the moment he got out of bed, and all day shelving books has really taken its toll.

Unfortunately, he’s got an hour long commute and lucky for him, it’s standing room only. He grips the subway pole like a lifeline, his head spins every time the train rocks. He catches a glimpse of his reflection in the darkened window - he looks awful. Bags like bruises under his eyes that are rimmed in pink and half lidded, his nose irritated and red. A coughing fit tears through him, and he tries his best to catch it in his sleeve. His knees start to tremble as he tries to take deep breaths, and he’s startled when someone taps him on the shoulder.

“You wanna sit?” the woman asks, and it takes him a minute to realize she’s offering her seat. Normally, he’d suck it up, but he’s too miserable to refuse. He mumbles a thanks, and sinks down.

It takes all his self control not to fall asleep then and there.

By the time he’s back at his building, he’s seriously doubting he can climb four flights to get to the apartment. Part of him would rather just lay down in the lobby but he knows this is the final stretch before he can climb into bed and sleep.

He’s interrupted by several fits of coughs, and by the time he’s reached the fourth floor he’s practically gasping for air, and soaked in sweat. The chills he had all day have swapped with an oppressive heat that makes him feel almost lightheaded. 

Somehow, he’s quite sure, he manages to stumble to bed, stripping off his damp clothes, the cool air on his slick skin throwing him back into shaking chills. Just as he’s about to let himself be sucked into sleep, his eyes fly open. Tomorrow. 6 AM. He’s supposed to go to the beach. There is no fucking way he is going to the beach.

He texts their group chat with trembling fingers.

hey im real sick i cant go tomorrow

There’s an immediate reply from Alex.

don’t fuckin do this man. we’re going.

A text from Simon.

you’ll feel better if you leave the house, you always do.

He sighs, cursing himself for using this shitty excuse so much now no one will take him seriously.

im serious i feel like trash

Alex answers immediately.

PETER. youre not sick youre being a pussy. we’re going to the fucking beach and we’re having a good time.

Simon responds.

chill alex.

if youre depressed thats fine but maybe consider coming still it might help.

i mean i’d feel better if you came

Peter groans.

im sick. like sick sick. like flu sick.

Alex shoots back quickly.

ok then what are your symptoms?

Peter rubs his eyes, trying to relieve some of the throbbing. 

fever, chills, aches, cough, runny nose, headache, tired.

There’s a moment of silence and he places his phone on his bedside table with a sigh. He’s about to go under when his phone starts to buzz. Once. Twice. Three times. He swears, grabbing it. Three texts from Alex. The first is a screenshot of the symptom list that appears when you google “flu” which just happens to be in identical order.

you need to be more creative

seriously man im not letting you miss this. we planned this months ago. dont be a dick.

Finally, Ashlynn chimes in.

you dont need to lie p, its ok if you dont wanna come.

While Peter would like to further argue that he’s not in fact lying, he just doesn’t have the energy. At this point, it doesn’t matter what they think. He’s not going - who gives a shit why? He’s able to fall asleep almost immediately, but unfortunately, he doesn’t really stay asleep.

He wakes up about every 45 minutes, coughing or shivering or burning or all three. After his fourth or fifth jolt awake he can’t for the life of him seem to get any rest. Every time he’s about to drift off, another coughing fit explodes from his chest and leaves him trembling. He’s hot, but he’s not sweating, which he realizes vaguely must mean he’s dehydrated. As the night wears on and his condition continues to worsen, he wonders if he should call an uber to take him to the ER. He can’t afford it, not in the slightest, but he’s not sure he’s ever felt this terrible before. Somehow, he remembers there’s an old thermometer in the kitchen. An old roommate had bought it thinking it would work for deep frying but didn’t realize the range only spanned from 95 to 107.

He needs to take his temperature. See how serious this actually is. He can’t remember the last time he actually ran a fever, so he’s not sure if this is just par for the course or whether this level of misery is cause for alarm.

He stumbles into the kitchen, and for once he’s glad to live in such a god-awfully tiny studio. He lands heavily against the counter, and rummages through the drawer to find the small device. After what feels like an eternity, he manages to grab it with shaking hands, fumbling with the buttons for a moment before flipping on the small kitchen light. 

He sticks it under his tongue, it feels like ice. He tries to coach himself on what he’s going to do. If it’s over 100, he’ll go to the hospital. No, that’s too low. 102?Still maybe too ambitious of a goal. It’s then he realizes he’s really just trying to justify what he’s going to do anyway - save himself an ER bill and stay in bed. He’s jerked out of his thoughts when the small device beeps and he removes it carefully from under his tongue. 

The display flashes 103.2. He doesn’t really know what that means but after a quick google search it’s not exactly any clearer. It’s bad, but not bad enough to cause brain damage, supposedly. Fuck it, that’s good enough for him. He climbs shakily back into bed, the small excursion has left him absolutely exhausted. 

He needs medicine. He knows that. Some tylenol at the very least, but if he can barely walk to the kitchen he doesn’t know how in hell he’s getting out the door, down the stairs, to the pharmacy, and back again. So, he’ll just have to live with it. 

He spends the rest of the night in and out of half-sleep, each coughing fit seeming to drive the illness deeper into his lungs. His nose has started to run again, and each rub with the already-used tissue makes his poor sensitive nostrils burn in protest.

The next morning he wakes to the harsh, deafening drone of his apartment’s buzzer system. He cracks his eyes and checks the time. 6:42 AM. Whoever the fuck it is can wait, he’d like to suffer in peace. Still, as he tries to slip back into the sleep the buzzer continues to go off and after about five minutes, he sits up in bed, fighting the wave of dizziness that washes over him. He stumbles to the keypad and presses the button that opens the lobby door, and the buzzing finally - mercifully - ceases. 

He grabs a t shirt from a pile on the floor and pulls on a pair of boxers - he doesn’t know if he’d be able to stand anything more with the way his fever is raging. He sits on the edge of his bed, trying to catch his breath, quickly breaking down into another awful fit of coughs. Just as he’s finished, he hears a heavy knock on the door. Sighing, he forces himself up, padding slowly over to the door, trying not to aggravate the dizziness any further. He pulls open the door and is confused to see not an overzealous delivery person, but his three friends. 

He stares dumbly for a moment before a breath catches in his throat and he breaks into thick, wet coughs. He sniffles, wiping his nose with his wrist, before looking back up at them.

“What?” he mumbles, and there’s an awkward silence. 

“Shit,” Alex finally says and Peter sniffles.

“What do you want?” he repeats, surprised at the hoarse, broken quality of his voice. Does he really sound that bad? Ashlynn pushes forward, wrapping him in a tight hug. She’s short, so her face is pressed into his chest, and he stumbles back slightly.

