rorysfics - Tumblr blog

[rorysfics]

in need of aaron warner angst that isnt reader centred. i need to see him writhing in pain, shivering as he's burning from a fever, throwing up everything he's ever eaten, sleeping like the dead🙏. just a little more torture for my precious babyboy

[rorysfics]

The New Guy

It was the first day of class and Vince felt like a toddler in kindergarten. Although he didn't actually remember going to kindergarten back in Italy, but his mom made a point of telling him he had wailed every time they dropped him off, so this was how Vince felt.

Except he wasn't the student today, he was the teacher.

He still wasn't fully back on his feet after such a hellish bout of flu and the emotional stress, but Vince felt steady enough he could at least fake it. Besides, he had wanted to be a teacher his whole life, so even if he felt like crying from the nerves, he was also incredibly excited.

This was his old school and it was weird, to say the least, to walk the halls as a teacher, not a student. Not much had changed - better flooring, a classroom had a smartboard instead of a white one, new teachers.

His old ones were still there, though, and Vince nearly jumped out of his skin upon entering the teacher's hall and having his name shouted, "Vincenzo! Oh look at you!" as if he was the chubby kid who grew up over summer. Which yeah, he sort of was.

The literature teacher was still the same woman, Ms. Lobdell. She had been already been an ancient faculty member back when he was at school and time had done her no favors, but she was sharp as a knife.

His old history teacher had retired, the spot Vince had occupied, and the biology and chemistry teacher, a horrible man whom Vin had hated back then, had also left the school.

He was told all this by Ms. Lobdell, who dragged him around by the arm despite the first class starting at 8 AM and it already being 7:55.

Finally Vince was released from the claws of that sweet wrinkly woman to his class of snotty 10 year old, whom he was already very partial to.

Because moving had been such a huge thing, from his relationship with Wendy and his friends, to quitting his solid job and getting an entirely new place, Vince had been more than a little insecure about the whole thing.

Suddenly it wasn't just "getting a new job", it was "getting a new life" and he felt a gigantic pressure for this to be as good as he had imagined it to be, otherwise... Otherwise he would have gone through all this trouble for nothing.

It was a relief so strong when teaching his first class ended up being everything he had imagined and more, that Vince was teary eyed by lunch break.

"So how was it?" Wendy asked, her voice breathless as she moved around. Vince checked his watch again, noticing his hands were shaking with how nervous he had been. 1:30 PM, she was probably leaving her hot yoga class to get dressed for her evening shifts.

"It was amazing," he confessed, smiling, keeping his voice low, "the kids were great, the teaching plan went smoothly... They keep calling me mister Monacelli, though, which is very weird... It was just great."

"I'm glad," Wendy answered and he could tell she was smiling and meant it, "what now?"

"Now I get my teenagers," Vince scratched at his cheeks, suddenly wishing he hadn't shaved in the morning. He felt too baby faced to handle the teens, doubting they'd respect him, "they're going to eat me alive."

"Yes, but not in the way you think," Wendy teased him, "you're going to be the class crush, just watch it."

He grinned, smoothing his shirt and looking around the empty classroom. Vince had been much too nervous to join the remaining staff in the cafeteria and had had lunch inside his classroom, like a loser. Just a veggie roll too, which normally wouldn't sustain him even for two hours, let alone the rest of the day.

"Now you're just egging me on," he rolled his eyes, "how's your day?"

"Great," Wendy huffed and her voice got distant as if she had left her phone in a surface, "I have far too much free time now that you're not around, so I'm gonna start taking classes."

"Classes on what?" he balled up the paper napkin and grabbed his tooth brushing kit, walking out of the classroom, holding the cellphone to his ear.

"Anything," Wendy sighed, "I just need to occupy myself a bit, it'll help."

"I think you should take interior design classes," he entered the bathroom, "you're always fiddling with things in the apartment."

"Uhm, maybe," she sighed and then he heard a noise and Wendy cursing, "a stupid pigeon just hit my window, I gotta go. Love you, break a leg, Mr. Pussy Magnet!"

"Love you as well, honey," Vince rolled his eyes, hanging up.

His first class after lunch actually went a lot smoother than Vince was expecting, but the second one... He had no idea where his students were.

After fifteen minutes of sitting there without a single soul appearing, Vince peeked at the hallway and frowned. He was half expecting the kids to be pranking him by sitting in the hallway, but nada. Not a single student.

He sighed, locking the classroom and walking back to the teacher's hall to see if anyone else would have an inkling of where his kids had disappeared to.

An older teacher, whom Vince remembered as the trigonometry teacher and who, thankfully, did not remember Vin, was leaning against the window, with his head poking out, smoking.

"Mr. Turella, hi," Vince smiled and the older man smiled back.

"You're the new teacher, right? History?"

"Yeah," Vince crossed the room to shake his hand and the man let out a huff.

"You're looking more like the P.E teacher, son," he teased lightly, "are you lost?"

"No, not really," Vince grimaced, "but I think I lost my kids? No one showed for my class..."

Mr. Turella let out a snort, carefully resting his cigarette on the windowsill and walking across the room to the big schedule that was plastered to the wall, "oh yeah," he shook his head, "Daniels stole your kids."

"Excuse me," Vince frowned, crossing the room so he could look at the schedule as well. Mr. Turella planted a wrinkled finger over the sophomore's schedule and dragged it down.

The class before Vince's was Chemistry, with Mr. Daniels.

"Uh... That's just great," Vince wrinkled his nose in distaste, "I don't suppose I should go over and tell him to release my kids?"

"Bad move for a rookie," Mr. Turella patted his arm, "just wait for them to show and you can chew out Daniels after class. Not that it's going to help much, it never did in my case."

"He does this a lot?" Vince scoffed and the other man nodded enthusiastically.

"Oh yeah, get used to it," the man sighed and walked back to the window, "take the win, it's a break in your schedule."

"It's time they're not learning the curriculum," Vince corrected, groaning as he imagine the headache this would be down the line, when he inevitably fell behind if he didn't have enough time to teach, "alright, thanks Mr. Turella."

"It's John," the man waved him off, continuing to smoke.

Vince returned to his classroom, chewing at his lip since it was still empty. He paced nervously, until his students finally showed, thirty minutes late and chatting loudly.

"We're having P.E now?" a boy asked, causing his friends to giggle and Vince to sigh. It was going to be a long evening.

Mr. Daniels fucking haunted him. His senior students, whom he was dreading already, were also late thanks to the biology classes. Unlike the previous kids, though, they walked in quietly and seemed very interested in Vince, if only because he was new and shiny.

"You cannot be serious-" a girl blurted out, when Vince announced he was holding them for ten more minutes, since they had arrived twenty past the time of class, "sir. You cannot be serious, Mr. Monacelli," she corrected herself quickly.

Vince raised his eyebrows, not the outburst, but at the correction. It was so weird to be treated like that.

"Well, I- Alright, today you can leave, but next time this happens I'll have to hold you until we're done. You can't fall behind so close to SATs," he sighed, gesturing to the whiteboard, "and remember homework."

"Yesssir," there was a chorus of voices, making him cringe. Sir, that didn't sit right.

"I'll see you Wednesday," Vince waved to the door and then sat down, waiting for the kids to leave. As soon as he was alone, he let out a groan and rubbed at his neck.

As Vince walked to the parking lot, he paused as he saw a man leaning heavily against the wall, just outside the view of the buses leaving.

The man had his back pressed to the wall and his hands on his knees, as if catching his breath after running a marathon.

Curiosity got the best of him and Vince stepped closer, wondering if this was a senior student who had been held back - he didn't look seventeen, for sure, but not old enough to be a parent either - and if so, why he hadn't been in his class just now.

"Hey," Vince said, realizing the guy was actually older than he expected as he stepped closer, "hey, you alright?"

The guy shook his head, lips pressed in a thin line, "not feeling too hot..." he let out a soft burp, unashamed, and grimaced, "you're the new guy, the new teacher."

"Uh- It's Vince..." Vince frowned, inspecting the other man. He was a blonde, with most of his hair pulled up in a man bun, showcasing an undercut. He was wearing a buttoned up shirt, but with short sleeves - which should be a crime, in Vin's opinion, - and he could see his left arm was completely tattooed.

Definitely not a teacher, Vince thought, crouching slightly. The guy wasn't short, but compared to Vin he was. He also looked incredibly, terribly familiar.

"I'm Max," the man grimaced and spread his feet apart, "I'm gonna hurl, you should step back."

So casual about the whole deal, as if it wasn't mortifying. Vince frowned even more, "are you waiting for your kid, Max? Can I get someone for you?"

"My kid?" Max let out a little chuckle, which quickly turned into a groan and he wrapped an arm around his stomach, "no, I'm fine. Lunch was just too heavy, the cafeteria food fucking sucks."

"You're a staff member?" Vince frowned, even more confused. He wanted to get a decent look at the man's face, but he was sort of bent over, with a couple hair strands falling in front.

"Bio-" Max cut himself off with a gag and groaned loudly. He panted, back heaving and a couple of belches bubbled up, low in volume, but terrible wet. He cleared his throat, but it morphed into a cough and then Vince jumped back as a splatter of puke hit the pavement, sinking in the gravel.

He made a face, reaching out and planting a hand on Max's shoulders, keeping him swaying, and looked around, hoping there was anyone better equipped to help.

"Fuck-" Max groaned, pressing his stomach with a hand and heaving again. An empty, painful and loud, heave, followed by another cough and more vomit, this time a much larger amount. He let out a little moan, hanging over the puddle with an arm wrapped around his middle and panting.

"Done...?" Vince grimaced and the man nodded, wiping his lips on the back of his hand and then making a face at it, wiping his hand on his jeans.

"Urgh, that was gross..." he straightened up, taking a steady breath and sidestepped the mess on the ground, "sorry. I didn't catch your name?"

"Vince," he repeated, studying the man's face. They were about the same age, now Vince realized, but Max looked younger. Blonde with brown eyes and a tanned complexion, he looked like a surfer who had gotten lost on his way to California, "I'm the new history teacher."

"I'm the biology and chemistry teacher," Max shook his hand, following Vince further into the parking lot and Vin nearly stopped on his tracks.

"You're Mr. Daniels?"

"Uhhh yeah man, the one and only," the guy opened a little smirk, looking amused, "you heard about me?"

"You're the prick who held my kids," Vince glared at him, "twice. Thirty minutes each."

"I had to wrap up the subject," Max shrugged, "and they were interested. You know how hard it is to get these gremlins interested in anything, no hard feelings."

Vince scoffed, rolling his eyes, "quit doing that then," he said, finally arriving at his bike, "...Are you sure you alright?"

"I'm fine," Max smiled, smoothing his shirt and undoing the top buttons, "see you around, Mr. Monacelli."

[rorysfics]

Um, hello. ^^ Anonymous Matthew's fangirl here 😅 Could we know something more about his past, and Marcella maybe? Flashback or not. With some dose of whump, of course. 🐺

Pretty please. ^^

Hopeless

Thank you for the request, nonny! I'm honoured that Matthew has a fan 🥰 love the wolf emoji there 🐺😊💙.

Matthew was lying on the sidewalk, dirt and small stones digging into his right cheek. His vision went dark for second and it was still hazy. Where did all the other wolves go? There was a group of them just a minute ago...

"Oi. You aren't dead, are you? Wake up."

The voice was unfamiliar, rough, annoyed. Matthew didn't feel inspired to give it an answer.

"They are gone. You are safe. Hey. Get up."

Someone must have helped chase the others away, when he fell to the ground and blacked out. But shouldn't a savior sound more friendly? Who was this guy?

When Matthew scrunched his eyes, he could see a mop of curly unruly blond hair and weirdly light brown eyes that almost looked yellow in the blinding sunlight.

"Mhhhhgr?" Matthew blinked, trying to lift himself on his arms, but shooting lighting pain at the lower part of his back left him breathless and nosediving back to the ground. Christ, that hurt. Who hit him in the back like that? Good sportsmanship indeed.

"Where's your shadow, eh? Heal yourself up. Seriously." Hector sounded even more annoyed now, like he had to deal with a problem he really didn't like.

Matthew tried very very feebly to call his shadow, but it jolted away from his grasp. He wasn't sure if it was humiliated, scared to be caught in such a state or just disobeying when he least needed it. But his back was hurting too much and his ears were ringing enough that he really didn't have the energy to fight for control and get more nauseous and discerned than he was.

"What a pathetic thing you are. And you are my brother's second? Tsch."

Matthew closed his eyes, feeling Hector moving away. Maybe he would finally leave him alone to black out and feel miserable in peace.

Then he felt his hands on his shoulders, going under him and hoisting him up.

Matthew groaned at the movement and the accompanying pain. "You want to kill me?"

"Tsk. If I wanted that, I wouldn't have bothered helping."

