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feverwhump · 24 days

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Where I Need to Be - part 2

it's been a while since I put out part 1, but here's the conclusion! hope you enjoy :)

While the day has been miserable, Theo’s pretty sure he’s over the hump of whatever illness he has. He hasn’t thrown up since this morning, and his fever’s been under control (mostly) since he’s been able to hold down ibuprofen and water. He’s still got a pounding headache, and his stomach is puffy and tender, but all in all, it’s not as bad as it could be. And he knows how bad it could be.

He’s been in and out of sleep the last few hours, and he’s woken up most recently to a hushed phone conversation happening on the other side of the bedroom door. He’s only getting bits and pieces-

“Kelly, I told you…sick, that’s why…fever…Ok fine…One hour…Ok. Bye.”

Then the door opens, and Seamus is walking in. His smile is strained, but it’s there.

“Hey, love. How are we?” he asks, same gentle voice as always. It’s so different than the one he was using on the phone just a moment ago.

“Not bad,” he says, and for once he's telling the truth. Seamus sits down the edge of the bed, laying his hand on Theo’s forehead.

“You still feel pretty cool. Not cool, but not…not too hot,” he says, and runs his thumb back and forth over his sweat slick skin. They sit in silence for a while before Seamus speaks again. “So. I’m going to ask you something but I need you to be really, really honest. Ok?”

Theo nods. This will have to do with the phone call. Kelly is the artist whose album he’s working on. And who deeply, deeply dislikes Theo. Needless to say, she was not pleased to find out Seamus was missing a day of work to be with Theo, fever of 104 or not.

“There’s a dinner tonight with some people from the label, and Kelly- they want me to go.” There’s an expression on his face that Theo can only describe as shame. It makes sense he’d feel that way, but Theo doesn’t hold it against him. Work is work, they both know that, and some part of Theo was waiting for this conversation to come. And he can't even fully focus because his head is throbbing.

“Ok,” he says, voice shaky. “What did you tell them?”

“I told them I’d have to see about it but it’d only be there for an hour, tops. So be honest, if I was gone for two hours, do you think you’d be ok? Do you feel like it’s getting worse?”

“How big of a deal is it? Contract, or?” He already knows it’s a very big deal or Seamus wouldn’t be asking, but his answer will pretty much depend on it.

“That’s not…” He bites his lip. “It’s not contracted, but if they don’t like what they see…” He trails off before shaking his head. “It’s ok either way. If I stay or go. Just be honest.”

Honestly, he doesn’t want Seamus to leave. Not at all. That said, he doesn’t feel sick enough to justify making him stay. If sleeps for the next few hours, which is likely, there’d be no point in making Seamus stay home.

“Go. I’ll be fine.” A wave of relief seems to wash over Seamus, though the look of guilt doesn’t totally leave.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. I’ll be fine for a couple hours.”

“Ok. Two hours. Tops.”

He’s asleep before Seamus even walks out the door. But when he wakes up, he realizes that this virus is far from done with him.

His whole body is shaking, sweat pouring off him, his clothes plastered to his skin. His stomach is in knots, and when he opens his mouth to take a gasping breath he immediately heaves up a mouthful of bile. He’s so hot. He’s never been so hot in his life. His chest is tight with it, his breath is shallow.

He knows he needs to get to the bathroom, but the minute he pushes himself up with trembling arms, the world spins, and he vomits again. God, his stomach. He moans and forces himself out of bed, and quickly finds he’s way too weak and dizzy to stand. He nearly faints before catching himself on the bedframe. Somehow, he finds his way to the bathroom and falls hard to his knees before leaning over the toilet and heaving again.

The cold of the tile almost hurts his fevered skin. It feels raw, just like his throat. His chin is sticky with drying vomit, and he peels off his shirt. When his hand goes to touch his cramping middle he can't hold back the whimper that escapes. It's so tender - the touch feels like a stab. He also can feel that he’s very, very bloated. The normally concave expanse of his abs is jutting out from his hips, puffy and aching. The waistband of his shorts presses uncomfortably into the swell, and combined with the pressure of his touch, it makes him retch.

In between heaves he can’t hold his head up, so he slumps against the toilet bowl, forehead on the cold porcelain rim.

Sweat drips from the tip of his nose on the floor below him. His breath is gasping in and out, and he's not sure whether he's shaking with fever or sheer exertion.

“Seamus!” He calls as loudly as his voice will let him, which isn’t very loud at all. It's cracked and thin. In that moment he remembers Seamus isn’t here. The thought wrenches a sob from him.

God, he’s so pathetic. A quivering mess, crying for his boyfriend, vomit on his chin. There are a few minutes of respite where he just sits there trying to catch his breath, chest jumping up and down, praying for relief from the fever and the throbbing in his skull. Praying it’s almost… What time is it? What time did Seamus leave?