“Oh Peter,” she whispers, and he swallows, closing his eyes. She pulls away, and he has to force them open again. She she presses a hand to his forehead. Her palm feels cool but uncomfortable against his oversensitive skin. “You’re burning up.”

“I know,” he murmurs, wishing the conversation could be over so he can go lie down and not have to explain himself to his friends. He sighs, and narrowly avoids another coughing fit. “Are you gonna come in or you just all gonna stand there?” They exchange looks. “Well?”

Ashlynn pushes past him, followed by Simon and finally Alex. Peter shuts the door and tries his best not to look as fucked up as he feels walking to sit in one of his kitchen chairs. 

“What do ya’ll want?” he asks Simon and Alex, Ashlynn already digging through the medicine cabinet.

“We don’t want anything we were just concerned,” Simon says.

“Then why do you look so fucking shocked?” Peter snaps, even though he knows Simon is only telling the truth.

“Because I was 100% sure you were bullshitting,” Alex says. Peter is far too tired to get into a verbal sparring match with Alex, but he tries halfheartedly anyway.

“Still sure?” before Alex can reply Ashlynn is back with a damp washcloth and the thermometer he’d used the night before. She lays the cloth on the back of his neck, and he can’t help the small whine that escapes. 

“Open,” she says, and he does. She places the thermometer under his tongue gingerly, and strokes some of his hair off his forehead. “You don’t have anything? For this?” Peter shakes his head. She presses her lips into a line. “Simon and me are gonna go out and grab some stuff, ok?”

“That’s not necessary.” His voice is almost slurred with the fever, and as if on cue the thermometer beeps. Ashlynn frowns at the reading. She shakes her head.

“Christ, Peter.” She touches his forehead again, this time with the back of her hand. “103.6 and it’s not necessary?”

“I don’wanna be lectured.”

“I’m not lecturing.” She spends another moment fussing with his hair before getting up, grabbing Simon. “We’re going to get some stuff, we’ll be back. Alex, make sure he doesn’t die, ok?” It’s clear Alex is about to protest, but Ashlynn levels him with a glare. They leave, and then it’s just Peter and Alex.

Alex stands by the door, hands in his pockets. It’s a while before either of them speaks.

“What was I supposed to think?” he finally says, and Peter tries to swallow his anger.

“I don’t know, man.” He runs a hand through his greasy, sweat damp hair. He starts to shiver again, wrapping his arms around his torso. Alex takes a careful step forward.

“You get why I wouldn’t believe you, right?”

“Yes, Alex.” The chills are now back in full force, he’s sure he must be shaking like a leaf. He wants nothing more than this conversation to be over, but Alex doesn’t seem to be getting to message.

“You never get sick. Ever. So what am I-”

“I get it. It’s fine. Just...stop talking. Please.” He’s shaking so bad he can feel his teeth chattering. He pulls his knees to his chest. He closes his eyes, praying something - anything - will warm him up. He hears footsteps and fumbling, then feels a dry, warm blanket being tucked around his shoulders. He looks up, and Alex is standing there, eyebrows furrowed. 

“Do you wanna lay down or something?” The thought of climbing back into his sweat damp sheets makes him cringe, so he shakes his head. “Why not?”

“S’gross, I sweat a ton.” 

Alex nods.

“Right. What about the couch? You can lay on the couch and I can do your laundry.” 

Getting horizontal sounds heavenly, so he nods, and Alex touches his shoulder, quickly pulling his hand back.

“What the fuck - dude, you’re like...on fire. Shit.” He tests the side of his neck and winces. “Fuck.”

“Can you just help me?” Peter is embarrassed at how small and sick his voice sounds, and the fact he’s asking Alex of all people for help, but he knows if he tries to do it on his own he’s going to fall and crack his skull.

“Yeah, yeah, of course.” He wraps an arm around Peter’s waist, and supports him the few feet to the couch. It’s not very far but his knees go weak about halfway there and he’s glad Alex is holding him. As soon as he gets onto the couch, he curls on his side and closes his eyes. “You’re ok?” Peter nods, and Alex pats his shoulder awkwardly. “Ok. Cool. Just...stay there, I guess.” Peter can hear him starting to strip the bed.

“I was maybe gonna go for a run,” he mumbles, and Alex laughs softly. 

“Definitely. Then I’ll enroll at NYU for my bachelor’s.”

“You’re just jealous you don’t have all my debt.”

“You’re right. I’ve been trying to rack up some credit card bills but so far no luck.”

Peter opens his eyes to see Alex with the bundle of sheets in his arms and the bottle of detergent. He pauses for a second, shifting from foot to foot.

“I’m sorry,” he says, and Peter swallows hard.

“I know man, it’s ok.” Alex smirks.

“Alright. Don’t die while I’m gone.”

[megastarstrike]

Playing Detective

@saioumaexchange gift for recipient #77, who asked for “ a hanahaki disease fanfic! like shuichi or kokichi has the disease. or pregame kokichi and shuichi or both????” I was your pinchhitter and im not too familiar with pregame so i just chose to go with hanahaki. hope you enjoy your gift!

CW: kind of graphic imagery? not really but i thought it was worth noting

Kokichi Ouma was not stupid. Sure, there was that one time he bumped straight into a pole after one too many all-nighters, last year when he got sick and refused to visit the nurse until he collapsed in the middle of class, or a few months ago when he was helping Angie with art and accidentally drank out of the paint cup, but he definitely wasn’t stupid.

But after watching his close friend run to the bathroom, he couldn’t help but feel as if he was missing something.

Kokichi stared at the chair in front of him where Shuuichi once sat, twirling the straw in his drink absentmindedly. They had been studying together (and by studying, he meant talking while having books out) when Shuuichi suddenly shot up from his chair and darted to the bathroom without a word. How urgent was his issue if he didn’t so much as excuse himself from the table?

Moments later, Shuuichi returned to his seat and offered him an apologetic smile. “Sorry about that.”

“Wow, do you really think my face is so ugly you had to vomit?” Kokichi said. Tears welled in his eyes. “You’re so mean, Shuuichi! I thought you loved me!”

“I-I didn’t��”

Kokichi dropped his act when Shuuichi burst into a round of coughs. All he could do was bite his tongue and hold the other’s hand, hoping that his presence would be reassurance enough.

Once the coughs stopped, Shuuichi spoke again with his lips pursed and brows furrowed into a painful expression. “I must be getting sick. Don’t worry about me.”

It felt like a lie, but it clearly wasn’t. Was it a half-truth? Or was it not a truth at all?

“Nishishi! I would never worry about you,” Kokichi laughed.