Hector helped him? That was entirely impossible. Matthew didn't even bother checking. Isaiah's mean accusatory and barky little brother that had nothing nice to say about him? Matthew didn't know what exactly the issue was, but someone who wasn't willing to give Isaiah even a chance, who could believe he could do anything with bad intentions...like okay, Isaiah was mysterious and a martyr and annoyingly guilty and insecure about every little thing. But that only made Matthew think the ones who got the chance to know him, really know him, should defend him all the more. Even from himself.

In that regard, Hector was a complete failure Matthew didn't want to bother with. And he suspected the feelings were mutual.

But here they were, Hector throwing Matthew's arms around his neck and dragging him to the nearest bench.

"Hey. Dead-head. Should I call a taxi? Can you get back on your own?" Still sounding way too disgusted for Matthew's tastes. Though it was actually kinda helpful of him? Kinda.

Matthew slumped against the bench, teeth gritted from pain. His back was seriously messed up. His eyes were watering just from the effort to sit, not to mention move and his shadow wasn't listening, when he needed it and...

And he really just wanted Isaiah.

"Can you...could you call Isaiah?" Matthew said between wheezing breaths. He tried leaning over his knees, but it made him more light-headed. Nausea was climbing up his spine, cold sweat washing over him in waves.

"Please." Yeah. Matthew felt utterly too pathetic to care today.

Hector's head went back a little at the word. He grumbled something, scrolling up and down through his contacts. "I...don't have his number. You got a phone on you."

Matthew shook his head, pressing his lips together. Cold heaviness was pooling in his stomach and he knew that would be trying to climb out soon. He didn't carry his phone on his runs. The three wolves attacked him out of nowhere. Thee against one. Isaiah would understand. He wasn't so sure Hector would.

The blond in question clicked his tongue. "Ugh. Fine. I'll call a taxi and take you home, how about that."

Matthew didn't comment at what it showed, that Hector knew Isaiah's address, been invited there in need, but didn't bother to save his phone number. Utterly insufferable, this guy.

Hector all but insulted the taxi driver into coming, then sat down next to Matthew, his leg jumping nervously.

Matthew closed his eyes, taking slow careful breaths through his nose. His back was burning steadily, and he was too warm and his hands were shaking. Damn it all.

The car parked sharply on the sidewalk. Hector opened the door, said something to the driver, then returned for Matthew.

"Young man, you aren't going to be sick are you?" The taxi driver asked from inside as Hector circled his arms around Matthew's upper back again, helping him hobble to the car.

"What if I do?" Matthew wanted to sound resentful and rebellious, but the sentence came out more like a whisper.

"Well, the taxi will survive," Hector snarled at the driver who was eying them both in the rear view mirror. He winced and looked away quickly at the scary look on Hector's face.

Matthew slumped against the window, but the more he was sitting the more his back muscles trembled. The pain was getting worse by the moving, and the nausea was spiking. He couldn't imagine how he was supposed to survive when the car started to move.

And as he expected, the car moved and Matthew couldn't suppress a quiet groan. His hands balled into fists, his nails digging into his skin, but it wasn't helping, he was still seeing stars in front of his eyes.

There was something warm and solid, suddenly pressing against his side. Hector's muscular arm around his neck again, pushing Matthew to lean against him, trying to fix him in the spot against the jostling of the car.

Matthew moaned quietly, but it did actually help - he wasn't moving so much, pressed against Hector, face against the crook of his neck. The red wolf squeezed his eyes shut, not having the capacity to think about it.

The car ride was a blur. Matthew stayed like that, eyes squeezed shut, waves of warmth coursing through him, fighting the nausea as it climbed and sank. Hector said nothing, all solid like a statue under Matthew. He must have held himself very tense and strong to fight against the rocking off the car.

Matthew's mind circled and wondered, the darkness enveloping him. The last time he fought three wolves...Matthew was no stranger to being outnumbered. As a teenager, the wolves in his pack had to gang up on him, to suppress his shadow. It was too big, too wild, too out of control. Add that to Matthew's volatile puberty hormones and temper, he had to be beaten and taken control of quite often.

Usually making a giant scene in the process. A scene his mother would angrily scoff over, turning her back. Matthew wasn't worth her time.

Scene enough that his sisters and younger siblings were too wary and horrified to approach him.

Since going to the boarding school, he could only spend his summers at home. And with the scenes he made, he spend most of the time behind their house at the back of the backyard. Outside. Alone.

"Why are you so sad?"

Matthew lifted his head from his crossed hands, hugging his knees. The little girl with strawberry red hair and big blue eyes stared back at him. A little witch. The youngest of his sisters, whole 10 years younger than him. The only witch, the long awaited one by his mother.

Marcella.

Matthew looked at her steadily. "I'm not sad," he grumbled.

"You look sad though." She crouched down, mimicking his pose by hugging her knees. She was only six years old. "Is it because you are alone?"

"I don't mind being alone," he said, baring his teeth. His mother would surely not be pleased that he walked to the witchling. They were very protective of her.

Marcella tilted her head to the side. "You don't look like you don't mind."

Matthew lowered his gaze. "They are all scared of me. Cowards." He said sulking, voice breaking a little at the end.

Marcella watched him curiously. "I'm not scared. Can I stay with you?"

Matthew let out a sigh, wiggling closer against the warmth and solidness of a human body beside him...when the car stopped. The sheer lack of the motion he almost got used to jolted him awake, his stomach doing somersaults immediately.

Matthew gagged, pressing his hand against his mouth as his body lurched forward. The movement had spikes of burning needles digging into his back and he moaned pitifully.

Hector reached over him, opening the door. The gust of fresh air helped a little, Matthew following the scent as he fought against the next gag. He succeeded in suppressing the wave of slimy coldness, gulping it down resolutely. His chest hitched and his stomach rolled in protest, but he managed.

"Okay. We are here, we are here. You made it." Hector got out through the other side, circling around to crouch next to Matthew, planting a hand on his biceps. "You gonna be okay?"

"Y-...grrr...you are asking me that?" Matthew grumbled, slightly amused. Hector made for a good distraction. Matthew automatically reached for his arm to help himself up and Hector had enough brain and observation skills to take Matthew's weight himself.

"You owe me for the ride," Hector complained with no heat in his tone. Matthew murmed something in return, letting Hector support him. Everything was coming in and out of focus. Maybe for the best he kept his eyes closed.

Matthew didn't even realized when they reached their floor on the elevator, incredibly proud of himself for not throwing up the whole time. He kept his eyes closed the whole time. Hector fortunately didn't comment.

Hector rang the bell, the familiar sound vibrating through the air on the next side.

Isaiah opened the door. "Matt-"

Matthew all but threw himself at Isaiah, utter relief giving him enough energy to propell himself forward. The black haired wolf caught him despite the surprise, and Matthew gratefully slumped against him. "Oh, dear God, I'm home."

Isaiah splattered in surprise. "Matt, what happened?"

"Geez, he is acting like I was no help," Hector grunted, frozen in the doorway at the sight.

"And you were?" Isaiah said sceptically.

Hector scoffed. "Seriously. Found him getting his ass kicked by a bunch of wolves. Chased them away but he ain't healing, so-"

"That's alright," Isaiah jumped in. "Thank you for bringing him." Isaiah didn't close the door, but Matthew still felt like Hector just got dismissed as the oldest wolf retreated back from the hall into the living roon, Matthew still in his arms. "Where are you hurt?"

Matthew groaned against the back of his throat. "Mmy back. Feels like someone stabbed me there."

He could feel Isaiah's hands running over his back as if to check for bleeding cuts, but the skin was intact. It was something deeper, like a pulled muscle. But why did it hurt like that?

Isaiah helped Matthew to lie down on his stomach, helping him out of his sweat soaked shirt. "Okay. You are going to be alright, bud. Deep breaths. Is your shadow hurt?"

Matthew hid his face between his arms, finally relaxing at the stable surface. When the tension left, the nausea trickled right back in and he hissed in pain.

"I-Isaiah? I'm...ugh-" Matthew gulped, loudly, feeling his stomach spasming. He tried lifting himself up and moaned, his back feeling like he got a slash with a sword at the movement. "Ifeelsick."

Isaiah jumped into action, fetching a mixing bowl from the kitchen and and springing back to Matthew's side. "Okay, I got you. Shhhh. Don't move."

Matthew shifted to the edge of the sofa, moaning as his cheeks bulged out. How was he supposed to not move? His stomach didn't care his back was hurting like a bitch, it was spasming and making him lurch. The movement was absolutely involuntary at this point.

Isaiah put the large mixing bowl down on the floor, then took Matthew's face gently in his hands. His palm against Matthew's forehead and the other on his cheek felt heavenly cold as Isaiah supported the weight of Matthew's head.

Matthew was leaning over the edge just enough to let out a trick of thick spit into the bowl. He moaned again, his stomach cramping as it send the next wave of chunky sick up his throat with a load burp.

Isaiah diligently held his face in his hands as the puke spilled from Matthew's open mouth. "Shhhhh. You are alright. Just breathe. It will be over in a minute."

Matthew's eyes were watering from the strain and pressure at his neck, connected to the burning nerve endings of his back. But it was thousand times better as to strain there without Isaiah's support.

Matthew burped up a second gush of puke, whole body jerking in the process. He groaned, tears running down his cheeks and into Isaiah's fingers.

The spasms of vomit died down slowly, with Matthew twitching and groaning pitifully for another good minute. Isaiah held his cheek, stroking his hair with the hand, trying to shush him.

Matthew completely gave up on any emberassment or pretense, raw and tired from the pain, afraid of more of it coming. He was so glad Isaiah was there he would have cried if he wasn't already.

Matthew was left breathing harshly against the sofa's leather, now shivering from the cold that also jolted his back and hurt. Everything hurt, everything was too much and his shadow wasn't listening...

"Hey. Shhhhh. You are okay. You are home, you are safe. You will get through this. I'm right here. Everything will be fine."

Isaiah's confidence broke Matthew's spiral. Matthew strained to look up at him, turning his head to the side.

Isaiah got rid of the bowl, bringing it back cleaned out, then sat down beside him. Matthew didn't protest against being pulled into Isaiah's lap like a child.

Isaiah said nothing about the tears, only stroking his sweaty hair and his scalp gently. His utter calm was making Matthew believe everything was indeed going to be fine. He relaxed, starting to feel sleepy. Just the occasional shiver jolted him awake.

Isaiah pressed his lips together and pulled a blanket neatly folded at the foot of the sofa over Matthew's naked back. "Just sleep. Everything will go back to normal once you wake up."

Isaiah was sure once Matthew calmed down, he would be able to call upon his shadow and heal himself. Isaiah never had any doubts Matthew could do it. He never doubted Matthew could do anything.

Matthew let his eyes fall closed with the gravity, wondering at what point Hector's presence disappeared from the apartment.

He must have been in a hurry, leaving the door open.

[rorysfics]

Another hot lil scenario I love:

A and B are walking somewhere. A is really sick and seems like they're getting worse. B (a friend or romantic partner) asks whether they think they have a temperature.

Here, we can add in any symptom that tipped B off. "Your eyes look glassy." "You're really pale." "You're shivering."

A replies honestly and says they're not sure. They feel awful, yes, but they're not sure whether they're actually running a temperature or not. It's hard to tell.

Next, a look of mutual agreement passes between them and B quickly takes a step toward them, pushes their fringe aside and gently places a hand on their forehead.

Bonus if B immediately goes "Yeah, no, you definitely do" or "Okay, that feels far too warm. Let's get you home" or something.

[rorysfics]

happy new years!

tw emeto, fever, sick away from home

meet more football players that novak plays with! ft. one of my favorite tropes

On one hand, Novak hated to leave Elya and Marina for a whole four days. In fact, this weekend would be the longest Novak had been away from his daughter since she was born.

But, on the other hand, he had to go. It was mandatory for the team, and it was a needed weekend retreat. Team building and a break from the hard start to the season.

The Mavericks were on a bye week, giving them ample time to go away for this retreat. They left Thursday morning, they’d go back home Sunday afternoon. Then it was back to practice.

The team bus drove along the winding road. For once, Novak felt not so great for the ride. He felt hot and disoriented, and they weren’t even halfway to the destination.

Novak sat in his usual spot, in the back of the team bus, by himself. He was gazing out of the window, lost in his thoughts, trying to figure out where the feelings were coming from. But he couldn’t.

When they got there, four players were assigned to a room. The rooms in question were set up like a cramped dorm room. Two sets of bunk beds, and then a narrow dresser between the two.

Novak waited for the others to choose their beds, before he took the last one. The bottom bunk closest to the window.

He tossed his bag on the mattress. He would unpack later, when he had more energy.

There was a team meeting, a few team drills, and then free time. Time to disconnect from every day life and hang out with each other.

Henry, Novak, Jayden, and Landon hung out in their room. Just talking.

Well, everyone else was talking. Novak was trying to listen, but it was hard to follow the conversations.

As the room filled with laughter and banter, Novak tried to mask his growing discomfort. His body felt warmer, and the world around him seemed to sway subtly. He attributed it to fatigue, hoping it would pass as the night went on.

