PleaseKeepItDown

He knew where Rodya would be - the same place he always was, a seedy bar where the drinks were flowing, the gambling was rampant, and everything was paid in cash. Not much different to the place he had first met Ryosuke, although he tried not to think too hard about Ryosuke keeping that kind of company. Regardless, it wasn't the type of place where he had to worry about anyone seeing him or interfering. The denizens of such a criminal den knew full well how to mind their business. On top of that, anyone who ran in those circles knew exactly who Sasha was. Not only was he a force to be reckoned with in his own right, but crossing him would, by extension, be crossing Boris. The local criminals were unscrupulous, not suicidal.

Pulling up outside the dimly lit alleyway, Sasha swallowed his hesitation and stepped out of the car. He kept his face stern and impassive despite the knot in his chest. The last thing he needed was to show any sliver of weakness here. He was only in this situation because he'd already been too weak, too absent, too passive. If he had stayed more involved in following Boris' orders, in handling his underlings, then Rodya wouldn't have felt comfortable double-dealing behind his back. Now, it was the least he could do to re-assert his authority, for Ryosuke's sake as much as his own. If he continued to slack in his work, he would draw more scrutiny from Boris.

Shaking away the sickening thought of his father discovering Ryosuke, the renewed fury of protectiveness pushed Sasha forward down the alley. His boots thundered against the concrete, echoing off the dingy brick until he stopped in front of an unmarked door. Slamming it open, he loomed in the doorway, relishing the way the men inside went quiet. Not everyone was stupid as Rodya, it seemed. 

As Sasha let the silence hang, the chatter in the bar began to resume. A burly man sitting by the door gave him a small nod, and Sasha stomped inside, scanning the room with narrowed eyes. It didn't take long for his gaze to zero in on a familiar face - buzzed hair, crooked teeth, and an arrogant grin. Rodya. His attention had quickly returned to the cards at his table, where he was trying to bluff his way through an abysmal hand. He was still yammering away at the men playing with him when a dark shadow fell over the table.

“Rodya.” Sasha growled, making it immediately clear that none of the others need address him.

“Sasha!” Rodya flashed him the same crooked, cocky smile. “Come play with us! I have not seen you in so long!”

“No. He is leaving,” Sasha said shortly to the others at the table.

Rodya didn't give up, protesting, “Oh, come on! At least let me finish my game. I’ll buy you a drink!” 

Sasha wondered whether he was still bluffing or truly oblivious. It didn't matter. “Fuck your game. Get up, now.”

The message finally made it through Rodya’s thick skull, and he stood up without further objection. “Right. Uh, I fold,” he said, dropping his cards on the table.

Without another word, Sasha led him outside. Rodya started to speak as the door closed behind them, but he was promptly cut off.

“Not here.” 

Sasha said, walking towards his car. He climbed into the driver's seat, glaring at Rodya until he got in the other side. They took off right away, following narrow streets into a more derelict area where the only witnesses would be the rats, the roaches, and God.

When he'd gotten sufficiently far into this rotting concrete wasteland, Sasha stopped the car, turning once more to glare daggers at Rodya.

“Get out.”

Rodya did as he was told, trying once more to offer a schmoozy smile as Sasha crept around the car like a tiger closing in on its prey. “So, uh… what's going on? Do I have a secret assignment? Do you need information?”

Sasha punched him. 

The brass knuckles cracked off of Rodya's jaw like thunder, leaving him reeling.

“Is that what you said to the Italians?” Sasha sneered.

Stumbling back, Rodya put his hands up to protect his face. “I don't know what you're talking about,” he stammered.

“Don't fucking lie to me,” Sasha snarled, grabbing Rodya by the throat and slamming him into the nearest wall. “I know you've been selling secrets to Florimonte, you slimy piece of shit.”

“Flori - who?” 

Rodya’s eyes flew wide. Unfortunately, he was about as good at lying as he was at cards. Sasha saw the answer he'd been looking for in his eyes - the truth that, even with the pile of concrete evidence his father's spies had provided, he hadn't wanted to believe. Rodya, who had worked for him since he came to America, who had dutifully followed his orders all that time, who was closer to Valentina's age than his own, had betrayed him.

“I said. Don't. Fucking. LIE TO ME!”

Sasha gripped his throat tighter, dragging Rodya across the wall before slamming him down onto the cracked concrete below. He leaned over Rodya, breath coming in heavy snarls. Under his clenched fingers, Sasha could feel the racing pulse of his prey, fluttering and fearful under a predator's claws.

Don't kill yet. Play with your food a bit. See if little birdie has anything to sing about.

This time, the voice in his head was Irina's. Where Sasha had recoiled from bloodshed, she had always relished it, cunning and ferocity making up what she lacked in strength and size. She wouldn't be scowling in Sasha's position. She would grin and giggle and savor every moment, enjoying the mental anguish she caused as much as the physical pain. The thought of it made Sasha feel a little sick. He'd played cards with Rodya, and partied with him, and….fuck, Rodya had even been to his place.

Rodya knew where he lived. The realization turned to ice water in Sasha's veins. If the Italians, or hell, even a rival group of Russians, knew where to find him, then whether they realized it or not, they also knew where to find Ryosuke.

Sasha's heart began pounding in his chest, faster even than Rodya's labored breaths below him. He wasn't supposed to let emotion cloud his judgement. He was supposed to lock his feelings away until the dirty work was done. Instead, his head began to reel with visions of thugs breaking down his door, grabbing Ryosuke, being crueler to him than Sasha was being to Rodya now. He could be sick.

If you do not kill the snake…

Boris’ voice returned to his mind, echoing louder than the blood roaring in his ears. Sasha looked down at Rodya, seeing, despite his tough exterior, just how young, how unimposing, how weak he truly was.  He could still feel the frantic, fearful pulse of a trembling mouse, frail and powerless under the heavy paw of the tiger. It wasn't a fair fight. It wasn't a fight at all. Rodya hadn't dared resist - he'd seen firsthand what happened when people tried to stand up to Sasha. He’d seen it. And yet, he dared to hand over information to the Italians. The payout certainly hadn't been worth incurring Sasha's wrath. Or was it?

Had he really lost so much authority? Was his influence so absent that his own men no longer worried about his anger? If he really seemed so vulnerable, what would be next?

Unbidden, more violent than before, came the images of thugs bashing down his door. Tearing his apartment to bits, the minimalist loft leaving nowhere to hide. Ryosuke, pinned to the ground, fighting and thrashing and crying out. Red spraying across clean white couches, Ryosuke's own blood spreading across the carpet he'd cleaned so many times.

…you deserve to be bitten!

Boris' words became Boris' hand, grabbing Sasha's and guiding it to the knife on his belt. Before he could think, before he could hesitate, before he could let Ryosuke get hurt, he plunged the blade into Rodya’s chest, feeling it scrape against bone before meeting its mark. Rodya let out a hoarse gasp, staring up at Sasha with the wild eyes of a desperate animal. He didn't speak, but his face asked clearly, Why?

“If I cannot trust you,” Sasha said, his voice low and heavy with an accent so thick, he could've been mistaken for his father, “I cannot let you live.”

He withdrew the blade.

Rodya's body went slack, blood spreading across his white t-shirt. Sasha wrinkled his nose, wiping the knife clean on Rodya's shirt before sheathing it again. He stood up, drawing a slow breath before exhaling the tension from his body. Overhead, the watchful eye of the moon stared down at him, casting the shadow of Sasha's towering figure over his handiwork like an artist's signature. The cold light on his back beamed down like judgement from above, but Sasha didn't care. He had done what he needed to.

It was only as he drove away in his car, the interior still sleek and spotless, that Sasha realized he hadn't been sick. Had he, after so many years doing Boris' dirty work, finally grown a spine? Was he more like Irina now, brutal and bloodthirsty and killing because he wanted to? At the very least, she could no longer mock him so mercilessly for not being able to stomach his own acts of violence. Something about the thought brought him relief, perhaps even a glimmer of pride.

The feeling went cold as quickly as it had sparked. How could someone who took pleasure in such brutality be deserving of someone like Ryosuke? Was Ryosuke even safe around him anymore? He had done all this to keep Ryosuke safe from the monsters around them, but what good was that if the real monster was inside the house all along?

His mind flashed back to the first time, over a year ago now, that Ryosuke spent the night. Sasha was used to nightmares. They were simply a part of sleeping for him, even more so when he was stressed or unwell. A raging fever had sent him to bed far earlier than usual. Then, like so many nights before, he had woken in a frantic terror, but this time, there was someone there to target. Bedroom lit by the same cold, judgemental moon that had watched him tonight, his vision had blurred into view, and he found his hand wrapped tightly around Ryosuke's throat, just as he'd grabbed Rodya moments before.

That should have been the end of their relationship. To this day, Sasha couldn't fathom why Ryosuke had stayed. Sure, he had a nice apartment. Sure, the food was good and the sex fantastic, but someone so beautiful, talented, and charming could easily have found someone else to fit that bill, someone who wasn't a jenga tower of baggage and danger waiting to come crashing down. Someone who hadn't nearly killed him for the simple act of spending the night.

He squeezed the steering wheel tightly, fingernails digging into the expensive leather. Rodya could have found Ryosuke, he reminded himself. Rodya had proven he couldn't be trusted. Rodya had to die. Sasha had to kill him, to keep Ryosuke safe. 

Truthfully, Sasha wasn't sure there were any lines he wouldn't cross for Ryosuke's sake, or Valentina's, for that matter. As a child, he'd spent all too many hours lying awake, thinking of how grateful he was that his sister was the favorite. He would gladly endure Boris' cruelty to save her from being treated even half as badly as he was. And he would do just the same for Ryosuke. Sasha’s own wants, his needs, his feelings, his morals, none of it truly mattered. He was a weapon first and a person second. But at least he could be a weapon in defense of those he loved.

He parked in his usual spot, taking a minute behind the wheel to compose himself before he went back up to the apartment. His eyes stayed shut through the elevator ride, though the motion was disorienting. By the time he reached the penthouse, Sasha was shaking faintly, and even he didn't know whether it was anxiety or exertion. His trembling hands struggled with the key, taking what felt like a thousand years to manage the myriad of locks. He stumbled in, leaning back as the door shut and taking in the sight. Low lights, candles flickering on the coffee table, Ryosuke -

He took a sharp, shuddering breath, pressing a hand against the sudden, swelling pressure below his sternum.

Ryosuke, sprawled out asleep on the sofa, cosied up in joggers and a jumper he had clearly stolen from Sasha's closet. His fine, straight hair fell delicately over his forehead, splaying out on the cushion he was using as a pillow. His hands, held tight to his chest, drowned in the oversized sleeves. His face was slack and young and gentle in sleep. He was okay. Thank God, he was okay.

The briefest wave of relief only allowed Sasha a fraction of a second before a different beast swallowed him whole. The nausea he had been so disgustingly proud of avoiding grabbed him round the middle and squeezed like an iron claw. Cold sweat beaded on the back of his neck. He tried to swallow the metallic taste, but it caught in his throat, and the floor seemed to teeter beneath him. He knew at once that he was going to be sick. Legs suddenly spindly and brittle, he staggered across the apartment. He was barely halfway to the bathroom door when a dry retch folded him over, one hand bracing against his knee to keep himself upright.

From the sofa, Ryosuke shifted, hearing the noise but not fully awake yet. The sound of a proper heave seemed to bring him more to life and he sat up, rubbing his eyes with a drowsy groan. “Sasha-chan?”

Sasha, frozen with nausea and regret, couldn't respond. He blinked, and the burst of colour behind his eyelids looked just like the bloom of Rodya’s blood as it unfurled across his white shirt. He retched, bile rising in his throat as he forced his body to move, wobbling on his long legs like a baby deer as he stumbled and swore and banged his shoulder against the doorframe of the bathroom in a desperate scramble. He made it inside just in time, bending over the toilet more through muscle memory than through any conscious effort.

The room swirled around him, and Sasha braced his hands against the toilet to keep from collapsing on the spot. It was cold, hard, just like the concrete he'd leaned over earlier. Once again, he saw the red slowly spreading across white fabric, felt the scrape of blade against bone. He threw up.

He was panting heavily, gearing up for the nausea to rise again in his throat, when Ryosuke finally shuffled through from the living room. Sympathy creased his face, and he stepped closer, too experienced to reach a hand out before Sasha knew it was him.

“Hey,” Ryosuke said softly, his voice still low and scratchy from sleep. He waited for Sasha’s eyes to flick in his direction, for the panic to shift to recognition, and then he stepped closer. Stroking a hand gently over the tense muscles in Sasha's back, his own drowsy brain slowly picked up details. Knuckles scuffed and bruised. Coat and heavy boots still on. Knife on belt. Knife in boot. Holster under one arm. Pocket heavy, probably brass knuckles. 

Everything confirmed what Ryosuke had initially suspected - Sasha had been out running some grim errand for Boris. He'd gotten that feeling the night before when he saw the look on Sasha's face after a phone call in Russian. Ryosuke knew better than to pry, but he had intended to stay up, wanting to check on Sasha when he got back. Fatigue has settled over him like a weighted blanket though, the combination of his mild headache and scratchy throat altogether more exhausting than the sum of its parts, and he'd barely crawled into Sasha's comfiest clothes before he'd passed out on the couch.

Ryosuke’s sleepy musings were interrupted by another miserable retch, and he stroked a hand gently over Sasha’s back again. “Breathe,” he murmured, “it’s alright.”

“‘M fine,” Sasha coughed, scrubbing a wrist over his eyes to banish the tears that had started to well up. “I’m fine.”

“Sure,” Ryosuke nodded. “Yeah. Do you want some water?”

Sasha nodded, his breath coming in heavy puffs as he struggled to steady himself. “Yeah, just… gimme a second.”

“No rush,” Ryosuke assured him, giving Sasha’s shoulder a gentle squeeze. “I’ll be right back, okay?”

“‘Kay,” Sasha mumbled, long legs crumpling as he crouched down to the floor, leaning back against the adjacent wall. He wasn’t remotely comfortable, but all the energy had sapped out of him, and he wanted nothing more than to lie down. His stomach was still in knots, hands trembling faintly as the adrenaline drained from him, but he was done throwing up. Sinking his head into his hands, he took a shuddering breath.

“Sasha.” 

Ryosuke’s quiet voice just barely broke through the roar of blood in his ears, and he looked up blearily to see a cup of water being held out towards him. “Oh. Right. Thanks,” he mumbled, taking the cup in both hands in an attempt to keep it steady.

Ryosuke flushed the toilet then crouched down next to Sasha, once again not reaching out to touch him.

“Will you let me wrap your knuckles?”

“It's not that bad,” Sasha muttered, staring down at the cup as he forced slow, shaky breaths. He knew he needed to take a drink, but the lump in his throat only tightened further.

“Okay, but will you let me?” Ryosuke asked. “I know you don't care, but it'll make me feel better.”

“I…uh…in a minute,” Sasha nodded, raising the cup to his lips and taking the tiniest sip to rinse his mouth. The cool sensation was a welcome distraction, and after a moment, he took another drink. Slowly, carefully, he worked his way through the cup, finally setting it aside and dragging himself to sit upright. He leaned heavily on the wall as the weakness of long-lost adrenaline threatened to bring him back down. Rubbing both hands over his face, breathed out a long, shuddering sigh. He wanted to sleep. He wanted to shower. He wanted to curl up in a little ball and disappear.

Ryosuke sat down beside him, shuffling slowly closer until they sat shoulder to shoulder. Sasha leaned against him, another shaky sigh rattling in his chest. He knew he shouldn't spend the whole night on the floor, but the prospect of getting up seemed too great to surmount. Reaching out beside him, he wrapped an arm around Ryosuke, hugging him tight. He was here. That was the important part. He was here, and he was safe, and Sasha had made sure he would stay safe.

Gently, Ryosuke laid his hand over Sasha's knee. When Sasha didn't flinch away, he gave it the ghost of a squeeze. Sasha leaned further into his side, and Ryosuke took the invitation to snuggle closer. He knew they would need to get up soon, - spending a night on the floor would make them both miserable - but he didn't want to disturb the fragile peace that had arisen. Even now, he could feel the unsteady stammer of Sasha's heartbeat, pulse racing and breath shaky. Ryosuke didn't dare ask what was wrong; he could infer enough to know he didn't want the details, and Sasha wouldn't want to share.

“I love you,” he murmured instead, thumb stroking over the heavy, woollen fabric of Sasha's suit trousers.

You shouldn't, Sasha wanted to say. You deserve better. At the same time, he felt selfishly possessive, disgusted by the idea of Ryosuke in the arms of another. Instinctively, he clutched Ryosuke tighter, eliciting a little squeak of surprise. He immediately loosened his grip, finally seeming to break from his shell shock to give a sheepish, “Sorry.” 

“It's fine,” Ryosuke shrugged. “Just didn't expect it. Are you feeling better?”

“Mm.” Sasha nodded non-committally, taking the hint to climb to his feet. He still felt horrible, aching and shaking and vaguely nauseous, but he knew he wasn't going to throw up again. Better to be miserable in his cozy bed than on the cold bathroom floor. He offered a hand to Ryosuke, who stood easily but kept Sasha’s fingers in his grasp.

“Don't run off just yet,” Ryosuke told him.

Sasha felt a tight stab of panic, ready to be lectured or chastised or even berated for his behavior. Was this finally the time Ryosuke realized he could do better? Sasha didn't blame him. His heart was jackhammering in his chest by the time Ryosuke continued.

“I still need to wrap those knuckles.”

“...oh.” Letting out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding, the tension in Sasha's shoulders went slack. This was a practiced routine of theirs by now, and he sat on the closed lid of the toilet right away, holding his hand out obediently.

Daichi felt a heavy dread sink into his chest. His girlfriend had been sending him texts as she got ready for a New Year's Eve party yesterday, but Oliver had quickly confiscated Daichi's phone, reminding him that he wasn't supposed to be staring at screens. The rest of the night had been slow and lonely, with only the pain in his jaw to keep him company. He tried not to think about the party he should've been at. The friends he should've seen. The girlfriend he should've kissed at midnight. He hadn't even been awake at midnight to send a ‘happy new year’ text. But now, actually confronted with the prospect of human interaction, there was nothing in the world he wanted less. 

At the same time, he felt guilty. Surely Brynlee missed him, too - if she didn't care, she wouldn't message him constantly to keep in touch. Surely he was doing wrong by her just lying in bed and leaving Oliver to deal with it. Surely it was the least he could do to go say hello.

Getting out of bed was more of a battle than Daichi anticipated. Sitting up, a brutal wave of vertigo hit him like a brick, and he was forced to clutch at the mattress for stability. As his balance slowly crept back, he pulled the duvet up over his shoulders, shambling out into the living room on wobbly legs. 

“Now's really not a good -”

Oliver broke off, head whipping round as he heard the creak of a floorboard behind him. His face dropped immediately from stony frustration to exasperated concern as he pointed a finger sharply at Daichi.

“No. Lie back down. What the fuck, dude?”

“‘m fine,” Daichi mumbled, shuffling closer despite Oliver's instructions. “‘s fine. Let her in.” He turned to Brynlee, forcing his aching face into a weak smile. “Hey, babe. ‘d you have a good time at your party?”

Squeezing past Oliver, Brynlee strolled inside and looped her arms around Daichi's neck, pecking a careful kiss on his cheek. “Well,” she sighed, “The bartender was great, and I looked really hot. But your teammates were super weird to me.”

Oliver rolled his eyes, closing the door and turning around to cross his arms at her. “Maybe because you showed up latched onto some other guy instead of spending the night with your boyfriend,” he suggested drily.

“‘m sorry,” Daichi murmured, ignoring his brother to wrap an arm around Brynlee, one hand pressed into the small of her back. “They're just weird guys anyway, you know that right? Like, that's hockey.”

“You're not weird, though,” Brynlee said, nuzzling into his chest. “You're the best.”

“Well, exception that proves the rule or whatever,” Daichi shrugged, giving her a squeeze. “You wanna drink or something? I've got… I've got…” His face scrunched in desperate thought, but he eventually turned to Oliver with a defeated sigh. “What do we have?”

Oliver swallowed his prepared remark about the misuse of a common idiom, his smarmyness dissolving into concern at the pained, helpless look on Daichi's face. “Orange juice. Gatorade. Could make coffee.”

“Oooh, an iced latte?” Brynlee brightened, smiling hopefully over at Oliver. “You still have that hazelnut syrup, right babe?”

“Uh…”

“I'll look,” Oliver shrugged, turning towards the kitchen. “Make him sit down.”

Brynlee blinked, having seemingly forgotten about Daichi's situation for a moment. “Oh, right!” She looked up at him with a stern expression that didn't quite read seriously on her soft features. “Come on. Couch,” she ordered, pushing Daichi towards the sofa. He moved much more easily than expected, her gentle shove nearly tipping him over as he crumpled into the seat. Brynlee giggled, plopping down beside him and snuggling up. He sighed tiredly, tugging her in close.

“Tell me more about the party,” he said, tipping his head back against the cushions.

“Well, the venue was unreal,” Brynlee chattered, eager in her excitement. “Like, super grand, arc deco vibe. I got amazing photos on the staircase, Sven must have had a girlfriend back in Sweden because he is well trained.”

Oliver snorted derisively at her last comment, but Brynlee was thankfully focused on Daichi's reactions. He was slow to process her words, nodding gingerly. “Yeah, that's… super good. Glad you found a good dude.”

“You already had a good dude waiting at home,” Oliver grumbled, speaking in Japanese so he could gossip freely. His scowl faded slightly when he saw Daichi grimace.

“Not now, Ollie,” he begged.

Brynlee pouted. “Are you talking about me? What did he say? What are you saying?”

“Just an old inside joke,” Oliver said quickly. “We had a lot of jokes about hockey guys growing up.”

“Yeah, babe,” Daichi said. He rubbed his mouth, trying not to slur his words the way he had been every time a headache came on. Not now, he thought miserably. Not yet. “Don't worry about it, he's an idiot. Tell me about the food.”

“Oh my God, it was so good!” She gushed. “There were little fancy sandwiches and veggies cut into cute shapes and charcuterie boards with weird cheese and these little dumpling things that I don't know what they were called but they were so cute!”

Though it wasn't intentional, her pitch rose as she got more excited, and Daichi strained to keep a neutral expression. “That's nice,” he mumbled.

