#local-senpai

It sucks.

Everything sucks.

Everything really, really sucks.

It’s as if the universe itself had looked at you in particular and said, ‘You know what would be a great idea?’ and then proceed to hit you with not one, but two horrible experiences at the same time. Not only are you with a fever, stuffy nose, sore throat and general feelings of malaise, but you’re also almost doubled-over with a deep, painful ache in your abdomen and...god, you never even thought it was possible to be stricken with both the flu AND menstruation at the same time. What are even the odds of that happening at the same time?

They couldn’t have been high, but yet here you are, in bed with a blanket curled around you, not sure whether you should be bemoaning the ache of the flu or that of your womb, feeling as if it’s trying to launch itself out of your body in an angry huff that you didn’t get pregnant. The nerve of you, apparently, or at least you think that’s what your womb might say if it had the capacity to speak.

Medicine can only do so much, though what it can’t seem to do is just knock you out cold and let you sleep through the misery instead. No, that would be too kind a mercy, so instead you’re simply laying there and playing with your phone in the bedroom.

The sound of an opening door pulls your attention away from the bright screen, but only momentarily, looking over to quickly take note of Cecil’s entrance. His hands are full; in one is a glass of clear liquid, and in the other is a bowl and spoon within that.

“Made you some soup,” he says softly, the concern as obvious in his voice as in his eyes. “You haven’t eaten for a while and I thought it might help a little bit.”

You watch as he sets the items down on a TV tray, folded out beside where you’re laying in the bed. Though you eye them up for a few moments, your stomach doesn’t quite agree with your partners assumptions and instead leads to much the opposite effect.

Cecil doesn’t seem bothered that you don’t reach for neither the bowl nor the glass. He instead steps around the bed, gently sitting on the opposite side.

“Is there anything else I can do to help?”

You think for barely a second before you speak.

“Could you just...like...take my uterus for me?”

Cecil stares at you for a moment, then quirks a brow in amusement.

“Unfortunately that would lead to a lot of blood loss, I’m not exactly a trained doctor,” he says, then pauses as a thought flickers through his mind. “Though, if you fill out the proper forms at the City Hall, then you could-”

“I’m just kidding, Ceece,”

The man chuckles as you flash a tired smile at him, the two of you quickly cuddling closer to one another, one of Cecil’s arms laying carefully over your body as you press close to him and his delicious warmth. With a chill that seems to be constant even down to your bones, it’s especially nice to lay beside him, to soak up every ounce of body heat he’s willing to give.

The two of you lay in silence for only a few moments.

“Did the medicine finally kick in?”

“A little,” you say, already starting to nod off a little. He’s just so warm and so comfortable against you. “I’ll probably have to take more later.”

Cecil nods, his chin pressing softly over the top of your head so you can nuzzle against his throat. There’s a gentle tickle against your skin, unseen tendrils caressing against your cheeks.

After another minute, Cecil says, “You should try and sleep for a little bit. I can wake you up later to take more painkillers, alright?”

It’s nice that he understands it--not inherently the flu or the pangs of misery from your lower body, but the idea of pain in general; who would think that at least half of Night Vale can’t feel pain at all? It sure makes things like Tylenol and Ibuprofen harder to find at the Ralphs.

Well, we shall see how it goes 👀👀

Hands. Hands are everywhere, grasping at your arms and legs, passing them along to more limbs that shuffle you down and deep and dark corridor. A guttural humming sounds from every which way, reverberating off the hall the almost seems to have no end. You pray for it to end until you accept that it simply will not. You send your final goodbyes to the world and that’s when you’re thrown down into cold marble floor. You kneel in front of a throne where a lanky man made out of fingers sits and he chuckles at you. You gulp.

This man, this terrible creature, this thing takes his time while he walks over to you. In a manner that only a mouth made out of fingers could, he grins at you and shoves a long scroll in your face. You wail as you read what’s on it.

Thanks!! Whenever I play mystic messenger I get a couple more ideas for fics and decided to just GET WITH IT FINALLY.