“Ah… right.” He averted his eyes and lowered his head to scan through the textbook in his hands, not noticing that the book was upside-down.

“... You know that was a lie, right?”

Shuuichi gave him a tight smile. “Don’t worry about it, Kokichi.”

Yet Kokichi worried.

*

All the tissues in the classroom had run out despite it not being flu season. People shot Shuuichi pitiful looks. Sounds of retching in the bathroom weren’t uncommon. Everything was suspicious, but perhaps the most suspicious was Shuuichi running out of the classroom with no warning and the teacher letting him do so.

Kokichi frowned.

Shuuichi never missed class if he could help it. If he suddenly ran out of the classroom without even letting the teacher know first, something must be seriously wrong.

He nudged the person to his right. “Pst, Miu, you think Shuuichi’s skipping class?”

Much to his delight, Miu didn’t care enough about the class to ignore someone talking to her. “You really think that weak ass emo has the guts to skip class? You’re a fucking idiot.”

“Then what else do you propose, Miss I-Forgot-My-Invention-To-An-Invention-Fair?”

“Okay, that was one time. Also, where do you think all that vomiting is from, the fucking sky?”

“That was two times and you know it.”

“Ouma, Iruma, please pay attention,” the teacher called, bringing their conversation to a close (though they would continue to kick each other under the table until class ended).

If that wasn’t confirmation that Shuuichi was sick, Kokichi didn’t know what was. Vomiting meant the sickness must be serious, and the sheer amount of tissues he went through meant the symptoms were frequent. He didn’t have any medical training other than two health classes he was forced to take in junior high, but he didn’t need any to know that this illness was taking a toll on his friend.

So Kokichi made preparations.

*

“So you’re telling me you want me to distract Shuuichi while you lockpick and investigate his room, violate his privacy, and find who knows what in there?”

“Well, when you put it that way…”

Maybe Rantarou wasn’t the right person to assist him in morally gray activities, but he was the only person who Kokichi trusted could keep his mouth shut and trusted him back.

“You can’t just, you know, ask Shuuichi what’s wrong?” Rantarou asked.

Kokichi scoffed. “You really think Shuuichi’s gonna tell me what’s wrong?”

“Right, good point.” He hummed and tapped his fingers against the wall. “I’ll do it, but if Shuuichi asks me what’s going on, I’m answering honestly.”

“Don’t worry, he’s already used to me snooping around his stuff.”

“For your sake, I hope so.”

And that was the end of that conversation.

*

Shuuichi paused. “Kokichi’s totally going through my room right now, isn’t he?”

Rantarou hesitated but eventually sighed and crossed his arms. “Yeah, sorry for not telling you sooner. Just thought it would be for the greater good.”

“It’s fine. He won’t find anything anyway.”

“... You expected this, didn’t you?”

Shuuichi shot him a weak smile before bursting into another round of coughs.

*

Lockpicking wasn’t the hard part. Kokichi had been doing that since he knew what a lock was. The hard part was Shuuichi being a clever bastard and cleaning his room in anticipation for the inevitable.

Looks like Shuuichi’s learned something from me, Kokichi mused as he shut the door behind him.

The floor, while usually riddled with loose papers and pencils, was cleaner than Kokichi thought a floor could ever be. The blankets on the bed were set in an almost robotic neatness, and the desk was cleared of everything. If Kokichi didn’t know better, he would have assumed the room was abandoned.

But Kokichi had another trick up his sleeve. He unzipped the backpack slumped next to the desk, only to see normal books and school supplies.

His heart fluttered. Shuuichi really knew him well.

Kokichi looked down into the empty trash can nearby and frowned. Trash was only taken out once a week on Sundays. As conscious of himself as he was, there was no way Shuuichi could make it through more than a few days without so much of a tissue in the trash can. So where else would he hide it?

Under the bed. Of course, he would cram it under the bed.

Kokichi took a deep breath, preparing himself to find anything before lifting the mattress the slightest bit.

The smell of dry blood and traces of vomit smacked his nose immediately. Flattened tissue boxes were scattered underneath the bed in a pile of bloodied tissues and flowers. It felt as if he had walked straight into a dumping ground for a hospital, only the dumping ground would be much less disgusting than what was under the bed.

Despite all his instincts screaming at him to set the mattress back down and run away from the horrid smell and sight, Kokichi reached under the bed and took out the cleanest flower he spotted. He turned it over in his hand, frowning at the traces of blood and a faint hint of vomit on the petals.

The original petal color appeared to be a dark purple. Petals were bunched up in the middle and slowly decreased in frequency as it reached the outer edges of the flower. A short, green stem protruded from the flower, though it wasn’t tall enough for him to hold it by the stem.

Judging by the blood and vomit still present on the flower and Shuuichi’s frequent bathroom trips, he had most likely been throwing them up. But why would he be throwing up flowers? What kind of medical condition would warrant that?

As much as he wanted to solve everything without explicit outside help, there was no way Kokichi could identify the flower or the condition online without giving personal information to someone he didn’t trust.

So he stuffed the flower inside his scarf, made a mental note to wash his clothes soon, and left the room as he had found it.

*

“When are you gonna tell him?”

Shuuichi blinked, caught off guard by the question. He turned towards the concerned face and gave her a smile, though it didn’t seem to ease any of her worries. “Don’t worry about it, Kaede. I’m sure everything will be fine.”

“Everything will be even finer if you just tell him what’s up with you.”

He had to admit that was true. But just because it was true didn’t mean he had to follow it.

“I’m sure he can figure it out on his own,” Shuuichi said. His smile grew warmer. “He’s one of the smartest people I know, after all.”

Kaede frowned. “You’re just avoiding having to have the talk, aren’t you?”

“... Maybe.”

*

Kokichi slammed the plastic bag containing the flower onto the table in front of him, and he was suddenly grateful he hadn’t decided to procrastinate his hygiene. “What’s this flower?”

The girl sitting across from him gave him an exasperated sigh. “Kokichi, you’re my friend, but you can’t just interrupt my anime binge sessions. I planned this session out weeks ahead of time.”

“Aw, pwease, Tsumugi? Pwease help your wittle buddy out,” Kokichi whined, summoning tears to his eyes.

“Oh my god. Never speak like that again.”

“Only if you help me out.”

“Fine, fine.” Tsumugi tucked a strand of hair behind her ear before picking up the bag, investigating every detail. Her face brightened. “Oh, this looks like a purple carnation! There was this one anime where—”

“Booooring. You know a medical condition where people throw up flowers?”

Her eyes drooped. “Oh. That’s more depressing. Are you sure you want to hear it?”

“Yeah, sure. Can’t be any worse than what Miu says every day.”

“Hanahaki disease.”