Brynlee nodded eagerly. “It was so nice and it was all so good and I looked so hot. I got tons of pictures, didn't you see them?”

Daichi nodded. He felt a little sick.

“Y’ looked good,” he agreed.

“He can't look at screens,” Oliver said flatly, appearing from the kitchen with an iced coffee in a tall glass. “I took his phone off him after the first twenty pictures.”

Brynlee's face fell. “You didn't see my midnight pictures?” She asked sadly.

“I was asleep,” Daichi said quietly. “You can show me now.”

“No, you can't.” Oliver's tone sharpened, and he leaned deliberately between them to hand Brynlee her coffee. He made eye contact with her, stern and serious as he repeated, “He can't. Look. At screens.”

“Not even for like…five minutes?”

“I can look for five minutes,” Daichi promised, “just turn the brightness down.”

“You already have a headache,” Oliver grumbled. “You're gonna wreck yourself.”

“Ollie, stop it,” Daichi said firmly, switching once more to Japanese. “I'm not a child.”

“No, you're just humoring one.” Oliver snapped back.

“Stop.” Daichi repeated. “If you're so bothered, leave.”

Oliver scowled. “God forbid I care about my brother,” he grumbled, stalking off towards the guest room nonetheless. Though he had no desire to be around Brynlee, he didn't actually want to go far, knowing Daichi would need him before long.

Daichi let out a tense sigh. “Sorry about that,” he said, turning back to Brynlee. “Show me your pictures.”

Although she had watched the interaction like a tennis match, Brynlee was quickly distracted. She scrolled through her phone, telling Daichi about all the people that she'd met and how many compliments she'd got on her dress. He nodded along, offering as many of his own compliments as he could muster, but his mind was quickly starting to struggle. Each new image flashing on the screen stabbed was an ice pick piercing his skull, and he felt flashes of pain in his jaw with every unbidden grimace. Blissfully ignorant to it all, Brynlee continued to talk.

“And this one was right at midnight, when the ball dropped!” She chirped, looking at him expectantly for a response. To her frustration, Daichi was silent. “See? Don't I look good?”

“Mmhmm…”

He couldn't look at the phone any longer. Trying not to groan, he blinked several times. Colour flashed behind his eyelids.

“Did you even look at it?” Brynlee asked, dissatisfied with his response.

“I did. Y’looked great, Brynn,” Daichi said, struggling to keep his words coherent. His vision had started to blur, the glow from her phone agonizingly bright even in his peripheral.

“Well, Sven liked it.”

“Uh huh…”

He blinked again, squeezing his fingers into his thigh in a vain attempt to…what? Distract himself from the growing discomfort in his head? Steady himself as vertigo swelled in his chest?

“Daichi?” Brynlee’s voice warped and warbled in his ears. “Are you listening? I have more pictures to show you.”

“Uhhhh… maybe ‘n a minute,” he slurred, squeezing his eyes shut in a futile attempt to escape the overstimulation.

“Baby?”

Her fingers found his jaw and he hissed in pain, jerking away. The room tilted sharply. Brynlee wrung her hands, unsure of what to do.

“Daichi? What's wrong?” She asked, desperate for direction.

“Ollie,” he croaked desperately, blinking tears out of his eyes. “Need…”

Brynlee frowned, looking around to see where the older Jansen had gone. “Oh, shit, uh… Oliver?” She called out.

As if waiting in the rafters, he swooped down upon them in seconds, flashing Brynlee a sharp glare. “Don't shout. He's already in pain.”

He crouched down, squeezing Daichi’s shoulder.

“Don't feel good,” Daichi mumbled, folding forwards to burying his eyes in Oliver's shirt.

“You wanna lie down, bud? I can get you a shot for the pain.”

“Please…”

“A shot?” Brynlee pouted. “He doesn't like needles. That's why we didn't get tattoos together.”

“Well, he'll have this one,” Oliver said shortly. He hooked his arm around Daichi's back, slinging his brother's big arm over his shoulder. “Alright, up we go. God, you weigh a ton.”

“Sorry,” Daichi mumbled, clutching Oliver tighter to stay upright.

“No, you're fine,” Oliver muttered, still straining under the weight. “I'm sorry I don't go to the gym anymore. For both our sake.”

“Don’ put your back out,” Daichi said, clinging harder to Oliver. It was unclear whether he was teasing or seriously concerned.

“Yeah, it's not on the agenda,” Oliver assured him.

Brynlee hopped up from the couch to follow after them. “Don't drop him!” She fussed, the shrillness of her worry arcing like lightning through Daichi's head. He whimpered, and Oliver hushed him gently.

“Stay out here,” he said firmly to Brynlee. “Come on, let's get you lying down.”

“But I want to help,” she protested, hurrying ahead before Oliver could shut her out.

“Then get out of the way,” he snapped.

Daichi flinched, face pressing into Oliver's shoulder.

“Don’ fight,” he begged. “Please. Hurts.”

Oliver sighed. “Right. Sorry,” he said quietly.

Brynlee, in a rare moment of good judgement, stepped aside so Daichi could be brought into the bedroom. She still hovered at his elbow, fussing quietly, but at least allowed Oliver to work.

“Here,” Oliver said, lowering Daichi down as gently as he could onto the bed. “Lie down, there you go. Let me just…” He lifted Daichi's legs up before tugging the duvet over him. “I'll be right back, yeah?”

“Feel like shit,” Daichi lamented, slinging an arm over his eyes to hide from the light.

“It's okay, baby,” Brynlee crooned, perching on the edge of the bed. The movement made Daichi groan, and she stroked her fingers through his hair, oblivious to her own fault in his discomfort. “Shhh, you're okay.”

He flinched again, moaning softly. The pain wasn't so bad as when he truly had a migraine, but the dizziness… God, the dizziness was unbearable. Even his own breath moved the mattress an unbearable amount, and it was all he could do to stay still against Brynlee's hand. He hoped Oliver would be back soon. Hopefully the shot would knock him out for a bit and he could get a moment's peace from the sickening spin of the world underneath him.

“Okay.” Daichi wasn't sure when Oliver had returned to the room, but suddenly he was at his bedside and a cool hand was lifting his pyjama shirt. “Little pinch in three, two…”

Though he managed not to flinch, Daichi let out a little involuntary whimper. Brynlee stroked his hair, continuing to shush him and ignoring the nasty look she was getting from Oliver.

“Okay, there you go. All done,” Oliver said, sticking the needle into the sharps container that now lived on Daichi's bedside. “Hopefully you can get some rest now,” he added, looking pointedly at Brynlee.

“I can be quiet,” she said, turning back to Daichi with a little huff.

“No.” Oliver stood up, gesturing for her to leave. “He needs rest. You can sit quietly in the living room if you want to stay so badly.”

“Well, if you want me gone so badly, I'll just leave,” Brynlee said, obviously hurt.

Though he couldn't have wanted company less, her tone sent a pang of guilt through Daichi's chest. “No, you c’n… she c’n stay. ‘s okay, Ollie.” he mumbled.

“No, she can't,” Oliver said firmly. “The doctors were very clear that you should be allowed to rest. You have a fucking brain injury, we're not fucking around with this.”

“So you think I don't care about him?” Brynlee asked incredulously. Offense swelled in her chest, and she stood from the bed with careless speed. The movement made Daichi groan, but she was distracted, turning her back to Oliver and stalking off out of the room. “I don't have to deal with this kind of disrespect.”

“Sorry bud,” Oliver muttered, glancing down at Daichi. “Had to be done. You get some sleep now, the drugs should kick in in a minute. I'll be outside if you need anything.”

“Don' go yet,” Daichi begged, one clumsy hand grabbing for Oliver. Then the front door slammed, and Daichi recoiled like he'd been shot, the sound reverberating violently in his head.

“Christ,” Oliver hissed, a poisonous glare whipping around as if he could follow Brynlee’s retreat down the corridor. Behind him, Daichi whimpered, and his attention quickly returned to what actually mattered. “It's okay,” he breathed, voice barely more than a thought. “You want me to stay? I'll stay.”

“Cuddle,” Daichi demanded, tugging weakly on Oliver's sleeve.

“Sure,” Oliver sighed, toeing his sliders off and slipping into Daichi's obnoxiously large bed. Immediately, Daichi curled against him, creased forehead pressing into his shirt.

Oliver wrapped an arm lazily around his brother, thinking back nearly twenty years ago to when he was actually bigger than Daichi. Though they were the closest in age, Oliver was still the oldest, and Daichi would come to him for help with homework, or video game bosses, or even just because he was having a bad day and wanted some company. How simple things had been back then.

Luke's whole face scrunched up, suspicion clear on his face, "I don't know... Sounds like you wanna get rid of me."

"Maybe I do," Bella snorted, snuggling up against his side, "we've been too attached at the hip, this will be good."

"We have not," Lucas argued, but settled back against the pillows, letting Bella press her cheek to his bicep, opening the book he had been holding shut, with his thumb serving as bookmarker.

"Don't pout," Bella teased him, "read for me."

"I will pout if I want to," Luke grumbled, flipping a page and starting to narrate the novel.

--------------------

"She should've called by now," Luke scoffed, glaring at his phone, while Vin hummed, moving around the kitchen.

"Didn't you talk to her during lunch?" Vince asked, voice muffled since he had his head in the fridge, retrieving a bunch of items. He planted a pack of beers on the table before Luke.

"Yes, and?"

"Jesus, Luke, you weren't that clingy even when you guys were dating," Vin snorted, opening a can and rubbing his hands together, looking around the room, in search of his phone, "by the way, did you pack?"

"Do I have to go?"

"Of course you have to go," Vince sounded offended, "one, you're the driver," he gestured wildly at the beer can in front of him, "because I plan on sleeping the whole way there and I don't trust the others to drive. And second, what are you gonna do here all alone the whole weekend? Bell is not in town, I won't be in town, Leo and Jon are tagging along... Do you have other friends I don't know about?"

"I have several friends you don't know about," Luke huffed, folding his arms on the counter and nesting his chin on them, "I'm a very friendly person."

"You are, yeah," Vince took a swing of his beer, "but they're more acquaintances than friends."

"Why can't Leo be the driver? Aren't we literally taking his car?" Luke sounded grumpy and Vince snorted, unable to help it. It was endlessly amusing that sometimes all it took was something going against his wishes for Luke to go back to that guy he had met seven, nearly eight, years ago.

"Fine, Leo drives," Vince rolled his eyes, "you're still tagging along. I'll throw you over my shoulder if I have to."

---------------

Vince nearly had to.

They had driven over to Jonah and Leo's — or rather, Luke drove, while Vince nursed a headache since he was hungover to hell and back after basically drinking alone while Luke bitched the night before — and gotten all the way to the garage, before Luke suddenly stopped.

"Oh, hell no."

"Uh?" Vince rubbed his eyes, looking around, confused. It took him a second to register what the issue was.

Max was leaning against Leo's white SUV, hands shoved in his acid stained jeans, wearing an oversized band t-shirt and his snake was wrapped around his arm. Vince thought he looked great, good enough to eat, an opinion that Luke obviously didn't share.

"I am not spending a whole weekend with this asshole," Luke complained, parking the car.

"Hello to you too," Max rolled his eyes, lowering his sunglasses, and Vince tuned Luke's bitching out in order to appreciate the view. He hadn't seen Max's snake yet and he looked at it curiously, the pet seemed to be absolutely content just wrapped around Max's forearm, deep red pattern almost camouflaging with his tattoos.

"Morning!" Leo's voice echoed in the garage and Vince groaned when it caused a stab of pain to go through his skull. He hadn't expected to be this hungover from a six pack, but apparently he was getting old.

Jonah seemed to share Vince's cranky mood, but that might've been just his usual resting bitch face. He was a couple steps behind Leo, fiddling with JD's carrier.

"We're gonna stop to drop JD at Chuck's first," Leo told them the itinerary, opening the trunk of his car so they could load the bags, "then I'll take first round of driving and we switch, Luke?"

"Fine," Lucas still looked terribly upset, which caused Jonah to snort.

They all got in the car, Vince got the passenger seat because they couldn't fit three men in the backseat if he was there and even then it was a tight fit. It would be better when Leo and Luke switched.

Jonah not only had been delegated to the backseat, but to the middle too, so Max and Lucas weren't sitting side by side. He planted JD's carrier on Luke's lap in an effort to keep her away from Max's snake, even though the blonde said, "Snakey isn't venomous, relax."

"You named your snake, Snakey?" Luke scoffed, while Leo let out an amused huff. Vince slid down his seat, fishing his sunglasses from the neckline of his shirt and planting it on his face with a satisfied groan. He should've taken some Advil before leaving, his head was pounding bloody murder.

Chuck was waiting outside of his building when they stopped by, exchanging a couple words with Leo and hinting not so subtly that he'd love to be invited to their next road trip. Jonah let out an amused huff as soon as they drove off.

"Looks like everyone wants a piece of you, baby," he crooned, leaning over the backseat to plant a kiss on Leo's cheek and Luke tugged at his belt loops, like a kid, saying, "stay on your seat."

There was minor bickering during the first half of the trip. Vince would know, since he was such a light sleeper, but he thankfully managed to nap at least forty minutes uninterrupted.

He woke up twice, once because he was starting to feel carsick due to the hangover, but it was nothing that rolling down his window and drinking some water didn't fix and another time because Max's snake had slithered onto Jonah's lap and Jon was talking in a way too high pitch, while Luke did his best impression of napping against the opposite window, as if Vin wasn't able to tell he was faking by just catching a glimpse of his face on the side mirror.

He was sound asleep, so much so he was dreaming, when Luke's voice cut through the haze, "wakey, wakey..." A humid finger teasing his ear-

"Cazzo!" Vince jerked awake, slapping Luke's hand away from his ear, while his best friend giggled like a kid. Jon was a couple of steps ahead, head low as he talked with Leo, who was handling the snake and Max was nowhere to be found.

"Welcome to the land of the living," Luke grinned, brightly, "c'mon let's get some food into you."

The thought of food was as far from appetizing as possible, even nauseating, and it probably showed on his face, because Luke pursed his lips and Max, coming around the vehicle holding a crate to put his pet in, scoffed, "remind me what happens when you don't eat, Monacelli?" He didn't wait for an answer, eyebrows raised in a petulant way, "that's right, you faint like a damsel in distress. No one told you to drink last night, suck it up and eat."

"Dickhead," Vin whispered, much to his chagrin, because Luke heard and beamed.

It took them a moment to get settled — Snakey safely put away in his crate, wallets retrieved — and order. Max was studying the menu as if it was a bomb and Luke rolled his eyes dramatically.

"I'm gonna have the bacon burger," he listed, "with a sunny egg and Uh- a Pepsi..."

"Get a juice, the caffeine is gonna make your ADHD worse than it already is," Jonah reprimanded him, while Vince grimaced at the mental image of Luke's lunch, forehead resting heavily on his hand.

"I think I'll just have, uhm- fries," Max mumbled, causing Leo and Vince to frown at him.

"You'll be starving by the time we get to the cabin," Vince said, while Leo pouted.

"Surely there's something else you can stomach besides just fries."

"Fries aren't even that safe," Vin pointed out, "greasy. At least, get a salad with it."

"Does the baby want mashed potatoes?" Luke teased, except no one found it funny and he deflated like a balloon, picking up his phone and staring at it.

Vince rolled his eyes, "fries and a salad? Maybe chicken?"

"I'm having the grilled chicken," Jonah vouched, attempting to reassure Max, who looked skeptical.

In the end Max, Leo and Jon had the same dish, while Luke had that greasy bomb of his and Vince glared at his simple sandwich, stomach feeling testy, even if he knew his friends were right and he had to eat if he didn't want his blood sugar to crash later.

"Can you finish for me?" Max whispered, as soon as Leo got up to use the bathroom and Vince didn't have the heart to say no, even if he felt already stuffed with just half his meal.

They finished the meal and Luke told them all to use the bathroom because he was not stopping — with a glare sent Max's way, which caused Leo to his at him and tell Lucas to stop being a dick — and they exchanged seats, back inside the car.

Now Luke was driving, which meant Leo was on the passenger seat in order to avoid getting carsick. Jonah moved to the seat behind the driver, so he had a clear view of Leo, and Max was relegated the middle, since Vince needed the other window to stick out his elbow otherwise they didn't all fit.

It had been such a dumb idea to take just one car, but Vince couldn't even complain because it had been his idea, in order to make the trip as affordable as possible, since both him and Max were teachers and had a teacher's salary. Not that he had said that part out loud, because then Max wouldn't have come out of sheer pride and Lucas would've smacked him for thinking numbers when he could've easily paid for the whole trip himself.

Just a bad idea all around, and it was getting worse.

About twenty minutes into the drive, Vince could feel his stomach complaining about the meal. It hadn't been heavy, but he was still hungover as hell and he wasn't sure if it would stay down.

Max squirmed next to him, pressing a burp into his fist, which was covered up by the music playing — Leo's pick and Vince wanted to strangle him. The Mean Girls musical was already annoying to begin with, made worse by a headache.

Jonah was texting someone and Vin didn't want to look his way, because he was pretty sure it was Wendy. They were all avoiding the topic of the nuclear breakup, Max caught in the destruction.

"Can you go easy on the turns?" Max's voice was dripping with annoyance, as he looked pointedly at Luke.

"I am," Luke scoffed, glaring at him in the rearview mirror, "I'm the best driver out of us."

"That would be Vince, not you," Jonah corrected, not bothering to look up from his phone.

"You're not the best anything," Max scoffed, squirming again. Vince gulped down the aftertaste flooding his mouth, sparing his ex-boyfriend a glance. He was pale.

"Really?" He asked in a low voice, just for Max, "I thought you'd be safe, it wasn't anything heavy..."

Max's cheeks turned crimson and he looked away, "I'm fine."

"Do we gotta pull over?" Vin whispered, to which Max answered loudly:

"No, we don't have to pull over."

"If we pull over we're gonna get to the cabin at night," Luke complained, causing Vince to roll his eyes and Jonah to snap at him.

"Keep your eyes on the road, Lucas!"

"I am looking!" Luke bit back, then killed the music and Vince could've moaned out of relief. His headache was getting worse and he was sweating, feeling claustrophobic and overstimulated.

Max leaned his head back against the seat, arms crossed and Vince eyed him suspiciously. A gurgle came out of his stomach, loud enough that Vin and Jonah heard, but not the men on the front.

Vince's own stomach seemed to be bloating up, it was pressing painfully against his jeans and he regretted picking those pants. He should've come in sweatpants.

He squirmed, tugging on it and causing Max to huff, "stop moving around, Vin."

"Sor-urp-sorry," his cheeks burned as a burp interrupted him mid phrase. The car did another swerve as they continued to drive uphill. Was Luke doing those sharp turns on purpose or had he just forgotten how to drive?

Max muffled another burp in his hand, paling even more and tugging on the neck of his shirt.

"Lucas," Jonah's voice was clipped, tense, "I think you should pull over."

"I can't," Luke sounded defeated, not annoyed, which was a welcome change, "there's no shoulder, we gotta get out from the mountain part..."

"I'm fine," Max scoffed, offended over Jonah advocating on his behalf. Vince swallowed another queasy burp, keeping most of his face out of the window to get some fresh air. The beers had been a mistake, the next burp came up smelling like it and he recoiled.

"Luke, really, find a place to pull over-"

"I am FINE!" Max cried out, despite the sweat matting how his hair, only for Jonah to glare at him.

"LEO is gonna throw up, it's not about you!" He said, sharply, just as Leo let out a groan and hunched forward on the passenger seat, hands frantically reaching for the glovebox.

He pulled out a plastic bag just in time, Luke's own hand trying to aid him into holding it open, as Leo retched loudly and then there was the horrible noise of liquid meeting wrinkly plastic.

Max's mouth was open in a comical O, while Vince gulped down the saliva flooding his mouth, keeping his face now firmly out of the window, no matter if he was basically acting like a dog.

"Oh, buddy," Luke cooed, the car swerving once as he steadied his grip, so one of his hands could be entirely at Leo's disposal, "I'm gonna try to pull over soon, I swear-"

"D'you'avenotherbag?" Max's words were sticking together and he hand hunched into himself, a hand firmly pressed to his mouth, "please...?"

Vince gagged, shutting his eyes in a feeble hope to avoid what he knew was gonna happen next.

"Here, here, here-" Luke, sounding frantic, chorused by Leo losing more of his lunch with a nauseating belch that turned solid-

"Take the bag!" Jonah cried out, his voice climbing to shrill levels, and then there was a guttural belch coming from Max-

Vince didn't hear the rest of it. His own stomach was messed up to begin with, and as soon as the smell hit him, he was done for.

He retched violently out of the window, but nothing came up, because of course not. He had never been lucky throwing up. His ears went deaf and his head drummed, whole body feeling like it was burning. He was sweating like a pig.

The car sped up, instead of slowing down, doing some wild turn that had Vince's head spinning and him groaning. Was Luke trying to kill him?

"Vin, get your head inside! You'll be decapitated like this!" Luke said, while Jonah tugged the back of his shirt, shoving a plastic bag on Vince's lap with rushed, clumsy movements. He had his other hand curled into a white knuckled fist, pressed to his mouth, whole face so ashen he was nearly grey.

Vince fell back down on his seat, opening the plastic bag and staring at his bottom. Blood was drumming in his ears and he could taste last night's beers, but all that kept coming up were frothy burps. He wanted the sandwich out of his stomach now.

In a desperate attempt to not feel so horribly nauseous, Vince shoved a finger down his throat. The effect was instantaneous, a rush of warm beer and clumps of bread fell inside the bag. The car swerved again, his stomach cramped, sweat causing the shirt to cling to his back... Max heaved loudly, more vomit falling inside his bag.

Someone was speaking, but Vince could barely hear over the headache and nausea. He coughed the bits stuck to his throat and gagged again, a more watery wave, then pressed his forehead to the back of the passenger's seat, panting over his open bag.

Slowly, the car came to a stop, but Vince didn't move, waiting for the dizziness to subside.

"Vin'move," Max poked his side and Vince forced himself to nod, spitting the ropey saliva out and snatching his bag closed. He opened the door and stumbled out of the vehicle, quickly followed by Max, who braced against his knees and brought an impressive wave of vomit all over the grassy side of the road.

Luke had run around the car, opening Leo's door and was now kinda crunched over, talking with their friend. Vince had the distinct feeling that Leo was crying, but he wasn't sure, the sunlight was piercing.

