Idk bro your guess is as good as mine

whumpee propped up against the pillows, eager to be active but unable to move around all that much; perhaps tomorrow they’ll be able to sit properly, at least

whumpee leaning on caretaker’s shoulder when they try to get up and walk for the first time since the injury

whumpee held up in a saddle, caretaker sitting behind them with their arm wrapped protectively around whumpee’s chest

whumpee sitting at the backseat of a car, their head pressed to the cool glass; they’re still shivering but caretaker’s coat’s warm and cozy, it feels like home, and they can’t help but relax

whumpee leaning on the table, eyes closed and breaths shaky, when a sudden fainting spell washes over them

-Perhaps they’re simply too tired to fight it…or…

-It could be a sign of trust, an extending of an olive branch of sorts, or a white flag.

-It could be that their touch brings them far more comfort than the prodding, gloved hands of all the doctors.

-the classic, their cool hand soothes the raging fire perched above their brow.

B’s in the middle of cooking dinner. They quickly glance over everything on the stove: Yes, it looks okay to leave simmering for a few minutes. Luckily, everything they need is right at hand: One cupboard door for a bottle of painkillers, quietly shaken out; another for a tall glass, filled with water at the sink.

“Here.“ Quiet, tipping the pills into A’s palm and then following it up with the water. A groans in relief. “Want me to turn the lights down?“

“Fuck, could you?“ A breathes it like they’re too far gone to have thought to ask. They press the cool glass against their temple, still hunched forward, curling in on themself like that will protect them against the pain.

B lets their fingers brush over the back of A’s hand, and then goes to turn down the lights. Checks on supper. Eight minutes before the timer goes off. They’ll have to keep an eye on that. Get to the kitchen to turn it off before it starts to beep. With the time they’ve got, though, they come back to A and let their hands settle on their shoulders. Maybe they perch on the back of the couch; maybe they stand behind it, pressing in close. Either way, they start in with a gentle shoulder massage, going deeper when A, slurred, asks for more.

“You okay?” B finally asks, still keeping their voice low. It’s obvious what the answer is, but they know from experience that A just needs some space to tell them what’s going on on their own. Trying to rush it will just shut them down.

“Just a tension headache.” Eyes scrunched shut. “Work sucked.”

“Mmm?” Leaving space, again.

A scrubs their eyes with the heel of their hand and it all comes tumbling out, everything that had gone wrong at work, “and I just couldn’t take it today, I don’t know why, I didn’t even have a headache then,“ and “the drive home was hell, I could barely keep my eyes on the road“ and “I just wanted to get home. To you.”

Maybe that’s a new confession, slipping out in a moment of vulnerability, or maybe it’s a familiar expression of long-standing care. Either way, B just lets them talk, and keeps up the massage, moving onto their neck, their scalp, and then down to their collarbone, encouraging them to sit up, to lean back against the back of the couch, to let their shoulders come down and back. One eye on the stove, and it’s time to get up, to do the next step in cooking, to keep the food from burning and the timer from going off. B eases off of the massage and pulls A in for a hug, arms wrapped around their shoulders from behind; gentle, gentle.

“Lie down,“ B murmurs. “I’ll let you know when dinner’s done.“

“Yeah, okay.” Pliant, letting themself be guided down. B glances at the timer again, and comes around the front of the couch. Down to A’s level. Their eyes can’t hide their concern. 

“Hey.“ Quiet, hand still moving on their shoulder, their upper arm. Palm coming up to caress their jaw. “You sure this is just a tension headache? You feel pretty warm.“

A shrugs– “I think so”– and shivers a little, and sighs. “I dunno. Maybe not.“

fumbling tasks that they normally perform without second thought, maybe dropping items in the process or having to pause and try to make their hands stop shaking

stumbling unexpectedly, catching themselves on a wall or a piece of furniture and perhaps blinking dazedly as they try to clear the sudden fog from their brain

having to stop for rest, strangely out of breath even though they haven't been working all that hard at anything

leaving their food mostly untouched, claiming they're not hungry or that they already ate

taking a bit longer than they should to register what other people are saying to them and to formulate a response

coughing occasionally and brushing off anyone who mentions it; "it's just a cold"

being unusually quiet and withdrawn, especially if they're normally talking everyone else's ears off, making stupid jokes, pestering others, etc.

keeping their coat on even though everyone else has shed theirs because it's too warm to be wearing one (or the opposite: unzipping their coat and shedding their scarf and gloves even though it's certainly cold enough to be wearing them)

sitting or lying around instead of getting up and helping with whatever work is at hand, especially if this is very unusual behavior for them

spacing out, with others having to practically shout their name in their ear to get them to snap out of it and respond

losing time—one minute, they're in their house; the next, they're at work, and a whole hour has passed without them noticing

squeezing their eyes shut/grimacing/wincing in pain

subtly keeping their hand pressed against their side or their arm wrapped around themselves

falling behind the others since they're moving slower than usual

having others comment on how they look pale or unwell

100° Fever tropes to celebrate 100 followers!! Thank you guys so much for your support ^^

• The slow realization that they keep brushing it off until they can’t stand anymore.

• Glassy eyes, flushed cheeks, and a voice that’ll barely go over a whisper.

• Strange fever dreams that blur time, leaving the whumpee waking up thinking only minutes have passed when it’s been hours.

• The whumpee trying to stand up right, but keeps swaying back and forth, unable to keep good balance from their body being so weak.

• Random, delirious mumbling that is hardly coherent at all.

• The soft whisper of the whumper saying “You’re burning up…”

• The caretaker staying up all night long, warily counting each and every uneven breath that the whumpee draws in.