At some point, Novak sat on the bunk he would be sleeping in, the suitcase to the floor. Seeing Jayden lying on the bunk above him, on his side in a casual way, Novak tried to mirror it.

Maybe lying down would make him feel less unsteady.

Novak hardly realizes that he’s dozing off every so often. The only reason he realizes it is when he jolts himself awake, but every sudden wake up makes him feel a little worse than he did before.

The room continued to buzz with energy, but Novak found himself drifting in and out of consciousness. He struggled to stay engaged in the conversation, his mind battling the waves of fatigue and discomfort.

As Novak lay on the bunk, he attempted to join in the laughter, offering an occasional smile or nod.

Landon, perceptive despite him and his teammates near incessant chatter, came over to the end of Novak’s bed, sitting on the floor and tapping his foot to get the linebacker’s attention.

"You okay, Novak? You seem kind of out of it," Landon said with genuine concern.

Novak forced a weak grin, "Just a bit tired, man. Don't worry about it."

Landon shrugged, clearly not believing Novak, but at the end of the day Landon knew he couldn’t do much. Novak was an adult after all.

The chatter continued. Novak's condition worsened, the room's laughter becoming distant echoes in his foggy consciousness.

Novak found himself falling asleep, not even just dozing off, but falling asleep. Deeper and deeper, like a slow dive, until he couldn’t feel a thing.

-

A sudden jolt startled Novak awake, his surroundings blurry and disorienting.

Everyone else in the room was engaged in their own pre-sleep rituals, oblivious to Novak's internal struggle.

Groaning, Novak attempted to sit up, his head pounding with every movement. His attempt at a deep breath only intensified the nauseating feeling in his stomach.

Novak felt like he hadn’t slept at all. In fact, he felt infinitely worse and even more terribly exhausted.

He felt stiff, everywhere, and he could feel hair sticking to his face and neck, shoulder length ash blonde locks sticking where they could stick themselves.

"Hey, Novak, you okay?" Landon’s voice cut through the haze as he looked over from his bunk, hearing Novak move.

"Just need a moment," Novak mumbled, brushing off the concern as he tried to steady himself.

He needed a shower, he thought. Maybe that would make him feel less… awful.

However, as he swung his legs off the bunk, the world spun, and a cold sweat covered him.

Out of nowhere, a dry heave forced itself out of Novak’s throat. The sound was audible to the other three in the room as Novak covered his mouth with a shaking hand.

Henry, Jayden, and Landon paused their activities, their attention now fully on Novak, much to the linebackers dismay.

"Whoa, Novak, you don't look so hot," Jayden exclaimed, his wide-eyed concern mirroring the sentiments of the others.

Novak, beads of sweat now dripping down his face, clutched the bedpost, pressing his forehead to the back of his hand and squeezing his eyes shut, hoping it would help him, even just a little.

However, the room seemed to spin faster, and Novak heaved again behind his other hand, already starting to taste dinner in the back of his throat.

Landon, having gotten the bunk by the door, simply reached up and swung it open.

Novak pressed his hand tighter to his mouth as he went to stand, trying anything and everything to just not get sick in the room.

He could hardly stand, everything felt slow and his steps felt like the floor would fall out beneath him.

But somehow, he stumbled to the bathroom.

His stomach lurched again. He just made it to one of the stalls. The cold bathroom tiles met his clammy skin as he fell to his knees in front of the toilet.

Landon, Henry, and Jayden followed, concern and confusion etched across their faces as they witnessed Novak's struggle.

Novak heaved. Hard. His stomach was hellbent on removing everything it could as quickly as it could by him vomiting.

He gagged, each one pulling on his stomach. His nose burned and his vision was blurry from tears of extreme effort.

Novak’s stomach felt horrible. And it was doing everything it could to tell him how upset it was.

Henry winced, hearing Novak heave again, “Man, that sounds brutal."

Landon, in true compassionate fashion, started to step closer to the stall Novak was in.

Jayden shook his head, grabbing Landon by the shirt and dragging him back to the hallway.

“Wait, what are you-“ Landon started.

“Novak doesn’t like that,” Henry said, “We’ve both seen him sick at least once… his mom says something about… the touch of anyone, even her, like… overwhelms him?”

“Overstimulate, I think is what Marina said,” Jayden said, “Getting sick stresses Novak out, best choice is to stay out here, or at least out of that stall.”

“Also make sure he doesn’t like… pass out,” Henry said, “Marina said that’s happened before. He vomits so hard his body short circuits or something.”

Landon sigher, "Poor guy. Should we get him anything? Can we do anything to help him? Or is it best to just let him…”

Jayden shrugged, "Water. He'll need it after. I can grab his water bottle and get some water for him.”

Henry, his brow furrowed in concentration, nodded to Jayden’s suggestion, before he snapped his fingers and added, "And a hair tie. Marina’s said that Novak hates his hair sticking to his face or like…. On his neck. Same reason he doesn’t want people to touch him when he’s like that.”

“Novak gets… very overwhelmed when he gets sick,” Jayden explained, “Only when he’s like… vomiting sick. He gets overwhelmed which makes him feel worse.”

Landon, grateful for their insights, nodded "Do you have any hair ties Jayden?"

Jayden nodded, taking a hair elastic off his wrist, handing it to Landon, “Always one on me, never know who needs it, or when.”

Landon took it, "What else? I’m out of my element without-“

“Being able to touch the sick person,” Henry finished, “That’s how you show you care. It’s natural to not know.”

“Maybe a damp cloth for his forehead. It might help cool him down a bit,” Jayden said, “Once Novak is back in the room. I think I have a aash cloth, i’ll take care of that when I get the water.”

Henry nodded, turning to Landon, “You, make sure he doesn't, you know, pass the fuck out."

Landon nodded, going back into the bathroom to tend to his responsibility.

It killed part of Landon, the part that looked after the whole team as a family, to hear Novak continue to be sick.

Finally though, the heaving ceased, leaving Novak only hyperventilating, trying to catch his breath.

Landon heard a small whine, and Novak tried to spit the taste out of his moith, flushing the toilet. His stomach still felt rocky, at best, but for now he wouldn’t sick.

With a shaky breath, Novak attempted to get up, but his body revolted against him.

The dizziness hit him like a wave, and he clutched the stall wall for support, before then stumbling to the sink.

The room swayed, and beads of sweat formed on his forehead. Putting one foot in front of the other was hard. And Novak hated how he, a professional linebacker, could hardly stand on his own.

Landon winced, watching Novak's struggle, trying to be wary of touching Novak based on what Jayden and Henry said, "Man, take it slow. Don't push yourself."

Novak managed a weak nod, but the exhaustion weighed heavily on him. He tried to straighten up, but his legs felt like rubber, and the world spun around him.

Landon, still cautious about Novak's aversion to touch, hovered nearby. He could see the struggle in Novak's eyes, and a gentle hand on his shoulder seemed like the right move. Taking a chance, Landon placed a hand on Novak's shoulder, offering support.

Novak, surprisingly, didn't pull away. The touch, light and reassuring, seemed to stabilize him. Landon gently guided him out of the bathroom, supporting him as they made their way back to the room.

The hallway felt like a marathon. Landon kept a watchful eye on him, ready to adjust his support if needed. As they reached the room, Jayden had already returned, as had Henry.

Landon helped Novak to the bunk, where the linebacker all but collapsed to sit, his head falling into his hands. The headache was worse, the dizziness was worse. And he was so hot. He could feel his hair sticking to his face.

At least, for a second.

“Alright hold on man,” Jayden said, reclaiming the hair tie he handed to Landon.

Jayden brushed Novak’s hair off his face, peeled it off his neck, tying it in a loose twisted bun, before handing over Novak’s water bottle.

“Here,” Henry sId, “Just small sips, okay?”

Novak nodded. And it’s now that Jayden lightly rubs Novak’s back. Now, Landon guessed, touch would be okay. Or at least better than it was when Novak was actively vomiting.

“Hey, Lan, he’s burning up,” Jayden said.

“Novak can I…” but Novak nods, taking another small sip of the water, before Landon can finish.

Cool hands press to his cheeks, his forehead.

“God, you really are warm,” Landon said.

“Here,” Henry said, placing a hand on Novak’s shoulder, nudging him to lay down.

Which, Novak did, giving Henry easier access to press a cool rag against the linebacker’s skin.

The room felt like it was spinning, and Novak was grateful to be lying down. He closed his eyes, trying to block out the headache that throbbed behind his temples.

The cool rag pressed against his forehead provided some relief, and he could feel the concern radiating from his teammates.

"You alright, Novak?" Landon asked again, still hovering with worry in his eyes, “Well, obviously not. But, did this just happen or were you tired because…”

Novak shrugged “Honestly, fuck if I know, just hit me like a ton of bricks, I guess."

“This one’s probably my fault, not Elya’s,” Jayden admitted, “I was just sick.”

“We’ll keep an eye on you,” Henry said, “If you get worse we’ll tell Coach, okay?”

Novak is too worn out to protest, so he just gives Henry’s statement a small nod, trying maybe fall asleep. Even just for a little bit.

[rorysfics]

i threw up 3 times today n lemme tell you... i didnt realise how difficult it is to swallow sick down/breathe through nausea. there was what felt like a literal lump in my throat everything i tried to breathe through it or swallow down the excessive amount of saliva🙃

i finally caved in and just let it happen, except i was in too much pain to make it to my bathroom so i just balled up one of my blankets and used it as a catching net😭

i'd hardly had any food in my stomach so my throat was raw, i ended up crashing for a few hours and im no longer nauseous so thats a plus !!

[rorysfics]

Sorry for calling

I feel like this needs some more fallout and caretaking tbh

Summary: Matthew calls Isaiah when he gets sick at school shortly after the infection fiasco. Warning for emeto, mentions of scat.

"I'm sorry," Matthew said as he climbed into the car, struggling to close the door behind him.

Isaiah reached over him to pull it shut. "It's no trouble."

Matthew pouted at him, hands hugging his middle.

Isaiah sighed. After the infected wound, they have all been antsy and worried about Matthew's recovery. Matthew insisted on returning back to his classes as fast as possible though, arguing that wolves recovered faster and that the wound was healed anyway.

Isaiah suspected the wound and the infection might have healed, but Matthew's immune system got a hit, which was not something a shadow could repair. Shadows were great with immediate injuries - anything more long-term or slower acting, and they failed.

So when Matthew called him around lunch if Isaiah could pick him up, he jumped into action on high alert, figuring Matthew was struggling with his second day back at uni.

"I'm very very glad you called me," Isaiah added for good measure. Positive reinforcement, right?

"It's just a stomach ache," Matthew grumbled, giving him a sideway look. "But I figured you would be freaked out if I didn't."

That was fair. Isaiah and Seline were both over-worried since the infection, pestering Matthew with questions about his well-being, insisting he tell them every single thing. Maybe he overdid it, running Matthew out of the apartment before he was ready.

They drove a bit in silence, Isaiah taking measured turns. The road wasn't too crowded in the middle of the day, so it should be smooth sailing.

Matthew burped loudly, hand shooting to his mouth. "'scuse me."

"Did you eat something off? Or is it a bug? Do you have a fever? Tell me if-"

"Yeah, no," Matthew said. "Stop with the hundred questions. I just need to lie down."

"We'll be home in ten," Isaiah promised, gripping the wheel tighter.

He kept himself quiet after that, allowing himself occassional glances at Matthew, who resolutely scowled at the window, not meeting his gaze. His hands were still wrapped around his stomach though and he was sheet white, which Isaiah took as an answer enough.

The car stopped at the designated parking spot for their building. It was always a fight for every meter of space in Vienna, so their own parking spot was a luxury, even without the garage.

Isaiah thought he was watchful enough, but he was still surprised when Matthew opened the door, twisted to the side, leaning forward and loudly vomited right from the car.

"Oh man," Isaiah said with a grimace, reaching over to rub his back. Matthew's spine arched under his touch as he heaved, more yellow-coloured puke hitting the pavement.

Matthew burped loudly, shaking his head as if he could get the illness out of his ears, then pitched forward, catching himself barely on the car's door.

"Think you are done? Can you make it inside?" Isaiah asked, taking the car keys out and going around the car.

Matthew spat onto the ground, moaning a little. Isaiah carefully avoided the pool of sick, clasping his shoulder. He cupped the side of his neck. "Yep, feverish alright."

"Shut up," Matthew groaned, then threw his arm around Isaiah's neck for support, letting the dark-haired man to pull him out of the car. The sick wolf was swaying on his feet, hanging on to Isaiah for support. "I wanna lie down."

"Almost there," Isaiah said, readjusting his grip and throwing the car shut.

The building was mercifully empty, so they didn't have to wait very long for the elevator. Matthew had his eyes shut, weight more and more on Isaiah with each step, completely reliant on him. Isaiah didn't know if to be worried or flattered he was trusted so much. Or maybe Matthew was just fighting the nausea, cause he gagged right before the door.

"Just a second," Isaiah said, fumbling with the keys with only one hand available, before dragging Matthew inside to the bathroom on the ground floor.