Before he can think much harder on it, he’s vomiting again. There's only bile now, nothing else is left in his stomach. But once the bile is gone, it doesn’t stop. It’s wringing him out. He’s dry heaving until he’s too weak to. He’s still dripping sweat. It burns his eyes, stings his chapped lips.

He needs to get his phone. He needs to call Seamus. It has to have been two hours by now - it feels like he’s been in this bathroom for 5. But it can’t have been, because Seamus would be back.

The bedroom. His phone is in the bedroom.

He’s no stranger to being this sick, but it doesn’t make it any easier.

He stumbles back down the hall, having to stop and lean against the wall every few steps when his lightheadedness is too much to handle.

He gets the phone. His hands are shaking so badly he almost drops it. He taps Seamus's perfect, smiling photo. Immediately, he hears his voicemail message - "Hey, it's Seamus. I don't really check my voicemail so just shoot me a text! Thanks." There's a dial tone, and Theo hangs up. He calls again. The phone is sticking to the side of his face. Same thing.

This is a nightmare. It has to be. He looks at the time. It's after 10, Seamus should've been home by 8.

Theo is slumped on the floor, back against the wall, just trying to breathe evenly enough to avoid throwing up any more than he already has. The last bout of vomiting had quelled the nausea slightly, but it's back, despite him still not having anything in his stomach to purge. His mouth is dry and sour but the thought of even rinsing it out makes his stomach churn.

He opens his texts. It takes a long time to type a message. It's riddled with typos but his hands are shaking too badly to do any better. It's something along the lines of "where are you? i need you". Normally he wouldn't be so direct, but he's desperate.

Then the world is spinning, spinning, spinning. And then he’s asleep.

Every extra minute Seamus is sitting at this table he's nervous. But, he reminds himself for the thousandth time, Theo would've called if something was wrong. He's probably asleep. His phone has been silent all night, tucked in the pocket of his coat where it hangs from the back of his chair. He's glanced at it a few times, but nothing's come through.

Still, he promised Theo two hours. It's been four. And even if he leaves now, it'll be four and a half.

He's glad he came though. As much as it would've gone just fine without him, he has way more experience dealing with execs than Kelly does. Zeke even flew in from New York. The meeting started at a restaurant in the city and migrated to some random pub a few doors down after the execs were on their way.

At about 11 he goes to the bathroom and grabs his phone as an afterthought. There are absolutely no notifications, which seems strange.

Upon closer examination, he sees it's set to "do not disturb." He definitely did not set it to "do not disturb." He stops in the doorway of the bathroom as he sees the notifications flood in. 6 missed calls. Five unread texts. All from Theo. He has to stop himself from sprinting back to get his coat. He's immediately in panic mode.

Kelly, Zeke and a few other acquaintances from the label look up from their conversation.

"Whoa, what's up?" Zeke asks as Seamus throws on his coat with shaking hands.

"I just - It's an emergency," he manages to say. Zeke furrows his eyebrows but doesn't protest. Kelly huffs.

"Seamus, please. He can take care of himself," she says, and he freezes in place. Zeke looks very confused now.

"Theo?" Zeke interjects, but Seamus doesn't bother responding.

"I told him I'd be home at 8 and it's 11 and he's been trying to call me since 10. I don't know why my phone…" He trails off. He can barely think straight. Kelly crosses her arms and looks at Zeke, whose lips are pressed into a line. "What?"

"Well, we agreed it'd be best if there weren't any distractions," Kelly says. Seamus isn't someone who ever really gets angry, per se, but he's angry right now. Furious. But everyone is staring at him now, and it'll only look unprofessional if he loses his shit. He turns his gaze to Zeke, who looks extremely guilty.

"I didn't know something was wrong, I-" He starts and Seamus clenches his jaw. He starts to stammer out a reply before realizing that every minute he spends here is one minute he's wasting.

"I'll see you guys Monday," he says, trying to keep his voice as even as possible, ignoring the shouts of his name as he leaves.

He tries to call Theo. It rings, but there's no answer. He calls again. Still nothing. He's going about 20 over the speed limit, his knuckles white on the steering wheel. When he walks into the house he doesn't even bother taking off his coat or shoes.

"Theo?" He calls. No answer. He knows logically that Theo's not dead, but the panic in his chest does not seem to know that.

He stops in the doorway of the bedroom. Theo's on the floor, half curled up, shaking like a leaf. Seamus is frozen for a moment before he rushes to him.

Theo's skin is hot - so ungodly fucking hot - and so incredibly pale. Seamus shakes his shoulder lightly, and though Theo moans softly, he doesn't open his eyes.

"Teddy?" Seamus asks, running his hand up and down Theo's arm. Theo's eyelids flutter, and another small sound of pain escapes his chapped lips. Seamus taps his cheek gently. "Teddy, baby."

Theo's eyes finally open, only halfway but enough for Seamus to know he's conscious. When his gaze lands on Seamus's face he lets out a sobbing breath.