Kokichi furrowed his eyebrows and frowned. “Hanahaki disease? Isn’t that only in fiction?”

“It’s typically portrayed in fiction because it’s rare in real life,” Tsumugi said, “The victim needs to hold a strong love for someone they seemingly don’t have a chance with. But the strong love needs to be as intense as the belief that their love is unrequited, and that’s the part that gets the majority of the population. Symptoms are coughing, vomiting flowers, stuff like that. The flowers tend to represent who the victim loves.” Her gaze turned sharp. “Are you suggesting there’s someone at our school with hanahaki disease?”

“Pfff, what? No way,” Kokichi said, leaning back in his chair and folding his arms behind his head. “Can’t a man be curious?”

She poked his cheek. “It’s plain to see you suspect someone of having hanahaki. Is it Shuuichi?”

“... Maybe.”

“It totally is. I’ve noticed it, too.”

“Really?”

“Of course. Someone as boring as me can observe people without being suspicious,” Tsumugi said. Her gaze fell on the flower. “Purple carnations mean capriciousness. I’m certain you can take it from there.”

Kokichi bit his thumb, deep in thought. It was scary how much Tsumugi knew about the situation, but he had already suspected she knew something; She was the person he went to for help, after all. If everything she said was true, that would mean Shuuichi loved somebody enough to contract hanahaki disease. But who could that person be?

Tsumugi frowned. “Oh my god. Don’t tell me you still don’t know who it is.”

“Yeah, I totally know who it is. Don’t worry about it.”

“That’s when I worry most. But fine. Tell me who it is.”

“It’s definitely… I lied. I have no clue who it is.”

She sighed and rested her elbows on the table separating them. “Think about it. The flowers are purple, and they match a specific kind of dark purple that matches the hair color of somebody in our class. There’s only a few people in our class who match the definition of capricious, only one that prides himself on being that. You’ve been playing detective for long enough.”

Kokichi analyzed the clues one by one before it clicked. “Wait… you’re telling me that Shuuichi likes me? So I was the one hurting him all this time?”

“Well, I wouldn’t call it that—”

“I can’t believe that bastard didn’t even tell me I was hurting him. He didn’t even tell me he had this disease! Why would—”

Tsumugi grabbed his sleeve. “Stop right there. You’re not one to jump to conclusions, and you’re not gonna jump to one now. Who are you, Kaito?”

Kokichi stopped, his face blanking.

Her voice softened. “I know you’re worried about Shuuichi, but you need to calm down before you confront him, or you could send him into a panic. Make a plan first. You like making plans, right?”

He nodded.

“Then make a plan, think about it, and then go confront him. It’s plain to see you care about him a lot. Don’t mess this up.” She smiled and patted his shoulder. “Now get out of my room. I still have anime to watch.”

Even though all the strength had left his body, Kokichi mustered up a smile and saluted her. “Aye, aye, captain. Thank you.”

“No problem.”

*

It was two days later when Kokichi finished planning and moved onto the execution.

“Thanks for bringing me out here,” Shuuichi said, looking up at the blue skies ahead of them. “I really needed to get out for a while.”

Kokichi turned back around to him with his arms folded behind his head. “Of course, you do. How long have you been cooped up in your room?”

He laughed, but his voice was devoid of humor.

They walked into the courtyard and took a seat on a bench, chatting as they watched the water fountain stream endlessly. Birds chirped in the background, and to Kokichi’s relief, no students were nearby. The grass beneath their feet was wet with dew from the rain yesterday. It was the perfect atmosphere to put Shuuichi at ease.

Step one completed.

Kokichi licked his lips, steeling himself for a conversation he wasn’t prepared to have. “Hey, Shuuichi, you mind explaining something to me?”

Shuuichi tensed. “Wh-What do you need?”

Step two completed.

Kokichi’s voice caught in his throat. His mouth moved, but no words could come out. So he pulled the bag containing the flower out from his scarf and held it out to him. His gaze moved up to meet his eyes, and his voice fell to a whisper. “What is this?”

“I-I…” Shuuichi’s eyes darted from the flower to Kokichi and back to the flower. His fists clenched and unclenched, and his breath grew unsteady.

Then Kokichi’s plan fell apart when Shuuichi began to cry.

“I-I’m sorry!” Shuuichi sobbed, holding his face in his hands, “I’m so sorry!”

Shit. What was he supposed to do?

Kokichi scooted closer to him and held onto his wrists, prying his hands away from his face. “Shuuichi…”

“I knew you would figure it out. I just didn’t want to tell you myself because I’m a coward.”

“Shuuichi, no—”

“You shouldn’t be comforting me, you should hate me for—for keeping this from you for so long.”

“So how long have you been keeping this from me?”

Shuuichi took a deep, shaky breath and dared to meet his eyes. “Um… a month?”

“A month?”

“Yes. Then it just got worse and worse from there. L-Like I said, I’m really sorry for not telling you. I should��ve just told you from the beginning, but…”

Kokichi reached up to wipe a stray tear on Shuuichi’s face. “Shuuichi, it’s okay. It’s really okay.”

“No, it’s—”

“These flowers are for me, right?”

Shuuichi gulped and nodded.

“Then if I say it’s fine, then it’s fine.” Kokichi gave him a gentle smile and flicked the top of his head. “I thought you would be smart enough to know that. That’s one of the reasons I fell for you, after all.”

Shuuichi’s breath hitched, and his eyes widened. “Wait… you like me? You’re not lying?”

“Jeez, you really have that little faith in me? Would I lie about something like that?”

“Yes.”

“Ouch.”

“But… you’re not lying now, are you?”

Kokichi rolled his eyes. “I literally tell you that I love you, I broke into your room to figure out what was wrong with you, and I’m here now. Take a wild guess, Shuuichi.”

“To be fair, you do that every day.”

Kokichi raised an eyebrow.

“Oh… Oh!” Shuuichi laughed. “How did I not see that until now? God, I’m stupid. I’m so, so stupid.”

“But I still love you anyway,” Kokichi purred, wrapping Shuuichi into an embrace. “I love you, Shuu-i-chi~”

“Y-You really mean that? You really mean that. Oh my god, you love me.” He backed out of the hug, sniffing and wiping the tears away from his eyes.

“Aw, are you crying?”

“I—” Shuuichi doubled over, coughing and hacking as bloodied flowers spilled out onto the sidewalk. The pile grew larger with each cough, seemingly endless until a pitiful final petal floated down.

Kokichi wrinkled his nose at the pile. “Really? That’s how much you love me? That’s a shame.”

“H-Hey, it hurt.”

“I know, I’m just joking.” He stood up from the bench and held a hand out. “Now that we’re boyfriends, we should go prank the nurse!”

