#sick reader

It started as a blocked nose. Every time you breathed in, you only managed to pull in a uselessly frustrating amount of air. No matter how much your nose ran or your head began to pound, you absolutely refused to believe you were sick.

It was a reality you firmly elected to ignore.

The denial became harder to maintain when the next day, it developed into a sharp pain at the back of your throat. Every swallow felt like you had deepthroated some sandpaper. You kept deliberately swallowing, desperately testing to see if the pain would just disappear. It didn’t.

Still, you refused to give in. Delusion had to carry you through as surely the universe wouldn’t align like this.

You had plans, very hot and sweaty plans, with your boyfriend and Dean, who didn’t have a label because what do you call the man who you and your boyfriend would spend many a night with and were most definitely falling for.

So, no, you weren’t sick because you just couldn’t be.

By day three, reality was quickly catching up to you. You were half-way through your morning lectures when suddenly you were seeing double of your lecturer. In your mind, Beau & Dean would still be able to come over tonight, you just needed a heavy nap. You refused to be the sole reason that everybody had to stay clothed.

Packing up early, you abandoned the rest of your lectures and slipped back to your apartment, determined to sleep it off.

Your body, however, had other plans. By the time you unlocked your door, you were so dizzy that you had to steady yourself on the wall as you stumbled into the bedroom. You had just enough energy to pull off the clothes you’d been in that had hit the lecture room air.

With a heavy thud, you collapsed onto the mattress. The tissue box on your bedside table became your lifeline, they were on rotation. One snotty tissue out and the next one immediately in.

Shakily, you reached for your phone, fully intending on admitting defeat and messaging Beau. You don’t remember how you drifted off, but the sound of a distant door slam jumped you out of your sleep hours later.

As you rolled over to face the bedroom door, the entire room span around you. The sleep had done nothing for you, in fact, you woke up feeling worse. Your head was pounding and, clearly, you’d been breathing through your mouth as it was dry, your tongue feeling thick in your mouth.

“Babe?” Beau called from the hallway, his footsteps getting louder as he approached the bedroom. “Are you okay? You’ve been silent all day, that’s not like–.”

His voice died as he rounded the corner into your bedroom. You watched as his bright smile instantly faded into pure concern.

“Don’t come any closer,” you croaked, your voice raw from how dry your throat was. “I’m really sick.”

Completely ignoring your ask, Beau pulled off his jacket and threw it onto your desk chair. “You say that like it’s going to stop me.”

He crossed the room in two long strides, sinking to his knees on the side of the bed. A cold palm was pressed against your forehead as Beau took you on. “Oh, baby, you’re burning up.”

Despite you wanting him to leave, you pressed your head into him, sighing with relief when his other hand came to your cheek.

“Beau, go, I’m probably contagious and it’s a bio-hazard in here,” you grumbled. Your arm felt like it weighed a tonne as you weakly lifted it to gesture toward the pile of tissues you’d discarded onto the floor.

Beau looked down at the mess on the floor, as if he hadn’t even noticed in when he walked in. Your heart squeezed with a mixture of shame and appreciation when you realised there wasn’t a single hint of judgement on his face. The past few days had taken a toll on you and your room bared the brunt of that.

Beau stood up and began cleaning up your room. He gathered the snotty tissues from the ground but didn’t stop there; he organised the books on your desk and wiped down the messy surface.

Picking up the clothes you had discarded, he tossed them into the laundry basket. Seeing that it was full; he disappeared with it down the hall, and soon you heard the washing machine click to life.

You drifted in and out of sleep as he worked, cleaning and putting things away as he saw them. He knew you would have been restless knowing that things were untidy, even if you didn’t have the energy to do it yourself. You felt an overwhelming sense of gratitude for having someone like him.

When Beau returned to your room, he was carrying a fresh washcloth and a tall glass of water. Kneeling on the floor by the bed, he gently slipped an arm behind your head to help you sit up a little. The water felt so satisfying as it ran down your throat, soothing the fire there.

