#((october of 2025...))

@murdersinthemaking

Hannah doesn't get sick. Fuck that. The cold is for losers.

She proceeds to sneeze and sniffle pathetically, like a loser.

This should've been something that she saw coming eventually. When it comes to taking care of herself, she is ranked pretty damn low, with the people who forget to take their meds and eat well and shit. Plus, who remembers to take their vitamins nowadays anyway? Stupid names and their long ass list of vitamins A-B-C-D-E-Fuck You. She just thought this would happen when she got old and shriveled up. It was impossible to remember when she last got a cold, so at some point, it's hard not to feel invincible.

When you can't breathe through your nose and your throat feels like it's on fire every time you swallow, that invincible feeling is very quickly forgotten. It's also forgotten when someone tries to feed you disgusting medicine.

"Get that fuck ass shit away from me." Hannah rasps out, turning her head away from the spoon containing Mysterious Red-Brown Liquid and letting her upper body flop to the side opposite of Murdock with a groan. "I'd rather die. I really would."

"Not in my bed, you're not. Come on, it's not even that bad."

Hannah's incredulous glare meets Murdock the second the words come out of his mouth. "Oh, fuck you, with 'not that bad'." She points a weak, accusatory finger at him that quickly falls back down onto the sheets, and it's hard to take her seriously when her hair falls over her face the way it does. "Let me see you take some then."

"I'm not the sick one here. I actually take care of myself."

"You ate dried up expired biscuits. You also used to have rats."

"Wh– hey, that was once. And Gingernut wasn't all that bad."

"Gingernut had rabies!"

She's actually not sure if Gingernut had rabies – can rats get rabies? – but people say things they don't fully mean in the heat of a moment.

A sound between a groan and a whine of protest rises in her aching throat as she's helped back into her previously seated position, back against some pillow up on the headboard and blankets being pulled up to her chest. "Come on, this can't be fun for you. Just leave me be. Let me sleep."

"I'll let you sleep once you take this." The spoon has returned to Murdock's hand, the other hovering below it so the sticky liquid won't get on his blankets. The washer is already reaching its brink and the last thing he wants is to wash it all by hand. "Open up already. I stole this for you."

"...Why?"

"What do you mean, why? So you'd stop whining about being sick–"

"No, I mean–" Hannah sniffles, wiping her nose for the millionth time with a tissue she had laying around on the bed. "Why are you doing this? Why are you taking care of me?" Hannah sinks further into the bed, raising the blankets further up her body and muffling her words as she looks away. "Why do you care?"

Oh.

That–

Isn't really something Murdock can answer. Not yet, at least. Not when that would require a lot more self-reflection and realizations than he was prepared to do and have tonight. So instead, he breaks the silence by slipping the spoon into Hannah's mouth during a yawn, corners of his lips twitching at her disgusted face and sounds.