Matthew was heaving before his knees hit the tiles, a string of sick landing beside the toilet before he managed to orient himself. Isaiah crouched next to him so he wouldn't sway to the side as he heaved up more chunky yellowish-brown lunch.

"Maybe you should have eaten something easier on the stomach," Isaiah mused, his grip tightening as Matthew buried his head in the bowl, back contracting with each heave. He really looked like he was going to choke on the sheer amount.

The other thing was the heat though, radiating off the red-haired man in waves. There was no preventing that with bland foods.

"Owww," Matthew whined, lifting himself up a bit. Another belch sneaked its way out, but it seemed there was finally a pause. "That hurt."

"Bet it did," Isaiah agreed. "Come on, you are going to bed."

"Still feel-urrrp- sick."

"Yeah, well, your fever is off the roof and this is not helping. I will get you a bucket, come on."

Shuffling out of the bathroom was slow and clumsy, with Matthew swaying dizzily and hanging onto Isaiah.

Situating Matthew in bed was an ordeal. Matthew was hugging the bucket like a lifeline, drooling and spitting over it. Isaiah had to fight him out of his sweaty clothes, changing them into pajamas and then collected everything from the kitchen he found helpful. A water bottle, a cup, a damp towel, paracetamol for the fever...

Matthew vomited the pills right after swallowing them, though, so there was no help the fever. He was miserable, curling up under the blankets around his stomach.

Isaiah had it not in his heart to leave him like that, changing his own bottom up and pants into sweat pants and a loose shirt he wouldn't mind getting ruined.

"Matt? Bud, would you like a hot water bottle? Or a sip of water?"

Matthew shook his head, burying his face into the mattress, curling up even more. His hands were digging into his stomach like he wanted to rip his insides open.

Isaiah felt utterly helpless. It wasn't fair he got sick right after going through days of fever and fighting off the infection. He hated it came so close after each other - that it probably caused this in the first place. No getting away from that stupid mistake.

Isaiah circled around the bed worryingly. He didn't want to force his presence just cause he was worried, and he wasn't about to leave but anywhere in the room seemed too far away...

Matthew opened one eye at him, brows knitted together in irritation or pain, Isaiah wasn't so sure. "What are you dancing there for? Hop in."

Isaiah suppressed a smile, sliding into the bed beside him.

Isaiah wasn't sure what was and wasn't allowed, but Matthew quickly solved the issue as he turned from the edge of the bed to press his forehead against Isaiah's tigh.

"How are you doing down there?" Isaiah leaned against the wall sitting upright, hand hovering over the overheated face.

"Ugh. Cramping like a bitch."

"Wanna try some water?"

"Bleh. You want to finish me off?"

Isaiah shook his head in exasperation, grabbing the discarded wet towel and planting it back over Matthew's face.

The redhead grumbled, swiping at his hand half-heartedly. "Ow. That's cold."

The next hour crawled slowly forward. Matthew would sometimes reach for the bucket, mustering enough energy to heave over it emptily, only to slump right back down against Isaiah, curling around his stomach and moaning pitifully.

Isaiah sometimes dared to put a hand on his back or check his forehead for fever, but he wasn't sure what else to do. Whatever Marthew was doing couldn't count as sleep, as he turned and tossed around, throwing his blankets off only to shiver from the cold a few minutes later.

Isaiah was at his wit's end as Matthew dry heaved over the bucket for another 10 minutes painfully. He was also afraid to move from his spot, anxiety pinning him to place beside the ailing man.

"Come on, bud, just a sip of water. You will be dehydrated like this."

"Few hours won't matter," he grumbled, face twisting.

"Please."

Matthew groaned, somehow still managing to make that sound angrily and hoisted himself up on shaky hands.

Isaiah brought the bottle to his face, helping to steady it as Matthew took a few tentative sips, before chugging down a long sip.

"Hey, easy there." Isaiah gently pulled the bottle away.

Matthew scowled at him. "At least it won't burn so much coming up."

Isaiah sighed, both of the settling back into their positions. Keeping tabs on the time, he was about to call it a success, when Matthew didn't throw up in almost 40 minutes.

The silence was interrupted by sudden gurgling from Matthew's stomach.

Matthew moaned, pulled his legs up. "You are fucking kidding me."

"Matt?"

Matthew grumbled under his breath, uncurling with obvious effort and sitting up clumsily.

"What are you doing? Stay still-"

"Help me up, damn it," Matthew bossed, swaying as he threw his legs over the edge of the bed and almost face planting onto the ground.

Isaiah got up in an instant, hurrying to his side.

Matthew reached his hands towards him, two red splotches on his cheeks shining on his pale face. "I need the blasted bathroom. Stop asking."

Isaiah obediently kept silent, though Matthew's stomach decidedly did not. As the walked, Isaiah's arm around Matthew's waist, it gurgled loudly, making Matthew cringe in response.

When they reached the bathroom, Matthew untangled himself, shooing him away. "Don't you dare come in. I'm tolerating you enough."

Isaiah almost chuckled at the response, staying by the door. So the water wasn't staying down either way. Glorious.

He waited until Matthew appeared in the door, shaky and ashen and reaching for him without meeting his eyes. But he ended up curled against his leg again when they reached the bed.

After another hour of restless turning and sweating with no end in sight, he ended up messaging Seline.

When are you coming home?

It's Tuesday. Long day, remember? I got classes till 9 pm.

Isaiah groaned quietly. It was only half four. Matthew is sick. I don't know what to do, nothing is helping. Do you have anything in the kitchen I could give him?

No answer came for about two minutes, before his phone beeped again. I'll be there in half an hour.

He felt guilty immediately. No, it's fine. Just tell me what to do. He can't hold down anything.

See you soon, she wrote, adding a heart emoji.

***

Things were still a bit weird between her and Matthew. Especially since the infection.

She felt incredibly guilty he didn't tell them. That she made him feel like he couldn't tell them.

He was stupid for it, sure, but how could he doubt she would drop everything and help him, if he was in trouble? No matter what tension or argument or unresolved issues were between them? Wasn't that obvious?

The answer was simple. The same way she could believe he would hurt her.

Was it truly so he would? Since the conversation with Hector, it kept nagging at her. "It doesn't react to what I do, but to what you feel."

That's what he said. And maybe the problem was truly her and not Matthew. If she had trusted him, she wouldn't have been afraid no matter what expression he made or what his shadow did.

Seline was still thinking that over as she stepped into the apartment. The shoes were all over the hall again. She rolled her eyes, tucking away hers, Matthew's and Isaiah's, then hanging both of their hastily discarded coats.

She tiptoed closer to the room. The door was slightly open. The nervousness was making her stomach tight. It was stupid. Matthew was sick, Isaiah was certainly freaking out about it and she had some idea what to do.

But what if Matthew didn't want her there?

That made crossing the threshold of the door downright impossible. Her hands were freezing - she felt frozen to the spot.

She wasn't that good of a caretaker anyway. She would like to be, but when it came to someone being sick, she was more of the "fetch this" or "write an email" or "give cheerful advice" kind of person. The girlish noises and the comforting words of sympathy or whatever it was didn't come naturally to her - more like they felt pathetic and out of place and with no guarantee they were helping.

If you wanted a pragmatic solution, she was down for it. Emotional comfort during physical distress? Not so much. How many times did she not know how to comfort her mother during one of her chronic migraines, simply sitting beside her? How many times did she just watch her brother cry helplessly, not knowing what to say or what to do with her hands or where to look?

Seline could take the discomfort and the gross details, find a good ointment, suggest the right herbs, make the right tea. But holding someone's hand was not there. Maybe there was something wrong with her. Maybe she just rationalized the abilities out of herself.

Taking a deep breath, she peeked into the room.

Matthew was curled up on his side, blankets twisted around his legs in a mess. Isaiah was sitting upright next to him, hand on his shoulder as if he was trying to share some of his health with him through contact alone. Isaiah's hair stuck out in weird directions and he looked just as pale as Matthew. Add the fact he was out of his suit, which as alarming enough. Seline didn't think she, ever, saw him in sweat pants and an informal loose shirt before.

There it went again. Isaiah, she could read. She even dared to touch him or offer comfort or do whatever she felt like, because she felt first with him, and second-guessed herself later. Usually, after he had already responded - favorably till now - saving her from the panic she was out of place.

Isaiah looked up at her, their eyes locking. She gave him a hesitant smile. He looked back at Matthew and then to her, look pleading and hopeless.

Well, at least that was easy to solve. She went to the kitchen, gathering her idea and then returned quietly as possible, to Matthew's bedside table.

"I got these anti-emetic pills. If they work, we can get him some fever meds too and then he could just sleep it off. These things don't have a long duration anyway," she whispered.

Matthew groaned and turned to look at her, rubbing his eyes sleepily. "He is right here, you know."

She winced, then held out the package of pills to him.

They looked at each other in awkward silence, Matthew's gaze tired and confused, Seline's shy and wavering.

Isaiah was obviously too impatient for it, cause he reached over Matthew to grab the pills, grabbing a glass of water with the other hand. Before she could move, he was already offering them while Matthew lifted himself on one elbow.

There. Role done. What else was she supposed to do? The sensation of pins and needles run through her, like everytime when a room became stifling and unwelcoming, when she knew she wasn't supposed to be there anymore.

She had already left a note for her professor she wasn't coming though. Not like she could turn around and leave.

Matthew fell down back on the bed. Isaiah skillfully removed the glass out of the way so it wasn't knocked over.

Seline crossed her legs at the ankles, hugging herself close. She should change out of her outside clothes.

Isaiah raised an eyebrow at her and then started to untangle himself from the bed.

"Alright. I'll go make some tea. Peppermint is good for the stomach right?"

"I can mak-" she interrupted.

"Nope, I will. Need to stand a bit, my back hurts. Would you mind staying with him, please?"

He wasn't exactly giving her a choice with how he hurried. She snatched at his sleeve as he walked beside her.

Isaiah stopped for a second, hand over her elbow, squeezing briefly.

She frowned at him.

He smiled and walked out.

Great. Just great.

Seline sat down tentatively on the edge of the bed.

"Not gonna say hi?" Matthew grumbled.

She jumped at his raspy voice.

The redhead was on his side again, curled up around his stomach, hand tenderly laid over it. But positioned towards her now. His dark brown eyes were glassy with fever.

"Hi," she squicked.

Matthew glowered at her.

"How- ehm, how are you doing?"

"Staying down for now. Stomach cramping like hell, though."

"Ah, right...uhm, I'm sorry."

"What are you sorry for? Not your fault."

She nodded. Not this time, it wasn't. "Can I get you anything?"

"Nah," he sighed, then a quiet burp escaped past his lips. He turned on his back, irritated. "I got one over-motivated nursemaid right over there. He is asking if he can bring me something every two damn minutes."

Seline chuckled at that. "Sounds like him."

"Seriously. We are so filling his need to take care of someone, it's ridiculous."

There was another long pause.

"Did...did you take your temperature?" she asked, looking for something to do.

"Yeah. A little elevated." He gave her a side-look, head turned towards his pillow. "You don't have to stay here if you don't want to. I'm no fun right now."

She bit her lip, smoothing her wavy hair and sliding to her feet, heart hammering. "If you don't want me here, I understand..."

"Huh?" His head jerked up to her. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"It's fine, it's fine, I'm sorry,..."

"Stop with the sorrys- now where do you think you are going?" He lifted himself up, hand towards her, before he swayed and flopped back into the bed with a whine.

"What are you doing, you moron, stay put-" she knelt on the bed next to him anxiously as he rubbed at his eyes again.

"I'm okay. Jst got a'lttle dizzy." Matthew's eyes were shut together and he was grimacing, sweat perling on his forehead and upper lip.

"Little elevated, huh?" she said skeptically, planting a hand to his forehead on impulse. "You are on fire!"

"Ow! Your hand is freaking cold!"

She drew her hand away immediately as if burned, but he caught it on the way, pulling it against his chest.

"You told me to leave," she protested, tugging at her hand helplessly.

"That's just a pharse. I wanted to be polite. You are supposed to say it's no trouble and insist on staying, dummy."

"Since when do you try to be polite?"

"Since you act so jumpy about everything I do!"

"I'm not jumpy, I just don't know what to say. You gotta be angry with me-"

"For what?" He blinked at her in genuine irritated confusion, his eyes somehow bigger and rounder than usual with the fever and redness to his cheeks.

Seline was so shocked at his incomprehension she forgot what she meant to say.

Matthew coughed, leaning his head back, as all the energy from the little spurt flowed out of him. "Now my head hurts too."

"You are probably dehydrated," she said absently, wiggling her fingers.

He opened his hand slightly, releasing her from his hold, squeezing his eyes shut again.

Seline skidded down from the bed, circling around to look through Isaiah's collected supplies. She found a discarded wet towel and poured some water over it from the giant bottle - why was there a bottle and not some kind of basin? - and swiped it over Matthew's forehead. "Just breathe. Relax. It will go away soon. We can try water in a few minutes. I got a real good rehydration solution for you. You will get better quickly."