He tied a knot to end of his bag and circled the car, so he wasn't so close to the busy road. Luke was coaxing Leo out of car, wrapping an arm around the blonde, whom now Vince could see wasn't crying, but was definitely distraught.

"You good?"

Leo sent him a scathing look over the stupid question, sitting on the ditched driver's seat and letting his head hang. He let out a belch, unabashed, probably feeling too sick to care.

"Okay, okay, okay, I- Shit, okay," Luke mumbled, frantically, "I got this."

Vince raised a skeptical brow, but Max voiced his thoughts, "you don't got shit."

"Shut up, Daniels," Luke said, although he barely seemed to be paying attention. He rubbed a hand over his face, "Vince? Are you good now?"

He raised a hand and shook it from side to side, in a more or less gesture, "dunno, stomach's still iffy."

"Okay, take- Take your time," Lucas grimaced then, "Jon?"

Jonah was still inside the car, which couldn't be good idea, considering three grown men had just puked inside of it. Granted, Vince didn't think any of it had gotten to the upholster, by some miracle, but there was no way that car smelled alright-

"ShIT, JON-" Luke exclaimed, voice rising with urgency and he jumped forward, opening the door and trying to yank Jonah out. He was half a second too slow, hand getting caught in the crossfire as Jonah suddenly gagged and puked all over his lap, shoes and yep, the fucking mat.

"God," Max groaned, far away, turning around and folding by the middle as the sight triggered another wave from him. Vince made a face, averting his eyes from the mess.

Leo looked green as a pickle, but still there was a concerned twist to his mouth and the clear desire to step closer to help, even if he knew he'd be no help.

"Stay seated," Vin bossed stepping forward to help, causing Leo to roll his eyes.

Luke was down in a crouched down position near the backdoor, his singular clean hand holding Jonah by the shoulder, the other one held up in the air. Jon was still retching violently, a puddle forming on the grass.

"Jesus," Vince groaned, "how can I help?"

"Get Daniels," Luke gestured with his vomit covered hand, "get him to stop spewing."

"Oh look, he care-ERghk-" Max tried to mock, interrupted by another violent heave. Vin snorted, walking back to the guy.

"Hey," he spread his legs apart so they were more or less the same height, meeting Max's eyes. There were pained lines around it and he had an arm firmly wrapped around his middle, "talk to me."

"That stupid-" Max panted, a gross line of droll hanging from his bottom lip, "chicken."

"Are we talking food poisoning or just your usual fucked upness?" Vince planted a hand on Max's back, rubbing up and down and feeling a twinge of worry as he could feel the blonde trembling.

"Dunno."

"Great," Vince sighed, running over the events. It could be food poisoning. Max, Leo and Jonah were all puking and all of them had had the chicken... So had he, Vin realized, he had eaten the last of Max's meal.

His stomach immediately soured and he raised a hand to muffle a sick, nauseated burp. He wasn't even sure if he was actually sick or just queasy at the idea of food poisoning.

"M'good now," Jon panted ahead, voice hoarse enough to sound like he had chain smoked his whole life, "fuck, my- My everything."

"We can fix that, don't worry," Luke reassured him, wiggling his hand to try and get the bits of vomit off of it and rounding the car to get to the trunk, "new pants and shoes?"

"Got on my shirt too..." Jonah sounded humiliated.

Leo let out a groan, pressing the heel of his hand to his forehead, just as Max jerked with an empty heave and groaned loudly.

"Fuck, it's cramping," he whimpered, reaching behind him and clutching Vin's shirt. Vince moved his hand up, stroking Max's sweaty nape and then pulling back his hair with one hand, the other one holding him by the arm.

"I don't think it's food poisoning, Max," Vince said, wishing he was right. His head was still throbbing and everything was too loud, too bright. Hangover, nothing else, he told himself.

"Leo?" Jonah called, worried, "Leo, how are you?"

"Uhmm," Leo mumbled, holding on the driver's door, "dizzy..."

"Leo's carsick," Vince should not have felt as relieved about that as he was, "I think we just had really, really, shit luck..."

Eventually, Luke managed to coax Jonah and Leo both out of the car and help Jonah undress from his destroyed pants, shirt and shoes, much to the guy's mortification, putting him into a fresh new set.

"Look at you, Luke, all ready to be a dad," Vince teased him, sitting on the ground on the side of the road, watching as Luke used one of their water bottles to wash the mat that Jon had destroyed, "handling it like a champ."

"It's gonna go to his head," Max warned, head hanging between his knees and face pinched. He was the one worse off now. Jonah was just embarrassed and cranky, but otherwise he was fine, Leo felt fine now on solid ground and Vince was still nursing a killer headache, but at least the water was helping with that and the nausea had receded to just queasiness.

"Fuck off, Daniels," Luke's voice was strained as he shook the mat to get the last bits off of it, grimacing, "okay, I say- Back on the road?"

"Just leave me here to die," Leo groaned, resting his head on Jonah's shoulder, "if I get back on the road I'm gonna puke again."

"No, you won't, you took more meds," Luke argued, "you'll be asleep in no time."

"I don't feel sleepy," Leo sounded just as annoyed as Jon looked, "Max is gonna hurl again too, let's just wait."

Clearly Lucas wanted to argue, Vince could tell — and hell, he didn't even blame his best friend, he agreed with him. It was getting dark and soon the side of the road not only would be freezing, but finding the cabin would become such a fucking chore — but he just made a face and stuffed his now clean hands onto his pockets, "yeah, wait, I can wait. I'm patient."

Vince snorted, "are you?"

Max let out a groan next to him, then scooted closer and then pressed himself to Vin's side, apparently feeling sick enough he no longer wanted to keep the obligatory ex-boyfriend distance they were keeping. Vince stiffened for a second, then relaxed, putting a hand on Max's nape and rolling his thumb in an attempt to make the guy feel better.

"I am," Luke swore, staring ahead.

Vin counted twenty seconds before Luke started to thump his foot, quick, like an annoyed bunny. He snorted, cradling his head. He wasn't sure where he had put his sunglasses, but he missed them.

"Vince, can you handle meds? I have Tylenol," Luke had moved, unable to stand still, and was going through his backpack, "I have pepto too, Daniels. Would it help?"

Max's head snapped at his name and he took a second to process the question, "oh yeah, thanks."

"Catch," Luke flung the bottle at his head and Max didn't move a muscle to grab it, only scoffing.

"Do I look like an athlete to you?"

Vince caught it before the pink bottle could smack Max's head — and he pretended he didn't know Luke had a ridiculously amazing aim, star quarterback, everyone — and opened the bottle, offering it to Max.

Luke paced again. Side to side of the car, then circling it, then again-

"You think he's gonna explode if we make him wait longer?" Leo whispered, causing Jonah to chuckle and Vince to smile.

"I'd test it, but I do wanna get back in the car. At least it was comfy, these rocks are hurting my ass."

"Oh no, your best asset!" Vince clutched his chest with fake despair, causing Max to chuckle and elbow him.

"My best assets are my arms, I'll have you know," he scoffed and Vin's smile just widened.

"No, it's your ass, baby, I'd know," Vince rebuked, causing Max's cheeks to dust pink and Jonah to groan loudly.

"No one wants to know, Vince!"

"Okay, are you guys ready to get back in the car!?" Luke exclaimed, having circled it for the fifth time, hands up in the air in an exasperated manner, "c'mon people!"

"Oh," Leo grinned, standing up slowly like an old man, "just had a déjà vu."

Vince caught his drift, smiling right back at him as they said in unison, "yes, captain!"

Wendy arrived early, too early. She sat in the coffee shop as little over eight, and worked herself into a ball of nerves, so by the time Bella came in, she was damn near a panic attack. She ordered a bagel and a caramel latte and picked at it until it was all crumbs.

She hadn't seen Bell since they had brought in Sophia for the appendectomy, which had been at least twenty days before. Despite the small window of time, Wendy expected her to have changed somehow.

She hadn't. Bella looked exactly the same, clad in ripped dark jeans, combat boots and a Rolling Stones top with holes all over it, showing the black sporty bra she had under and tattoo. Dark makeup, despite it being early in the day, waltzing in as if she always came to this place and was, in fact, the owner.

Wendy felt small in her chair. She felt childish, raising a hand so Bella could identify her.

Although Wendy had teased Bella many times about her resting bitch face, she had never had it directed at her. Now she understood perfectly why people thought her intimidating.

"Hi," Wendy said, the singular word coming out scratchy and raspy, as soon as Bella sat down in front of her. Leaning back in her chair, thumbs tucked on the pockets of her jeans, all fight.

"Hi," Bella's voice was dry and Wendy twisted her hands nervously, gesturing to the menu in front of them.

"Uhm- Do you wanna order anything? They have red velvet here, I know it's your favorite..." It hurt her, that she knew so many of Bella's favorite things and yet there was now this abyss between them. An abyss she was entirely at fault for.

"Sure," Bell's blue eyes squinted, annoyed, at the menu, before she pushed it down with a huff, getting up to order at the cashier. When she returned, holding a singular small black coffee, Wendy knew she could no longer push it off, "so?"

"I..." Wendy licked her lips, "I messed up. I should never- I was so upset at you, at first, for telling Jonah about my- And then I just got so caught up in my own drama, I didn't even register any of your apologies, I-" She looked up, meeting Bella's unimpressed glare, "I failed you as a friend. I'm sorry. I became a bully, I just went right back to my old high school days, and nothing anyone said could make me change my ways."

"Hmmm," Bella planted her coffee on the table, tearing through the sugar packets, "yeah, expand on that bully part."

"I- I isolated you, I made sure you knew you weren't invited to Vin's birthday party-"

"You nearly caused another fight between Luke and Vin, you know, the guy you claim to love, after they just got back on good terms," Bella stirred her coffee, folding a leg over her knee, unbothered.

Wendy gulped down the knot in her throat, the desire to snap back I don't claim to love him. This was not the time to bite on Bell's needling, she was entitled to being annoyed.

"And- And then after, when Vince confronted me, I just couldn't- I couldn't understand why he was siding with you... I thought it was about you, when it was about me, I-" her heart was racing and her eyes were blurry, but Wendy stubbornly wiped the tears away, hoping Bella hadn't noticed, "I was a bully. In all the occasions. Refusing your apology, during Vin's birthday party, later when I called you, then in the hospital with Sophia..."

"The hospital when I was there with Vin and Luke," Bella pointed out, counting on her fingers, "when you pretended you didn't see us all there. Couldn't come forward and be worried about the people you loved."

"No, I didn't- It wasn't that," Wendy defended weakly, "I just... I was still thinking I was justified and if I went there- If I apologized and didn't mean it, I'm sure you'd have seen through my words..."

Bella raised an eyebrow, sipping on her coffee and making a face at the taste. She set the mug down, "what do you want, Wendy?"

The question took the air out of her lungs and Wendy's chin wobbled. She bit down her lip, Bella's tired and resigned tone causing her heart to break further, "I..."

"You want Vin back? You go and apologize to him," Bella steamrolled over her, hurt sipping into her words, "I don't need this."

"No- I, no!" Wendy shook her head vehemently, "I mean- Of course I want him back, but I'm not apologizing to you because of him! Bell, c'mon, we were best friends... Right? I know I messed up, but for a moment- We were, right?"

"Right," Bella's lips turned down, eyes scrutinizing Wendy's face, none of the tears and despair that Wendy felt, "you want my forgiveness?"

"I want... To apologize. I don't know if you'll forgive me, I just wanted to let you know I understand now how I messed up... And I messed up, Bell," she choked out, "I hurt you so badly, and I knew exactly how to do it, because we were close... I shouldn't- I just wanted to say sorry."

"Okay," Bella's shoulders dropped, she leaned forward, planted her arms on the small table they shared and grabbed Wendy's hands.

Wendy froze, sight going all blurry. She lowered her head in shame, in relief too. Bella understood, Bell got it-

"Thank you," Bella said slowly, squeezing her fingers, "for apologizing. You're right, if it wasn't real, I'd see right through it... At least, I like think so," she sniffled and Wendy looked up, blinking quickly the welled tears, so she could see Bell's own eyes overtly shiny.

"Bell, I'm so sorry... I was a horrible friend and I wish- I wish I could say I didn't mean it, but-"

"I know," Bella sniffled, gulping down and steadying her voice, "I know. And... I hope you and Vin fix things up and- You'll always be welcome in the friend group, Wendy. If you get back with Vin or not, if Jon- I'm not gonna be an obstacle, I swear..."

What?

Wendy's voice disappeared, Bella kept speaking, her long fingers still clasping Wen's.

"But I think it's best if we call it quits now," she said calmly, "I'm happy you're making amends and I- I forgive you, but... But I won't pretend something I don't feel and... You broke my heart, Wendy. I don't think we should be friends again."

Wendy couldn't speak. She could barely breathe.

She had expected hostility, she had expected Bella to lash out or to fight, at least. She hadn't expected this. Wendy had no idea what to even do with this.

"...Bell, I- I can fix this, I'll be better-"

"No, you can't, Wen," Bella squeezed her hands one last time, letting go of them, "and that's fine, I don't want you to beat yourself up or anything. You owed up to your mistake and I am, so sorry that I was the cause for all this in the first place. I shouldn't ever have outed you to Jonah like that-"

"No, Bella, forget about that," Wendy dismissed it, swatting a hand as if the subject was an annoying fly, feeling panic crawl up her throat, "you no longer want us to be friends? Why? None of this will happen again, Bell-"

"I...Don't believe you..." Bella admitted, her cheeks turning pink with embarrassment while Wendy stared at her, "and I'm sorry, because I can tell that you mean this and that you believe it, but I- You were really cruel, Wen, and I can't- I can't be a good friend, if I'm second guessing your every move and doubting your intentions. I don't want to punish you, but I can't just have us be friends again, it won't be the same."

Wendy wasn't above begging, she had had that notion disproven quite quickly when Vince had broken up with her. Nevertheless, all that she managed was a weak, "please..."

Bella winced as if she had been slapped, pulled back from Wendy and she could almost see the other woman's walls going up. Softness vanishing from her features, careful and guarded.

"I'm sorry, Wen..." Bella pushed her chair back and Wendy realized her time was up. Their time was up.

She felt like she was bleeding out.

"Take care, okay?" Bell squeezed her shoulder, getting up, clearly wanting to be anywhere but there, "and I really meant what I said about Vin... I'm glad you're apologizing to him as well, and I hope you two can fix this somehow."

In the way she hadn't managed to do with Bella.

"I want to apologize, we shouldn't have had you on the clock while so sick," Lois went on, while Claire paced nervously behind her, chewing on her lip, "please take the rest of the week off... And Dr. Banks will be properly reprimanded for his behavior... And he will be apologizing for it, he's extremely sorry."

Uh-huh.

Chris rolled his eyes, finally managing to push himself into a more or less sitting position. He wasn't in the ER like he had previously thought, they had given him a room. Fancy, but extremely unnecessary for just dehydration. He wanted to piss and to go home, maybe eat something- Nope. His stomach soured at the thought of food. He gulped down.

"Can I go?"

Chris had no plans to stick around so Jonah could come apologize for being the massive asshole that he was or so Marshall came closer with that disgusting perfume of hers. Truly, who thought bathing in vanilla before going to work at a hospital was a good idea?

"Uhm," Lois sighed, "we'll need to clear it with Dr. Chen, she'll be up in a minute to check on you... You really gave us quite a fright, Chris."

Claire scoffed, "you scared the shit out of me. Did you know you were burning up? Like teeth chattering burning up?" She squinted at him and he cringed in embarrassment. He liked Claire, she was a bit of a doormat and he had no idea about her private life at all, because she was extremely private, but she was sweet. Folded too easily whenever Banks was around, but sweet.

"Chris?"

Oh, she expected an answer?

"I didn't," he mumbled, glaring at the IV needle sticking out of his hand, "just felt like crap."

"Well, next time maybe let us-"

"Dr. Peters," Lois interrupted, probably remembering that he had in fact let them know and then she had forced him to come to work anyway, "let's let Dr. Lavin rest. You also need rest, you've been awake for too long."

"I'm fine," Claire grumbled, rubbing her exhausted face. Chris threw her an amused look and she only glared back, "okay, I'm gonna go. My ride is here. Feel better Chris."

Oh? Her ride? Was Claire dating?

Another thing that Chris was, besides a self admitted asshole, was a snoop. He loved collecting information on people, like Marshall falling apart since her breakup — he really wanted to know how that had gone down. By how devastated she was, he assumed Tim had cheated on her — and Henderson's third kid arriving that summer — third kid! In this economy?! — and whatever the reason Banks had stretched his honeymoon for two weeks longer than he should have and everyone had acted as if it was perfectly fine to cover for him as he travelled Bali, acting as if Chris was insane for pointing out that he didn't want to cover for the guy. Not knowing that had been driving him crazy.

"Thanks, Claire," he said, cringing when his voice was raspy and his throat ached. His stomach churned uncomfortably and he looked around the room, pointedly ignoring his boss. He wasn't sure why she wasn't gone too.

The door opened and closed, Lois let out a sigh, "Chris," serious voice. He forced their eyes to meet, she looked concerned, but collected, "I trust you understand it was all a big... Misunderstanding and that you aren't going to proceed with an audit or anything of the sorts?"

Of course, Jonah wasn't held liable, being a jerk wasn't a crime, but forcing a sick doctor to work to the point of collapsing might be. She was worried about the hospital, which put him at ease. Much better than her being concerned about him.

"No, I won't pursue any audit or anything of the sorts," he promised, "thanks for the PTO week, though."

She smiled, relieved and amused he had understood the reason he had been given such extensive time to recover. Business were so much easier than people, messy, complicated people.

"I'm going to let you rest," Lois squeezed his knee over the thin sheet thrown over him, "Dr. Chen will be upstairs in a moment to clear you."

June Chen was a more senior doctor and he had very little contact with her. She was extremely put together and hung out with Stewarts and Dawson, sometimes they took pity on Henderson and let him join the clique, or so it seemed for Chris. Either way, Chen had a no nonsense approach that he liked and she only scoffed at his chart, signing it with a huff.

"Don't drive home," she said, writing his release permit, "you're on Zofran right now, but the effects should fade in an hour. If you're back to being sick and can't keep down liquid, come back to the hospital. I want you to monitor that fever as well, it was scarily high. Right now it broke, but if it goes up again- You live alone, don't you?" She interrupted herself, frowning and Chris, who had already thrown his legs over the edge of the bed and was removing his own IV, just nodded.

She let out a displeased noise, "get someone to stay with you at least for the morning, you're too weak to handle it if your fever climbs again."

"Okay," he nodded, not planning on obeying. Chen squinted at him, then rolled her eyes.

"Okay," she put down the pen, "any questions?"

"Nope."

"Alright," she nodded and turned around, "hope I don't see you again, feel better."

Perfectly content with being left alone, Chris finished getting dressed and hunted down his phone. His battery was running low.

He hoovered over Emerald's contact, considering letting her know, then decided against it. He felt fine, nauseous and shaky, but nothing he couldn't handle.

In an effort to not be the worst patient of all time, he did call a cab instead of driving himself.

That was how he ran into Banks, as he waited outside the hospital, hands in his pockets, fending off the vertigo.

Jonah was driving back home, Chris recognized the red sedan, scoffed quietly. Then it pulled to a stop in front of him, window rolled down, "Lavin."

"Banks," he rubbed his hands to warm them up, checked the ETA of his cab. Ten more minutes. How the hell, Welton was not that large!

"Are you waiting for your ride or did you get a cab?" Jonah asked and Chris just stared at him.

"Dawson said you wanted to apologize."

"Cab or a ride?"

"Is this the part where you say I'm sorry Chris that I was a horrible doctor and horrible human being all around, please don't go to HR, I didn't know you were sick despite the fact you repeatedly told me, I don't know how to interact-"

"I'm sorry," Banks said, not sounding like he meant it, "let me give you a ride. Least I can do."

"Least you could do is leave me alone," Chris shrugged, gulping down as his stomach complained him standing up for so long. He really, really wanted his own bed. More Zofran, probably. Ginger ale so he'd stop burping acid.

"Let me give you a ride," Banks insisted and Chris opened his mouth to tell him to go die in a ditch, but then his phone buzzed. He let out a sigh of relief that the car was close only to glance at the screen and realize the driver had cancelled his trip.

Fucking hell.

"So?" Banks asked, and Chris' shoulders dropped, defeated.

"Fine. If you shut up the whole drive."

Jonah did stay quiet for the biggest chunk of it. He kept his eyes on the street and drove carefully, which Chris was glad for, because his stomach was growing more and more uneasy.

He muffled a burp in his hand, staring at the horizon intently. The car was freezing, so he reached for the heater, taking a second to understand Jonah's dashboard. Banks didn't mention him turning it on, didn't even glance at him. Good.

His car was extremely clean, Chris noticed. Nothing like some of the mess that was in the backseat of his own vehicle, empty water bottles and papers he needed to mail his accountant. Nope, all pristine and smelling like pine.

He fidgeted on his seat, tugging on the seatbelt that was squeezing his tender middle. Opened the glovebox. Mints, a brand new roll of toilet paper, neatly folded plastic bags, six different bottles of pills??

"What the fuck," Chris whispered, shocked by the medication. It could be Jonah's but he hadn't ever seen Banks taking pills...

"They're my husband's," Jonah slammed the glovebox shut, "and you're being rude."

"Not half as much as yelling at the clearly sick guy, now am I?" Chris scoffed and Banks' eyebrows connected, lips turning down at the corners.

"You didn't look that sick, you're always pale and look like a vampire," he mumbled, drumming his fingers on the steering wheel and glancing at the GPS, "and I'm sorry. I was out of line."

Chris pursed his lips, annoyed at the apology, "yes, you were," he said strongly, "you're not my boss, Banks. Even if you were, which you aren't, it would've been fucking detrimental to treat a person like that. I know you think you're untouchable because your dad is famous but-"

Jonah interrupted him with a genuine snort, pressing his lips not to laugh, "you think I'm arrogant because of my father? Really, coming from you, Lavin?"

Chris clenched his jaw. Most people didn't tie his surname to LVA Medical, the company that supplied their equipment in the hospital and to at least a thousand others across the country, but Banks had done his homework.

"I never once brought-"

"Oh, and I have? Projecting much?" Jonah's voice dripped with sarcasm, "hate me all you want, but don't pretend our differences is a class issue or me acting entitled because of my father whom I never even mentioned. You don't know shit about me."