Shuuichi’s face reddened at the title, but his lips curled up into a smile. “Is this your way of getting me to go to the nurse?”

“Maybe, maybe not.”

Shuuichi took the hand and stood up, though he only held it tighter when they began walking. He planted a kiss on the side of Kokichi’s head. “I’m glad you’re my boyfriend.”

Kokichi froze before jumping into action and swatting his face away from his head. “Ew, gross! At least wash your mouth out before kissing me. You didn’t even clean up that mess you left back there.”

“... Oh, I didn’t—”

“Let’s go to the nurse first. I don’t want to look at that again.”

Shuuichi turned around to glance at the pile of blood and flowers then turned back to Kokichi with a smile. “Me neither.”

[eddiesrichie]

Sit Still

people who im talking to on here...this is why i haven’t responded in awhile. trying to finish this damn thing XD 

but yes, another reddie one shot cause im trash 

warnings: just kissing

Ever since Eddie was able to walk, he’s been told about the risk of contamination for each and every object on earth. He knows more about types of bacteria than he does about sports. He knows that the diversity and count of bacteria is higher on sinks and other inanimate objects than on a human being.

The facts his mother was so gracious to inform him on has him shivering at the mere thought of using a public sink. It was paranoia that consumed his entire being, and it made him go on rants and freak outs, which in turn leads him to pulling out his inhaler.

After the clown situation, he’s learned that he’s not truly sick. Nothing was wrong with him, and he has an immune system as strong as any other teen boy. His lungs are normal, not in any way needing help to breathe. He was able to do anything his friends can do. He can run through the tall grass without a risk of an asthma attack or the inflammation of his allergies.

Even after learning this, he was still hesitant on joining his friends on adventures like running through the sewers, playing tag in the tall grass, or hanging out on rocky roads full of obstacles capable of scraping his knees. He hates his mother for forcing this onto him, making him paranoid with bacteria count. He has no reason to worry about it anymore, but he still involuntarily does.

He still reaches for his inhaler when something shakes him up, only to remember that it was just plain anxiety. He doesn’t have the willpower to turn off the alarm on his watch, signaling him to take his routine medication. He was so used to it, and turning off the timer was going to dig at him. He was going to have an empty feeling deep in his chest, knowing that something is missing. So, he keeps the alarm turned on, simply turning the beeper off when it plays.

There are a few benefits to his old, yet ingrained life. There are things that he still holds tight around. For example, he keeps his hygiene intact. He washes his clothes, hands, hair, body, etc., making sure he is clean and safe from disease. Also, he keeps track of the sicknesses going around, taking the time to secure himself from getting it. It was instinct that he can’t fight off, but he doesn’t see it as a bad thing. What about not getting sick was a bad thing?

He has an eye out for tells on people even remotely showing a hint of sickness. He dodges them like the plague, refusing to so much as look at them until they are better. So, he catches on quickly that someone in the group was sick.

The early signs are slight, ignorable. Eddie pedals after his friends, always one to remain in the back when they are riding around in a group.

The move is small, barely noticeable, but Eddie did. His eyes flicker over to Richie, watching as the taller boy jerks his handlebars to skim by the car at the last second. He chooses to not comment on it, watching as it happens again minutes later. This time, Richie barely moves out of the way. He had been too busy rubbing his nose against his upper arm.

They are walking in the library, following Ben as he explains some oh-so-interesting tidbit of history. Dust is layered on the bookshelves, causing Eddie’s bogus allergies to flare-up.

He eyes Richie, noticing how quiet the other boy was. His nose is red, and his eyes are puffy, and it takes no time at all for him to start a sneezing fit in the middle of Derry’s history section. Eddie jumps back at the sneezing, wincing at the sight of the wet germs in the sunlight.

He goes behind Richie and grabs a hold of his shirt, pulling him away from the group. “Okay, sicko! We’re leaving before you get the whole town sick with your snot.”

Richie scoffs, “I’m not sick. That’s just your imagination and paranoia in the back of your stupid head.” The words choke out of Richie like sandpaper, and Richie winces at the burning of his throat.

“You do look awful, Richie,” Beverly perks up with a shrug. “You should be in bed.”

“Shut it, Molly, I’m fine.” Richie coughs dryly directly after, covering his mouth with his elbow. Eddie is proud to see that Richie at least knows to not cough into his hand. “You’ve nearly ran into numerous things,” Stan comments. “Just lay down for today, and you’ll be right back up tomorrow.”

“Guys…” Richie croaks out, but it seems that he used up his words. He makes a few more noises, growing angry with the loss of the ability to talk. He coughs like mad, and Eddie pulls him to the door with a goodbye call to his friends.

Richie doesn’t go without a fight, complaining the whole time. It did nothing but make Eddie laugh at the way Richie got frustrated with the way his throat wasn’t cooperating with him. “Yelling at me isn’t going to help your sore throat,” Eddie taunts his sick friend.

He doesn’t get a response, but he does hear a hard kick to the rocks on the road. Eddie guides them both to Richie’s house, walking into the kitchen where the medicine is held. Before that, though, he fills a cup with water and hands it to Richie, who takes it with a pout. Richie goes through a coughing fit, making it impossible to drink anything.

Eddie groans at the manic cough. He sneaks a peek at the cabinets, glaring at the empty shelves with no medication. “Never thought I’d say this, but I liked it better when you were feeling up to complaining. Your cough is disgusting to listen to. It’s more annoying than your talking.”

Richie finally stops coughing, taking the moment to breathe and drink the water given to him. “Doctors are usually way nicer to their patients, Eds,” Richie says with fake sadness in his eyes. His voice was still rough, but he can talk now.

“Doctors like it when their patients aren’t stubborn asses. I’m not a doctor, nor am I playing one. Your parents will take you to the doctor,” Eddie proclaims with his hands deep into the shelves. He smiles in victory when he finally finds a small advil bottle. He deflates when only two pills are in it.

Richie scoffs from behind him, “They’re not going to take me to the doctor, Eds.”

Eddie bites his lip, unsure of what to say. Richie’s parents aren’t exactly the parents of the year. He comforts Richie with silence, quietly handing over the medicine. Eddie freezes when Richie suddenly clutches at his stomach, groaning as he bends over. His hands grab at the sink and within seconds, he’s vomiting into it. The retching noises are disgusting, and Eddie grimaces at the sound, sight, and smell.

Recollection of having the flu has him moving quick, removing Richie’s coke bottle glasses and setting them on the kitchen counter. He wraps an arm around the other boy’s upper back, and he uses his other hand to remove the dark brown curls from line of fire and the taller boy’s eyes. His nerves are on fire, fighting him to get away from the sickness. He shoves the thoughts back, focusing on being there for his friend. He chokes down a laugh at how Richie was actually ‘trashmouth’ right now.

