#this got so much longer than i meant it to annd editing it on mobile fucked it up so badly

[sickstarlight]

E5 from the prompt list?

I’m sorry, my stomach feels funny… can we go home?

(warning in this one for reference to emetophobia!)

--

When he first starts to feel off, he tries his best to ignore it, chalks the uneasy feeling in his gut up to nothing more than nerves. He always does get a little anxious before a date, after all - and it doesn't help that it's a little weird, thinking of this as a date.

But he's never been the type to let his nerves get the better of him, so he pushes down the butterflies in his stomach and keeps getting ready, trying not to think too hard about it. There's no reason it should be different from any other date, with any other handsome, disheveled bastard he'd met any other way.

By the time he gets to Seaside, though, the queasy feeling in the pit of his stomach hasn't subsided, and he's beginning to worry it might be more than anxiety that's making him feel a little ill.

Royce, it turns out, is already there when he arrives, sitting out on the patio overlooking the bay, a cigarette in his mouth, his fingers tapping anxiously against the edge of the table. Auden breathes a sigh of relief, glad he's not the first one there, and hurries over to the table.

"Hey," he says, trying to sound casual, and pulls out the chair opposite Royce. "Mind if I sit down?"

"Oh, oh, ah, hello, hi," Royce says as he looks up, clearly flustered. "Please, um, have a seat, yes."

At least he's not the only one who's nervous, Auden thinks, though it doesn't make him feel much better. He sits down, leaning against the table for support and hoping Royce can't tell. "How are you doing?" he asks, reaching into his pocket for a cigarette of his own.

"Fine, yes, fine," Royce says, fidgeting with the sleeves of his coat. "I'm, ah, quite alright, thank you." A faint smile flickers across his face, one corner of his mouth turning up slightly before he looks away, his cheeks a little flushed.

Auden grins back, his discomfort momentarily forgotten amidst the satisfaction of getting Royce to blush. "Glad to hear it," he says, fishing his lighter out of his pocket with one hand while he rests his chin against the other.

"And you, yourself, how are you doing?" Royce asks after a moment, as if suddenly remembering his manners.

Auden laughs and takes a drag of his cigarette. "Not bad," he says, exhaling a thin stream of smoke. "Good to see you."

"Yes, it's, ah, it's -" Royce stammers, still avoiding his eyes. "Good to see you, too, very good."

Auden's started to feel better after all by the time they've ordered lunch, and he sips slowly at his drink while they wait for their food to arrive. Maybe he'd just needed some fresh air, he thinks, relieved; fresh air and the sound of the water always does help clear his head. "So, what have you been working on lately?" he prompts, breaking the comfortable silence, and sees Royce animate instantly, his eyes lighting up as he leans forward against the table. Auden can't help grinning, settling back in his chair to listen as Royce starts to explain his current project.

He doesn’t feel iffy again until after he’s started eating, but a third of the way through his lunch, he realizes that the grilled seafood he’d ordered seems awfully heavy in his stomach. Slowly, he sets his fork down to nibble at his side of toast instead, hoping it’ll help settle his uneasy belly. A burp bubbles up into his throat, and he covers his mouth with one hand to stifle it.

“Sorry,” he says sheepishly when Royce pauses, and rubs the back of his neck. “Guess I are a little fast.”

It’s a good thing Royce is more than happy to talk about his work uninterrupted, he thinks, because he’s not too sure it’s a good idea to talk too much himself right now. Instead he just listens intently, nodding to let Royce know he’s still paying attention, and alternates taking bites of his toast and small sips of water. He’s only half finished with the whiskey lemonade he’d gotten, but he doesn’t think any more alcohol is going to help settle his stomach.

The toast and water don’t really seem to be doing that, either, though; he can still feel his insides churning, and it’s making it hard to pay attention to what Royce is saying. He tries to be surreptitious as he slips one hand under his shirt to press against his gut, hoping maybe he can soothe the bubbling feeling in his queasy belly.

He’s so focused on calming his stomach that it takes him a second to notice that Royce has lapsed into silence. “Huh?” he asks, looking up as he realizes how quiet it is. “What’s wrong?”

“You’re, ah,” Royce says, watching him intently. “You’re not.... enjoying this. Not having a good time.”

“I am!” he says quickly, his eyes going wide. “Of course I am, that’s not...”

“You don’t seem.... interested,” Royce adds, and looks away, his fingers tapping the table restlessly.