"Shh, you're ok," Seamus murmurs, trying to keep his voice steady. He lifts Theo so he's sitting upright, almost all his weight on Seamus. His forehead rests on Seamus's shoulder, his breathing shallow and labored through sobs. He smells like vomit and sweat, and his hands are immediately clinging to Seamus's shirt. "I’m gonna lift you up, alright?"

Theo doesn't reply, but Seamus wasn't necessarily asking for permission.

He maneuvers Theo's limp body so he can pick him up, and tries to ignore the spike of panic when all of his body is pressed against him. He's on fire, trembling, letting out little whimpers of pain at every movement. Theo doesn’t cry like this. Ever. And it’s making Seamus very nervous.

He's glad he works out enough to squat 250, because Theo is only a little over half that. He doesn't bother trying to get his shorts off before placing him in the bathtub, his long legs bent in the small space. Seamus turns on the water and rummages to find the thermometer.

Theo doesn't even make a sound as the cold water hits his skin, and doesn't even seem to notice when Seamus slips the thermometer under his tongue. As the water rises and he waits for the thermometer to do its job, the guilt really starts to set in.

He should've been here. Instead, he was out at a bar, drinking and laughing and assuming everything was fine. He should have noticed his phone was fucked up, he should've left when he said he would. He doesn't know how bad the fever is exactly, but he would wager a guess that it's really fucking bad. Odds are all the vomiting made him dehydrated, which made his fever worse, which made the nausea worse, and around and around until they got here.

He takes one of Theo's limp hands, and with the other, calls Zeke. It's only a ring or two before he picks up.

"What's up?" He asks, and Seamus suddenly feels like he might cry.

"I think I need to take him to A&E." His voice is shaking.

"The-" He cuts Zeke off before he can finish.

"The ER."

"Ok, ok. Uh…" Zeke trails off, clearly flustered. The background noise of the bar softens and a door closes. Seamus cuts in again.

"Do we have anyone here who could come give an IV?" In New York, Theo has people who'll come to wherever he is and give him the basics without having to go to the actual hospital, but Seamus has no idea what's at their disposal in Ireland. He kicks himself for not thinking to find out before now.

"Uh, I can check. I'll call around. Maybe. Is he-"

"I might be able to get it- get the fever down, but he's really dehydrated, so…" Seamus trails off. "You have people here, right?"

"I mean, yeah. In theory. It's just-"

"Just find out what's faster. I can drive him to A&- the ER, or someone can come here. Either way, just find out what's quicker, ok?"

"Ok. I'll call you back in a few, just hang tight." He doesn't hang up just yet. "And I'm sorry, I never would've let Kelly have your phone if I knew what was going on."

"Well she shouldn't have my phone anyway."

"Right."

"Yeah. Just call me back when you know, ok?"

"Ok, hang tight."

The line goes dead and Seamus checks his watch before taking the thermometer out of Theo's mouth. 40.5. He stares at the reading for longer than he needs to, feeling the panic in his chest spike.

Theo’s eyelids are fluttering now, and the hand Seamus is holding tightens around his.

“Oh my God…” Theo breathes out, his voice ragged and thin. “Fuck.”

“You’re ok, you’re ok,” Seamus says, and dips his hand in the cool water before laying it on Theo’s forehead. A towel or washcloth would work better, but he can’t make himself move from this spot.

“Shay, I…” he murmurs, before trailing off, “I had the worst nightmare.”

“Don’t worry, I’ve got you,” he says back gently, wiping Theo’s chin. It’s taking so much effort to maintain this facade of calm, but he knows if he starts to freak out, it’ll only make things worse.

“I…In my dream…I kept calling you and calling you,” he mumbles, and Seamus is immediately sick to his stomach with guilt. “But you wouldn’t answer. And I was alone.”

It takes everything in him to speak around the lump in his throat.

"I'm here now," is all he manages to choke out. He can't bring himself to lie outright. He'll need to come clean eventually, but not now when Theo's still half delirious. "You've had your appendix out, right?"

Theo nods.

"Burst. In college.” Despite the cold water, Theo doesn't seem to be getting any cooler. He's not even shivering.

He's gathering Theo's hair into a little bun when Zeke calls him back.

“What did they say?” He asks, and Zeke sighs.

“They have people in Dublin, but they wouldn't be able to make it to you until tomorrow morning. I could call you a car but I think it'd just be faster for you to drive him in. If you feel like that's what he needs.”

It's a horrible drive. Then a horrible night.

When they drive home the next morning, Theo's still running a fever, but it's not as bad as it was. The insides of his arms and the backs of his hands are bruised - he was so dehydrated they had to jab him about ten times to find a vein for the IV.

He's able to walk inside from the car, which is a major improvement, but he collapses on the couch as soon as he walks in.

“I'm gonna make some tea, alright?” Seamus asks, carefully stroking some of his hair back from his face. Theo just nods, closing his eyes.

As he makes the tea, he knows he needs to tell him. Not today. No, he’ll wait, he thinks, and tries to convince himself it's for Theo’s benefit. He doesn't quite manage.

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