“Fuck…” Richie groans under his breath once he’s done throwing up. He leans heavily onto the counter, breathing deep and rapid.

“You’re okay,” Eddie shushes. An insult comes close behind the comfort as always, but this time the insult doesn’t make it pass his lips. He makes sure Richie won’t fall before turning around and wetting a cloth. He presses it against Richie’s clammy forehead, and he can practically feel the fever through the fabric.

Richie looks suspiciously at the cloth. “What are you doing?”

“It’s what my mom does when I’m sick – legitimately sick,” Richie answers with a shrug. He uses a nail to peel Richie’s wet bangs from his face. “Does your mo- anyone do this for you?” Eddie winces at the mistake, but Richie caught it.

“Yeah, and she also kisses me goodnight,” Richie snarks back. Eddie bites his lip, observing the other boy.

He can’t imagine going through the flu without his mother. He was close to asking for death until his mother came to the rescue with caring eyes and a box full of pills. Yes, his mother was crazy for tricking him into thinking he was sick and fragile. Though, his mother was always there for him. She loves him. She’s crazy, but she loves him.

Richie dealt with the complete opposite. Richie’s mother neglected him, starving him of motherly affection from already emptiness from his father not giving him a minute of the day. Neither of them cared a bit of what he was doing or where he was.

Now, here he was, sick as a dog on the kitchen floor with no parent to look after him. He looks terrible and miserable, and he was close to falling down. His shaking feet not doing an ounce of effort to hold him. If it wasn’t for the counter and him, Richie would’ve long gone fallen onto the wooden floor.

Eddie takes one more look at Richie, wiping a lone tear on Richie’s cheek. “You’re coming to my house,” he says firmly. Richie widens his eyes, and then squints from the lack of help from his glasses.

“What?”

“Come on,” Eddie says as he pulls the sick boy out the house. He grabs the glasses and hands them back to Richie. “You need more than advil,” he adds to explain himself. He gets on his bike, keeping it steady so Richie can begrudgingly hop onto the front.

Richie whips his head around with a shit-eating grin. “You mean to tell me I get the help from Dr. K, himself? Oh, my heart swoons!” A cough follows his words, and Eddie has to help him stay on.

“Yeah, I’m saving the world from seeing the great ‘Trashmouth’ Richie Tozier actually look like trash,” Eddie responds with a roll of his eyes.

The ride to Richie’s house is short, but not short enough. Richie talks the whole time. It’s more annoying than usual, since coughing came out between every two or three words. A flu doesn’t silence Richie even a little, and Eddie shouldn’t be surprised.

“I think I should become a singer with this sexy new deep voice I have. Don’t you think?” Richie hums. “Lure all the ladies in with my dark tone and words.”

“You’re pretty great at creating nonsense. Your imagination is out of this world,” Eddie comments as he stops the bike.

“Awe, you called me pretty!”

“Which medicine will shut you up first?” Eddie thinks out-loud, once they get inside. He is thankful to find the house empty. He goes into the kitchen to look at the medication. He takes out a few bottles, measuring out the Nyquil. He wasn’t lying. He was going to knock Richie out. His running mouth was only going to lengthen his time being sick.

“I heard the medicine of true love’s kiss – wait, no, that wakes you up. Nevermind! Please, give me something to fall asleep, so I can wake up with a sweet kiss from ya, Eddie spaghetti,” Richie sing-songs from his spot on the floor.

“I wouldn’t kiss your hideous face even if you weren’t crawling with infection,” Eddie quips smoothly. He hands the measuring cup to Richie, guiding it to his lips. Richie obediently drinks it. As he does, Eddie checks Richie’s temperature. He tsks at how hot and clammy Richie’s face is.

Eddie takes back the now empty cup, cleaning it in the sink. He looks back down to see Richie. The humor has lifted from his body, and he has his arms back around his stomach. He looks incredibly miserable again, and Eddie’s sympathy comes crashing through him like waves.

“Get up, you blob,” Eddie orders softly, taking Richie’s hand and pulling him up.

“I’ll sh-show you a blob,” Richie croaks out, sluggishly walking behind Eddie.

Eddie holds Richie’s hand in his, even after successfully getting the sick boy back on his feet. He holds it as he cleans some of his stuff off his bed, and he continues to hold it as Richie lays down on the bed. Through all the coughing, Eddie still doesn’t let go of Richie’s hand. In the back of his mind, he wonders why is he allowing himself to hold Richie’s germ ridden hand. Why is he not planning to wash his bedsheets right after? Any other day or any other person, that would be his first priority. With Richie…he didn’t entirely care. The medicine was now kicking in, and it was kicking in hard. Richie was looking at him with tired eyes. Eddie smiles at how big Richie’s glasses make his eyes look. They made his brown eyes huge, and Eddie finds himself staring into them.

The silence was intimidating, but Eddie did nothing to break it. He continues looking at Richie, who looks right back at him. Eddie runs a thumb along Richie’s palm soothingly, and he sees Richie’s arm twitch. He reaches up to move a pesky hair from Richie’s eye.

“Thanks, Eds,” Richie whispers out with a tiny smile.

“You know I hate it when you call me that,” Eddie whispers back. He really doesn’t.

He keeps himself busy as Richie sleeps. He checks the sleeping boy when he hears him cough in his sleep. Every now and then, he gives Richie a drink of water before leading him back to sleep.

It was weird seeing Richie sleep. The boy was as energetic and spontaneous as a firecracker. His comebacks were superb, and he was the funniest person Eddie has ever known. Richie made him laugh harder than anyone ever could.

But there was a switch inside him. He can go from being ‘trashmouth’ to caring and patient. Back when they were about to be attacked by the clown, and he had been completely defenseless, Richie stepped in and been there for him. In that moment, Eddie believed that Richie would’ve done anything to protect him. He wouldn’t have wanted anyone to be there with him in the face of death than Richie.

During that whole situation, he found himself gravitating towards Richie and vice versa. Each other’s names were called out by one another, fearing for the other’s life. Richie was the only person he found himself running to, and Richie welcomed him with open arms.

Now, he was able to be there for Richie. Richie was going to be fine, which was exactly what Richie had told him when he had a broken arm with a deadly clown stalking over to him.

Eddie’s flicker across Richie’s face as he bites his lip. He is back to sitting next to Richie, thinking a million words a minute.

‘Please, give me something to fall asleep, so I can wake up with a sweet kiss from ya, Eddie spaghetti.’

Richie was the only person he imagined running to in the face of danger.

Richie was the only person he imagined experiencing his first kiss with.