"And you don't know shit about me, but that doesn't stop you from making all sorts of assumptions, does it?" His stomach flipped and the singular glass of water he had had on his way out of the hospital rocketed up his throat. Chris gulped down, fighting the clammy nausea that was spreading all over him, "fuck this, pull over."

"Don't be a fucking baby, we're five minutes away from your address," Banks rolled his eyes.

Chris swallowed the thick saliva accumulating in his mouth, shuddering at the bitter taste, "And I can walk those five minutes. Stop the car."

"So you can tell Dawson I abandoned you on the side of the road while sick? I already got three days of suspension, no thanks."

He had gotten three days of suspension? What a shitty punishment if Chris was not even gonna be there that week. He swallowed again, the knot in his throat increasing, making it harder to push down the liquid "Jonah, pull over."

It kept moving.

Chris shuddered, convulsing with an empty heave and bracing against the dashboard, "M'serious-"

"Don't throw up in my car," Jonah groaned, just as the vehicle stopped. Chris should have moved, but he suddenly couldn't, too weak to even undo his seatbelt. This whole drive had been a horrible idea...

He reached again, just as Banks grabbed his shoulder and leaned over him, shoving the passenger door open and Chris hanging out of it.

Bright yellow splattered on the asphalt, followed by another heave and a stream of clear liquid. He groaned, weak fingers trying to undo the seatbelt cutting him in half.

"Your fever is up again," the other doctor let him know, as if Chris couldn't have guessed from the violent shivers wrecking him. Suddenly the seatbelt was gone and he nearly fell out of the vehicle, letting out a cry when it eased some of the pain.

"Chris?"

He spat, took a deep breath through his nose... Then pushed himself up, out of the car.

Jonah was out too by the time Chris circled it, leaning on the red metal and frowning, "you shouldn't be alone, call someone to look after you. Do you have friends? A girlfriend? A boyfriend?"

"Mind your own business," Chris stumbled, bracing against the railing of the access ramp in order not to fall, "thanks for the amazing ride."

Jonah scoffed, nostrils flaring with annoyance, "go ahead. Go in."

"You're- you're gonna watch?" He slurred, gagging again and spitting a measly mouthful of water on the pavement.

"Yes," Banks shoved his hands on his pockets, seeming like he had all day to watch Chris stumble like a drunk, "gotta say I safely delivered you."

"That's a stretch," Chris mumbled, then stumbled further in, glaring over his shoulder, "if you're still out there by the time I get to my floor, I'm calling the police."

Emerald wasn't a caller, much more of a texter and his brothers only spoke to him once every other week. It could be one of his parents and that was the only reason Chris forced himself to get up and stumble out of the bathroom.

He wasn't in any mood to chit chat, but his parents were both well into their late sixties. He couldn't in good conscience ignore a call, even if he knew it was probably his mother complaining about Shark Tank or his father about football.

Lois Dawson.

Fuck, he'd rather it was his mother. Dawson was the hospital director, aka his boss, aka trouble. He squinted blearily at the screen, marking a little past 5 PM, then cleared his throat, picking up.

"Yes?"

"Hello, Dr. Lavin?"

"Hi, Dawson," he rubbed a hand over his face, "what's going on?"

"I'm so sorry to call today, I know you're on break-" oh no. Absolutely not. Chris' stomach clenched, mouth flooding with sticky saliva. They couldn't possibly want him in the hospital like this... "-one too many absences and you're my last resource."

"Ma'am," he groaned, rubbing the back of his achy neck, "I'd go in, but I can't-"

"I know it's your day off, we'll double your pay, Dr. Lavin," Dawson said, as if that was even a question. Of course they would.

"No, it's not that, I-" he pulled the cellphone away from his face, muffling a gurgly burp in his fist, "I'm sick, Dawson. Just puked my guts up."

There was a beat. A heavy sigh, "we'll keep you doing paperwork, I just need you to free one of the others, Chris," she had dropped the Dr. Lavin schtick, which meant business, "we're truly overflowing thanks to the bus accident that happened in the interstate and we're down six doctors, either because they're not in town or stuck in the jam or not picking up."

Damn his stupid luck for picking up the phone. He should've stayed on the bathroom floor.

"Fine," Chris sighed, pressing a hand to his stomach, hating the way it was sticking out and how sore the muscles were, "give me thirty minutes, I'll be down."

"Thank you," she sounded genuinely relieved. He rolled his eyes.

"It's fine," he brushed it off, muffling another gross belch by turning his face towards his bicep, "I- I got'sgo-"

"Yes, of course, of course- I'll make sure to warn Dr. Banks you'll be on paperwork only... Thank you again-" he barely heard the rest of what she said, pressing the big red button and lurching to the side with a violent retch, bringing up a mouthful of watery vomit on the monstera plant he had near his couch.

Fuuuuck.

By the time he had taken a quick shower to get rid of the cold sweat and changed into a more decent outfit than the black sweatpants and stained merch shirt he had been wearing all day, Chris was considering flat out not going. What could possibly happen? Would he get fired for being sick?

However, as much as he turned over that option, he still found himself behind the wheel, driving back to the building he had left just yesterday. Just because Welton General paid well and was the only hospital in the city, which he actually quite liked and had no prospects of moving from. Something something unfair market competition, Chris thought sourly, thinking of Lex, his brother, and how indignant he had been about Welton's makeup. Not one for small towns, no matter if it was a university town with a beautiful backdrop.

He hung out of the car, spitting on the parking lot's floor as soon as he opened the door and taking slow, deep breaths to stop his stomach from fully crawling up his throat. His head was throbbing, but not enough he could hang out in the parking lot for longer than five minutes, acutely aware he was already fifteen minutes later than the thirty he had promised Dawson.

"Dr. Lavin," speaking of the devil, Lois was waiting for him as soon as the elevator door opened on the first floor, hands clasped and a tight smile on, "thank you so much for coming."

He let out a grunt, because what did she want to hear? No problem? Of course there was a problem, he was sick and he'd rather be anywhere but there.

"I already talked with Dr. Banks," she gestured for him to follow, as if Chris didn't know the way to the office areas. Paperwork was easy enough, normally he was spectacularly good at it. Not to say he was a bad doctor, he knew he wasn't, but he was also aware he didn't have the necessary patience to deal with patients freaking out or, worse, their partners freaking out. God, he hated dealing with parents, he'd rather off himself than talk to crying mother.

Lois guided him inside the office, "we have Dr. Banks and Dr. Peters on rotation today," she cringed, since that number was scarily low. Hell, only Jonah and Claire? Not a single senior doctor? This hospital was running on hopes and dreams.

"On- Those are just the ones doing the rounds, right?" Chris collapsed on the chair behind the desk, already pulling the trashcan with his foot when the simple jostling of sitting down made him taste eggs all over again, "there are other's in the OR?"

"Dr. Marshall and Stewarts, just for the emergencies, we've rescheduled all that was in for the night," Lois nodded, much to his relief. Still bad, but not so bad they might as well shut the hospital down for the night. As if that was an option, "I'm still trying to reach Henderson and Chen, they're the only ones who haven't responded yet, so maybe..." Lois trailed off and Chris cringed, a new wave of nausea hitting him that had nothing to do with the stomach bug. Four, well five counting with him, doctors in the whole hospital was really, really fucking bad.

"Garcia is coming in the morning!" She perked up, as if sensing the panic starting to grow in him, "and we're getting a lot of patients redirected to Portland- It's going to work out."

"Of course," his mouth was sticky. Chris gulped down, "lemme get to work then."

"Thank you again," Lois sounded incredibly apologetic, "I'm gonna warn the nurses that you're sic-"

"No!" The sheer mortification of it nearly caused him to jump, "no need. I'll be fine."

Liar, a little voice whispered in his ear, stomach already churning again, that slow but constant manner that told him he was done for. Maybe not now, but soon.

"Uhm- Of course," Dawson sounded surprised by his outburst, "I'll let you work, you know where to find me."

Finally his boss left and Chris promptly planted his elbows to the table, burying his face in his hands and groaning. Fuck his life.

Paperwork was harder when he felt like absolute crap, but at least it was something to take his mind off of his stomach. He fished out his earbuds from his work case, putting only one so he could still hear the outside noise and listened to music as he decoded several different doctor's notes into insurance claims and what not.

Normally he found this part of his job rather therapeutic. Claire, Dr. Peters, didn't understand it. She always got antsy and started moving around the office when they shared it. Banks seemed to be in his wavelength, just as long as they didn't exchange a single word. For some reason Jonah Banks seemed to enjoy being the biggest pain in the ass alive. Marshall was the same as Claire, only worse. Chris could count in one hand the amount of office hours they had ever shared, because she'd do anything in her power to avoid it. Henderson complained the whole time and Chris had considered homicide more than once. He'd rather work with Banks, with whom he had had several conflicts, than withstand Henderson's monotone blabbing.

Chris' stomach rolled and he kicked the trashcan closer, leaning over it to spit the saliva accumulating in his mouth. He was probably gonna puke soon, but he had taken some Gatorade before leaving home and he did not want to risk becoming dehydrated. Not only it would be humiliating enough in normal circumstances, but when the hospital was running on fumes? So when the blue saccharine liquid tried climbing up, Chris gulped it back down, shuddering as he could literally feel the goo sliding down his throat.

"Lavin," Banks slammed the door, "we need you in the ER."

If Chris was a slightly better person, he'd have taken Bank's serious voice as the don't argue signal it was and obeyed. Except he wasn't.

"I'm not on ER tonight," he kept his eyes firmly on the computer screen, twirling the pen between his fingers, "Dawson called me for desk duty, not to wrangle snotty children."

"No," Banks scoffed, walking further in, "Dawson called you to help and you bitched your way into desk duty, when we actually need an extra set of hands in the ER. Now get off your ass, we're crammed and Claire and I cannot take it all by ourselves."

"Then call Marshall or Stewarts, Dawson said-"

"Wendy is already in the ER intubating someone and Stewarts just entered surgery. Get off your ass," Banks' tone was always so fucking arrogant. King of the world. Chris had always found it a bit amusing that Jonah seemed to think that just because he had that stick permanently shoved up his ass and a mean mug, he could get things his way.

"You can scream and kick all you want," rolled his eyes, which was a bad idea because a jolt of pain stabbed his skull. Low blood sugar, his brain supplied and his stomach complained. No fucking way he was gonna eat something, no matter how much his body demanded it. He could still taste the lunch eggs, "but I'm on desk duty. I'm sick."

"Oh, fuck off!" Banks snapped, "we're gonna loose a patient, there's simply not enough of us. You can't sit here filling insurance claims when we've got eleven fucking cots busy downstairs," he stepped closer, Chris wondered if Jonah thought he could scare him. Maybe that shit worked on nurses or with Claire, but not with him.

"Like I said," Chris cleared his throat when his voice came out too deep, coated in annoyance and sticky saliva, "I'm sick. I can't be in the ER."

"We have a stroke downstairs and if we lose her because you were too busy doing crosswords to come help, I'll make sure to move a lawsuit for malpractice against you myself."

A stroke patient changed things.

He had been under the impression tonight was busy in the sense there were two doctors for far too many drunks, kids with pneumonia coughing everywhere, food poisoned fuckers shitting everywhere. A stroke-

He got up and ignored the victorious expression on Banks' stupid face.

The idiot now would probably think his stupid lawsuit threat had worked, as if Chris wasn't well aware he was in the function given him and who was actually committing malpractice was Banks, wasting time arguing with him instead of doing his job. Again, that shit probably worked with doctors who were a little more green.

Talking about green, his stomach wasn't one bit happy about the change of scenery.

The ER was chaos, Chris was shoved into the direction of the head nurse and then somehow he ended up being bossed by Claire, whose face was all pink, blonde hair sticking to her temples as she huffed, moving around.

The stroke patient was a woman in her late eighties, who was barely responsive. Chris wasn't sure why the fuck Marshall wasn't all over her, considering Wendy was to neurologist of their group, and it was only once he was going through her imaging that he understood. It was ischemic and, surprisingly, venous instead of arterial.

The tight squeeze in his chest — pure, unmitigated guilt for not being there sooner — vanished. She was already on an IV and under observation, nothing to be done and her surviving rates were great. He breathed out....

Then got thrown into the deep end, by Claire lifting her eyes and saying "help!?" in a pitiful voice as she manhandled a drunk man into his cot, smelling like piss and seizing due to alcohol.

By the time he was able to stop moving around, two and a half hours had passed. He had long forgotten about his stomach bug or about his office hours, in flow state as he moved from patient to patient, taking in what was pouring through the doors.

Henderson arrived at 9 PM and Chen at midnight. Chris' headache increased from annoying to unbearable around 10 PM and he was having to move to the bathroom every fifteen minutes or so to cough over the toilet by the time they reached midnight. His knees felt weak and his whole body was aching.

And, as was always the case with the ER, as easy as the chaos had started, it ended.

Claire let out a breath, stumbling into the doctor's lounge, wiping her forehead with the inside of her wrist, "holy fuck," she collapsed on the couch, "I can't feel my feet."

He wanted to ask if she was on a twenty four hour shift, because Chris was pretty sure he had seen her in the hospital that morning when he left to go home, but he was scared of opening his mouth. His stomach had long passed "unsettled", hell, it had long passed "throwing up". He had forced himself to drink water and it had all come back up, tinged blue at first, now a weird lime green. Not good, Chris knew, vaguely. He couldn't remember why, though.

The revolving doors opened again, Banks walking in as he already removed his coat, because of course the snotty prick favored the pristine white lab coat instead of the regular dark scrubs anyone sensible would wear. Had to virtue signal he was a doctor, since that was all of his personality.

"Are you okay?" Jonah asked and Chris raised his eyebrows, confused and shocked, before realizing the question wasn't directed at him, but rather at Claire, boneless on the couch.

"Yeah, mmm'gimme just fine-five..." His coworker mumbled, sleepily. Yep, she was definitely pulling a twenty four hour shift. Chris didn't envy her, although now that he thought about it, he kinda was too. He had done yesterday's graveyard shift, then left the hospital at 6 AM and slept until 10 AM, when he had woken up all achy. Then the bathroom camping...

"-reporting you to the board-" Banks was suddenly right in front of his eyes, looking furious. He had a really angular face and when he looked this pissed, Christopher thought Jonah looked cat like. Light eyes squinting, might as well have slits for pupils.

He was tripping.

"What..?"

"While you were hiding in an office, we nearly lost two patients-"

"I wasn't-" he started, frustrated, but his tongue felt too heavy and big for his mouth, there were a bunch of colorful little dots around of Jonah's unruly curls. Glitter.

"-said you were sick? Yeah, sick where?" Jonah scoffed, "as soon as you were down there with us-"

Chris rolled his eyes, immediately regretted it when the room swam. He was freezing. On the couch Claire stirred, opening her exhausted eyes to glare at them.

"Can you two measure dicks outside?"

"Malpractice doesn't fucking cover it, you're lazy and entitled and-"

He took a step back, because Jonah apparently thought "personal space" was optional, only for his foot to seemingly meet thin air. His knee folded and suddenly he was on all fours on the floor, head swimming and blood drumming in his ears.

The nausea was stronger than it had been even in the morning, flooding him and causing him to retch violently. Nothing came up, but his stomach spasmed again. He clutched the rug, curling his fists so much that his knuckles turned white, as the room swam-

"What the hell?" A hand that was too soft to be normal grabbed his chin, forcing their eyes to meet. Green- No, hazel. Jonah's eyebrows drawn together, confused-

Chris retched again, freeing his chin from Bank's limp hold and coughing violently. Something boiling hot crawled up, his mouth tasted salty and then he belched a splash of something neon yellow all over the rug, and the front of Bank's pants.

He wasn't a crier, not normally, but his whole body was shaking violently and his head was pulsing and his thoughts were all over the place, so Chris felt his eyes prickle with tears. He bit down on his lip, hard enough to draw blood, fighting the wave of sickness induced panic. The taste of blood made him gag again, more bitter bile falling on the pile, burning his now wounded lip.

"He seems sick to me," Claire's voice filtered through the drumming in his ears and suddenly there was a hand, much smaller and sure, grabbing his shoulder and pushing him to sit on his heels instead of being on all fours. His stomach spasmed again, more watery vomit rocketed up, his self control long melted by exhaustion and it ran down his chin and wet his dark scrub shirt.

"He's not responsive," Claire patted his cheek and he wanted to say he was very responsive, except that what came up was a whimper. He'd have to quit his job, this was too humiliating to come back from, "fuck, Jonah page a nurse! Don't just stand there! We gotta get him on an IV, he's dehydrated like hell."

"What's going on?" A new voice. More black dots.

Stupid lilac sneakers.

Jonah didn't remember a single thing from driving over. He was pretty sure he had run over a red light.

The front desk girl of Leo's building was named Nicole, and her eyes got the size of saucers when Jonah mumbled some frantic story about needing to contact Leo about a family emergency and that he hadn't been picking up his phone. The panic in his voice didn't need to be faked.

She phoned his office's landline and waited, whispering in a rushed voice that Mr. Wagner-Banks was there and there was an emergency.

Not five minutes later, Leo was walking out of the elevator, holding his suitcase and clad in a suit, perfectly healthy, except from the flush on his cheeks.

"Jon? What's going on?" The damn theater kid he had married asked and Jonah knew he had been the one to propose this stupid plan, but right now he just wanted to shake Leo like a rattle toy and force him to use his words.

"My sister called, said something is wrong with my father," Jonah lied through his teeth, sending the universe a quiet don't you dare, "she said he's sick, we gotta go over to DC right now."

Dramatic much? But at the very least this would grant Leo the whole day off, if not the week. Jasper would happily corroborate whatever bullshit they needed him to, the man lived for the drama.

"Oh my god," Leo clutched his imaginary pearls, a little too into his role for Jonah's liking. He was starting to get annoyed, was this all some joke...?

They quickly moved out of Nicole's curious gaze, Leo telling her to pass the message along to his boss, but that he'd be in contact as soon as possible to explain the situation and give them a timeframe of how quickly he could be back.

Then they were out of the building and Jonah was fighting every molecule in his body not to interrogate his husband right there and then. Instead he waited until they entered his car and he had driven out of Leo's street, just to make sure, before asking, "what the fuck, Leo?! What's wrong? You scared the shit out of me, start explaining yourself-"

Leo was leaning back on the passenger seat, breathing in and out slowly, face milky pale, "I think I'm having a heart attack."

"What?" Jon came to a screeching halt so sudden, the car behind them pressed the honk and sent him a string of insults, barely avoiding rear ending them.

"I'm-" Leo licked his lips, "a sense of- Of impending doom, right? Chest tightness?" Was he sounding breathless or was Jonah tripping? "Queasy..."

"Okay," Jonah's voice was alien to his own ears, "okay, baby, we're going to the fucking hospital, alright? Can you-" he took a hand from the steering wheel, clammy with sweat, "squeeze my hand? Really hard."

Leo obeyed, Jonah wasn't sure what his tight squeeze meant, because he was too busy panicking to be an actual doctor about it. Tight squeeze, probably- Probably not a heart attack, right? Normally it came with limbs heaviness and lack of strength... Right?

Sense of impending doom.

Jonah could write off everything, but that. He had way too much experience with patients feeling in their bones when something was grotesquely wrong. He pressed the gas pedal a little harder.

Leo's fingers curled around his and Jonah squeezed his hand right back, clutching on it like a toddler.

Once they pulled over at the hospital, Jon was immediately running out of the car to grab him a wheelchair, only for Leo to scoff and walk alongside him. He was most definitely wheezing.

"Jon?" Wendy was in the ER, wearing scrubs today, confused on why he was there when he had just left the hospital an hour ago, let alone with Leo hot on his heels, looking panicked, "what's going on-"

"Leo, sit down," Jonah ignored her, forcing Leo to sit on a plastic chair on the waiting room, queue be damned. Hospital queues weren't organized around arrival time, like most people thought, but seriousness of an issue. A heart attack most definitely put Leo on top of the list. He should be- "I think he's having a heart attack."

Wendy's eyes went huge, but unlike Jonah she didn't panic. She turned around, rushing to the front desk and exchanging rushed whispers with the nurse in charge, who immediately nodded and picked up the phone, her voice echoing on the floor through the speakers as she said, "Dr. Lavin, emergency room, please," three times in a row. A second nurse, Marjorie, briskly walked away and returned five minutes later with a disposable cup housing aspirins, walking over to them.

"Hi Leo," she smiled and Jonah's hand flexed on his husband's shoulder, hating the way Leo was clutching his chest and staring at the floor, "can you chew these for me? It's gonna help while we get you ready for the exams, okay?"

"He needs-"

"An ECG," Marjorie agreed before he could finish, "we're gonna get him one, let's sit in Dr. Lavin's room, alright? He was doing rounds upstairs, but we've paged him, he'll be down in a minute."

Who the fuck even was Dr. Lavin?

It didn't matter. They entered the special treatment room and Leo climbed onto the mattress, leaning heavily against Jonah's side and wheezing, sounding like a whistle.

"Shhh, just a second more, baby," Jon cooed, trying to fight the sheer panic clawing at him. Wendy came back inside, Marjorie hot on her heels.

"Hi Leo," she smiled, "rough morning, uh?" whilst talking, she was moving around the office as it was hers, turning on the ECG machine, the image of calm. Jon would've bought it wasn't it for her fingers drumming on the machine.

The office's door opened and in came Chris. Jonah's brows met, then eased. Right, Chris Lavin, their cardiologist. Why the hell hadn't he remembered that, he would've taken Leo to a different hospital-

No, he wouldn't have. There was no hospital in town more prepared than this and they didn't have time to drive to Portland-

"Mr. Wagner," Chris seemed puzzle on why there were three people, instead of solely his patient in the office, "how are you today? Can you tell me what's going on?"

"Chest-" Leo rubbed it, gulping down, "hurts. Uhm- I feel like I'm dying. I-" another gulp, Chris squinted at him.

"Nauseous too?"

Leo nodded, swallowing again.

"Here, sweetheart," Wendy moved, grabbed a cardboard emesis tray, pushing it on his lap.

"How long ago did the symptoms start, Mr. Wagner?"

"Leo," he mumbled, gagging at the tail end, "my name is Leo."

Jonah shifted his weight, impatiently glaring at Chris. Couldn't he save the fucking interrogation for another time? Get him on the ECG already, do something?