Once finished, he gently guided you back to lying. He unfolded the damp cloth and gently pressed it to your sweaty forehead. You hadn’t realised how badly you needed that until he was pressing it against you.

“Can you text Dean?” You looked up into his eyes, they’re gentle as always. “Tell him I’m sorry for ruining tonight?”

“He won’t care about that,” Beau murmured softly. He stayed in front of you on the floor, patiently wiping your neck with the cloth. And when your nose ran, he used the tissue to wipe that too.

“Tell me about your day, missed you,” you slurred.

His laugh was soft but he told you about his day. The soothing sound of his voice and how he wiped you down until the cloth was no longer damp acted as a sedative, it pulled you into another sleep without you even realising your eyes were closing.  

When your eyes finally opened again hours later, the room had gone completely dark save for the warm light coming from the hallway. Beau was no longer knelt in front of you. You gave a discontented mumble, slowly rolling to get your bearings, careful to avoid moving your pounding head too much.

“Hey there, sleepy.”

Arms came to wrap around you from the bed, but the voice hadn’t come from there. You blinked against the shadows, tired eyes straining to see the figure in front of you. “Dean?” you whispered, your brows furrowing in confusion.

He was sitting in the desk chair, leaning back very comfortably.

The way Dean said your name back to you had your heart skipping a beat. You hadn’t expected him to be here when you woke up. Of course you cared for Dean, you loved the wicked things that he did with you and Beau in the dark, but this was territory you hadn’t crossed before.

He had never seen you look this snooty, miserable, or unglamorous. You didn’t like how vulnerable you felt at that moment, how your mind wondered if he’d still find you attractive if he saw you at your, arguably, worst.

Standing up, Dean came to sit on the edge of the mattress next to you. He didn’t look at you like he was uncomfortable or seeing a side to you he didn’t like. He simply gave you a soft smile and began pressing the cool washcloth over your face, wiping away the fresh layer of sweat that was a mixture of fever and the furnace that Beau was next to you.

He then reached over, popped open the lid of the Vaseline that was on your bedside table, and used the pad of his thumb to spread it over your chapped lips.

“What are you doing here?”

“Beau texted me,” he explained softly. “Said our girl was out of action.”

“You shouldn’t be here,” you protested weakly. You wiggled in Beau’s hold as he stirred beside you. “You both shouldn’t be. I’m gross and you’re going to get sick.”

“You’re not gross, you’re beautiful,” Beau mumbled, voice gravelly with sleep.

“I can be both,” you said defiantly.

“Here,” Dean said, ignoring your protest as he picked up the glass of water to offer it to you again. It was warmer than when Beau had given it to you, but still deeply needed. He held it to your lips, forcing you to take a few small sips.

“I think I’m fine now, you both should go.” You weren’t fine. Every move you made hurt. Your throat was burning and your teeth was beginning to hurt. Your muscles felt like they needed a good stretch.

Dean let out a soft huff, fingers brushing your face. “I’m not going to be present only for the good times, you know. I’m here for it all. You’re sick, so we take care of you.”

It all sounded so amazingly simple when it came from his mouth, but your fever ridden bran kept thinking about getting them sick. They were in varsity; they couldn’t afford to be knocked out by the thing that you knew would claim you for days. They had training sessions to attend, strict schedules to keep, fans they couldn’t disappoint, probably scouts that would watch them play their respective sports. It was a lot of pressure and you couldn’t be the reason they missed a game.

The hours of sleep you’d had did nothing to restore your strength, but that didn’t stop you from trying to argue. “But I–.”

“Do you really want to use the little bit of energy you have left arguing with us?” Dean interrupted.

“Yes.” You immediately responded, a weak grin on your face.

“All in favour of us staying and taking care of our girl?”

Both Dean and Beau raised their hands, shouting and very rehearsed sounding, “Aye!”

“Looks like you were outvoted. Sorry.” Dean does not sound the least bit sorry.