"Hmmm," Matthew's furrowed brows smoothed over at the feel of the towel. He turned towards her, head tracking her movements. His right hand opened and closed, though he didn't say anything else.

The invitation couldn't have been clearer.

Seline slid her hand inside of his, squeezing his wrist, a warm fluttery feeling washing over her.

***

They ended up all in the bed with Matthew in the middle. Isaiah from one side, upright as always. Seline from the left, legs folded underneath her.

Matthew seemed to be content, stuffed between them like that. He almost didn't toss as he napped.

Sometimes, he landed with his head pressed against Isaiah's leg, sometimes in her lap.

Isaiah gave her an amused smile from time to time, settled at last.

She wasn't sure if she did everything right. But it seemed to be enough for the moment.

@bellysoupset

[rorysfics]

I knowwww how mia I’ve been but hear me out. A really pretty boy with “a little cold”

his low, soft scratchy voice speaking quietly into your ear, just congested enough to hear the warmth of his n’s and m’s

the tip of his nose feels damp against your neck as he stifles a quick sneeze into it

he’s not sick enough to be clingy, but he’s sleepy enough to not be able to sleep without you

soft sniffles and coughs muffled into the shoulder of his worn crew neck, which is paired with a soft pair of plaid pajama pants

his bed scattered with hardly-used tissues

enduring childhood comfort shows with him under a heavy, fluffy blanket

his quiet, hoarse chuckles as the corny scenes come on

the sounds of the gentle breaths escaping past his lips as he falls asleep, and the sight of his chapped, red nose and sleep-tousled hair poking out above the covers

[rorysfics]

A is getting their temperature checked by B. Their gaze is unfocused, their posture slumped as they huddle in on themself, trying to fend off the fever chills running painfully up their limbs. B approaches gently, temporal thermometer in hand.

"Look at me, baby," they murmur, tilting A's chin up.

They keep their hand on A's chin, steadying A's head, and slowly glide the thermometer from temple to temple.

The angle widens A's fever-bright eyes and though they shudder under the thermometer's cold kiss, they don't look away.

B meets their gaze and smiles, just a little.

Neither one of them speaks, so the thermometer does it for them. B looks away to check the numbers and A's chin dips again, released back to the misery of their illness.

[rorysfics]

There are literally blogs here that I wait for to post something. It's a very exciting idea, like your fave book being written online.

And it's also so boring when they don't post XD

[rorysfics]

Sometimes self care is reading an absurd amount of sickfics involving your new favorite character

[rorysfics]

Warning: I DO use dude, man, bruh, and bro as completely gender neutral terms, HOWEVER if I call you one of the above and it bothers you, PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE tell me.

This has been a PSA 

[rorysfics]

have a massive crush on my classmate but cant find the balls to even talk to him. only words we've exchanged is 'thank you' and 'youre welcome' when holding open the door for one another

[rorysfics]

stop i am a fuckin puddle rn. this kid kept asking me if i was okay n would get like rly close to me when he spoke to me and like waited for me before he left and then left WITH me. i cant. i can't. i cant. ahhhh

[rorysfics]

Hello! I love everything you've been posting lately!! ❤️ I have a request: Maybe Leo has a stressful day at court, and Jon doesn't want to worry him so when Leo gets home he finds Jonah with JD on the bed... hints that something's wrong? Or maybe Jon never shows up to a shift/is sent home and then we could get Wendy/Leo interactions? ~ 🐆

This one is some good, old cold sickfic, with loads of comfort. Really just a cozy fic.

----

Leo: I cannot wait to go home 😭

He pressed send and leaned in, rubbing his eyes until he saw stars. Everything that could possibly go wrong today, had done so. It had started with him missing his alarm and only waking up thanks to Jon's, an hour later than he should be.

He hadn't had breakfast until much later, had gotten yelled at by a snobby client who had a stick up their asses, had burned his tongue on his coffee and then proceeded to drop the little paper cup, only for it to be the last cup the machine produced for the rest of the day since it decided to break. Had gotten one of his researches sent back because of a minor, dumb mistake on his part and skipped lunch to work on it, only to get the surprise news he'd be joining during a court day, because Sandy, the other paralegal, was sick.

So now he was standing in the waiting room of the courthouse, with a headache from hunger and caffeine withdrawal, itching to piss, in a sour mood.

He stared at the phone screen, hoping Jonah would at least text back, so he wouldn't be bored to tears, but no such luck.

"What's wrong, Wagner?" Cole, one of the paralegals he actually liked, asked. Leo grimaced.

"This is taking forever," he whispered back and Cole let out a huff in agreement.

"You'd think rich people wouldn't argue for three months straight over who gets to keep a car, uh," he whispered, rolling his eyes and Leo couldn't help but agree with a chuckle.

By the time he finally got to go home, it was night already. At least he'd have a fat paycheck with all the extra hours, Leo thought, head pounding as he drove back to their building.

"Hi, Matt," Leo yawned against his fist, as he stopped on the first floor instead of going straight upstairs, a box of blueberry muffins in his hand, the other one holding a cardboard tray with three coffees, "got this for you," He planted the muffins and one of the coffees on the front desk.

"How many times do I have to say, Mr. Wagner, I cannot accept-"

"Oh no," Leo rolled his eyes, pushing the muffins across the desk, "it seems I forgot all these muffins here. I guess someone will have to eat them so they won't go to waste," he smiled cheekily, "have a good night, Matthew."

"Have a good night, Mr. Wag-"

"It's Leo!" he yelled back, already rushing to the elevator and receiving a fond eyeroll as an answer.

Since they lived on the second to last floor, Leo leaned against the elevator wall and almost fell asleep on the spot. He blinked awake with the DING! of the elevator arriving and dragged inside, hands shaking around his keys, thanks to the coffee withdrawal.

He expected JD to come running to meet him, Jonah to be in the living room binging the new true crime documentary series that was consuming his day and night...

But no.

Leo frowned, kicking off his shoes by the door and tugging at his tie as he entered the apartment, "Jon? JD?" he wondered if Jonah had left... But his car was in the garage, "Jonah, are you in the bath- Oh" he lowered his voice immediately upon walking in the bedroom.

Jonah was curled on his side, passed out and JD was snuggled up under his arm, her little head resting on his chin. Leo's heart plummeted straight to his stomach as he melted at the cuteness and he fished out his phone, taking a blurry picture.

The noise made their cat look up, open her blue eyes at him and then meow, causing Leo to cringe.

"No, JD, stay-" he whispered, "stay, don't mov-" she got up from her cocoon in Jonah's arms and trotted to him, meowing loudly as she hooked her claws on his pants, a sound he unmistakenly knew meant she was hungry.

Jonah stirred and opened his eyes, a hand blindly reaching out for JD, which caused Leo to smile even more.

"Looking for your teddy bear?"

"Uhm?" Jonah blinked at him, too sleepy to compute the teasing, "what time... What time is it?"

"Almost nine," Leo said bitterly, sitting on the bed and stripping his blazer, while JD climbed his lap and pawed his chest, asking for pets with an indignant meow, "hi, sweetheart."

"Hi," Jonah smiled lazily, even if he knew damn well Leo meant the kitten. He sat up against the headboard, rubbing his eyes, "fuck, when I went to sleep it was light out."

Leo raised his eyebrows, looking up from JD's innocent blue eyes, "light out? Straight after class...?" That was very uncanny, "are you feeling okay, babe?"

"Yeah," Jonah grimaced, still looking absolutely exhausted, "why did you just get home at 9 PM, Leo?"

"Court," he scoffed, falling on his side and resting his head on Jon's thigh, allowing JD to walk over him and sit on his chest, "it dragged. All that because of a fucking car."

Jonah let out a soft smile, "what model?"

"....Aston whatever?" Leo rolled his eyes, "doesn't matter."

"It kinda fucking matters if it was an Aston Martin, Leo," Jonah chuckled, petting his hair and then suddenly his whole body jerked with a sneeze as Jonah rushed to hide his face in the pillow.

Leo raised his head and JD jumped from his chest, walking to Jon to investigate the sudden noise.

"Jon?"

Three quick sneezes followed and then he straightened up, eyes teary with the effort, "I'm fine."

"Yeah, you're fine-" Leo leaned in, planting his hand to Jon's forehead. Heat met his hand, but nothing concerning, "I think you're feverish."

"Great," Jonah scoffed, forehead resting on his touch, "just great."

"Don't be pouty," Leo teased, smiling, "have you eaten anything?"

"Not since lunch," he yawned again, rubbing his eyes, "I'm not hungry..."

"Well, doctor Banks, I'll have you know you need to eat in order to take meds," Leo rolled his eyes, "So, soup or something else?"

Jonah let out a small scoff, pulling JD closer and curling up on his side, "whatever is easier," he kissed the top of JD's head, smiling as she snuggled closer with a small meow.

Leo could've melted on the spot, he wasn't even sure if he hadn't. His face burned and he cleared his throat, forcefully looking away, "okay... I'll check the fridge, be right back."

Soup was as bothersome as making anything else, so he figured it'd be soup. Leo was leaning against the counter, scrolling down his phone while he waited for the vegetables to boil over, when suddenly there was a weight on his back, Jonah draping himself over him.

"You left me all alone," Jon scoffed, voice muffled by his shoulder and Leo opened a smug smile, wrapping his hands around Jon's wrists and pulling him even closer.

"I don't think I've ever seen you with a cold," he said, turning his face to plant a kiss on his boyfriend's temple, pressed to his shoulder, "you're clingy."

"I'm not," Jonah mumbled, his voice scratchy, "you're just warm."

"Of course," Leo mocked, stirring the soup, "I didn't know what was your favorite soup, so it's just a mix match of all veggies we had."

"Uhm," Jonah shrugged, refusing to pull back, "I don't care, I'm not hungry."

"But you're not feeling queasy, are you?" Leo frowned, then let out a small relieved sigh when Jonah shook his head no.

"Just fucking exhausted... And my head hurts."

"Better this way," he turned around, so he could properly hug the other man and Jonah let out a little happy hum. Jon was taller than him, but by only a couple inches, and with Leo standing straight while he was hunched over, he could hide his face in the blonde's neck.

"No class for you tomorrow," Leo decided, feeling the steady heat pressed to his neck. It was a testament of how shitty Jon felt that he didn't put up a fight at all.

"Did you talk with your boss?" Jon mumbled, sounding sleepy.

"What about?"

"The promotion?"

"Nope," Leo's cheeks burned, "look, I'm not gonna bring it up. They normally give promotions out at the turn of the year, I won't press on it. It's just October."

"And if they don't?" Jonah shivered and Leo started rubbing his back.

"I appreciate the faith-"

"Shut up," Jon groaned, leaning more of his weight in and causing Leo's back to hit the handle of the pan. He moved them away from the stove, hiding a smile in Jon's mop of tight curls, "I meant, if they don't give you the promotion, you're leaving the firm for one that actually appreciates you, right? You're a lawyer, not a paralegal."

"And you, are sick," Leo grinned, pulling back so he could look him in the eyes, "stop worrying about this, Jon."

"I'm not worried," Jonah scrunched up his nose, looking offended, "I'm just saying, you deserve to be treated-"

"You're sweet, but I'm not having this conversation before January," Leo shut him up with a small kiss and Jonah let out an unhappy sigh.

"I think you should keep it in mind," Jon pulled on the collar of Leo's shirt, "I'm gonna get you sick."

"Yeah, we're way past that," Leo bumped his nose with his, then turned back around, "soup's almost ready, you want to eat in the dining table or bed?"

"I have the sniffles, I'm not in a retirement home," Jonah scoffed, before immediately being hit by a coughing fit, "di-dining room."

Leo couldn't help but chuckle, filling up both bowls for them and bringing it to the dining room. Very rarely they bothered with a table cloth, but Jonah always made him use a rest under the plate. Whatever for, Leo wasn't sure, considering there was a thick glass on top of the table top, to protect the rich wood.

He had noticed it before, Jonah had manners ingrained deeply into him, but they came out in the worst way possible, making him seem more rude, instead of polite.

Leo wasn't aware he was starving, until he started to eat. He had forgotten to salt the soup, but that didn't stop him from eating half the bowl before he had the spirit to get up and grab the seasoning. He took his plate back with him to the kitchen and filled it up, sprinkling some salt and pepper and top and grabbing shredded cheese in the fridge on his way back to the table.

Jonah was stirring his soup lazily, he had barely drained three or four spoonful's and had a grimace on his face.

"I forgot to add salt," Leo said, planting it before his boyfriend and the other man shrugged, glancing up.

"I don't feel like eating..." His head was resting on his hand and Leo let out a heavy sigh.

"C'mon, Jon, at least half the bowl... You can't take the meds otherwise."

"That's bull," Jonah groaned, rubbing his sore eyes and sniffling, forcefully clearing his throat. When he spoke again, his voice was a raspy whisper, "I wanna go back to bed."

"Eat just a little more, baby," Leo bargained, putting his soup aside and scooting his chair closer, "c'mon, you know you'll get nauseous if you don't have anything in your tummy later."