"Alright, Leo," Chris circled them, looking put off by having to side step Jon and Wendy to reach the machine, "can you take your shirt off for me? We're gonna get a read at your heart."

Finally!

Jon immediately turned to grab Leo's clothing, helping him strip, only for Chris to scoff, "Banks, I asked Leo to take his shirt off. Not you to do it for him."

Leo's eyes widened, shocked, while Jon bristled, "I'm helping, you know, bedside manners. Something you d-"

"I need to check if he can raise his arms," Chris glared daggers at him, "step out of my way and stop intruding. Leo, please remove the shirt?"

Seemingly shocked enough that the wheezing had stopped, Leo obeyed, fingers fumbling with the buttons, but managing. He already didn't have a tie on, the jacket of his suit had been ditched in the car.

"Good," Chris grabbed several different cords, with sticker electrodes to the end of them, "this will feel a little weird," he warned, before sticking them to Leo's chest, eyes glued to the screen of the machine, "how long ago did the symptoms start, Leo?"

"Uh- Two hours," Leo's fingers flinched, clearly wanting to rub his chest again, but settling for curling on the thin sheet of the bed. Jonah took his hand in his, squeezing it in a supportive manner. Leo gulped down again, paler than before.

"How much longer?" Jon asked, "he's gonna be sick."

"Just a minute more," Chris was looking at the machine, as it printed out the results of the exam in a long, skinny sheet of paper, waves drawn on them. Jonah had never been any good at reading those, but Chris hardly even looked, eyes flickering to it and then back up, starting to remove the electrodes from Leo.

"Good, you can put your shirt back on- Marshall, you can go," he said, dismissively, and Wendy's cheeks turned pink, brows connecting, but she didn't argue. Only huffed and stepped out of the room.

Leo gave up buttoning his shirt on the third bottom button, grabbing the cardboard tray and gulping down convulsively, "guh- Gon'besick..." he slurred, drooling over it.

"That's alright," Chris circled his desk, sitting on the big chair, leaving Jonah to fuss over the blonde. He ground his teeth, yelling at Chris right now wasn't gonna help.

"I'm here," he said, instead, stepping closer and planting a hand on the cardboard tray to support it, the other arm wrapping around Leo, who was trembling like a puppy, "shh, I got you-"

Leo jerked with an empty heave, knuckles turning white as he panted over the small bowl. Another gag and a thick line of drool fell inside of it, cloudy, but nothing more.

"Is he allergic to any medication?" Chris asked from where he was typing on his computer.

"You have his chart," Jonah hissed, teeth gritted, while rubbing Leo's back, "shh, baby, ignore him. Focus on yourself."

Leo gagged once more, and then a little dribble of vomit fell in the tray, as he panted as if he had just run a marathon. There were microtears clumping his lashes and he clutched his chest, wheezing. Jonah's heart squeezed so much, he wondered if he was the one having a heart attack.

"I'm going to order a blood test," Chris told them, unbothered, "to rule out heart attack. For now we're gonna put you in a cot in the ER and check back again in an hour, Leo."

Leo's brows twitched, he spat in the tray, "wha- What?"

"You're not having a heart attack," Chris had gotten up, grabbing a couple tissues from the box that stayed next to the cot, handing them to Leo in exchange for the sick tray, "it's a panic attack."

"Nuh-huh," Leo shook his hand, hands shaking as if he had Parkinson's as he wiped his chin and clutched the tissues, "I know- I know what a panic attack feelssslike..."

Chris' lip twitched, "I know you do," a hint of amusement, Jonah considered punching him, "that's why we're not gonna medicate you just yet, okay? We're gonna do the blood exam to rule it out and then check back in one hour, do the whole ordeal again. Then I'm gonna medicate you."

Leo's cheeks turned crimson, Jon squeezed his shoulder, "Christopher, if he says he's having a heart attack-"

"He is the patient, Banks," Chris glared at him, "not the doctor. His ECG came back clean, you're welcome to look at it. His wheezing doesn't match of a heart attack, his impending doom broke when I snapped at you. It's not a heart attack, it's anxiety, but you're welcome to do a cardiology residency if you wanna argue with me."

Jonah's whole face was burning and yeah, he was gonna punch this guy. He let go of Leo's shoulder, stepping into Chris' personal space, "what happens when my husband collapses because you are too arrogant to see what's in front of you? Leo knows what a panic attack feels like, he's dealt with them his whole life, you. Are. Not. LIS-" he jammed his finger on Chris' chest at each word, only to be cut short by a giggle.

Leo's giggling.

The blonde looked embarrassed, but amused, "sorry, sorry! I- Okay, doctor, uhm- Lavin? Dr. Lavin," Jonah looked at him, confused and nearly offended. What the hell was he doing? "blood exam, then check back, then meds?"

"Yes," Chris' voice was a note deeper, pissed off, but not directed at Leo, "I'll have nurse Marjorie shadow you, she's the best one and she's been here the longest. You're in good hands."

Leo nodded, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, although it was clean already, "okay," he whispered, tugging on Jon's sweater to bring him back, "Okay..."

Jonah wanted to argue this. It didn't feel right, Leo knew what a panic attack felt like, he wouldn't have confused the two. Hell, Jonah knew what Leo having a panic attack looked like and-

And it looked horribly similar to this, yeah.

Wendy was in the ER and the second she saw them — Leo now forced to be on a wheelchair, hospital rules — she jogged closer, looking concerned.

"So? What's going on? How are you?" She asked quickly, as Jonah followed Marjorie to the cot she was guiding them to. A bed with privacy curtains surrounding it.

"Panic attack," Leo answered her, breathless, clutching Jon's hand for support as he pushed himself out of the chair and into the cot, Marjorie saying she'd be right back to collect the blood sample.

"Really?" Wendy's eyebrows jumped up, "I thought you knew- how are you feeling?" She changed her phrase mid sentence, shaking her head.

Leo shrugged, looking away, "embarrassed," he rubbed his chest, uneasy expression on, "queasy. Still don't feel right, it's like- Pressure," he took a deep breath, "someone sitting on my chest."

Wendy didn't look convinced, she exchanged a nervous glance with Jonah, who had posted himself right next to Leo's bed and was petting his hair, trying not to let it show just how deeply concerned he was.

Chris was asking for a lot. What if he was wrong? What if Leo was having a fucking heart attack and they were wasting crucial time with this bullshit? Had Chris glanced at Leo's medical history and seen his antidepressants listed and dismissed everything as just stress?

"Here we go," nurse Marjorie came up, holding the blood drawing kit, "it's going to be just a little prickle."

"I know," Leo leaned his head back, eyes shut, breathing heavily, "fuck..." he breathed out, refusing to elaborate.

Marjorie drew the blood and Leo kept his eyes closed, taking slow measured breaths. Wendy had to get back to work, sending Jonah a worried look before she left. Jonah started biting on his thumb, a leg bouncing nervously as he stood next to his bed and waited. He felt so fucking helpless, he should be doing something-

"Hey," Leo tugged on his wrist, since his other hand was still in his hair, supposedly petting it, although Jon had stopped, "I think he's right, Jon."

"You- It doesn't seem right, Leo," Jonah's voice wavered just a little and he gulped down the knot in his throat, "you know what- Did something happen? Something triggered this?"

"No," Leo seemed exhausted, eyes sunken in, but he opened a little smile, "we went out to grab coffee together, Dean, Chuck and I... The place was packed, started feeling uneasy there, chalked it up to being overwhelmed, then when we got back to the office it just got worse and I felt like something was so wrong, with- Me, with you, I don't know, I just needed to go home... That's when I called you," he paused, breathing in and out slowly, "then after we hung up it changed from I need to go home to I'm dying. That's it."

It did sound like anxiety. Jonah squinted, not sufficiently calmed down, "and the chest pain? The nausea? The wheezing?"

"After," Leo dismissed, sighing, "worked myself into it, I think."

"Hmmm," Jon pursed his lips, not liking this one bit and Leo's fingers around his wrist twitched, he guided his hand to his chest, pressing Jon's hand over his heart.

"It's not a heart attack, Jonah," Leo breathed out, his cheeks turning pink, "although I might die from embarrassment alone."

"Don't be embarrassed," he said strongly, "I'd rather you freaked out and we came over to the hospital a thousand times than ignoring it and it ending up being something serious. I mean it, Leo. I'm glad you called me."

If this had been at the start of their relationship, or hell, even when Leo was going through a rough patch, he'd have tried dealing with it on his own. Jonah felt a wash of fondness and relieved, giddy happiness that was out of place and fueled by adrenaline, that Leo had trusted him so entirely.

"You're turning into a sap," Leo teased him, curling slightly on the cot, "so that's Chris, uh?"

"Yeah," Jonah scoffed, good mood popping like a soap bubble, "fucking asshole."

"I don't think I ever saw someone talk to you like that... Well, Luke sometimes, but you and Luke are different. You don't mean it."

"Sometimes I mean it," Jonah grumbled, moving his hand to cup Leo's neck, refusing to let go of him, "Luke can be a dick."

Leo snorted, rolled his eyes, "I imagined Chris different."

"Oh yeah? How so?" Jonah looked around, found a chair and pulled it closer with his foot, collapsing on it.

"Uglier," Leo whispered, "he's kind of handsome."

"Oh, disgusting," Jonah pulled back, his whole face scrunching up, "you have a fetish for mean doctors? Is that it? Ew, Leo, ew-"

Leo giggled, color returning to his cheeks and the tight knot in Jonah's chest loosened.

"Gross."

"I just have eyes," Leo huffed, "Wendy seems..."

"Apologetic? Concerned?"

"That too," Leo conceded, biting on his lip, "she doesn't look well, though."

"Yeah, I know," Jonah clasped their hands together, running his thumb over Leo's wedding band in a soothing manner, "I don't think she's ready for me to intervene just yet. She wants to apologize to Vince and Bell..."

"That's a start," Leo nodded, squeezing his hand right back, "you think things are gonna be okay?"

"I think if you can gossip then you can't possibly be having a heart attack," Jonah teased him, shoulders starting to drop. Leo let out a snort.

"I could gossip on my death bed."

It was strange, good strange but still strange, getting used to Sasha's more performative romantic gestures. He had always been very forward in the bedroom, but in a more emotional environment, Sasha was sealed tight as an oyster. After much persistent prodding, Ryosuke had slowly prised open that shell, able to glimpse the pearl hiding within. Sometimes those glimpses were as simple as being vulnerable enough to say 'today was rough.' Sometimes Ryosuke came home to lavish spreads of food, wine, candles and roses on the table.

The performance of the day was a physically extravagant one, with Sasha leaving breakfast on the table for Ryosuke in front of a window whose curtains he had deliberately left open. Dramatically framed by the window, Sasha had dressed in his lumberjack finest, arranging a pile of firewood out front to chop. Ryosuke smirked, now utterly certain Sasha had stolen the idea from one of Valentina’s romance movies.

It was nice, Sasha being so…attentive. Ryosuke had never had a partner who even put effort into planning dates. He settled into the armchair, idly dipping toast soldiers into Sasha's perfectly runny eggs as he watched his boyfriend's muscles ripple in the winter-clean sun.

By the time Sasha was finished, they had enough firewood for the remainder of their stay, if not excess. He had originally just been doing it to put on a show, but found the repetitive, violent, yet productive work extremely satisfying. Maybe he should do this more often, he thought. He sauntered back inside, gaze distant as he wondered, was wood chopping even a hobby, or was he just a freak?

“You finished demonstrating your manliness?” Ryosuke called from the kitchen as he heard the cabin door open. “I'm making hot cocoa, do you want some? Or is that not manly enough for you?”

“Any man who doesn't want hot cocoa is a bitch and a coward,” Sasha declared, strolling up behind Ryosuke and wrapping both arms around him. His skin was still icy to the touch from being outside and Ryosuke yelped.

“Did your parents never teach you to wrap up warm?” He squawked. “It's below freezing, you'll catch your death of cold!”

Sasha laughed. “Please. It is Russian summer out there,” he joked, giving Ryosuke one last playful squeeze with icy hands. “But if you insist on warming me up, I guess I need that hot chocolate.”

Ryosuke chuckled, twisting to kiss Sasha's cheek. He was short enough that his lips grazed Sasha' jaw instead, ghosting over the rough stubble. Sasha smiled, leaning his cheek against Ryosuke's head.

“Well, it's almost ready,” Ryosuke said, even as his body relaxed back against Sasha's. “Go sit down, I just need to add the cream.”

“Add it quickly,” Sasha ordered, a teasing growl rumbling in his chest. He made no move to leave the kitchen. “I'm no good at being patient.”

“Sir, yes sir,” Ryosuke flirted, pushing Sasha away towards the living room, where the fire was roaring nicely.

Sasha allowed himself to be shoved away, strolling into the living room and sprawling out on the couch. The crackling fire stirred the deepest memories in the back of his mind, and he stretched out with a contented yawn, letting his eyes flutter closed. When Ryosuke came through, he cozied up to him, tucked between Ryosuke's legs like a very large lap dog.

“Cocoa is good,” Sasha mumbled, having sat up just enough to drink it. Whipped cream lingered on his upper lip, and he smiled. “Thank you.”

Ryosuke smirked, then leaned in to kiss away the false moustache. He was still working on his own drink, the mug warm between his hands. “You're welcome. Here, hand me the book? I'll read a bit, I wanna know how they catch the guy.”

Sasha reached out one long arm to snag the book off the coffee table. He passed it over to Ryosuke and snuggled back up, sipping contentedly at his cocoa. It was hot, smooth, and perfectly sweet, satisfying and nostalgic. If only he could warm up from being outside, everything would be perfect.

Ryosuke began to read. Sasha felt his eyes getting heavier and heavier until eventually he drifted off, head nestled against his partner's chest. Cozy as he was, he had hoped to get some properly restful sleep for once. How naive he'd been.

He dreamed of snow. Not the way it had been snowing outside while he chopped the wood, but the snow in Russia. The kind of snow that ate your fingers and your hearing and made it impossible to see. The kind of snow where the howling gale could very well be the howling of wolves.

He dreamed of being lost. Everywhere he looked, there was nothing but screaming winds, a white hateful fury battering his face and blinding his eyes. He needed to get home. Which way was home? Where had he come from? Did he need to keep going? Did he need to turn around?

He woke up freezing. He was still huddled against Ryosuke, Ryosuke's hand rubbing slowly up and down his back, but he was shuddering with cold.

Ryosuke looked up from the book he'd been reading, frowning as he saw the way Sasha had started to shake. “Nightmare?” He asked softly, his hand keeping a gentle rhythm on Sasha's back.

“Not really,” Sasha mumbled, huddling in tighter on himself. “Just freezing. Can you get the fire going again?”

“It's… still going,” Ryosuke said, a concerned hesitation to his words. “It's been going this whole time.”

“But it's so cold,” Sasha whimpered, tucking his face into Ryosuke's neck. “Ryo, I'm freezing. It's… I don't like it.”

Ryosuke frowned, feeling the warmth of Sasha's skin against his own. “Um… I can add another log to the fire, if you want.”

“Blanket?” Sasha asked hopefully.

“I'm not sure you need one…” Ryosuke began, and then looked down at Sasha's miserable face. “Oh, fine, scoot over.”

Sasha reluctantly peeled away, collapsing into a pathetic heap on the couch as Ryosuke left. He really didn't feel well, he realised. His muscles ached, and his throat… His throat felt like it was filled with burning pins.

When Ryosuke finally returned with the duvet, Sasha sheepishly ventured, “Um… can I have more cocoa?”

“Of course.” Ryosuke leaned down to tuck him in, stroking his hair back carefully from his face. “Oh dear, or maybe some tea? Might that be better?”

“I liked the cocoa,” Sasha mumbled. His eyes were drifting closed again, so hard to keep open when he was just…so…

The cocoa was cold on the coffee table when he woke up. His head hurt now, the discomfort in his throat prickling and burning with every inhale. His body ached like he had been in a full-on brawl, and even under the duvet, he couldn't stop shivering. He groaned, groping around blindly. “Ryosuke?”

“Hey.” Ryosuke's voice was soft, as were his footsteps as he padded to Sasha's side. “Hey, are you awake?”

“Mmnnnn…” Any reply Sasha might have had was swallowed by the pain that splintered through his throat when he had spoken. He groaned, rolling over on the couch to bury his face in the cushions. He wanted to beg Ryosuke to bring more blankets, to add wood to the fire, to lay with him for any semblance of added warmth. But just the thought of speaking again made his throat hurt.

“Sweetheart?” Ryosuke's hand found his, thumb stroking lightly over the back. “Could you sit up for me a minute? Maybe have some water?”

Sasha groaned, slowly and laboriously pushing himself up on his elbows. The movement gave him an unexpected head rush and he almost dropped back down.

“I thought so,” Ryosuke murmured, catching his shoulder and helping him all the way up. “When did you start feeling sick?”

Sasha wrinkled his nose, tipping his head back against the sofa and trying to make the swirling stop. He didn't respond, unable to string words together when he felt so dizzyingly unwell. Ryosuke, of course, only grew more worried, gently cupping his fingers against Sasha’s jaw to gauge his fever. He winced immediately.

“You're burning up, hang on,” he said, leaning in to press his lips to Sasha's forehead. “Let me get something cool from the kitchen.”

“No,” Sasha croaked, barely able to force the words. “‘m so cold…”

“No.” Ryosuke was surprisingly firm. “You're not. You have a fever.”

Sasha groaned, but even that made his sore throat ache. He could just about gather his thoughts enough to understand the problem, but he still had no desire for anything cold to touch him.

“I know,” Ryosuke said quietly. “But it'll feel better afterwards.”

He returned to Sasha with a tea towel he'd wet under the tap, crouching beside the couch to be closer. “Alright, brace yourself,” he warned, swiping the cool cloth slowly across Sasha's forehead to start.

“Ahh…” without even meaning to, Sasha winced away from the chill touch, only to find his face cupped in Ryosuke's other hand.

“I know, it's no fun. But you're burning up, you really need it.”

“Mmnnnnooo….,” Sasha slurred, breath hitching in his chest. “hurrr’s.”

“Hey, you're okay. It'll be okay,” Ryosuke murmured, stroking Sasha's hair. “It's only for a minute. Then we can cuddle, okay?”

Sasha shook his head, trying to squirm away again. “‘s too- too c- too co-hold…” he sputtered, an unexpected cough burning in his throat.

Pain lanced through his throat, hot and unforgiving. He continued to cough, unable to stop until his chest had cleared, tears springing to his eyes. By the time it was over, he was gasping for breath, lungs burning almost as badly as his throat.

Ryosuke frowned, a deep concern creasing his face. “Here, drink some water,” he offered. “That sounded awful.”

“Felt awful,” Sasha croaked, his voice thin and scratchy as if the burning in his throat had eaten away at it.

Ryosuke knelt next to him on the sofa, one hand coming to rest on his hair. Sasha's face was red and splotchy and distinctly less dignified than usual.

“We didn't bring any meds,” he said reluctantly, once Sasha had forced down enough water for his breathing to settle. “We should have brought meds. You've probably caught what I had.”

“Brought vodka,” Sasha rasped. “In kitchen,” he mumbled, waving vaguely in that direction.

“Sasha!” Ryosuke let out an exasperated sigh. “That's not medicine. Besides, it'll be a bitch to swallow.”

“Classic remedy,” Sasha argued, “better than nothing.”

“No,” Ryosuke said firmly. “Not better. I'll make you tea. With honey. And maybe a shot of vodka if you're good.”

Sasha scowled, but the chattering of his teeth took all the ferocity out of it. “Fine,” he grumbled.

“Good.” Ryosuke nodded and leaned in to press his lips to the side of Sasha's head. “God knows I can't deal with you drunk and feverish. Who knows what you might do.”

“Get some sleep,” Sasha muttered. He coughed again, his face twisting in pain as burning needles rose in his chest and filled his throat. “Fuck,” he rasped. “Can I get that drink now?”

“Yeah, yeah, all right,” Ryosuke rolled his eyes as he got up from the couch. “I'm going, keep your hair on.”

Sasha just groaned, rolling over on the couch and pulling the duvet over his head. God, how he wished he were comfortable enough to sleep. He also wished it could've held off - missing training would have been a minor annoyance compared to how he felt about screwing up this holiday. He finally had time alone with Ryosuke, and he was wasting it.

Sasha was still stewing with frustration, buried in the duvet, when Ryosuke returned. “Come on out, mister grumpy. I brought tea.”

Sasha rolled back over, waiting for Ryosuke to put the tea down before gripping his wrist and pulling him down on top of him. Ryosuke let out a yelp of surprise, but he didn't actually fight it, nestling into Sasha's broad chest.

“All that fussing about me making tea, and now you don't even want it,” he teased, slipping a hand under Sasha's shirt to rub slow, rhythmic circles.

“I do,” Sasha croaked, arms looping lazily around Ryosuke's back. “Want you more. Feel terrible.”

Ryosuke chuckled. “The tea might help you feel a little less terrible.”

“Mm, in a minute,” Sasha rumbled, letting his eyes fall closed. He wanted to rest, but the awful scratching he felt with every inhale made it difficult to settle.

“I'll believe it when I see it,” Ryosuke teased, but he didn't push any further.

Sasha didn't continue their banter, too weary to even speak. He lingered in quiet quasi-comfort for what felt like ages, snuggling up with Ryosuke hugged tight to his chest. He could maybe have drifted off if it hadn't been for the way his throat began to tickle.

He tried to clear his throat, the sound rumbling in his chest. It did nothing. He tried once, twice, thrice more to no avail. Irritation was beginning to overwhelm him, the frustrated growl in his throat suddenly overtaken by a sharp, hacking cough.

“Shhh,” Ryosuke soothed, rubbing his chest gently but it was no use. Now that Sasha had started he couldn't stop, even though the pain slicing through his throat with every ragged breath seemed immeasurable. Tears sprung to his eyes, his face creasing with a marked discomfort. Ryosuke winced, sitting up so that he wasn't weighing Sasha down. “Here, sit up a bit, see if that helps.”

Sasha nodded, struggling up onto his elbows, his face an undignified shade of red. Ryosuke gave his back an encouraging pat, but it did little to help the wet, guttural cough that seized Sasha’s lungs. Fire in his throat burned hotter with every bark and wheeze, and he struggled to catch his breath.