“That’s not fair,” you whined. “Have you no shame, ganging up on a girl when she’s vulnerable?”

Beside you, Beau laughed, a chuckle that vibrated through your body. He leaned forward to press a kiss to your neck, “Brat.”

As if on cue, a harsh cough ripped out of your chest. Then your nose began to run. You body really was being your own worst enemy. You pressed your eyes closed, willing the ground to open up beneath you and swallow you whole.

“Just leave me here, the death will come swifty.” With how you were feeling, it wasn’t the least bit dramatic a thing to say.

Dean laughed, the sound rumbling into the quiet room as Beau chuckled beside you.

“It’s a hard no on that one, but thank you for the suggestion. We’re going to take care of you, starting with me making you some soup.”

You opened one eye, looking at him sceptically. “Oh, so you do want me to die.”

Dean had the audacity to look offended, scoffing and placing a hand over his chest as if the last time he attempted to cook didn’t nearly give you all food poisoning.  

Beau’s arms tightened around you. “I will do the cooking,” Beau intervened smoothly, pressing another kiss to your neck. “Dean will do the supervising.”

“Hey, I resent the implication that all I’m good for is standing there and looking pretty,” Dean defended himself, tossing the washcloth onto the bedside table.

You rolled your eyes and scoffed; entirely certain that Beau was doing the exact same thing.

With a reluctant groan, Beau unravelled his arms from around you and slid out from under the duvet.

The bright light of the hallway flooded in as Beau left the room. You instantly closed your eyes to avoid the harsh glare. The moment the door clicked shut, you blinked them again, fumbling weakly toward the bedside table for the new tissue box that Dean had brought.

Dean beat you to it, smoothly pulling a tissue free and leaning across the mattress to help you clen up with an unbothered hand.

“Gross,” you whispered, cheeks burning from more than just the fever.

“Firstly, grow up,” he teased gently, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “Secondly, trust me, you have no idea what gross is until you’ve spent a season in a men’s locker room.” He set the used tissue aside.

Reaching over, Dean clicked on the small lamp you had on the bedside table, bathing the room in a soft glow. It made his face look so warm. “Let’s get you to sit up, Beau will be back soon.”

He slid his hands under your arms, his touch careful as he helped you to sit. He plumped up the pillows behind your back to keep you comfortable. You leaned back wit a soft sigh, the physical effort making your head swim just a little.

Dean stayed next to you as you heard Beau working in the kitchen. He sat on the edge of the bed, tracing gentle patterns over your knuckles. For a while, you just talked. You fever ridden brain had your thoughts going crazy. You told him how you felt guilty about ruining the night and that you didn’t want to ruin the season for either of them. Dean, of course, told you you were being ridiculous. They wouldn’t choose anything over being here with you.

It wasn’t long before the rich aroma of chicken broth began to drift into the bedroom, making your mouth water despite your lack of appetite.

The soft click of the door came not too soon after. Beau walked in carrying a tray, carefully balancing the streaming bowl of warm chicken broth, another glass of ice-cold water, and a small bottle of medicine.

He set it down on the bedside table before moving the pillows you were popped up against to replace them with himself. He sat with his back propped against the headboard. Dean helped as Beau pulled you into his lap, rearranging you so your legs were hanging off of the bed and your head was tucked into his neck.

You grumbled. Beau began rubbing slow soothing circles into your back, putting pressure on the right points to have the muscles relaxing slightly. “I know, my love. Take some medicine first.”

Dean handed you with some medicine and you swallowed it with the glass of water.

Once you finished with your glass, Dean reached for the bowl of broth. He sat beside you both and gently blew on the spoonful to cool it down before bringing it to your mouth.

“Dean, you really don’t need to feed me,” you said.

“Let us have this,” Beau whispered against your ear, he continued rubbing perfect circles into your back. “Just relax and let us take care of you.”