Eddie moves forward, awkwardly balancing himself halfway over Richie’s sleeping form. He jerks back when Richie suddenly brings a hand up to rub at his left eye.

Eddie admires the way Richie is like as he sleeps. The losers club has all had their fair share of sleepovers in the past, but not once has he took the time to really look at Richie as he sleeps. He’s never had a reason to.

Shying away, Eddie places a kiss on the other boy’s forehead. He hates himself for wussing out, and he can already tell that he’s going to regret not doing it. His lips tingle at the touch, and his heartbeat picks up at the fact that he just kissed a most likely contagious person.

“You missed.”

Eddie widens his eyes, stomach twisting and turning when he meets Richie’s eye. He expects disgust ridden all over his face. He expects to be told that he never actually wanted a kiss, and that he’s not into boys like that. He expects to lose one of his best friends in that moment.

What he gets is not what he expected.

He spots pink cheeks and amused eyes. Sure, Richie’s face had already been tomato red, but it fits with the fond in his eyes. Eddie blinks when Richie curves his lips upwards, waiting for what Eddie ‘missed’.

His palms are sweaty, his grip on the pillow above slipping slightly. The realization of the moment has him breathing so hard that he second guesses his fake need for his inhaler. Richie is giving him that look. He’s been given many looks from Richie, but nothing has been acted upon until now. It was all for shits and giggles before, but now there isn’t any of that. Richie was legitimately looking at him with nothing but fond and… what is that? He’s never been looked at in this way before.

Then, Richie’s facial features seem to diminish as he looks away.

No, he can’t have Richie looking like that because of him.

Eddie readjusts his hold, and he swoops down and brings their lips together. The kiss is shy and stagnate, as the shock of first kiss sits in. Eddie doesn’t know what to do, what to move, how to move, etc. He’s left to guess, tilting his head to quietly breathe through his nose. He shivers when the lips on his start to add pressure, and he adds his own to match.

It’s not that surprising that Richie’s lips are chapped. Based on his lifestyle, Eddie doesn’t expect for Richie to take care of himself. Plus, he drinks a shit ton of soda rather than water. He doesn’t mind though, since he’s too busy trying to figure out how to kiss.

It’s fun, yet slow, both boys experimenting. Eddie feels a hand timidly hold on his lower arm. He straightens his back, placing one of his hands on Richie’s shoulder. Touching Richie’s skin really makes him realize what exactly he’s doing. He’s kissing his best friend. He’s kissing ‘trashmouth’ Richie.

The kiss ends, and Eddie fights from trying to continue it. He opens his eyes, and his cheeks redden when he notices the grin on Richie’s face.

“I am intoxicated, Eds. You’re taking advantage of me,” Richie croaks with fake betrayal.

Eddie sits back up, swatting at Richie’s laughing form. “Should do it again so you’d shut up!”

“Help!” Richie calls out. “My doctor is taking advantage of me. I want my lawyer!”

“Shut up, you complete ass,” Eddie scowls, moving down to efficiently shut him up.

[prompt-master]

That Is SO Not Normal

@discorded-noodle-popcorn asked: okay it might be because its midnight and im like…dead…but i would kill for a fic where max gets the stomach flu but throws up magical items and Neil is SCREECHING AT HARRISON TO MAKE IT STOP BEFORE MAX DIES. Harrison doesnt know and Max is like…wanting to die. Mind freakers freaked my mind.

I wrote this in exchange for some REALLY cool art of my OCS and I love it so much

“Are you sure he isn’t just being dramatic?” Nikki tilted her head towards the tent were Max lay, currently digging for worms while Neil stood cross armed in front of her.

“Surprisingly he isn’t just being a pussy this time…he looked really bad last I saw him.”

Nikki paused, pulling a worm right out of the ground and dangling it in front of her face. She gave Neil a confused glance, “so you just left him there?”

Neil crossed his arms tighter around his chest, instsntly getting defensive, “I’ll have you know that that tent is a close confined death trap made to keep all those disgusting germs inside. No offense to Max but I don’t feel like joining him.”

Nikki shrugged, the worm now in her mouth, “That’s fair. I think? Or maybe you’re just stupid.”

“Excuse me I am not-”

Neil was cut off by David coming out of the tent, the tense smile he gave was all Neil needed to see.

David clasped his hands together and stood up tall, “Not to worry kids! Max doesn’t exactly look good but I’ll whip up some of my mom’s famous recipe for soup! And by my mom I mean that nice lady on the cooking channel”

Nikki shrugged, “I’m not worried. Max is just sick because nature is picking off the weak ones.”

David gave a small tsk at that comment and inhaled through his nose, opting for ignoring that comment, “but! Max looks pretty bad right now. Can I trust one of you two to watch after him while I’m making it?”

Neil leaned against a flag post, “last time I checked there were two counselors here.”

“Ah. Yes. Gwen. She’s uh…busy helping Dolph with his art. I say we let her encourage creativity while you guys practice independence!”

Neil sighed, “I guess I can watch him. So if he starts dying do I just scream or something?”

David laughed, walking away, “Or something!”

“That was a shitty answer…” Neil rubbed his forehead, really wishing he’d taken a better look at the brochure for this dump. He grabbed the opening of the tent and turned to Nikki, “You coming or what?”

“Me? No I’m not really in the mood for an insane out of the norm quirky adventure today, I’ll stick with my worms”

“Whatever you say…” he mumbled under his breath, walking into the tent.

He sighed, “Max? You in here-? Good god.”

Max looked awful. He was curled up in his blanket, hoodie off. His shaking fingers were tightly gripping the blanket for dear life. Little groans came from his restless state every now and then, eyelids so tightly clenched there was no way he was asleep. He was sweating, he was pale, shaking, and flushed, he was clearly miserable.

Neil came over to his bed, looking almost distressed, “What the hell am I supposed to do..”

Max barely opened his eyes at the sound of Neil’s voice, after a while of sluglishly slow scanning he locked onto him.

“Oh..hey Max..are you oka-”

Max groaned and lifted his hands up from under his blanket to dig palms into his eyes, “Good Hell you guys are so annoying.”

Neil crossed his arms, all feelings of worry instantly dripping away, “Excuse me?”

“You and Nikki right outside my fucking tent like a couple of annoying ass kindergartners who can’t sleep on Christmas. Then you let David walk right into my tent with his annoying voice-”

Neil rolled his eyes “Maybe you aren’t so sick after all. You sound like you can take care of yourself”

Max shrugged, rolling back into his blanket so that his back was facing Neil, “Whatever. Go then.”

Neil sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. He just didn’t do well with sick people. He didn’t wanna get sick himself, fuck that. Besides Max is pretty bitchy and the last thing he wants is to deal with that some more.