Ryosuke let out a curse in Japanese before hauling Sasha up and sliding his body in behind him. Sasha swayed over his own lap like some kind of drunken marionette, chest heaving with coughs. He hacked and sputtered for what felt like eternity before his lungs finally settled, slumping back against Ryosuke with a weary groan.

“Fuck,” Sasha croaked, his voice little more than a scratchy whisper.

Ryosuke kissed his burning cheek, one hand still rubbing his chest. “Have a drink, okay? And then I think you should go lay down in bed.”

“Bed will be cold,” Sasha whined, taking the tea in his hands even as he pouted.

“I can start the fire in there,” Ryosuke offered.

“Air is cold,” Sasha argued. “Stay here. With you. In warm.”

“Sasha…” Ryosuke sighed, trying not to laugh. “You don't even fit on this couch.”

“Don't care,” Sasha grumbled, pulling his legs up to squish himself onto the couch. “Warm here.”

“I can make it warm in bed,” Ryosuke wheedled. “I promise.”

Sasha groaned. “So far away…”

“Come on, please,” Ryosuke begged. “You're going to feel even worse when you wake up with your back hurting from sleeping like this.”

That, at least, was something that Sasha unfortunately agreed with. He heaved himself up, groaning dizzily, and staggered through to the other room. The cold air was like a blast in his face, and he curled up under the mountain of blankets they'd shared the night before, hoping and praying that there would be some residual body heat left over.

The blankets, sadly, had long ago lost all the warmth from last night. Sasha shivered, teeth chattering as he burrowed deeper. Ryosuke flashed him a sympathetic smile. “I'll get the fire going, then I'll join you, okay?”

“Y-yeah.” Sasha nodded, curling tighter and coughing harshly into his fist. Every cough made his sore throat sting, and he couldn't stop shivering even buried in blankets. He wished they were home, in his bed, with the heating cranked up. He would brave the drive, if it weren't for the snowstorm.

Ryosuke started the fire as quickly as he could, but it felt like years to Sasha. Huddled up in the icy abyss of blankets with no warmth waiting for him, he could've been back in the bitter Russian winter.

Their house had always been warm. What was the point of the millions Boris made if you couldn't keep the house warm? The hunting lodge up in the woods, on the other hand, was always freezing. Sasha remembered being small and crying because his hands were sore and swollen with the cold. Boris had told him to grow up, said that this was how you became a real man. That crying was for girls.

Sasha shuddered.

There was a rustling behind him, then something brushed his back. Sasha startled, turning over with wide, wild eyes.

“Just me,” Ryosuke murmured. “You okay?”

“Cold,” Sasha mumbled, grabbing Ryosuke and pulling him in closer.

“Come on,” Ryosuke said gently, snuggling up to him. It was the only time Ryosuke seemed bigger than Sasha, when they were cuddled up in bed, when he was the big spoon and Sasha like a child in his arms. “I've got you. You're safe. You can sleep now.”

Sasha nestled up to him at once, still trembling faintly as he drifted off to sleep. Ryosuke rested his cheek on Sasha’s shoulder, trying not to be too alarmed by the heat radiating off his body. If he couldn't do anything to help it, there was no point in worrying about it, Ryosuke reasoned. Though it was hard not to worry when Sasha lay against him shivering, face tight with discomfort and fear, there was little he could do beyond holding tight and hoping.

Sasha dreamt of the hunting lodge.

He’s alone inside, no longer a child taken by his father, but a grown man out on his own. There’s no one around for miles, the wind whistling with the weight of snow that would keep him in place for days. It’s cold, but at least he has the peace of knowing it’s just him out here. No man or beast could traverse this snow to intrude upon him.

And then he hears the voice outside. It’s distant at first. It could be the wind. But it grows louder. And it gets closer.

Let me in.

Even over the howling gale, the deep, commanding tone is unmistakable now. Boris.

Let me in, boy! What do you think you're doing, leaving your father outside?! I should roast you over the fire!

Sasha shudders, heart pounding in his chest, shrinking closer towards the fire. His father's voice is joined by a bone-chilling, familiar bark.

Aleksandr! Let me in! The dogs are getting angry!

Sasha whimpers and then swallows the sound. His father won't like it. The flickering shadows around him seem to loom and grow, filling the room.

Bam! Bam! Bam!

The door rattles on its hinges. Sasha feels his blood run cold. Should he try to guard the door? Should he hide? Should he get ready to fight? He can barely breathe.

CRACK

The door splinters, a looming figure filling its frame. Boris is glaring daggers at Sasha, flanked by the frothy-mouthed dogs.

I told you to let me in!

Sasha screamed himself awake.

Ryosuke's hands were on him immediately, gentling him as he coughed and coughed and coughed. Panic pounded in his chest. Pain burned in his throat. Pure terror flashed wild in his eyes, and Ryosuke deftly caught a swinging hand before it could clock him.

“It's just me,” he whispered, giving Sasha's fingers a tight squeeze. “You're safe.”

Sasha sobbed loudly, his body rigid and shuddering. He coughed some more, pain gripping his chest. Ryosuke rested a hand on his back, rubbing firmly as another round of coughing seized his lungs.

“I've got you,” he assured, “just try to breathe.”

Sasha couldn't imagine anything more difficult. His throat was on fire. His ribs seemed to be tightening, a vice grip around struggling lungs. His pulse raced, swift and erratic. Blood howled in his ears like the winter wind. Spots swam in his vision.

“Easy,” Ryosuke soothed. “Just one deep breath, that's all you need. Don't pass out on me.”

“Hurts,” Sasha wheezed, unable to keep the tears in his eyes from falling. His fingers clutched clumsily at Ryosuke's hand, clammy and trembling.

“I know, but try,” Ryosuke urged. “With me. One, two, three, inhale.” 

“C-c-can’t,” Sasha sobbed, gradually crumpling himself into Ryosuke's arms. “Fuck, it h-hurts…”

Ryosuke hugged Sasha tight to his chest, still rubbing slow circles on his back. “You can. Follow me. In… out. In… out.”

It took him far longer than it should've to settle, and by the end he was embarrassed and red-faced and thoroughly exhausted. Ryosuke had turned to look at him properly, a furrow of deep worry in his brow.

“Do you want some more tea?”

“Wanna sleep,” Sasha sighed, shuddering bodily. “But…what if…” He struggled to find the words, feeling suddenly very young. “What if I hurt you?”

“I’ll be fine,” Ryosuke assured him. “I would leave if I wanted to. I'm not worried.”

“I'm worried,” Sasha mumbled. He was quiet a moment, breathing roughly, before he added, “The dream, it was…really bad.”

Ryosuke nodded, giving Sasha a tight squeeze. “It's over now. Do you want to talk about it?”

“No.” Sasha couldn't imagine putting it into words. Just thinking about it again made him feel ill. He wished his head wasn't throbbing so badly, so that maybe he could think. Huddling in on himself, he pulled his knees up to his chest, burying his face in the folds of his pyjamas pants to hide.

“You don't have to,” Ryosuke said, sitting up to lean across him. “I was just asking.”

Sasha just groaned, squeezing his eyes closed and shaking his head. Even now that he knew he was safe, that it was only Ryosuke anywhere near him, he couldn't shake the jitters. His throat was hurting worse than ever as he tried to keep his breathing steady, his head pounding at every inhale.

Ryosuke sighed. “I'm going to put more wood on the fire. If I get you a hard drink will it help you sleep?”

“Yes.” Sasha didn't even know if that was true, but he couldn't stand to be alone with his sober thoughts anymore. He could swear the wind outside was still howling like a dog.

“Alright,” Ryosuke nodded. He swung his legs out of bed, shivering slightly at the difference between the outside air and Sasha's feverish cocoon. “Don't make a habit of it though.”

Sasha only grumbled in response, curling up into the warmth Ryosuke left. He pulled the blankets closer around himself, wishing they could muffle the distant wail of the wind.

"That was a month ago," he mumbled, defensively, "I didn't forget- We don't- We don't celebrate those things, we didn't celebrate it last year... We never even celebrated our dating anniversaries..."

"Well, dating anniversaries are cringy," Bella rolled her eyes, then squirmed under him so she could sit against the headboard, "that's fine, I totally forgot it too, but I kinda wanna celebrate it..."

"Oh yeah?" Luke closed the space between with a kiss and then fell right between her legs, resting his chin on her knee, "what do you wanna do?"

Bella snorted at the silly position, as if he was a lap dog, and combed her fingers through his hair, careful not to make him look like a mad scientist right before work, "nothing big," she shrugged, "just... Let's go out for dinner? Or uhm- I don't know, you're the planner, Luke."

He hid a smile against the blankets covering her lap, "I'll think of something," then he pulled back with a groan, "this is why I like leaving when you're asleep, now I don't wanna goooo-"

Bella giggled, rolling her eyes at his antics, "gooo-" she shoved him by the forehead, then changed her mind last minute, lurching up on her knees to grab him by the collar of his button up and pull him down for a kiss, "just give me one last kiss before you leave."

"I'll give you two."

-------------------

Lucas knew, objectively, that he should not be feeling guilty for forgetting their wedding anniversary, since Bell had forgotten it too. Not that he had actually forgotten, he just had overlooked it. They had been in New Mexico and he was pretty sure the actual date of, he had been in a hospital bed with a severe fennel allergy.

Which just made him feel even more guilty, because how shitty was it that Bell had spent their anniversary night sitting in some uncomfortable hospital chair and fearing for his life?

He was a failure of a husband, Luke decided by the time 10 AM rolled on.

Sylvie was rushing in and out of their shared office, clearly busy, and he had a pile of paperwork to finalize, because charity was a whole lot less glamorous once you had to do taxes about it and fill in permits. Luke's mind was racing and he was struggling to pay attention.

"What's gotten into you?" Sylvie asked, walking back into the office and he hurriedly clicked out of the article he was reading on Idea To Celebrate Your Wedding Anniversary, forcing his attention back to the actual task at hand he should be doing.

"Nothing, why do you ask?" He asked, innocently, and the older woman squinted at him, stopping right in front of his desk.

"You seem sparse today..." She scrutinized his face, "everything alright?"

"Yeah, uh-" He toyed with his pen, looking up to his boss. She was a tiny woman, but he was sitting down while she stood, "it's my wedding anniversary and I forgot to make us plans."

Her wrinkly, suspicious face cleared up, a fond look taking its place, "oh Luke," she seemed amused, "how many years are you guys celebrating?"

"Two years," he fiddled with his wedding band, "I googled and it apparently is Cotton? The theme? Not helpful at all."

Syl snorted, circling his desk so she could get to hers and sitting down on the big presidential chair, "can never go wrong with jewelry, Luke."

"I know, but Bella is very particular about that," he pouted, turning his chair around to face her and kept speaking as if there was no work to be done, "she likes antiques and Victorian inspired pieces. I called her favorite jewelry place, but they only work with commissioned pieces and would take at the very least a couple weeks... I considered a hot air balloon ride, but she gets airsick sometimes and I don't wanna risk it-"

"Wow," Sylvie grinned, eyes sparkling, "you're doing the most, son. Take her to a nice restaurant and get her her favorite flowers, it'll be fine."

Lucas pouted. Realistically, he was aware his boss was right, but he hated it. Not because Bella wouldn't like it, hell, she probably would like celebrating in the privacy of their own home, with candles and take out, but because it made him feel like he didn't put enough effort into it. He knew he could do better than that and Bella deserved his maximum... Take that, Kit Howard, that's how you treat the love of your life.

He shook his head, rolling his shoulders to try and release the tension, "you're probably right," Luke relented, "do you have any restaurant recommendations? I was thinking we could go to Portland, we've been everywhere here in Welton already."

"Oh, do I," Sylvie smiled at him, fishing her notebook to scribble down some names for him.

----------------------------

Lucas: I've decided where we're gonna have dinner, it's not that fancy, dw.

Bella frowned as the text came in halfway through her day, as she holed up in the office, trying to get as much done as she could, to clear tomorrow's morning. She knew they didn't have any plans or reservation, but she also knew Luke, so Bella wouldn't have been surprised if he went all out. Part of her was even eagerly expecting him to.

Bell: Not fancy? Do you hate me?

She bit down her lip, staring at her husband's contact, imagining the way his face would scrunch up with defensiveness at her text, offense even.

Lucas: you don't LIKE fancy places, Isabella.

Lucas: But I can get us a reservation if you want to do fancy tonight!!

Lucas: Talk to me, what's on your mind?

Anxiety personified, Bella thought with a snort, smiling despite herself. Before she could even type an answer, her phone switched to call mode and Luke's face flashed across the screen.

"Hi-"

"Of course I don't hate you, Bell," Luke talked over her, sounding distraught, "you're gonna like my plan, trust me-"

"I do trust you," she chuckled, "I was mostly joking. Can I wear heels?"

"Yeah, of course," he sounded just a smidge relieved, "if you really wanna do fancy, I can change our reservations-"

"No," Bella leaned back on her chair, playing with the frayed edges of her ratty gym pants, "I just don't wanna stay in tonight that's all."

"We're not," he reassured her, "I have to get back to work. Love you."

"Okay, bye" Bella smiled, hanging up the phone, only for it to ring again, five seconds later. She frowned, "what?"

"You didn't say I love you back," Luke downright whined and Bella couldn't help but cackle. She rolled her eyes at his antics.

"I love youuuu, go work," she giggled, hanging up once more.

Around 5 PM, she wrapped up work and went ahead to get ready for their date, since her hair always took forever to dry.

Once she stepped out of the shower, wrapped in a robe, Lucas was already home. He pecked her cheek as she walked past him to their closet, following her like a lost puppy.

"What should I wear? Can I get a hint of what we're doing?" Bell asked, hands busy as she combed cream through her hair and inspected her clothes.

"It's nothing big, I didn't have much notice," Luke sounded so terribly apologetic, that she rushed to reassure him, but he talked over her, "just dinner."

"Okay, uhm- dress or pants?" Bell walked around, fishing out a couple pieces.

"Pants," he gestured to her favorite pair, that was black and low waist, baggy and covered in silver zippers, "and a top to match this-"

He fished out a little box from behind his back and Bella grinned so much her cheeks hurt, "oh, you didn't."

"Of course I did," he scoffed, rolling his eyes, "my wife says she wants to do romantic shit for once in her life and I'm supposed to not give it my all?"

He opened the box, causing Bella to gasp.

"Jesus Christ, Luke-" She reached in with grabby hands. It was a golden bracelet, with two rubies perched on the top of it, edges jagged and organic, like her own wedding band, "how did you-"

"It's not custom or anything," he pouted, "but I got lucky to find this in a jewelry store."

"It's gorgeous," Bella sighed, immediately putting it on, "now I feel bad, I didn't get you anything..."

"You don't have to give me anything," he rolled his eyes, then let out a chuckle as she jumped in his arms, cupping his face with both hands and kissing him, "I'll take it that you like it?" He asked cheekily.

Bella let out a huff, giving him another peck, "I love it. I love it so much," she squished his cheeks between her hands, one on either side of his face, "thank you."

"It's my pleasure," he turned his face to kiss he inside of her palm, "now let me go so I can shower- Bella!" Lucas let out a yelp as she moved a hand to his nape and grabbed him by the hair, pulling him closer so she could sniff his neck.

"You smell great to me," she said, while he trembled with giggles.

"Because you're a weirdo," he pushed her back by the hip, "let me shower, or we'll be late. It's all the way in Portland."

"Portland?!"

----------------

"Oh the place is beautiful," Bella whispered, her hand intertwined with Luke's as he pulled them inside the restaurant.

It was a place named Toca, with a moody atmosphere, dark walls and candles lit, Mexico's flag framed in a glass case, as well as a sombrero were the only thing telling her it was a Mexican restaurant. There was a duo of a cellist and a pianist playing, which caused her to let out a squeal and lean into Luke's side.

"Live music?"

"That's your favorite, isn't it?" Luke's smile was so wide, she could see his molars and there was a dimple forming in his cheek. Bella wanted to jump him.

He pulled the chair for her, despite the maître who had been guiding them moving to do it, and Bella rolled her eyes at the performance, smiling so much her cheeks hurt, "I feel like we're at our first date again."

"That was the plan," Luke sat in front of her, looking very proud with himself, "though this restaurant is a bit more gringo friendly than the one we went that time."

Bella snorted at the memory, "you were so funny, running out on me."

"Yeah, funny now," Luke's voice turned sour, "I really thought I had wrecked it all."

"You think I'd pass up a hottie like that because of an upset tummy?" Bella teased him, eyes running up and down his face, lingering on his mouth, "not in a million years, baby."

She felt victorious when his cheeks turned slightly pink. Making Lucas fluster was a feat and Bella tried really hard to excel at it.

"So what are we having tonight, captain?" Bell asked, leaning on the table to look at the menu. She wanted to push their chairs together, but it was a fancy enough place that she refrained from doing it... At least for now, no promises after they got some alcohol into her.

"I was thinking a wedge salad for starters," Luke pointed at an item in the menu and she glanced at her own. Wagyu bacon, cherry tomato, pickled red onion, pepitas, queso fresco, creamy buttermilk dressing. Sounded amazing, and most importantly, harmless.

"Did you check with them about fennel?"

"Yes, I let them know," he nodded, "what do you think?"

"I think it's delicious," Bella beamed, "and for main dish we get something separate?"

"Yeah, I'm going no spice tonight," he crossed his heart in an exaggerate scout impression.

Bella let out a huff at his mannerisms, "and nothing for dessert because we both know it's gonna be you."

He didn't blush this time, much to her dismay, eyes darkening, smile getting a little cheekier, "you're talking big game tonight, Bella."

"I mean every word," she batted her eyelashes at him, leaning over the tealight candles to whisper, "unless you don't think you can handle me?"

His smile flickered, competitive and hungry, and Bella felt her own cheeks burning as his eyes dragged down her face, to her mouth, neck, cleavage, "let's just leave right now."

She chuckled, pulled back and shook her head, "after dinner."

After that conversation went easy, although they were still flirting, heavily. Bell was drinking, Luke wasn't, because he was driving, and two cocktails in and she pushed her chair so their knees were touching, a lazy hand resting on his thigh for the rest of their meal.

Once the salad was gone, they ordered another round of drinks and the main dish. Luke ordered oysters, dipped in a chipotle cocktail that he knew he could handle because he got chipotle in his sandwiches and didn't suffer from it, and Bella got a complicated dish of chicken al pastor, with pineapple salsa that looked so delicious Luke nearly took a bite despite knowing better.

They chatted and ate and ordered a complicated lava cake to share as dessert, Luke taking her by the hand to slow dance as they waited for their order to get done. Bella threw her arms around his neck, body flushing against his, eyes shining, circled by the dark kajal that made the blue of her gaze pop.

"This was amazing," she whispered, sweet and spicy breath tickling his mouth and Luke barely held back from kissing her. He squeezed her waist, fingers curling on her top as they swayed from side to side lazily as the cello kept playing, "thank you."

"No," he leaned in, pressed his mouth to her brow and inhaled her woody perfume, "thank you for marrying me."

"Don't go all sappy on me now," Bella huffed out, her voice coming out muffled by his neck, and he could just feel the way her heart was beating, that's how pressed together they were.

Luke rolled his eyes at her being so uncomfortable at the romantic stuff, kissing her temple and squeezing her hand in his as Bella removed an arm from around his neck, so they could properly waltz.

They had dessert and paid, arms looped together as they walked back to the car. Bell was slightly tipsy, he could tell by how giggly she was, laughing like a teenage girl at every minor thing he said. It was absurdly endearing.

"C'mere," she smiled, once he opened the passenger door for her and she climbed inside, turning on the seat so her legs were dangling out of the door and she could grab his shirt, kissing him, "hmm, c'mere-"

He kissed her back, she tasted like the chocolate and blackberries sauce their lava cake had, and then Luke pulled back, planting a kiss on the tip of her nose, "we gotta go home, baby."

"Nooo," Bella scrunched up her face, undoing the top button of his shirt, "home is too far away, I want you now..." her mouth latched to his neck and he grinned, caught her lips in his again.

"We're not hooking up in the parking lot, sorry," he rolled his eyes at her dramatic pout, grabbing her by the chin, "not gonna happen."

"Boo," Bell sighed, moving her face in his hand and taking his thumb in her mouth, sucking on it, eyes on his, and causing Luke to squirm. He closed his eyes, pulled back and she whined.

"Nope, not gonna happen."

"Home?" Bella asked hopefully and Luke already knew he was lying when he nodded and said "home."

In truth, his energy didn't match hers after a whole day of stressing. Their night had been amazing, but now that he was fully relaxed, he felt tired and wanted nothing more than to curl up together. Besides, there was still a full hour drive back home and they worked in the morning...

And he wasn't sure the fancy combo of foods was agreeing with him.

Bella beamed at his promise and let go off him, finally putting the seatbelt on and allowing Luke to circle the car and do the same. She went boneless on her seat, sighing heavily.

"I'm in heaven," she declared, removing her heels and leaning back the seat, just enough she could bury a hand in his hair and start scratching at his scalp.

He agreed with a humm, poking her side and then grinning when his finger met a bit too much belly, "oooh hehe," he poked her tummy again, "you got a food baby, Bell."

"Hmm, I know," she was, as usual, unashamed, poking the slight swell of her belly, "the food was just so good..."

Luke smiled, although it felt a little false because his stomach wasn't so sure about the so called great meal, and he remembered why he had poked her in the first place, "put on some music."

Bella perked up, fiddling with his car's radio and her phone, and Luke let out a little relieved sigh when the song came on. Both because now it'd mask the noises coming from his stomach and because for once Bell hadn't picked metal, in tune with the mood for the night.

"What's playing?"

"Finger-" She squirmed slightly on her seat, undoing her pants with a happy sigh, "finger eleven," Bell resumed back to her original position of petting his hair, fingers occasionally drumming on his nape.

"This is nice," Luke wasn't sure if he meant the song or the hair pets. Either one.

"Of course it is," Bell's nails scratched his nape and he stole a glance her way. She was watching him intensely, and Luke snorted.

"Stop looking at me as if you're gonna eat me alive, creep," he poked her belly again and Bell grinned, hand latching around his wrist and nails tracing the veins in his forearm.

"I'm gonna," she promised, lowering his hand to her inner thigh and Lucas let out a brisk breath.

"I'm driving-"

"Road head never killed anyone-"

"I'm pretty sure it has killed a lot of people, Isabella," he glared at her when her hand sneaked to his shirt, shooing it away, "behave."