"Tummy," Jon's lips curled up in an amused smile and he nodded, obediently forcing down four more spoonful's, before dropping the cutlery back on the bowl with a metallic clank, "I'm done."

"Dammit, Jon..." the blonde said quietly, but then Jonah pulled his chair closer and rested his cheek on Leo's shoulder, muffling a cough on his fist, "I'll be fast..."

"No, it's fine," Jonah mumbled, nuzzling his neck, "take your time finishing, I'm fine."

It was so very out of character for Jon to be this gracious, it caused Leo to snort. He started to eat back up, only for Jonah to let out a little hum five minutes later.

"Yours smells better than mine," he said quietly, so Leo changed the path of this spoonful he was bringing to his own mouth, directing it to his boyfriend's.

Jonah dutifully opened his mouth, letting out a content sigh and Leo bit down an amused smile. He was never letting him live it down.

All in all, even though it took him nearly thirty minutes, Leo managed to feed Jonah another half bowl, probably contracting his cold while doing it.

He pressed a kiss to the other man's feverish forehead, "okay, bed now, you're sleeping on me."

"I'm... not," Jon yawned, blinking heavily, "I'm so warm."

"I wonder why," Leo teased, grabbing his arm and hoisting Jonah up, "c''mon, just stay awake a little longer."

"Cuddle?"

"I need to clean up the kitchen..."

"Leave it," Jonah stumbled inside their bedroom, falling face first in the bed and nearly taking Leo with him, a fistful of his shirt squeeze in his hand, "cuddle."

"You're the cutest thing when you have a cold," Leo grinned, climbing in and wrapping himself around the other man, "I might just start giving you colds on purpose."

"You're a terrible person," Jonah sighed, guiding Leo's hand up to his head and closing his eyes, a smile painting his lips as his hair started to be petted, "but I love you."

[rorysfics]

An Uphill Climb

Whumptober Day 13: Infection

Collab with @its-a-goddamn-heartbreak

"Hey, mate. You're looking better," Nye said cheerily, perching on the edge of Nicky's mattress.

He was met with an alarmingly frosty glare, and Nicky growled, "If this is better, you can fucking kill me." After two weeks in hospital and no less than four corrective surgeries, Nicky was ready to saw his whole leg off if it got him out of there.

"Ah, there's the Nicky I know and love," Nye grinned. "Welcome back, bud. Been weird seeing you all doped up and agreeable."

"Agreeable? Didn't know they made drugs strong enough for that." Nicky muttered, a brief flicker of humour in his grim tone.

Nye chuckled, patting his shoulder. "Gave you the good stuff, didn't they?"

"Mmm…" Nicky glanced at the clock, then tipped his head back with a sigh. "Should be due some more pretty soon. Hurts like you wouldn't believe."

"Are they starting to ease you off it? It's been almost a week since the last surgery." Nye said thoughtfully.

Nicky rolled his eyes, feeling more like an example in a textbook then a friend. "Wish they wouldn't. I can feel my heartbeat in my fucking leg. Hurts every time I breathe. It sucks."

"There's other stuff they can give you," Nye said confidently. "It's not like you're even using it at the moment."

"Yeah, well, you're not riding your insufferable girlfriend at the moment, how would you like it if I stabbed you in the dick?" Nicky grumbled.

"That's different," Nye cackled. "I still use my dick multiple times a day. Unlike you, might I add." He gestured to the drainage bag hanging off the side of Nicky's bed.

"I'll add a bruise to your fucking face," Nicky threatened, fighting the urge to hop up and swing at Nye.

His threat was met with more laughter. "Oh, no, what ever can I do to avoid that? Oh right." Nye stood up, an impish grin spread from ear to ear.

Nicky watched him, the sudden reality that even after months of rehab his leg might never work properly again crashing over him for what felt like the millionth time since the accident. At first, it had made him sad - one of the only things he could remember from the first few days after the first operation was sobbing to his mum about it, heavily under the influence of drugs of course. Now he just felt angry.

"Piss off," he snapped, grabbing the TV remote from his bedside table to chuck at Nye's head. His mobility may have been hampered, but his arms were still athletic. 

Nye wasn't fast enough to avoid the object spinning towards his head, and it took him completely by surprise when it cracked against his skull. "Ow," he protested. "Mate. Don't do that again, or I'll put CBeebies on and leave the remote somewhere you can't reach it."

"You do that and I'll learn to walk on one leg just to kill you sooner." Nicky threatened.

"We could be like Tom and Jerry," Nye said lightly, doggedly ignoring Nicky's glare.

"You would be Jerry, shrimpy prick," Nicky muttered. He ran a hand through his hair, shifting gingerly on the bed in a futile attempt to get comfortable. Failing that, he began fiddling with the buttons to raise and lower the head of the bed.

"What can I do, you seem uncomfortable?" Nye asked, reaching for his hand. He added quickly, "I obviously can't give you painkillers or smother you with your pillow…"

"Well shit, there goes both of my options." Nicky grumbled. "Fucking… ice maybe? God, I feel lousy."

"I… I can go and ask," Nye sighed, hopping up. "Could use a trip to the loo anyway."

Nicky grunted, closing his eyes as Nye left. He was asleep before he returned.

"Hello, sweetheart. How are you feeling?"

The blurry face of his mother came into view, and Nicky blinked, the weight of his eyelids stronger than his will to open his eyes. He groaned, rubbing his eyes until he finally had the energy to sit up a bit.

“Mum?” He croaked. The air con in the room must have been turned up, and he pulled the duvet up with a wince. “Why aren’t you at work?”

"It's my day off, I wanted to see you," she said, perching gently on the side of the bed. Her fingers ran through his rumpled bedhead, the sensation sending a pleasant shiver of nostalgia down his spine. "The doctors say you're improving."

"Sure doesn't feel like it," Nicky grumbled, letting his eyes fall closed again. Just lying still seemed to drain all of his energy, and the pain in his leg throbbed in time with his pulse.

"They think you should be able to come home in a day or two," she assured him, fussing with the blanket so that it covered him fully. "I'm going to take a couple of days off until you get settled."

"Yeah, that'll be fucking fantastic. Just you and me and this leg that hurts so bad I'm considering chopping it off." Nicky muttered bitterly.

"I'm sure you'll be feeling better by then, sweetie," she said gently, cupping a hand to his cheek.

"Yeah, sure." He grunted miserably. "Lying in bed all day is going to make me feel amazing."

"Well, I know the doctors don't want you walking on that leg yet, but if you want some fresh air, we could get a wheelchair. I'd be happy to take you for a walk."

Nicky snorted. "Yeah, no thanks. I'm a bit old for a pram."

"Your choice then," she shrugged, patting his hair. "Whatever you want."

"I want to get up and move around. Crutches, one of those weird scooters, a peg leg, I don't care. I'm losing my fucking mind lying around all day." Nicky said bitterly.

"I could bring you some books?" His mum suggested, still petting his hair gently. The nurses had washed it for him earlier that day - it had been so uncomfortably greasy that he'd agreed to it despite the indignity of the whole thing. "Or the old DVD player? You have your Nintendo thingy, don't you?"

"My Switch," Nicky corrected, wondering how a woman who worked in IT could still be so technologically illiterate. "I've played it til the buttons nearly fell off. I need to move, do something active."

"You don't want to aggravate your injury, sweetheart. That will just prolong the healing," his mother said, seemingly oblivious to the rage building up in him like steam filling a kettle.

"Fuck the healing!" He snapped, smacking her arm away from his head. "Just cut the leg off if it's such a fucking problem, I don't care! Everybody's treating me like a breakable little baby and I'm not."

“Nicky,” she gasped, rubbing her wrist. “Everyone’s worried, you don’t have to be horrible about it.”

"I feel horrible, I have the right to be horrible!" Nicky growled. "If you're too uptight to handle it, just piss off!"

She sighed, almost reaching out to stroke his hair again. "Sweetheart… I just want to help. Tell me what I can do."

Nicky glowered at her, unmoved. "Get out."

He feigned sleep after that, although he didn’t actually manage to drift off until long after her tentative departure. He slept fitfully, tossing and turning as much as all the medical equipment would allow. Waking every few hours but not having the energy to even open his eyes, he finally fell into a heavier slumber that lasted through the waning twilight and well into the morning.

When he finally woke properly, it was to rustling and whispering voices. Gwen was on the couch opposite the bed, sprawled against Nate and flicking through a magazine. It was Delilah though, in the chair beside the bed, who noticed as his eyes blinked open. She leaned closer, waving her fingers in a friendly greeting.

"Nnngh… Lilah?" He groaned, struggling to sit up in such a groggy state.

“Hey, shh, lie back,” she urged, hopping up to perch beside him on the bed. “You can’t move around that much, remember? How are you feeling?”

"Fucking terrible," he muttered, stretching gingerly and settling back into the pillows. "Bastards think I don't need the good pain meds anymore, so I'm just stuck here feeling like shit all day."

“That’s a good sign though,” Delilah insisted, pecking his forehead. “I know you’re probably sick of hearing that, but it is.” She leaned in closer, whispering, “I was going to bring you some ket but Gwen would’ve murdered me if we were caught.”

"God, I wish," Nicky grumbled. He would've killed a man for something stronger than paracetamol, barely able to think over the throbbing pain radiating up his leg. "Who have you been annoying without me around?"

“Oh, well that would be telling, wouldn’t it?” She winked at him, then flicked his shoulder. “What about you? I’m sure you’ve been driving the nurses in here nuts.”

Nicky scowled. "They're driving me fucking nuts. I haven't slept well since I got off the morphine, and they come in here every thirty bloody minutes poking and prodding and pestering me. The next person tries to stick me with a needle, I'm taking it out and jabbing it in their eye."

“You’re a drama queen,” she giggled. “Think of me, I still have to go to school every day. At least you don’t have to do that.”

"I did my time in the public school prison." Nicky argued. Truth be told, the amount he actually attended was abysmal, and it was remarkable he'd managed to graduate.

“Yeah, but you just copied Nye’s homework, I have to do my own!”

"Find a smart friend, then." Nicky shrugged.

"You didn't even find Nye! You just happened to play rugby with him and he was friends with Jac! You've never made a friend in your life," Delilah laughed. "You don't say hi to people, you bite them!"

"I'll bite you if you keep it up," Nicky grumbled. While Lilah's words were all in jest, he couldn't help feeling a sting of truth behind them, and his expression soured. He looked out the corner of his eye at Gwen and Nate nestled together on the couch, him there for her and her there for her sister and her sister there because… why was Lilah here? Why was anyone here, really? No one actually liked him that much. Surely sooner or later they'd get sick of him.

Delilah flicked his shoulder, watching as his slightly vacant gaze snapped back to her. “Don’t be like that,” she grumbled dramatically, “I didn’t mean anything by it. Now, do you want to do the crossword with me?”

"Crossword? What are we, ninety?" Nicky grumbled, taking the paper from her to look at.

“Well, you walk like an OAP so…” Delilah shuffled over to lie next to him so that she didn’t have to crane her neck to see the paper too. “I just thought you might be bored.”

"I'm so bored I could make this pen into a shiv and end my misery," Nicky said, perhaps less joking than his tone implied. He scanned the questions, searching for one that he might know.

“The hospital is probably the worst place to try and kill yourself,” Delilah mused, scratching in one of the more obvious answers. “The alarms would go and they’d just patch you right back up again.”

"Gotta unplug the monitors first," Nicky said, finally noticing a clue that he recognized and taking the pen from her.

"You've been thinking about this too much." Delilah said.

"What else is there to think about?" He groaned, handing the pen back to her.

She grinned broadly. "The crossword! See?"

Nicky sighed, scrubbing his hands through his hair. It was getting long, falling in his eyes more than usual, and he was all too aware of it after spending so many hours doing next to nothing. "If this is what being old is like, I'll kill myself by thirty."

"You're loving it, don't lie," she teased, nudging his side. "You'll be a crossword pro by the time you're out."

"Shut up," Nicky muttered, pointing to a column on the puzzle. "This one is square. The one going across is quartet. Going down through the r is terrarium. This is stupid."

"Told you you'd be a pro," she giggled. "Maybe I should bring in the Welsh language ones to make it harder."

"Oh, I'll just light those on fire." Nicky said, "make a few s'mores, use them to light a cigarette or two while I'm at it."

“They surely didn’t let you keep your lighter,” Delilah gasped, wide eyed. 

"They took the one in my pocket. Had a second in my bag," Nicky gestured to the duffel sitting by the side table. He'd smuggled many things in its hidden inner pocket over the years.  "Got my cigs in there too but it's not like I can sneak out for a smoke." By the way his fingers were twitching, he was sorely missing the nicotine.

“You could use like, patches or something,” Delilah suggested. “Like people do when they’re trying to quit.”

"Yeah, I'm sure they'll be happy to give me those." Nicky grumbled. "I tried asking for the gum the other day, bitch nurse told me I should relish the chance to be without it. Told her she ought to piss off or relish the chance to be without an eye."