There was no real point in arguing, you didn’t hate that you didn’t have to make much effort when there were two athletes more than willing to do this for you. Dean fed you a few more spoonfuls before you pulled back, shaking your head. You had managed about half the bowl, and you couldn’t do anymore.

Dean set it back onto the bedside table.

“You did well,” Beau said.

“Better?” Dean asked, his voice a low murmur.

“Much better,” you breathed, your eyelids already growing heavy again.

“Good, let’s put something to distract you while the meds kick in.”

10 minutes later, the three of you were sitting against the headboard watching one of your comfort movies on your laptop. You were sat in between them, both having a hand on you in different ways.

Slowly, the weigt of the medicine kicking in took over. Your head began to droop, eyes shutting for longer and longer periods until you could barely open them at all.

Sensing your exhaustion, Beau slid down the bed until he was on his back, brining you with him. Sleepily, you crawled completely on top of him, your body sprawling over his. Your cheek rested over his heart, the sound soothing you to sleep easily.

Dean reached over to close the laptop, setting it on the floor before sliding back under the duvet. He scooted closer to where you and Beau were, draping a large, heavy, arm over your back.

“We’re definitely catching this flu, you know,” Beau chuckled quietly, his chest vibrating beneath you.

“Likely,” Dean murmured back, his eyes blinking shut as he rested his chin near Beau’s shoulder. “Worth it, though.”

“Definitely worth it.”

You weren’t sure when the fever had started — somewhere between the dull ache behind your eyes that morning and the full-body shiver that hit you mid afternoon. At first, you’d brushed it off, chalking it up to Gotham’s damp chill or the stress of the week. You’d been running on fumes, not eating proper meals, and your only sleep being random naps throughout the day.. so it was bound to catch up eventually. But by the time the sun dipped behind the skyline, your limbs felt heavy, your thoughts sluggish, and your skin too hot beneath your clothes.

You hadn’t meant to fall asleep in the library. You’d curled up on the couch with a blanket and a book, hoping to ride it out quietly, maybe nap for an hour before Damian got back from patrol. But the fire was warm, the room quiet, and your body betrayed you fast. The book slipped from your fingers somewhere around chapter three, and the blanket tangled around your legs, and you didn’t stir again.

Damian found you just after ten.

He’d been looking for you for the better part of an hour, irritation simmering beneath his usual calm. You hadn’t answered your phone, hadn’t responded to his messages, and Alfred had only offered a vague, “She mentioned needing rest, Master Damian,” which did nothing to ease the tight coil in his chest. He knew you and knew how you minimized things, how you brushed things off until it became a problem. At this point, your silence was too long and too loud.

The moment he stepped into the library, the irritation vanished.

You were curled up on the couch, half-buried in the blanket, one arm draped over your eyes like the light hurt. Your skin held that fragile glow that came with being sick, lips dry, and your breathing was shallow — too shallow. Damian crossed the room in seconds, kneeling beside you — having already shed his gloves — the back of his hand brushed your forehead. That's when he felt the heat radiating off of your forehead, and his stomach dropped instantly.

“Beloved,” he murmured, voice low but urgent. “Wake up.”

You stirred faintly, a soft groan escaping your throat as you tried to lift your head and swatted at his hand. “M’fine,” you mumbled, but the words were slurred, your voice hoarse and thin.

“You are not,” he said matter-of-factly, already reaching for the blanket. “You’re burning up.”

You tried to sit up, but the motion made your head spin. Damian caught you before you could fall forward, one arm sliding behind your back to steady you. You blinked at him, dazed, and he could see the fever in your eyes—glassy, unfocused, too bright.

“Don’t argue,” he said, more gently this time. “Let me help you.”

You didn’t have the strength to fight him. He lifted you with ease, cradling you against his chest as he carried you out of the library and up the stairs. You felt the shift in temperature as he moved through the manor, the cool air brushing your overheated skin. You buried your face in his shoulder, too tired to be embarrassed, and he held you closer, jaw tight with worry.