The guilt that sinks into the pit of his stomach does nothing to make Auden feel better. “It’s not that,” he says with a sigh. “It’s just - I’m sorry, my stomach feels funny.” He swallows hard against a wave of nausea and bites his lower lip until it hurts. “Can.... can we go home?”

“Oh,” Royce says, his face going a shade paler. “You, you never, you didn’t say anything, could have said something about it before now...”

“I didn’t wanna freak you out,” Auden mumbles, hunching his shoulders. “And I was kinda hoping I’d feel better.”

"I - ah - well," Royce falters. "I appreciate... your concern. Though if you'd said, we could have, lots of other things we could have done, rather than lunch if you're, ah, if you're feeling poorly, and I can't imagine the drinks have helped. Can't imagine that's helped, much, at all."

"Not really," he admits, wishing Royce hadn't reminded him as a quiet burp forces its way up and brings the taste of alcohol back into his mouth. "Sorry, Royce, I didn't wanna let it mess up our date, but--"

He breaks off with a wince as his stomach gurgles loudly; he can feel everything he's eaten shifting uncomfortably in his gut, threatening to come back up if he makes a wrong move. Sweat beads up across his brow and prickles at the back of his neck.

"You, uh," he manages weakly, and swallows hard. "You should probably go."

“I don’t, ah, don’t, don’t want...” Royce stammers, and hesitates. “To leave you... alone. If you’re not... well.”

“Real sweet of you,” Auden says, “but I - urp - I think I might throw up, and I know you’re not gonna want to be around to see that.”

“But, trying to get home by yourself, that seems,” Royce says slowly. “Well, not very wise, I’d say, wouldn’t you? Not... the wisest decision you could make.”

“Can’t say I didn’t warn you,” Auden groans, clutching his upset stomach. Discomfort has swelled into full blown nausea by now, and he’s not entirely sure that just getting to his feet won’t be enough to make him spew his lunch all over the paving stones. Still, he grits his teeth and grabs the edge of the table to help pull himself upright, and manages to keep himself together despite the acidic taste crawling up the back of his throat.

“Let me - help... you,” Royce says uncertainly, stepping in to take his arm. “You don’t look, ah, don’t look very steady, wouldn’t want for you to fall.” He manages a nervous, shaky laugh, and adds, “Just do... try to warn me, alright, if you’re about to...”

"Do my best," he agrees through gritted teeth, and starts walking towards the open gate to leave the patio.

It’s usually a ten minute walk back to his place, but he walks slowly right now, hoping that he can keep the contents of his stomach under control if he just moves carefully enough. It’s a losing battle, though, and they’ve barely made it two blocks when a wave of nausea makes him double over, clutching his stomach.

“Oh,” says Royce, his voice strained. “Do you, ah, do you need to...?”

“I need to sit down,” Auden groans, his legs going weak as his stomach churns unhappily. Without waiting for a reply he sinks to the ground and leans forward to put his head between his knees, trying very hard to keep his breathing steady.

A sick gurgle starts deep in his belly, and crawls upward as a bubble of sour air forces its way up his throat to come out as a wet, queasy belch. No matter how carefully he tries to breathe, he’s pretty sure he’s going to puke any second now. He lets his mouth hang open while he waits, saliva pooling under his tongue until it fills his mouth and drips to the ground at his feet. Another watery belch escapes him, followed by a stream of thin brown liquid that spatters onto the pavement.

“Sorry,” he manages weakly, and spits on the ground, trying to get the taste of vomit out of his mouth. Before he can recover, though, his stomach heaves again and he’s burping up a thicker stream of sick onto the street between his shoes, choking a little as the masticated remains of his toast makes a reappearance.

“You, ah, you don’t - have - to apologize,” Royce says, though he sounds a little ill himself. When Auden dares to lift his head a little, he sees Royce with his back turned, head tipped back to avert his gaze from the ground entirely.

“Think I’m alright now,” Auden manages weakly, though he’s not sure how long the reprieve will last. “Just.... just give me a minute.”

“Do you, ah, do you need... a hand?” Royce offers, chancing a wary glance in his direction. “If you do need, a little help, I can...”

“I’m okay,” Auden says, trying to reassure him. Royce doesn’t look reassured, but Auden manages to get back to his feet, careful not to step into the pool of vomit on the ground between his shoes. He doesn't feel quite as nauseous, but his legs feel like jelly, and he finds himself, without thinking about it, holding onto Royce's arm for support. Royce, to his surprise, doesn't pull away.

"Alright, then, come on, come on," he says, waiting for Auden to steady himself before he starts walking again. "Let's get you home, hurry up and get you home where you can rest."