"Or you're gonna put me over your knee?" Bella's voice was all teasing, her smile not diminishing even a bit, as she once again moved her hand to try and undo the buckles of his belt- The back of her hand pressed with a little too much force against his stomach and Luke grimaced, holding a fist to his mouth the muffle a thick enough belch that was heard even over the sensual chorus of Deftones' Change (In the house of flies).

Bell pulled back then, watching him gulp down with a grimace, "Luke?"

"Sorry," he rolled his window down further, "excuse me."

"Uh-huh," she squinted at him, "is the food messing with you?"

He blushed, furiously. This was such a bad way to end their lovely night.

"No-"

"It totally is," she had moved her hand, which was resting limply on the handbrake, to touch his belly, prodding around, "how dare you say I have a food baby, when you got this?" Bella snorted, sliding her fingers right where his stomach was being pressed on by his belt. The pressure didn't feel great, caused a watery gurgle to go through his gut and Luke groaned, pushing her hand away.

"Don't do this, Bell," he frowned and her face softened up.

"Wanna switch? I can drive..."

"You are drunk," he rolled his eyes, "and I'm fine, I just ate a weird combo and my stomach needs to figure it out. It's not that bad."

"I'm not drunk," Bella defended herself, pouting, "just tipsy... Okay, but promise me you'll pull over if you feel worse? We can crash a side of the road motel, baby, you don't have to drive if you feel like crap."

"I don't, really," he reassured her, "just... Bloated," Luke grimaced again as another burp rolled up, barely giving him any time to hide it in his hand, "not that bad."

"Okay," she leaned back on her seat with a sigh and he counted exactly thirty seconds before grabbing her hand and planting it back on his nape, causing Bella to smile and roll her eyes, continuing scratching his scalp.

"You're like a puppy," she said after a minute, then turned her head and he watched from the corner of her eye as she gulped down air.

"Bell?"

"Got a burpstuck-" her voice was distorted by the gulping and he removed a hand from the steering wheel to thump on her back.

"Ow, go easy-" Bella hiccupped at his thumps and Luke cringed, diminishing his force.

"Sorry..."

A large, gross belch followed and her cheeks dusted pink, both hands clasping over her mouth as Bella giggled, "ooops..."

He snorted, "did that feel good?"

"Ooh, so much," Bell melted back in the seat, poking her tummy that was now poking out of her black top, red nails sinking on the soft flesh, "I look super cute like this."

He rolled his eyes, "humble too, baby."

"I doooo," she grinned to him, "you know you think so- Oh no, not this song," attention dispersed, she went through her phone, passing several songs.

Luke groaned as he heard the start of twelve songs in a row, the riffs starting to give him a headache on top of his unsettled stomach. He wasn't feeling so great, bloated and gassy, yes, but also... Clammy. A bad combo, the taste of salty seawater flooding his mouth.

"Hey," Bell's cupped his chin, "are you okay? You're looking a little like spoiled milk, Atwood."

"Yeah, uhm-" he dug a hand against his stomach, "oysters weren't a smart choice."

"You don't think its food poisoning, do you?" She sounded concerned and upset, "that place was so stupidly expensive, we should actually sue if they gave you food poi-"

"No," he shook his head, bringing up a thick, watery burp in his hand, "I don't think so, just indigestion. I just wanna get home."

"Okay," Bella nodded, then started fumbling with his belt again. He let her, then let out a big relieved sigh as his pants came undone.

"Ooh, that feels better."

"You bet," Bella tugged on the elastic band of his boxer briefs and let it slap against his skin, grinning when he yelped, "we're almost home, baby."

-------------------------------

Vince was tired, vision blurry, safety hazard tired. Cars and streetlights blurring together tired. He had been forced to pull over forty minutes away from the Atwood's house, to rub his eyes and dump some water on his face, because his sight had been so blurry.

Eventually he got to Welton, regretting his decision to drive back to back. It had been a bad call, but staying at his parents when they could tell he was not okay with just one glance was not an option. Telling them that him and Wen had broken up might actually kill him, so Vince had done his typical conflict avoidant bullshit and bailed.

Stupid, but hey, he was back and he hadn't hit the car and everything was fine. In Shakespeare words, all's well that ends well.

He parked wonkily in front of the house, noticing that Luke's car was also parked all wrong... Weird, but Vin was much too tired to pay attention to it.

He unlocked the front door and stepped inside.

Obviously the Atwoods were still up, judging by the living room lights being turned on, so Vince walked towards it, rubbing his eye and muffling a yawn, ready to say "guys, I'm beat-"

The words never made it past his lips.

Luke was sprawled on the couch, a bowl resting against his left side, his head thrown back, eyes closed and face pale. Bella had her legs draped over his lap and was digging into her own stomach and- She was wearing one of Luke's oversized shirts and socks, although Vin could see there were boxers under the shirt, peeking out just a bit.

"What the fuck-" he mumbled, cheeks turning red as he saw Bella stop touching her own belly and gingerly pressing around her husband's, nails tracing patterns on it.

Luke was shirtless and fuck, was he bloated, Vin's eyebrows climbed all the way to his hairline. His brain went silent, tiredness vanishing for a second, as Luke brought up a hand and muffled a gross belch in it.

"Oh hi," Bella smiled at him, "didn't think you'd be back tonight," she clearly didn't see anything wrong with the scene, "come sit with us. How was Doveport?"

"What- What happened with-" Vin mumbled, feeling like there were a thousand little ants walking on his skin. Bell's curls were pinned up by a claw clip, some of them falling around her face and fuck, he had always known she was pretty, but she was really fucking hot when cupping her belly with a grimace and leaning forward so much that her forehead touched Luke's stomach and she groaned, "you both?"

"We ate- too much," Luke had opened his eyes, green and hazy, little pained lines around them. He moved a hand to Bell's back, thumping on it softly, "gassy."

Jesus fucking Christ, what was wrong with these two??

Didn't they have a room where they could- Oh yeah, this was their house and he was the intruder- Vince walked straight into the armchair near the fireplace, almost falling and stumbling on the little table next to it, nearly sending one of the vintage lamps Bella loved so much to the ground. He dove to grab it, heart racing and looking around with a spooked expression on.

Luke snorted, "you okay there, buddy?"

"Yeah!" His voice was shrill. Vince grimaced, cleared his throat, "yeah, uh- What did-" don't ask, you fool, "what did you eat to mess up both of you...?"

Against his best instincts, he sat down on the armchair.

Bella let out a gross, frothy burp that had her paling and gulping down, letting out a whine. Luke's free hand jerked for the still empty, put aside bowl, "Bell? Bowl?"

"No," she straightened up, wiping at her face, "not that nauseous, just a little queasy. What about you?"

"Oh, I'm absolutely gonna hurl," Luke scoffed, as if that was all normal. Perfectly normal sentence to be said, "stupid oysters," he gagged at the mere mention of the word, burping over the bowl and putting it aside with a shudder, then raising his eyes to meet Vin's, "we were out celebrating our anniversary and we overdid it."

"I still think it's the restaurant's fault," Bella grumbled, moving on the couch so she could rest her head on Luke's lap and throw her legs over the opposite couch arm, "there's no way we both have indigestion..."

"I really don't think it's food poisoning, baby," Luke stroked her cheek, then thumped on his chest, trying to work up a burp. Vince's mind was racing and he knew he ought to say something.

Anything.

"I- uh- Do you guys-uhm, need anything...?" He asked, keeping his eyes pointedly up and in the big poster behind the couch, a big blurry photography of a guitarist leaning back and holding a guitar, stage lights exploding in gold behind him.

"Water?" Luke groaned, squirming and grabbing the bowl again, tilting his body slightly so Bella didn't have to remove her head from his lap.

She let out a sigh, "your belly is making all sorts of noises," Bella commented, causing Vin to blink at her, trying to understand how was that a thing to be said in the company of other people. He clutched his imaginary pearls.

"Shit, Bell-" Luke clumsily reached to pat her off his lap, back arching with an empty gag, "move, I'm gon'be sick-"

"No, you're not," Bella yawned, but moved her head and sat back up, planting a hand on his back as he gagged and thumping rhythmically, "it's gas, baby."

Vince was going to die. He looked around, then remembered Luke's request and jumped to his feet, "I'm gonna grab you some- Some water," he mumbled, then all but bolted from the room.

His heart was racing as he entered the kitchen. Vince turned on the tap, splashing some cold water on his face, feeling more awake now than he had been for the past five hours.

He needed to get the hell away from them.

True to his word, he returned with two water bottles, just in time to see Luke pitch forward and aim a disgusting belch in the bowl, Bella cooing over him and patting his belly in a weirdly approving way, "there you go. Feel better?"

"Fuck yeah," he wiped at his mouth, then lifted his head and saw Vin there, frozen, hand in the air clutching the water bottle, "oh, thanks- Dude, was the trip okay? You're looking-"

"Feverish," Bella completed, sounding concerned. Much to Vin's horror, she jumped to her feet and walked to him, hands coming to cup his cheeks, "you're really warm, are you sick? Again?!"

"No, uhm- Was just warm..." Vin pushed her hands away from his cheeks, forcing the second water bottle onto her and keeping his eyes on her forehead, not down, not even as she wrapped an arm around her stomach and walked back to the couch, collapsing on it with a groan.

"Crampy?" Luke asked her, gulping down the water with a satisfied sigh. Bella shook her head no.

"Gurgling," she made a face, shuddering, and grabbing his hand, planting on top of her domed tummy, "see? Gross."

"Okay, uh-" Vince was going to have a panic attack, "I'm uhm- I'm gonna go to bed, unless-"

"You sure?" Luke yawned, his hand moving lazily over his wife's stomach, rubbing in circles, "we're gonna be up for a bit more, gotta wait until the reflux dies down."

"It's not that late," Bella corroborated his point and Vince snapped out of his kink induced panic, because it absolutely was that late. He glared at the ginger.

"Girl, it's like eleven PM," Vince scoffed, "I'm going to sleep."

There, convincing enough. No one needed to know that for the first time in his whole life he was feeling horny over his best friends. That was not a thing.

"Oka-ay," Bella yawned, resting her cheek on Luke's shoulder and curling up around him, "g'night, Vin."

"Night..." he walked around the coffee table, ruffled Luke's hair as he passed him by and received a soft squeeze to his wrist as a goodnight farewell.

As Vince walked up the stairs he overheard them talking in a low voice.

"Really fucking weird, uh?"

"Leave him alone, the guy was so tired he was walking into walls," Luke defended him, then groaned, "god, my stomach is killing me."

"Structurally, sure," Leo continued, unbothered by the lack of incentive, walking back with two cans and handing Max one, falling on the couch with him, "but there's no charisma. You need a pet... And I don't know, some paintings. A wall that isn't eggshell white. That shit is depressive."

"Hmm," Max grumbled, sourly, opening the can and taking a big swing of it, "it's fi-"

"What is your favorite color?" Leo interrupted him, turning eagerly on the couch. Max glared at the other guy's sunny face, rolling his eyes.

"Leo, my place is fine-"

"No, it's not," Leo glared right back at him, "and you're always holed up here unless I invite you out, or Vince- But Vin is busy having the worst year anyone has ever had, so it is my duty to make sure you're not driving yourself insane, sitting in the dark staring at blank walls."

"I'm not your duty," Max groaned, cheeks burning at the implication he was someone's burden. What the fuck?

"Yes, you are?" Leo frowned, seeming puzzled, "aren't you my friend?"

"Uh- Yea-"

"So, my duty," he said, as if that was the only logical conclusion. Max scowled at his lap, taking another big swing of his beer.

"Hmm, whatever," he shrugged, forcing a nonchalance he didn't feel. This was all so new and weird. Even with Vince it had been just as weird, but at least then he had the butterflies that explained why he felt so odd about everything Vince did or said. Now he didn't have any of those, but he still felt... Odd. Like he was learning how to ride a bike, but blindfolded.

"You look like you like red," Leo decided, after a minute of uncomfortable silence. Or at least, uncomfortable to Max, because Leo seemed perfectly content.

He did like red, a whole lot, but Max only squinted at Leo in return, "why? What makes you think that?"

"How dare I perceive you," Leo snorted at his antics, jumping from the couch, so he could pace around the living room, "you dress like an emo teenager, it was either red, purple or black and black is not a color."

"Black is absolutely a color," Max couldn't help a small smile from tugging at his lips, masking it by taking another drink. His beer was now empty, so he busied himself by going to get another can. Was Leo hungry? Max was, so he opened his fridge, pointedly ignoring Leo rambling about leather couches or whatever.

His fridge was depressing, a thought that caused Max to frown. It was a fridge, how could it possibly represent anything? Damn Leo, getting in his head.

Inside of the appliance were the cans of beer, a singular package of sliced white bread, some ricotta, a gallon of milk that he should throw away because it was probably spoiled and two remaining croissants of the batch Vince had brought to the school under the guise of "I made too many, Luke's fridge can't fit anything else", which Max highly doubted was the truth, if solely for the fact he had seen Lucas' fridge before and that shit was the size of an wardrobe.

"Do you wanna order pizza?" Max asked, closing the fridge door with his hip and Leo, who was now by the little balcony area of his apartment and tsking under his breath, mumbling to himself, beamed at him.

"Oh hell yeah."

---------------

Pizza had been a mistake.

One that Max had been well aware off, from the second he picked up the first slice, covered in stretchy cheese and with pepperoni sliced on top. It was so greasy, so delicious, and he hadn't had pizza in forever, so he had done more than a singular slice and splurged with two and a half.

Mistake number two.

Not because he couldn't handle two slices, of course he could quantity wise, except that greasy food like that upset his little bitch of a stomach and he always tried to keep it to the bare minimum.

Now he was lying on the couch, with Leo sitting next to him, one hand holding a slice of pizza, while paint shopping for Max, because apparently he had decided that what his living room really needed was a colorful wall.

"And maybe some warm lamps too," Leo grumbled, cheeks puffed out like a squirrel, "these overhead white lights make it look like a hospital."

"You're such a jerk," Max scoffed, but his voice was clipped. He could feel there was a bubble of air sitting in his chest, waiting to come up, and he didn't want to burp in front of Leo.

"A jerk who's being oh so helpful," Leo snorted, ignoring his bitching, "look at this one," he turned his phone so Max could take a look at a swatch of paint that looked exactly the same as the last four he had been shown.

"It's red."

"Oh my god, it's not red," Leo groaned, turning his phone back immediately, "it'ss burgundy."

Max rolled his eyes at him, then tried not to wince as he could feel a gas cramp go through his gut. He had been wearing sweatpants already when Leo arrived, so it wasn't like he could open his jeans and he had bloated so much that even loosening the drawstrings hadn't done much. He hoped Leo wasn't paying enough attention to realize Max looked sort of pregnant.

"What about stripes!" Leo perked up, swiping to a picture of a wall with alternating stripes of a dark, toasty red and a shade of beige, "or like this-" he swiped to one where the stripes were deep red and rich brown, "that's cool right. Very manly."

Uh-huh.

Max snorted, "very-URerp-" a belch rushed up mid sentence and he clamped a hand over his mouth, but it was too late. Leo was staring at him, eyebrows up.

"Pfff," the other guy giggled, "what was that?"

"Very manly?" Max finished what he was going to say, cheeks burning. His stomach rolled, as if that singular burp had dislodged something, but not in a good way. In a lets start this party, sort of way.

"Yeah, very manly, hold on-" Leo thumped on his chest, trying to force up a burp and Max shook his head.

"What the hell are you doi-"

Pffft.

"Dude, did you just fart!?" Max cackled, bewildered, as Leo's cheeks turned crimson and he covered his face.

"Shut uuuup," he groaned, face hidden, "was trying to burp to make you less embarrassed!"

"Oh, you idiot," Max giggled, tension easing off his shoulders, bellyache momentarily forgotten over that one pathetic commiserating fart, "I'm fine."

Leo scoffed, cheeks still ablaze and turned back to the phone, now pouting out of sheer humiliation. Max bit down a smile.

"Don't pout."

"I'm not," Leo grumbled and Max would've kept teasing him, wasn't it for the fact his gut picked this moment to remind him that people with glass houses shouldn't throw stones, by whining loudly, gas battling it out, unsure of where to go.

Fuck.

If Leo heard, he chose not to say anything, glaring at his phone now. Max cleared his throat, "uhm- So you were showing me the manly stripes."

He felt stretched. Max squirmed on the couch, inconspicuously lowering the waistband of his sweats. It brought little to no relief. Leo had started talking back up, pointing at the striped walls in his phone and gesturing to the little area that marked Max's entry hall, but Max was barely listening.

His stomach flipped, not just gas now, but genuinely off. The greasy after taste of the pizza was doing him in and he gulped down, goosebumps covering his body.

"So?" Leo blinked expectantly at him, "which one do you like most?"

He didn't care. Max's face was pinched and he realized a second too late that he had snuck a hand under his shirt in order to cradle his stomach. He removed it, "the brown-" his voice was thick, deep, as a bubble of air pressed in his throat, "uurp- brown and beige one."

"Ooh okay," Leo perked up, criss crossing his legs on the couch, "I thought you'd pick the brown and wine one, that's interesting."

Was it? Max nodded, not really agreeing with anything, and pressed the back of his hand to his mouth, muffling a sickly burp. His mouth was feeling slimy, greasy meal sitting in his stomach like a brick.

"Okay, so I'm gonna save these-" Leo wasn't paying him any mind, fiddling around his phone and saving a couple different inspiration pictures that featured the brown and beige stripes, "and we can look at lamps."

Didn't Leo need to go home? What time was it anyway?

"Where- Where's Jon?" Max asked, fidgeting on the couch to try to find a more comfortable position. There wasn't one, he was feeling clammy and queasy, a gas ball sitting in the middle of his stomach.

"Working," Leo wrinkled his nose, didn't bother looking up from his phone, "overnight shift."

"Uhmmm," Max wiped his face, then jumped up, "uh- I'm gonna go smoke."

"I thought you were trying to quit," Leo's head snapped, eyes zeroing him in.

"I never said that," Max scoffed, rolling his eyes at the other guy. He searched his pockets for his crumpled cigarettes pack and didn't find it.

"Yes, you did, last time I came over," Leo pouted, "you said Vince hates it."

"He does- Uurerp," Max let out a burp as he stretched to grab his backup pack on top of the fridge. It was thick and wet, bringing a sliver of relief, but tasting so disgusting that his mouth flooded with nauseous saliva. He gulped down, "uhm- yeah, he does hate it."

"And then you said you'd quit," Leo pointed out, having moved to sit on the couch's arm, so he could watch Max stumble around. His gravity felt off center with that lump of congealed food in his belly.

"Nev'r saidthat..." Max mumbled, then stepped outside in the balcony and lit up his cigarette, making a show of sucking it and letting out the smoke in a cloud, if only because he knew Leo hated it and wouldn't step any closer.

His belly cramped, a gurgle running down, and he turned around, pressing the upset organ against the banister and staring at the 8 stories high fall. It was one of his favorite things about his apartment, how high it was, how quiet, windy... He really liked the place, maybe Leo was right and painting a wall wasn't such a bad idea...

Paint felt permanent, though. Felt like saying, yeah, I'm staying, I'm gonna extend my lease one more year, I'll stay in this town, I like it here- Which he did. When he thought of going back to Doveport, no matter how much simpler things were there, Max didn't feel any excitement. Instead, he shuddered at the thought. No, he didn't have any plans to leave Welton, it was permanent... He might as well start treating it like that.

The banister pressed against his stomach pushed up a deeply relieving burp and Max let out a groan, pushing himself further against the metal. It felt great, even if he was still queasy from the items alone. Pizza and beer, what had he been thinking?

"Dude?" Leo's voice was close, too close, and Max jerked, looking to the side. His friend was leaning against the balcony door, eyebrows furrowed, mouth downturned and clearly upset, "why are you nearly throwing yourself off the balcony?"

Max frowned right back, a nagging voice in the back of his head telling him this was important for some reason... Leo's honeymoon disaster, his brain supplied, and yeah, that, but something else also... Leo knowing how to handle an extremely drunk Vince with way too much ease, hinting at having experience...

"So?" Leo had pressed his lips into an annoyed line, "step away from the edge, Max."

"Chill out," Max groaned, "give me a minute, I'm just getting some fresh air."

"You can get fresh air without leaning so much you're nearly falling," the other guy's voice was clipped, the lightheartedness from before was gone.

"Ookay," Max stumbled back, bracing against the balcony's door and now he was close enough to Leo for the guy to be able to tell he was definitely not doing great, Max could tell because his eyes widened and then squinted, studying him.

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing," Max gulped down, fighting the urge to burp again, "I think you should go."

Leo rolled his eyes, "I will, as soon as you fess up. I'm not gonna leave you alone if I don't think I should-"

My god, this guy, Max thought with a groan.

"I'm not gonna jump off the building, I just have a stomach ache!" He cried out, frustrated, "one I'd like to nurse on my own, so if you could be so kind-"

"Ah," Leo's expression cleared up, then he giggled, "why didn't you just say you had a tummy ache? What's the big deal?"

"A tummy ache," Max groaned, wrapping an arm around his, very bloated, stomach, "I don't have tummy aches, I was cursed by a witch or something."

Leo cackled at that, shaking his head and stepping back into the living room, "okay, okay, a curse then," he shrugged, looking around in search of something, "uhm- Do you want some tea before I leave? Peppermint is really good for tumm- The Curse," he smirked, finally finding his sneakers ditched near the front door.

"No, I'm fine," Max muffled a gross belch in his hand, shuddering violently at the taste of the pizza and how frothy the beer had made it, "sorry, I ruined the night-"

"Nah," Leo rolled his eyes, "I should've left an hour ago, I knew I was pestering you... I just wanted to know how long until you bit my head off," he beamed, causing Max to scoff and glare at him. This little shit.

Vaguely, he thought it was weird that Leo was, he assumed, an only child, because he had all the energy of a younger sibling, "get out of here, Leo."

"Going, going," Leo grinned, moving around to grab his stuff and fixing his performative tote bag around his shoulder, "see you tomorrow?"

"Why tomorrow?" Max asked, confused, walking him to the door even if every step was hurting. His mouth was watering up, he was definitely gonna end up puking. Not now, in the close future.

"We're going paint shopping, remember?"