By the time he reached his room, you were half-asleep again.

He laid you down carefully, pulling the blankets back before tucking you in. Then he disappeared for a moment — a moment that was far too long in your opinion — long enough to grab a thermometer, a glass of water, a cold compress, and a packet of cold medicine from the bathroom cabinet. When he returned, you were shivering, curled into yourself like you could pack away the heat.

“Here,” he said, pressing the thermometer to your lips and brushing damp hair from your forehead. “Just stay still.”

You obeyed, eyes fluttering shut as the device beeped quietly. When he checked it, he swore under his breath.

“102.9,” he muttered, setting it aside and scoffed though it was more of a deflection of his worry than a true scoff. “You should’ve told me.”

You cracked one eye open, your voice barely audible. “Didn’t wanna bother you.”

He gave you a look that was sharp and incredulous, but softened by concern. “You are never a bother. You need to always tell me when something is wrong.”

You tried to smile, but it came out crooked and tired. “You’re sweet when you’re worried.”

He rolled his eyes, but his hand was gentle as he pressed the cold compress to your forehead. “I’m always sweet. You’re just too stubborn to notice.”

A weak laugh escaped you, followed by a wince as nausea rolled through your stomach. Damian noticed instantly, helping you sit up just enough to sip some water. His hand was steady at your back, his voice low and soothing as he coaxed you through it.

“Small sips,” he ordered. “Slowly. You’re dehydrated and running on an empty stomach.”

You did as he said, grateful for the coolness on your tongue. When you finished, he eased you back down, adjusting the pillows behind your head with quiet precision.

“Stay awake a little longer,” he said, brushing your cheek with the back of his hand. “Just until the medicine kicks in.”

You blinked at him, confused. “You gave me medicine?”

He held up the empty blister pack. “While you were half-awake. You mumbled something about riding a dragon.”

You groaned, burying your face in the pillow. “Kill me.”

“Not a chance,” he said, and there was something fierce in his voice now. “You’re mine. I don’t let what’s mine burn out.”

You stared at him, throat tight, and he didn’t look away. His eyes were steady, unwavering, and full of something you couldn’t name—something that made your chest ache.

“I don’t like seeing you like this,” he said quietly, fingers tracing idle patterns on your arm. “You’re always so strong. This is unsettling.”

You reached for his hand, your grip weak but steady. “I’ll be okay.”

“I know,” he said, squeezing gently. “But I’m staying here. Just in case.”

You didn’t argue. You couldn’t. Not when he looked at you like that—like you were the only thing in the world that mattered.

He stayed by your side all night, changing the compress when it warmed, coaxing you to drink water, brushing sweat-damp hairs from your face with a tenderness that made your heart twist. He didn’t leave the room once, not even when you drifted in and out of sleep, you felt the weight of his gaze, the quiet rhythm of his breathing beside you.

At one point, you woke to find him reading beside you, one hand still resting on your arm. He’d pulled a chair close to the bed, legs stretched out, posture relaxed but alert. You watched him for a moment, chest full of something soft and aching.

“Dami,” you whispered, voice barely audible.

He looked up instantly, setting the book on the arm of his chair and straightening his posture. “You need something?”

You shook your head, eyes heavy. “Just wanted to see you.”

His expression softened, and he leaned forward, brushing your hair back again to press a kiss to your forehead. “I’m not going anywhere.”

Eventually, the fever broke. You felt it in the way your body stopped shaking, in the way your thoughts began to clear. Your skin was still clammy, your muscles sore, but the worst had passed. You woke near dawn, the sky outside pale and quiet, and Damian was asleep in the chair, your hand still cradled in his.

ᝰ.ᐟ edawgz 2025. based on this req!

By noon, your skin felt sticky beneath your clothes, your head throbbed behind your eyes, and every movement dragged exhaustion heavier through your limbs. Still, you knew that setup days were chaotic, even under normal circumstances. Nobody had time to stop moving.

So you didn’t.