• A bucket that never leaves the side of the bed in case the whumpee needs to throw up.

• The caretaker pressing a cold cloth against the whumpee’s head in an attempt to calm the fever.

• Slumped posture, barely holding themselves upright while the world tilts.

• The really dry or wet coughs that just don’t seem to be getting any better.

• Slumped posture, barely holding themselves upright while the world tilts.

• The gross, messy saliva that drenches the whumpee’s arm ( or hand) whenever they sneeze into it.

• The whumpee tossing and turning, because they can’t get comfortable and are too hot to sleep under the covers.

• The caretaker rubbing the whumpee’s back for comfort.

• The whumpee’s hands trembling as they fumble with a water bottle.

• The endless mounds of tissue that are from the whumpee blowing their nose

• Shivering even as sweat beads on their skin and forehead, eventually dripping down their face like raindrops from the sky.

• A blanket being tucked tighter around them as they mumble in protest.

• “You’re too hot,” the caretaker mutters, voice laced with worry and tenderness.

• A damp washcloth slipping from their forehead when they drift back to sleep.

• That fragile, exhausted smile when they finally wake and whisper, “Hey…”

eventually he collapses, but everyone blames the heat and exhaustion from being up all night coughing. they keep finding him asleep sitting down and start to get irritated that he's being lazy.

"Whoa, Whumpee? Easy, easy..."

›› refuse to admit they’re sick while literally swaying on their feet (“I’m fine.” immediately crashes into the couch and doesn’t get up for 2 hours)

›› that stubborn little forehead crease when they’re trying to pretend they’re not in pain but they definitely are

›› saying “I’m not cold” while shivering like a leaf and glaring at the blanket you’re offering like it insulted their honor

›› wearing like… 3 hoodies. and a beanie. and a blanket cape. looking like a lump of denial with a nose

›› flinching when they cough too hard, like it surprised them and they feel a little betrayed by their own body

›› that specific exhausted way of blinking, slow and confused, like their brain is buffering every time you ask a question

›› apologizing for being sick. like their immune system personally offended you. like they should’ve scheduled it better

›› getting clingy in that low-energy, wordless way. like reaching for your sleeve or sitting closer without saying anything

›› drinking tea like it’s a punishment. making a face after every sip but still doing it because someone made it for them

›› trying to pretend they’re still useful. doing tasks badly. insisting on helping and then immediately sitting down like “okay I need a nap now”

›› using exactly zero words to communicate for three days. just grunting and side-eyes and one finger raised when they need something

›› being deeply offended by how gross they feel. muttering “I hate this” every few minutes like their own mucus is their nemesis

›› standing up too fast and doing the classic “whoa. gravity’s intense today” stagger

›› texting you things like “bring soup. i am dying. goodbye” but then surviving anyway, unfortunately for the drama

›› finally accepting help after pretending they didn’t need it, and getting weirdly quiet when someone tucks the blanket around them just right

Whumpees with aching eyes, too tired to keep open yet too sore to close, even the lightest pressure of their eyelids too much

Whumpee who's too weak and dizzy to do anything at all but lie in bed completely still, sweating through their blankets only to immediately start shivering after clumsily throwing them off

Whumpees with dry mouths, dry lips

The corners of their room are more shadowy than they should be, and they're too exhausted to bother to get up and see what's in there. The Hat Man will have to just wait his turn.

Strong enough to get out of bed but being so, so out of it. Caretaker finding them standing swaying in a doorway, pale as death, clearly seeing something that isn't there

Everything seems to be flickering. The air buzzes. Their skin prickles.

Getting to sleep is hard, because their mind is restless and racing. Once they're asleep though, they're down for the count

• Colors looking hazy/brighter as their temperature spikes

•Teeth chattering around an oral thermometer until it flashes in an angry red

• “I told you, I’m fine.” ‘Well, should I believe you or the thermometer?’

• Feebly curling around a heating pad/hot water bottle just trying infuse some warmth into their bones

“Hey,” A groans, head pounding and muscles throbbing. “Can you grab me another blanket?”

B makes their way toward the couch where A is already nestled beneath a throw blanket and the comforter from their bed and presses a hand to their forehead. They wince, sympathetically sucking air in through their teeth.

“i don’t think so, honey,” B says apologetically. their eyes are sad as they push a stray lock of hair from A’s face. “You’re even hotter now than you were this morning. I want to take your temperature again, okay?”

A sighs but sits up, the room spinning a bit as they hear B gather supplies from the other room. They return with a damp washcloth, a small pill bottle, and a digital thermometer. They press a hand to A’s chest, gently ushering them to lean back against the cushions.

Taking A’s face in their hand, B gently pries their jaw open and slips the thermometer beneath their tongue. “Good job,” they murmur, placing the cloth against A’s sweaty forehead. They shudder violently, but don’t resist.

“I know, I know,” B reassures them. “I know it feels like you’re freezing, but it’ll help.”

A shudders again. The wet cloth is agonizing against their skin and the thermometer in their mouth is making them nauseous. It feels like it’s taking forever to read as the probe slowly heats up beneath A’s tongue.

B’s eyes are locked on the numbers as they slowly ascend.

As if on cue, the thermometer sounds in loud, angry trills that pierce through A’s throbbing skull. Though they’ve closed their eyes, flashes of red still infiltrate their field of vision with every beep.

B takes in a sharp breath as they pull the thermometer from A’s lips, rapidly feeling their face, neck and chest in succession.

“Fuck,” they mutter, tossing the thermometer to the side. A wills their eyes to focus on the reading, and it takes a moment for their body to cooperate, but eventually they see the reading glaring back at them.

104.2.