"Now, I know for a fact I didn't agree to this-"

In the first week, Lucian barely talked or reacted to things, his expression not changing. The process of getting used to physicality - assuming it was his first time and he wasn't some lost human spirit - was difficult.

Touch, sound, sight, taste. Seeing new things and colours. Adalyn held his hand through it, talked and talked like he was a frightened puppy, to guide him.

His idea that he would go alone, when she was working on a faculty presentation irritated her.

At the same time, she had no reasonable explanation to say no. He was supposed to be an independent human adult, if the pretense was to be successful.

Didn't stop her from doodling nervously over her notebook or agitated walks around their small two-room apartment.

Independence wasn't cheap.

If he was out for 30 minutes, it was boring; an hour if it was a success and he felt comfortable enough with the outside environment....

She should have put a GPS app into his phone. Or get him digital watch to do it.

What if fell into the river? What if he noticed spirits just when she wasn't looking? What if he remembered something he shouldn't?

The nightmares he was having were bad enough and at least they made no sense to him. Yet.

Not that she was doing anything illegal. By all rights, she should have vanquished Lucian before turning him into a human.

That was the initial plan. Hunt down the demon king and show his head to her family. Who is fragile and incompetent now, huh?

But she couldn't do it. He had...emotions. A sense of self. A personality and wishes and memories inside the whirlwind of demon darkness and magic. A demon of chaos driven to cause and spread it, sure, but he felt almost like a human soul.

If he had been allowed to interact with the physical world with human senses, what could he have become?

It was a waste to get rid of his existence.

She saved him. That's what she did, if someone asked. There was nothing to be ashamed of. He might even thank her for it one day.

His demon followers didn't quite agree with that. Nor the only hunter who knew what she had done.

After two hours she was restless. After 4, she was cursing her stupidity and considering looking for him.

When he finally stumbled home, the sun was setting, and she was a statue at the balcony, trying to sense him out with her spirit hunter senses.

Except the river was filled with humans that created emotion spirit clouds and full of nature, which meant plenty of element spirits. Dense and chaotic.

Maybe that's what he was naturally drawn to.

When the lock clicked, she turned to him, then stopped herself. Don't seem to eager. Don't seem worried. Keep your cool.

Lucian closed the door and then leaned against it, sketching block and a little bag with supplies in one hand, keys in the other.

"That must have been at least 15.000 steps."

Adalyn walked in from the balcony, looking him up and down for injuries.

Lucian has a pale complexion, now a bit angry red from the intense sun exposure. His brown hair has a washed out look, and his grey eyes and black circles gave him a constant exhausted look.

Since his "creation" his human body seemed...frail. Tired and sickly, washed out of all strong colours. He looked black and white, only his hair was a boring brown and even that wasn't luxurious or intense, but this unhealthy, faded out shade.

In a way, his unassuming looks were a great cover. Also a bit disappointing.

Adalyn tried to lead without criticism. "You walked so much?"

"Couldn't find the right spot. So many pretty ones. The way the light shines through the tiny leaves is wonderful..." He swayed, sliding down the door to the ground.

"Thirsty?" Without waiting for an answer, she strode to the kitchen to get him a glass of cold filtered water.

He took it and gulped it down, quicker with each sip. "Huh. I haven't realized what it was."

"What?"

"The sharp dry stinginess."

Maybe she should have started with basic human anatomy. Whole medical presentation of what to look out for...but there was no easy way to do it without questioning his humanity.

She also noted how his chalk white fingers splattered with paint trembled as he held the glass.

"When was the last time you ate?" she asked, opening the fridge. "We have the pasta from yesterday, protein yogurt, or I can make you a salad."

"It's fine. I'm not really hungry." He raised his knees up and hugged them to himself, face hidden between them as he breathed deeply. "I don't feel well."

"That could be because of the lack of food," she supplied.

"I don't feel hungry...more like...like there is something slimy climbing up my throat." He looked up at her, eyes going suddenly wide. "Is that normal?"

"So nauseous? Does your stomach feel off?" She crouched down next to him, observing him up close. His brown hair curled up from sweat, plastered to his face. Sharp cheekbones shone in the sunset shadows, highlighting how thin he looked.

Maybe she wasn't that good at taking care of him, and that's why he looked so sickly all the time.

Not that anyone had any tips on how to care of a demon.

Adalyn opened the fridge again, more for something to do than because she expected him to suddenly change his mind. "You need to eat something. You are probably having a sugar crash."

"Hm." That absent little sound irritated her more than if he argued. Like he was just observing himself from behind a glass, like it didn't involve him.

She took out the leftover pasta anyway, spooning it into a pan. Behind her, the apartment stayed quiet except for Lucian's slow breathing and the distant rush of evening traffic from the street below.

Then silence.

Too much silence.

Adalyn turned off the stove. "Lucian?"

He sat exactly where she left him, but now rigidly still, fingers digging into his sleeves. His eyes lifted to her slowly.

Something in her stomach tightened. "What is it?"

"I think..." He swallowed hard. "I think something is wrong." The words came out strained.

Adalyn crossed the kitchen in three quick steps, crouching in front of him again. Up close, his skin looked almost grey beneath the sunburn.

"What kind of wrong?"

"I don't know." His breathing became uneven. "My chest feels strange."

Panic flashed through her instantly despite herself. "Can you breathe?"

"Yes, but—" His face twisted suddenly. Lucian pressed a hand against his mouth, eyes widening in alarm.

Adalyn barely had time to grab his shoulder before he lurched sideways toward the bathroom. For someone usually so neutral in expressions, he moved with startling desperation now, nearly stumbling over the edge of the carpet.

"Lucian—"

He made a small distressed sound as she pushed the bathroom door open for him.

Then he dropped to his knees, heaving loudly over the toilet. A spurge of liquid hit liquid, the heave rocking his whole back in a wave.

Adalyn froze for half a second. Not because of disgust, just the pure shock of it.

Later she would analyse would it made her feel. In that instance, fear grabbed her chest in a vice grip as she hurried beside him, partly confused by the intensity of the fear as it blanked her usually resourceful mind.

Lucian gripped the toilet with white knuckles, breathing harshly as if the effort itself exhausted him. "Why is this happening?" he asked hoarsely.

Adalyn snapped out of it, crouching beside him in one smooth movement. Skirt of her dark blue dress whooshed behind her.

"Nothing serious. You're okay." She combed back his hair before she could think about it. Damp strands clung to her fingers. "You just overexerted yourself."

His eyes flicked toward her, unfocused and uneasy. "I thought it was healthy to spend time outside?"

Despite the situation, a disbelieving breath of laughter escaped her. "Not for five hours without food and water in direct sunlight."

"Am I... that weak?" he panted.

Something about his pathetic expression made her cold with guilt. Before she could say anything, another wave hit him.

Lucian bent forward with a choked breath, shoulders tensing violently. Much chunkier stream hit the toilet, the stench filling the small room.

Adaly automatically flushed it, hesistantly reaching for his trembling back.

He was burning up. The realization made her frown. How long had he been wandering around exhausted before coming home? Why hadn't he just picked a place in the shade to draw? It wasn't supposed to be this risky to let him out of her sight.

When he finally slumped back again, breathing shallowly, he looked genuinely frightened. Not embarrassed. His grey eyes were shiny with moisture and he pressed a panicked hand against his chest. "I don't like this," he whined.

Something in her chest pulled painfully tight.

Because he said it with the same lost confusion as someone trapped in unfamiliar clothes that suddenly pulled him to the bottom.

Adalyn grabbed a towel from the sink, wetting it with cold water before pressing it gently against the back of his neck.

Lucian flinched.

Then visibly melted toward the coolness.

"Better?"

"...Yes."

His voice sounded smaller than usual.

He leaned weakly against the wall next to the toilet, eyes half-lidded from exhaustion while she stayed crouched beside him. He eyed the toilet in disgust, burping softly under his nose.

The bathroom light painted harsh shadows across his face, emphasizing the sharpness of his cheekbones and the dark circles beneath his eyes.

Too thin.

The thought came suddenly and uncomfortably.

Too pale. Too tired. Too breakable.

She had been so focused on whether he could become human that she hadn't stopped to consider whether this body was surviving it properly.

Lucian opened his eyes again slowly, giving her a pleading look. "Am I very sick?"

She heard the helplessness in that question. Help me. Make it stop. Save me as you have been doing.

The responsibility crashed into her like a freight train.

“Hang in there,” he muttered in Morrison’s direction, because god-fucking-dammit he couldn’t even go over and help right now. Instead, he crouched down at the sofa, leaning over the equally curled up form of his brother, “what do you mean you’re puking blood?” he asked, trying and failing to keep the urgency out of his tone, “are . . . are you sure? The stuffed mushrooms had tomato sauce . . .” 

At the mention of the food he’d eaten, Gabe’s mouth twisted with disgust and he gagged, fingers scrabbling for the edge of the sofa cushion. Nothing came up, and Adam let out a relieved breath that yeah, it must have been the sauce. Except almost immediately Gabe retched again, so violently the rest of his body froze, and then he half-coughed, half-spit a spattering of red-tinged saliva onto the coffee table and floor. Red that didn’t look at all like tomatoes. Gabe groaned, “don’ feel great,” and then retched again.

Adam would have laughed at the understatement if it hadn’t been so frightening. What kind of problem made you puke blood? He didn’t realize he’d said that out loud until Avery made a pained sound that was almost a laugh, if laughter sounded like getting the wind knocked out with a wrecking ball, - “getting shot, for one,” he croaked. He’d dropped down to sit fully on the floor and now lay his head on the seat of the chair, resting on his arms. “That’ll do it every time.”

“Not helping, Morrison.” Adam knew it wasn’t the guy’s fault, but he wasn’t in the mood for jokes, even jokes with a hint of truth behind them. But it did mean that Adam could ignore him for the moment without feeling too guilty. Sure the guy was in agonizing pain and kept trying to throw up more of his scrambled eggs - but that was kind of . . . normal for him right now. He could deal on his own for a couple of minutes while Adam took care of Gabriel.

At least that’s what Adam told himself because Gabe was an absolute mess. Pale as fuck and curled up in a tight ball on the sofa, arms locked around his knees. Adam planted a hand across his cheek, grimacing when he hit saliva and who knows what else. Clammy, not feverish, which struck him as good. He pushed sweaty hair off his brother’s forehead and felt there too even though he wasn’t sure what else he was checking for. “Where does it hurt?” 

Gabe gazed at him through glazed eyes. “Stomach,” he mumbled tiredly. There was a little bit of what, are you stupid? underneath it and Adam felt a small thrum of relief, that Gabe could snark. Except then his expression grew blank and his mouth contorted and he turned his head just in time to puke on Morrison’s floor. Stuffed mushrooms and whiskey and . . . fuck. 

Adam didn’t move, even though it was disgusting. Gabe drooled and panted helplessly and Adam squeezed his shoulder and made comforting noises until he finally stopped gagging and slumped back into the cushion. “Guhhh . . . “ he groaned weakly, making sounds that almost sounded like words,. “I . . . I . . .” - he sucked in something closer to a real breath and blew it out. And then again, eyes squeezed shut. Adam wasn’t sure if the worst of it had passed or he was trying not to throw up again. 

“Ummm,” he began, the odd sensation of being at a loss for words piling on top of the stress of trying to help the two sick men, “d’you . . .?” he began, unsure what he was going to ask. Before he could come up with a reasonable question, Morrison made a sudden sound -  half cough, half groan - from across the room. “Izze. . .  okay?” Avery’s voice was wrecked too. He rocked back and forth, knuckles white where they grasped the edges of the kitchen chair. 

“Whattayou fucking think?” Adam shot back, even though that was unfair, “are you?” He shook his head, half to himself, and tried to think. Problem solving was one of his talents, and damage control. Sure, usually the damage was one of his clients caught in a scandal that could hurt their political aspirations but the concept was the same: come up with a plan and a story that made sense and was not too complicated. Implement the plan. Don’t show fear.

Okay, so maybe Adam was failing at that last one, but Avery and Gabe were too much in their own pain to notice. Gabe had opened his eyes again and was looking listlessly towards the kitchen. Adam followed his gaze. “Do you want Gatorade?” 

“Huh?” Gabe moved his head the slightest bit in Adam’s direction. “Gatrrr . . . no,” - his head bobbed a little more, “nauseous.” He shifted restlessly on the sofa, palming his side with one hand. It was shaking, Adam could see.  “ Burns.”

 “Burns? Like, heartburn?” Adam blew out a breath, “I swear, Gabie, if you gave me a heart attack because you ate too much fucking sausage I’m gonna . . .” his words died on his tongue when Gabe’s stomach spasmed again and he cried out, spitting up bile and saliva and yes, flecks of blood.  

“Uhhhh,” he breathed out, forehead scrunched in discomfort. “Notheartburn.” 

Adam’s phone was sitting on the coffee table. He could Google, find out what Gabe’s symptoms meant, make a plan. Fix this himself. That’s what he might have done a year ago, when Adam’s ego had been fully in control of his confidence. Both had been battered over the past months, though, and that made him pause. 

There was another option - he could drag Gabe to the hospital right now.  And maybe that was the responsible thing to do, except that would mean leaving Morrison here in his own misery. He probably didn’t need the ER himself, but it felt like an asshole thing for Adam to do, even though he knew Morrison would understand.

There was a third option, one that had been swimming around in Adam’s brain since Gabe had first announced he was puking blood. He could call Drew, get the nurse’s advice. It was personally unappealing, which was one reason Adam had been trying to convince himself that Gabe wasn’t that bad off. And he hated himself a little bit for that.

Gabe had gone quieter on the sofa, his body calming, and Adam’s nerves calmed too. For about half a second everything felt more okay. Avery shuffled in his spot on the floor and winced and Adam took a hesitant step towards him.

But before Adam could ask Morrison what he needed, Gabe’s eyes flew open, “Fuck!” He lurched suddenly to his feet, so quickly he almost knocked Adam over. “Bathroom,” he muttered, already stumbling towards Avery’s bedroom, moving faster than Adam would have thought possible, given the fact that he was hunched over like a question mark. Self-preservation giving him a weird burst of strength, apparently. “Don’t . . . don’t follow,” he ground out, before the door slammed behind him.  

Shit

Adam and Avery stared at each other, even while Adam was grabbing up his phone. The text to Drew was short and to the point, and he stared at it for a few long seconds, willing an immediate answer. One didn’t come, and when he looked up again, Avery was trying to get to his feet. Doing a bad job of it too, swaying and shaking and almost falling over the back of the chair. Adam swore.

“Fuck, hold on,” he muttered, practically jumping over the coffee table to get to Avery before he gave himself a concussion, - “don’t . . . I can’t . . . just hold on -” - he reached the guy in time to grab him by the shoulders and wrench him down into the chair. It wasn’t that gentle and Avery hissed with pain.

“Ow . . . fuck,” he groaned, folding in half over his lap like a puppet with its strings cut. Adam kept his hands on his shoulders to make sure he didn’t tumble out of the seat again. Avery breathed slowly, in and out, chest rising and falling under Adam’s fingers. His breath was still coming unevenly when he twisted his head to look up, “help me . . . t’the . . . sofa,” he panted, the words punctuated by a soft burp at the end, “careful.” 

He was trying to sound tough, Adam could tell, and failing miserably at it. He rolled his eyes. “I’m always careful, Morrison.” Instead of hauling the guy up by his armpits, which would have been the easy solution, Adam held out his arm, right in Avery’s line of sight, “c’mon, don’t make me do all the work.” 

“Asshole; I’m injured,” Avery snarked back, but Adam didn’t miss the almost grateful look that flashed across his face when he grabbed onto Adam’s arm and pulled himself to his feet. “Fuck, fuck, fuck.” He wasn’t exactly standing totally upright, but supporting his own weight, which Adam knew he’d count as a win. “Be useful, Calder; isn’t that what you came over for? Or was it just to watch my big TV?” 

“It was to make sure you don’t fall on your ass.” Adam tried to make it seem like he was letting Avery walk by himself; neither of them were really fooled, though. After only two steps Avery blew out a breath and leaned against Adam’s side and Adam tried not to enjoy the feeling of the agent’s body pressed solidly against his side. He forced a tease into his tone, “besides, my television’s bigger and you know it.” They shuffled across the floor and Avery huffed out a laugh.

“That’s the only thing that’s bigger and don’t you forget it” he retorted easily, squeezing Adam’s arm to keep his balance, “here, help me get down.” 

“Is that an offer?” Adam matched Avery’s tone; flirting with him was just too easy. But he couldn’t really get into it, not with Gabe there and so sick, but it distracted him from the panic. For a second, at least. He glanced down the hall to the still-closed bedroom door. “Should I go check him?” 

Avery had curled himself up at the other end of the sofa from where Gabe had been. “I dunno,” he muttered, whatever energy he’d had for teasing Adam sliding away into a wall of fresh pain. He gagged emptily and winced before blowing out a queasy breath, “Yeah.” 

Adam wasn’t sure which question he was agreeing to but it didn’t really matter because at that second his phone buzzed. It was a FaceTime request from Drew and Adam had barely connected the call before the nurse was demanding to be marched down the hall to, as he said, “put a visual on Gabe.” 

“Uhh, I think he’s in the bathroom and he’s uhh . . .” Adam made a lame gesture with his hand that he hoped Drew would interpret without Adam having to say the words, losing half his insides out through his ass. But even the thought of what he might find in the bathroom didn’t stop him from following Drew’s orders. He could admit it was a relief to let someone else be in charge right now. He squinted at Drew’s image on the screen. Scrubs, stethoscope around his neck, eyes sharp. The guy looked calm and competent - exactly the opposite of what Adam was feeling at the moment. “Should I open the door?” There weren’t any sounds coming from inside and he didn’t know whether to be relieved or worried.

“Maybe you should knock first,” Drew said wryly. He didn’t add the idiot, but Adam heard it loud and clear. He rapped his knuckles against the bathroom door.

“You alive in there?” Adam tried to sound unconcerned, “I’ve uhh, got Drew on FaceTime.” He held up the phone in the direction of the door as if Gabe had somehow developed x-ray vision and could see him. 

“Watch it, Calder; I can’t help your brother if I’m motion sick. Hold the damn phone still.” 

Only then did Adam realize his hand was shaking. He stilled it and then knocked again, and steeled himself to burst in and see - whatever he was going to see. There was a soft groan from inside. “Yeah . . . c’min,” Gabe answered, just barely loud enough for Adam to hear. He held the phone up near his head so Drew would see whatever he did, and pushed open the door.

Thank fucking god it wasn’t as horrible inside as Adam had been imagining. Gabe was slumped over on the floor next to the - thankfully flushed - toilet and his jeans were mostly pulled up, although unbuttoned and unzipped. His skin was sweaty and gray and there was a pool of cloudy liquid on the floor under his mouth that Adam didn’t look too closely at. “Hey,” he muttered, twisting his head to squint up at his brother, “where’s Drew?” 

“Right here, sweetheart; best telehealth in Boston,” Drew sang out, sounding almost like he was standing right there in the bathroom too, “‘wanna tell me what’s going on? What did your brother do to you?”

“I didn’t do . . .” Adam began weakly, and then snapped his mouth shut when Drew shushed him.

“Put the phone down by his head,” he instructed briskly, “I need to see him.” Adam obediently propped the phone against the bottom of the toilet, level with Gabe’s face. He was going to have to sanitize it later but this wasn’t the time to be prissy about germs. 

Drew began questioning Gabe and Adam knew he should probably pay attention but his mind kept drifting to the other room, and whether Morrison needed help too. Just because it was kind of normal for him to be puking blood, that didn’t mean he was okay. And Gabe had someone looking out for him now, kind of. He cleared his throat.

“. . . .minutes. My shift’s about done anyway.” 

That snapped Adam back to the present. He snatched up the phone. “What’s going on?” 

Drew stared at him a moment too long. “Weren’t you listening? I’m coming over. Gabe may need the hospital and I can’t tell over FaceTime.” His tone was faintly disappointed, as if he expected that Adam would have figured that out already and brought him in. 

Morrison’s here too, he wanted to say, and he’s also sick and I couldn’t just leave him. But that sounded whiny and too close to the truth, that it was really too much for Adam, trying to manage Gabe and Avery by himself. “Thanks,” he muttered instead. He actually meant it, but he wasn’t sure Drew believed him. The fact that all of this was taking place in Morrison’s apartment would obviously not be lost on the nurse, who’d probably have plenty to say about it later. 

“. . . Gatorade; only a few sips, if he can keep it down.” Drew was still talking and Adam didn’t want to admit he hadn’t been listening again.  

“Yeah,” he muttered into the air, eyes landing on his brother. Maybe he’d be able to tell him what Drew had said but he wasn’t too hopeful. Gabe’s eyes were glassy and unfocused and kept fluttering shut. He was shivering, so Adam grabbed a towel off the hook on the wall and laid it over his shoulders. Gabe shifted and looked up at him. 

“Thanks,” he mumbled through cracked lips. “I’ll get up inna secon.” 

A snort came out of the phone, still propped against the toilet. “Don’t you dare move, Calder, not until I get there. There’s no way your brother can lift your ass by himself.”

“Hey,” Adam protested, although Drew probably wasn’t wrong. Gabe looked like dead weight, lying there on the bathroom floor. He could drag him, maybe, but that was about it. He picked up the phone.

“Text me when you get here,” he said, “I’ll buzz you in.”  

Even through the phone, Adam could see how Drew’s lips tightened. “Morrison can’t do that?” he asked, and again Adam felt like he’d done something wrong.

“He tried to eat,” he explained, feeling awkward but unsure why, “it uhh, didn’t go too well.”

“What did he have, if you know?” Drew was in his car now, only half his face visible on the screen. Adam tried to remember how far Mass General was from Morrison’s apartment.  

“Scrambled eggs,” he answered promptly. At least that was something he knew, “and I brought him yogurt; he had some of that.”

Drew made an impatient sound. “Dairy’s still tricky; he should have known that.”

“Sorry,” Adam said, feeling guilty since he’d been the one to bring the apparently tricky yogurt. Not that he’d forced Morrison to eat it or anything.

“Not your fault,” Drew said, and strangely, Adam thought he actually meant it. “I’ll be there in ten and we’ll get both of them sorted out. Don’t worry.” 

Adam latched on to the we. Gabe seemed to have fallen asleep, curled up on the floor and there were no terrible sounds coming from the living room. Adam felt a little bit of his panic ease. “Thanks,” he said, hoping Drew could hear the sincerity in his voice.