“So creative,” she mused, nudging him again. “You’re shaking though, you might try something to take the edge off.”

"I'll ask again, but they probably won't let me," he said bitterly. "They're not even giving me real pain meds anymore."

“Well yeah, cause you might get addicted to them,” Delilah pointed out, as if it were obvious. “Nicotine patches are completely different.”

"Pardon me for still being in pain," Nicky snapped, more sharply than intended. "They clearly don't care how I feel so why would they give a shit if I'm itching for a cig?"

“Does it still really hurt?” Delilah asked, her face falling. She’d hoped that after all the surgeries to put him back together, he would be feeling at least a little less awful.

Nicky almost looked ready to cry with frustration. "Yes! I've been telling them for ages, and they think I'm just playing it up for drugs. They look at me and just… assume," he growled, bitterness burning in his eyes.

“Hey, I’m sure it’s not that,” Delilah reassured him, reaching over him in an awkward hug. “Like, they just have to be really careful, you know? It could ruin your life if they did let you get addicted.”

"Can't be worse than feeling like this forever," Nicky muttered. "I'm ready to jump out the fucking window. Whether it frees me or kills me, I don't really care."

“Don’t say that,” she argued fiercely, hugging him a little tighter. “Never say that.”

Nicky only let out a grunt of acknowledgement, not wanting to agree, but too weary to fight. Finally, he lifted an arm to wrap around her in reciprocity, giving Delilah an uncharacteristically weak squeeze.

It was dark outside the next time he woke, and he immediately missed Delilah’s reassuring warmth at his side. In fact, it felt like all the heat in the room had vanished along with the sunlight. He was shivering, and not just a little, his hands shaking enough to make him uncomfortably aware of his IV. Even with the blankets tucked around him, his fingers and toes were freezing, his skin covered in goosebumps despite the protection of his pyjamas. He wanted to call for a nurse, to beg for more blankets, or a heating pad, or even just a hot drink, but trying to sit up made his head spin. Pulling the seemingly useless sheets closer around him, Nicky groaned. He hadn't the faintest clue how long he'd been asleep - it was so dark outside he thought he might have missed the heat death of the universe - and he didn't know if there would be a nurse coming by anytime soon. He groaned, low in his throat, almost unintentional, unable even to roll over onto his side in an attempt to get comfortable.

His head hurt. His knee hurt. He could barely form a coherent thought. Squeezing his eyes shut, he fought the urge to tear his IV out and roll off the bed. Well… fight was the wrong term. He didn't have the energy to actually do it. The real war was between his hyperactive mind, bouncing wildly around in growing discomfort, and his leaden body, so lethargic even breathing felt laborious. He wished someone could have stayed with him. Maybe it would be worth going home just to have company instead of this incessant beeping.

His self-pitying thoughts took a back burner at the sound of footsteps in the hallway and the click of a doorknob. Eager for any sort of human contact, he craned his neck, surprised to see a familiar figure silhouetted in the doorway.

"...Lilah?" He croaked, caught off-guard by just how dry his mouth was. Clearing his throat, he still struggled to get the words out, "What're you doin' here?"

"I was worried about you," she muttered, hurrying in. "Wanted to come back before visiting hours were over."

A weary but genuine smile spread across his face, and Nicky patted the bed beside him. "Sit with me. 'm cold."

"I'll get you another blanket before I leave," she promised, hopping up onto the bed as carefully as possible. He reached over to wrap an arm around her, and his hand was shockingly hot against her skin.

"Mm… c'mere."

"You're burning up," she whispered, curling closer and pressing a hand against his forehead. The relative coolness of her hand made him shiver, and he whimpered, instinctively pulling away.

"Feel like shit," he admitted, squeezing his eyes shut against an unexpected wave of vertigo.

“They didn’t say anything at the desk.” Delilah stroked his forehead tenderly. It was blazing hot, baking but not sweaty. “How long have you felt like this?”

"I don't know. I've felt lousy for ages now, but not… not like this." Nicky sighed, slumping back against the pillows. Even lying down felt like too much effort, and the bed seemed to shift beneath him like a hammock. His fingers twisted in the sheets, desperately seeking stability. "Nnngh… hold still," he begged.

"Oh sweetie," Delilah sighed, pecking a kiss to his hairline. "I'm going to fetch a nurse, okay? I think there might be something wrong."

Nicky whimpered, grabbing clumsily at her wrist. "Don't go," he begged, "I don't want to be alone again."

"You won't be," she whispered, pulling away easily. "I'll be right back."

Despite her sincerity, Nicky looked heartbroken, watching forlornly as Delilah hurried out of the room. She made her way to the nurse's station, where she met the same man who'd led her to Nicky's room just a few minutes before.

"Ready to go already?" He asked, surprised.

"Uh, no," Delilah shook her head, leaning on the counter. "He's burning up, is that normal?"

The nurse's brow furrowed, and he stepped out from behind the counter. "Let's go take a look, why don't we," he said, ushering Delilah back towards the room.

Nicky was still huddled up in the bed, and he gave them a vacant, glassy look as they walked in. "Lilah, come back," he mumbled, reaching out for her.

"Right here," she soothed, squeezing his hand. "I've brought someone to check on you, okay? You have to be nice."

Nicky's bleary gaze flashed across to the nurse in the doorway, his eyes widening fractionally. "Wha' - Dad?"

"No, son," the nurse said patiently. "My name is John. I'll be taking your temperature now, alright?" He produced a thermometer, bending over the bed, only to take a hasty step back as Nicky's flailing hand smacked it away.

"Don' touch me! 'm still mad at you," Nicky grumbled, face screwed up in an almost cartoonish pout. 

"Nicky, it's just a… it's not your dad," Delilah murmured, patting his arm as she gave the nurse an alarmed look.

Nicky didn't seem to hear her. He was breathing hard, hand trembling in hers. "You didn't even visit," he spat out, his face beginning to crumple. "I could've died and you never even called."

"You're allowed to be mad," the nurse said, his tone calm and patient despite Nicky's outburst. "But I need to check your temperature so I can help you."

"Why would I trust you to help with anything?" Nicky growled. "You clearly only care about yourself."

"Nick, it's not your dad," Delilah repeated, panic creeping in. "Please. Let him do his job."

"No, he's - You don't understand," Nicky moaned. "He's - he's -"

He gulped, arms shaking as he raised himself up one elbow. The bed rocked beneath him like a lifeboat on the stormy sea, his face white and body trembling as his stomach did somersaults inside him.

"Woah, you're okay," the nurse said gently, darting for an emesis basin as soon as he clocked the look on Nicky's face, sliding it under his chin just in time for him to gag miserably. He hunched forward with a painful retch, thin, watery vomit trickling into the bin. The nurse put a supportive hand on his shoulder, eyeing the way Nicky teetered under his own strength. Delilah, who had shot to her feet when Nicky had begun to be sick, leaned over too, stroking his hair back as he slumped down against the pillows, panting raggedly.

He was in such a state, he didn't even have the energy to rub his eyes, and the hot tears that had started to collect trickled freely down his cheeks. Delilah chewed worriedly at her lip, her mind drifting back several years to when Nicky had crashed at their house a few weeks before Christmas. He'd come home from an away match sick as a dog, spending the night on the floor of Gwen's en suite. Somewhere in Delilah's phone, there was a photo of Nicky curled up in Nye's mum's lap, asleep with an ice pop in his mouth. The comical sight had been a wonderful levity after worrying about him so much, but now, she wished they could go back to that miserable winter weekend. At least back then, Delilah had been sure of what was wrong. Sure that he'd be okay. Now… she wasn't so sure.

Setting the emesis basin aside, the nurse had taken advantage of Nicky's enfeebled state, swiping the thermometer across his forehead to get a reading. The little digital dial beeped as it spat out the number, and the nurse clicked his tongue, jotting it down on Nicky's chart. 

"Thirty-nine point two," he muttered, looking at the vitals projected from Nicky's monitor. The heart rate was starting to flutter, his pulse quick and erratic. "I'm going to call the doctor in here, we'll get you sorted." He said, patting Nicky's hand gently. This time, there was no protest, or any reaction at all for that matter. Nicky's glassy eyes had locked onto Delilah, and he reached feebly for her hand.

"I've got you," she whispered shakily, giving his hand a squeeze. "We're going to get you better."

He pulled on her hand, no real strength behind it, but the intent obvious. Delilah climbed into the bed as carefully as she could, stroking her fingers gently through his hair. He groaned, his face nestled up against her shoulder. She hushed him, pressing a kiss to the top of his head.

"Hurts," he croaked. "....sick."

"It's okay," Delilah soothed, still petting his hair as he settled. "The doctor is coming, they'll take care of you." Her words rang hollow, a useless formality that they were both too scared to believe. Nicky groaned into her shoulder, shifting faintly in a feeble attempt to get comfortable.

"Tired," he breathed, nausea swelling again in his throat. "Of all of it."

"I know," she murmured, holding him tighter as if that would protect him. "I'm sorry."

He swallowed forcefully, but it did little to ease the sickness blooming in his chest, tendrils of discomfort creeping up his throat and down into his stomach. "Nnngh, Lilah…" he whined.

"Shhh sweetie, save your energy," she whispered, squeezing his shoulder. "You've gotta use it to get better."

"Don' feel good," Nicky groaned, clumsy fingers clutching at her arm.

"I know," she whispered. "I know."

Nicky didn't remember falling asleep, but when he woke up, Delilah was gone and he was hooked up to more tubes and machines than he'd seen since he was fresh out of surgery. Uncomfortable as they were, he felt too weak and wobbly to even adjust himself, using what little energy he had to groan and glance around.

As his eyes adjusted, he realized he wasn't alone. Sitting in the chair by the bed was Nye, currently engrossed in some show on his phone, while Jac sat on the couch, skeins of yarn beside him as he worked away at a stuffed animal. It was Nye who noticed first that Nicky was awake, Jac too distracted squinting closely at the reference photo he was working from.

"Hey," Nye said warmly, setting his phone aside, "look who's finally come to."

“Nicky?” Jac’s head popped up, and he hurried over to the bed. “How you feeling, bud?”

"Fucking… terrible," he rasped, struggling to prop himself up on his elbows. Even that change in elevation made his head spin, and he sank back into the pillows with a groan.

“Try to stay still,” Nye said gently, patting his shoulder. “You’ve been very ill. It’s going to take a bit to get back to normal.”

"I've been?" Nicky cocked an eyebrow, having assumed he was only out for the night.

“Yeah, well…” Nye grimaced. “It’s probably good you don’t remember to be honest, it wasn’t pretty. Lilah lost her shit.”

Now it was Nicky's turn to grimace. "What did I do?"

"What didn't you do?" Nye retorted. "You were wrecked. Crazy fever, spewing everywhere. She said you were hallucinating your dad."

"What?" Nicky, if possible, went paler than ever. "Did they tell you what was wrong?"

"Infection," Jac chimed in. He didn't understand much beyond that, but he'd gotten the gist at least. "Something to do with your last surgery."

"Oh…" Nicky's brow furrowed and he went quiet, unsure what else to say.

“Yeah, well,” Nye shrugged. “They’ve got it under control now at least. You’re pumped so full of antibiotics I’m surprised you’re even coherent, but at least they didn’t have to go back in and cut it out.”

Nicky paled. Though he wasn't remotely squeamish, the idea of a doctor removing bits of him like a high school frog dissection was just too much. "C… cut it out?"

Jac eyed his peaky complexion, shooting Nye a look. He hopped up on the edge of the bed, giving Nicky's good leg a reassuring pat. "Don't worry about it, mate. They won't have to do that. You've got medicine fixing you up, you'll be right as rain in no time."

“Yeah,” Nye nodded. “That’s what I said.”

Nicky wasn't particularly reassured, but it was mostly because the fever clouded his brain. He could hardly string together a thought of his own, much less follow the ideas others brought up. He nodded vacantly, mumbling, "Just don't cut my leg off."

"Sure, mate." Nye patted his shoulder. "I'll make sure to tell the doctors that. Why don't you get some sleep now."

Nicky wanted to protest, but even after this brief period of stimulation he was exhausted, his eyelids heavy and his head starting to pound. He managed a brief 'mmhmmm…' before sleep engulfed him once more.

The next time he woke he felt sick to his stomach again. His body was heavy, as if the bed itself had a powerful gravity holding him down. A swirling miasma obscured his thoughts, making it hard to even recognize the room around him. Bright lights burned his eyes, and the beeping of monitors overwhelmed his ears. It took all his strength to reach up and rub his face, desperately trying to reorient himself, but after a few shaky breaths, his surroundings slowly came into focus. There was a blonde figure dozing in the chair by the bed, but everything was such a haze that he couldn’t tell which Evans brother it was - it could’ve been Dai for all he knew, although it seemed unlikely.

Nicky's groan caught the ear of his current overseer, and the person sitting beside him started to stir. The voice was impossible to identify either - everything sounded distant and echoey, like he was at the end of a tunnel.