He stood up, “Suit yourself. But since your sick I’ll let you have some of my coffee for just today.”

Max groaned, his body curling up even more. Worryingly enough he didn’t even respond, just shook his head miserably.

Neil frowned, “Yeah just…scream if you need something I guess.”

He turned to leave the tent, wanting to kill time with Nikki or Space Kid when he heard a nauseating gag. He looked back at Max to find him leaning over the edge of his bed and heaving. Neil froze up, eyes taking every detail in the few seconds before Max actually threw anything up. The way Max shook, the way his skin was an unhealthy color, his hair was flat and knotted, sweat ran from his forehead to his chin. Max let out another heave with the whole of his stomach, it sounded painful, almost stuck. And then he paused to catch his breath.

Neil ran over to him, his mind finally catching up to the situation, “Damn Max you don’t look so good.” Well that was a stupid thing to say.

Max groaned miserably, “some..somethings wrong get…hng….get David.”

Neil’s eyes widened at that. If MAX wanted him to get David then damn he must he dying or about to start dying. Neil put a hand on Max’s back and cringed at the intense heat pooling through the cloth.

“That is not healthy.”

Max glared at him but it didn’t have the usual strength to it, in fact it barely held any malice. He opened his mouth to speak and then heaved again, Neil latted his back at the wet sound from his throat, looking away since he knew what was about to happen.

Neil didn’t see, but he still hated the nose of it falling to the floor, of the choked noises made around the sickness. He didn’t look again until Max gasped for breath, his shoulders trembling, “Fuck man…i-im gonna die.”

“What?” When Neil turned he saw a familiar sight he did not want to ever see again. Ever.

At the foot of Max’s bed was a pile of handkerchiefs, cards, and even a rabbit.

“Aw shit.”

Max swayed from where he sat, climbing back into his bed and leaning against the bed rest. He looked pained and miserable. The back of his hand wiped sweat from the side of his face, still letting out pants for air.

“I don’t think David can help this one” Neil cringed, watching the rabbit hop away. The way Max looked dizzier at the sight. When Neil grew closer to him Max grabbed his shirt and pulled him close with as much strength as he could manage.

“Listen…listen here Neil. I don’t care how much this magic shit bothers you. You get your flat ass out there and make Harrison stop this.” He groaned, arms letting go die to being too weak to hold on.

“Flat?” Neil frowned, trying to see his backside.

Max closed his eyes, “Come on man. Don’t leave me hanging again please.”

Neil frowned, “…I…I guess I could but-”

Max gagged, choking up another handkerchief, “oh god…”

“Ok ok!” Neil held up his hand in mild panic, “I’ll go just…stay here!” He stepped foot outside the tent, about to run off when Max spoke up again.

“Wait can you uh…can you still get David?”

Neil turned, about to point out how weird that was when he saw his fucking miserable the poor kid looked. Holding his stomach in pain, eyes clenched shut and a whimpering frown. Neil couldn’t say no to Max right now, not when his tone was practically begging for help.

“Yeah Max I’ll get him.”

He closed the tent, watching Max melt in relief.

He won’t make fun of Max for this. Not this time.

After getting David, Neil burst into magic camp where Harrison was trying to master creating water. He angrily stared down at the empty glass he had, shaking it slightly. He nearly dropped the glass when Neil screamed his name.

He turned to him, surprise on his face, “Ah Neil….why are you here…?”

Neil lifted an accusing finger, “You know exactly what the fuck I’m here for you peice of shit eating cunt!”

“No…no I don’t..”

Neil stomped across the crappily made stage and got in Harrison’s face, “You better fix whatever the fuck you did to Max!”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about..” Harrison looked genuinely confused, still holding onto his glass.

“You and your stupid ‘magic’-”

“I told you Neil it is real-”

“Is going to get Max killed!”

“Killed?!”

Neil backed Harrison up against the back of his stage. Harrison, in his panic, created fire that swarmed out of the cup. Neil dropped down to the floor to avoid the flames while Harrison played hot potato with the now burning glass.

“Harrison what the fuck!”

“I’m sorry I’m sorry!” He yelled, trying to get the fire to relax, setting pretty much everything around then on fire, “You scared me!”

“Well make it stop!”

“I’m trying…! Just…! There!” He chucked the glass as far as he could, into the woods. They stared for a moment until large flames erupted from the horizon. Neil stood up, dusting himself off.

“…that looks like a Gwen problem to me.”

“Uh..agreed. now Neil can we please talk like civilized people?”

“Listen up Harrison. Max is doing that creepy fucking bullshit again and you better make it stop!

Harrison raised an eyebrow, "I still don’t know what you mean”

“He’s coughing up rabbits for Christ sake!”

“Oh…the Mind Freak…! But I did not do anything…”

“Well” Neil crossed his arms, glaring, “He’s sick and you’re making it worse”

Harrison actually looked genuinely guilty, he frowned and sunk in on himself, “I would like to help but…I do not know how fix it. That’s…why I’m here” he glanced towards the raging wild fire in the background, ignoring the sounds of screaming.

“Well Harrison. Figure it out. Because I’m pretty sure at the end of the next string of handkerchiefs we’re gonna find Max’s fucking actual real stomach!”

Harrison cringed, “please don’t put images in my head”

“Then get it work before I kick your fake ass Harrison!!”

Harrison scrambled for his wand, where he started reciting different magic words with a nervous smile. Neil backed away, but kept his eyes on Harrison creepily the entire time.

Since when did Neil get so protective?

When Neil came back to Max’s tent, he saw the shadow of David leaning over his bed. He was about to kick him out, but froze to listen in.

“You sure you’re gonna be ok Max?”

Max grumbled, but spoke with a soft broken voice, “whatever”

“I don’t mind bringing you to the doctor. Honest”

“Shut up David”

“I mean it. And if you’re really that home sick I’ll do whatever I can do-”

Max groaned, the sound making Neil cringe.

It apparently worried David too, his tone grew softer but more concerned, “Aw jeez bud you’re burning up. You got sick so fast too…”

Max sniffled, “I crave death”

“You’re gonna be ok Max, I promise. I’ll even let you drink soda when you’re better. Ah here, look at this cute little guy” through the shadows Neil saw David hand Max something, but he couldn’t see what it was “maybe he’ll help you feel better!”

There was a pause, Max silent. Who knew what he was thinking. What did David hand him?

Whatever it was, it was the right thing to do, because Max then said, “thanks David…”

Neil sighed, he couldn’t interrupt this. Besides…looking back at Harrison trying to fix the problem and David comforting Max, he thinks he’s done all he could.

Now he just had to wait for Max to get better.