"Hey, Nick. How you feeling?"

"Fuckin… terrible," Nicky rasped, squinting at the fuzzy face hovering over him.

"I think your fever's coming down still, but you should be feeling better soon," they said quietly. "Do you want some water?"

Nicky hesitated. His mouth was painfully dry, but he still felt overwhelmingly queasy. "Um… maybe."

A gentle hand brought a bottle of water to his lips. "Start slow. Little sips."

Nicky groaned softly, letting the cool liquid spill over his tongue. It felt good to drink, the water soothing his throat, which was so sore he wondered whether he'd been intubated again. He took another sip, ignoring the way the first had pooled in his stomach.

"There you go," the voice echoed dimly in Nicky's ears, barely audible over the rush of blood. "Feeling a little better?"

"No," Nicky mumbled, taking another drink despite himself. He felt increasingly ill, but the soothing coolness in his throat was worth it. He could vaguely remember that the morphine he'd been on post-op had made him queasy, but it had been nothing like this. The nausea became overwhelming quite suddenly, and he pulled away, pushing the bottle aside with one hand. "Stop," he slurred, struggling to articulate his thoughts. "Don' feel good."

"Okay mate."

The figure retreated for a moment, and there was the crunch of plastic being put on the table before a large hand came to rest on his forehead.

"Go back to sleep, if you can," the voice said. "The sooner you shake this, the sooner you can go home."

Nicky shook his head, only to go still as the motion disoriented him further. "Can't sleep," he protested. "Feel… really sick." He swallowed thickly against the swirling sensation in his stomach, water threatening to rise as if it had never fully gone down.

"Alright."

There was a beep and a whirring and the bed beneath his head began to rise. He swallowed again, an involuntary moan slipping past his lips.

"Just in case you are sick, yeah?" The hand stroked his hair back again. "Don't want you choking."

Nicky only groaned in acknowledgement, but his hand groped around in the direction of his caretaker. He felt cold and shaky and wanted someone warmer and sturdier to lean on. Failing to grasp anything, he croaked out, "C'mere…"

"I know you don't feel good, but I'm not climbing in bed with you," the voice said, "it's not big enough for both of us."

Nicky's face fell, but he didn't object further, squeezing his eyes closed against a wave of vertigo. Part of him wanted to ask for more water, but he knew it wouldn't help. The queasy sensation was creeping slowly up his throat even as he tried to swallow it back down, the flush of fever fading to leave his face ashen. 

"There's a basin on your left if you need it."

Nicky opened his mouth with the intent of saying thanks, only to clamp it shut until he could clumsily clutch at the bin. His hands barely kept the basin in place, but he hadn't the time to worry about it, leaning forward with a painful heave. The water came up in a rush, all three sips of it. His head spun. He wasn’t sure if he was being dramatic, but he felt almost more sick than he had that night with Delilah - less ill maybe, but the heavy discomfort in his stomach seemed insurmountable.

A sturdy hand rested between his shoulders, another supporting the bin propped so perilously in his lap. "Easy… you're alright. Deep breaths, now."

Despite how he wanted to, Nicky struggled to obey. His stomach clenched painfully again, and he heaved over the basin, bringing up little more than a mouthful of spit. Though he was obviously empty, he continued to retch, caught in the throes of unproductive nausea.

“Oh mate…” Circles were rubbed on his back, patting gently when he struggled to catch his breath. “I’m going to let them know you’re throwing up again, okay? They might need to change your medication.”

Nicky shook his head, clutching desperately at the wrist closest to him. "Don't go," he begged, still feeling so floaty it was hard to be certain someone was actually there. He lost his grip when another heave rippled through his chest, slumping forward over the bin with a groan.

“I’ll go once you’re settled.” The voice was as firm as the hands keeping Nicky steady. “You’re not going to get better like this.”

There was no argument that time, and Nicky gagged weakly over the basin again before finally slumping back. "Feel awful…"

“Yeah, let’s see if we can sort that out.” 

The basin was removed from his limp fingers, and he heard footsteps as they got further away. He groaned, trying to pull his knees up to his chest and curl up like he normally would. The brace around his knee stopped him, but pain lanced through his leg even at the tiny movement he did manage. He gasped, face twisting in pain as he fell back against the pillows.

By some miracle, his head had cleared a bit by the time the doctor arrived, and he was finally able to make out the face standing beside the bed.

“Nate…” Embarrassment, however unnecessary, flushed through him.

"Yeah? What's up?" Nate leaned closer at once, peering worriedly at Nicky.

"'s nothing," he mumbled, letting his eyes fall closed. He could see more clearly now, but the bright overhead lights and blinking monitors made his head pound. Though he could make out the words the doctor shared with Nate, hardly any of it made sense, and he tuned out almost immediately, trusting Nate to handle the situation. He was still spaced out when the doctor tried to address him properly, and it took a gentle nudge of his shoulder to get his attention.

"Nicky," Nate said, waiting to see his eyes open before continuing. "They're going to try a different medication, see if maybe this one was making you ill. You've been on antibiotics for ages, so if they're working, you really should be feeling better. Hopefully you'll perk up on the new meds."

"God, I hope," Nicky grumbled. "This is fucking miserable."

“And they can give you some stuff to stop you from spewing,” Nate told him, “although you might still feel a bit spewish.”

"What's new?" Nicky muttered bitterly. He couldn't remember the last time he hadn't felt nauseous, between the morphine after surgeries and the sickness that had followed. In this state, he hadn't yet become aware of it, but it was all too evident to Nate the weight Nicky had lost since being in hospital.

Nate smiled sympathetically, exchanging a last few sentences with the doctor before waving him off and dropping down into the chair by the bed. “The nurse is going to bring some ice in case you’re still thirsty.”

"Thanks," Nicky sighed, his anger quickly fading to a weary gloom. He was still thirsty, parched really, and being sick had only made his sore throat worse. He was hoping the ice would be more manageable, since his stomach was still doing somersaults inside him. Letting his eyes fall closed, he rubbed a hand gingerly across his middle, lost in thought for a while before asking, "How long has it been?"

“Since when?” Nate asked, “the accident? Or the infection?”

"Both, I guess." Nicky hardly felt like he was on the same planet these days. He could've been stuck in hospital for a year for all he knew.

“Uh, well it’s been four days pretty much since your fever shot up and your blood pressure bottomed out and you like, went septic basically,” Nate said, far more calmly than the words seemed to warrant. “That’s why you’ve got the NG tube, ‘cause you weren’t eating. And then it’s been…three weeks since the accident, give or take.”

Nicky groaned, squeezing his eyes shut through a barrage of thoughts. "God, what a shitshow," he grumbled, trying not to sound quite as freaked out as he was.

“Really getting the most out of the taxes you don’t pay,” Nate chuckled. “Could be worse, you could have caught MRSA.”

"There's worse than this?" Nicky asked, eyes popping open in an incredulous glare. He looked down at the tubes and wires connecting him to machines like a badly made robot, the incessant beeping eating away at what was left of his sanity. If there was worse than this, he would've rather died.

“I mean, it’s less treatable,” Nate shrugged. “You have fewer options on antibiotics and you can’t guarantee how well they work. And they have to put you in a special room and everyone who sees you has to wear like, hazmat basically.”

"Gross," Nicky grumbled, wrinkling his nose at the thought. His attention shifted as a nurse came into the room, presenting him with a cup of ice chips. He snatched the cup away, popping a piece of ice into his mouth at once.

“Not too much at once,” Nate instructed, eyeing the way his free hand still cradled his stomach. “They’ve not put you on the anti-emetics yet.”

Nicky huffed, but he didn't reach for another ice chip just yet. "Sorry I'm dying of thirst."

"You'll be sorrier if you spew again," Nate pointed out.

Nicky sighed, letting his eyes fall closed again. It was hard to stay awake when there was so little for him to do, and anything he could do required an attention span that he just couldn’t sustain. “When will they take the tube out?” He honestly hadn’t noticed it when he’d first woken up, but now that Nate had pointed it out, the NG tube bothered him with every breath.

"When you can eat and keep it down," Nate said matter-of-factly. "If the antiemetics do their job, it hopefully won't be too long."

"Fuckin'... Fantastic," Nicky grumbled, popping another ice chip in his mouth.

“It’s better than starving.” Nate eyed him sternly. “You’ve been seriously ill mate, you can’t expect to go back to normal just like that.”

"Doesn't mean I have to be happy about it," Nicky said, his voice wobbling on the line between rage and misery. "It's fucking miserable! How would you like to be in pain, can't even get out of bed, so sick you can't fucking see straight, for weeks?"

“I wouldn’t,” Nate placated, so infuriatingly calm he was on the edge of doing the absolute opposite. “It is - it’s miserable. I couldn’t even have the good painkillers after I had my operation, they made me sick as a dog, and it was like they’d left a scalpel in me every time I had to breathe, or sit up, or anything.”

Nicky didn't seem placated by Nate's empathy, gruffly asking, "When will Lilah be back?"

"Dunno mate," Nate replied, picking his book back up. "She's at school, but I don't know if she's got plans after."

"Oh. Right. School." Nicky's face scrunched up in disgust. "Where… where is my phone?" He asked, looking around the room but finding his vision starting to blur again.

“When did you last have it?” Nate asked, standing up to look through Nicky’s things. “I didn’t see you using it last time we were here.”

Nicky tried to think back, but it just made his head hurt. He groaned, rubbing his hands over his face. "I don't know."

"Hey, it's alright," Nate said calmly. "I can try calling it, worst case scenario it goes to voicemail."

"Oh, don't bother," Nicky grumbled. He tried to roll over, only for his body and everything attached to protest, and he flopped back into place with a sigh.

"Easy," Nate warned. "Don't want to pull something out."

Nicky just scowled. He wanted to pull everything out - the tubes, the wires, his fucking hair. He was so fed up with everything, he couldn't imagine another day like this, much less another week. Angry tears pricked his eyes, and he turned his head as far as he was able, trying to hide his face in the pillows. He wanted to ask Nate to leave, but he didn’t trust his voice to sound angry instead of on the verge of sobbing.

Nate at least had the sense to not prod him further, settling back in his chair to read. He was just hoping Nicky could get some more rest - he clearly needed it.

[rorysfics]

From someone who wanted remain anonymous:

Thank you!! It took me a while to figure out what to write but here you go! Also on AO3.

"Aaghhh! Goddamn it." A low growl.

Nico leans over the side of the couch, trying to see down the hallway. "What? Are you okay?"

"Fine." Matty reappears. "Shut my finger in the door."

"Shit." Nico frowns. "Do you want some ice?"

Matty does his best to rub his nose with his shoulder while he's holding one hand with the other. "No. I dunno." He grimaces. "I think it's fine."

"Let me see." He gets back a vague protesting sound. "Come on, we don't have to leave yet, we have time."

Matty sighs and sits down heavily on the couch beside him. Nico gently takes his hand: It's hot and already a little swollen, going to bruise for sure. Nico kisses him on the shoulder and stands up. "I'll get the ice pack. You stay here."

Matty's already slumped against the back of the couch when he comes back, eyes nearly closed. They're so shadowed they look almost bruised. Had he looked that bad before?

"Babe." Stopping next to the coffee table to look him over.

Matty grumbles unintelligibly and reaches for the ice pack. Nico hands it over and then sits back down beside him on the couch.

"You look exhausted." He puts gentle pressure on Matty's shoulder until he leans back against him with a groan.

"Fucked up my hand," Matty says defensively, but he turns into the touch without opening his eyes until he's lying on Nico's chest.

Nico hums in agreement, sliding closer to horizontal, and pulls the blanket from the back of the couch over them both. He's quiet for a minute, rubbing Matty's back through the blanket, feeling his body heat seep through his own clothes. "You're really warm." He brushes Matty's hair out of the way and presses a hand to his forehead. Yeah. Fever-warm for sure.

Matty shakes his head against him, but his back is already rising with an intake of breath. hhh… h'Dtt! "Nnngt, shit…" Through gritted teeth. Apparently not even pain was enough to stop the muscle memory of stifling with his left hand. hhhh… He shifts to cradle his left hand against his chest and pinch his nose with his right hand. h'NGT!'hhh…

Nico makes a sympathetic noise and reaches over to grab the box of tissues that lives on the coffee table. Matty blow his nose forcefully and then drops his head back to Nico's chest.

"I don't think we're going to make it to the movie tonight," Nico says gently, and pulls out his phone to text Charlie and Sophia to let them know.

"We can," Matty says, but it's weak, and he pulls the blanket tighter around them, shivering when he gets the ice pack back on his fingers, tucked against Nico's chest under the fabric.

"Nah." A few more taps and swipes gets him the controls for the living room lights. It's an indulgence, but one he's always grateful for. "We can go next weekend. Or just wait until it comes out on streaming." He pulls down the virtual dimmer switch and the lights go low, and he feels Matty's exhale in his whole body, and closes his eyes.

Prompts for any of my OCs welcome! If you want to remain anonymous like this prompter, just let me know. :-)