The circus grounds buzzed around you beneath a dull gray sky. Half-built tents stretched upward against the wind while performers hauled props and equipment across gravel, slick from last night’s rain. Somewhere near the main ring, feedback screeched from a microphone before Caine’s voice boomed loudly across the lot.

“NO, NO, NO! The lighting rig goes STAGE left, not audience left! We’ve discussed this already, my spectacular super troupers!”

“I’m gonna hit him with my car,” Zooble muttered while dragging cables across the mud nearby.

“You don’t even have a car,” Pomni pointed out, struggling to carry an armful of costume pieces nearly bigger than she was.

“That’s not the point.”

A few yards away, Ragatha balanced on top of one of the equipment crates while trying to hang fabric against a costume rack. Gangle hovered nearby, holding an entire mouthful of sewing pins while Kaufmo unsuccessfully attempted to untangle a string of lights from around his own arm.

Normal circus chaos.

You shifted the crate balanced against your hip and kept walking.

Unfortunately, Jax treated visible weakness like a personal invitation to be annoying.

“You look terrible.”

You glanced up just in time to see him leaning against one of the equipment trailers nearby, arms folded across his chest.

“Thank you,” you replied flatly.

“Wasn’t a compliment.”

He pushed himself away from the trailer and wandered closer, boots crunching softly against gravel. His expression sat somewhere between amusement and suspicion now, eyes narrowing as they tracked your face.

“You’re all sweaty.”

“It’s called working. You should try it sometime,” you shot back.

“Mm. Counterpoint: no.”

You rolled your eyes and adjusted your grip on the crate before continuing toward the loading ramp. The second you lifted it higher against your chest, your arms nearly gave out beneath the weight.

Jax caught the wobble immediately, one hand steadying the crate before it slipped. “Oof,” he started. “That was embarrassing.”

“You’re incredibly compassionate,” you mumbled beneath your breath.

He shrugged his shoulders in response. “I know.”

The metal ramp rattled beneath your boots as you climbed into the trailer. Inside smelled faintly of canvas and old paint. Equipment cases lined the narrow walls while costume racks swayed gently whenever somebody moved outside.

Your head hurt, badly now.

You set the crate down harder than intended and your body fired back, nausea surging hard enough to make you gag.

Okay. That wasn’t great.

You braced a hand against the nearest road case while dizziness swam through your vision.

Footsteps sounded outside a moment later.

“You gonna stand there lookin’ haunted all day or what?”

Jax. Again.

You squeezed your eyes shut briefly before stepping back toward the trailer entrance. “I’m fine.”

“Uh huh.” He watched you carefully from below the ramp now. “You look like you’re about thirty seconds away from dying in a medically interesting way.”

“I hate the way you talk.”

“Yeah, well.” His gaze narrowed. “You look worse than you did earlier.”

You opened your mouth to argue. Nothing came out.

That felt concerning.

You tried to speak again, and the world tilted sharply sideways instead.

The edge of the trailer doorway lurched in your peripheral vision as dizziness slammed through you hard enough to make your knees buckle.

“Oh, you have gotta be kidding me—”

The ramp rushed toward you.

Arms caught you before you hit it.

One hand braced hard against your back while the other locked around your wrist tightly enough to keep you upright. Somewhere above you, Jax swore as the crate beside the doorway crashed loudly onto the trailer floor.

“Hey. Hey— don’t do that.”

Your cheek pressed weakly against the front of his jacket while black spots crowded the edges of your vision. Jax removed his grip from your wrist, shifting his palm to rest against your forehead.

“You’re burning up,” he muttered, eyes widening.

You tried to answer him. You weren’t entirely sure actual words came out.

Voices blurred somewhere nearby beneath the rushing static in your ears.

“What happened?”

Pomni this time.

“I dunno, they just—” Jax stopped abruptly when your knees nearly gave out again. “Whoa, okay. Nope.”

“Oh my god,” Ragatha’s voice cut through sharply somewhere nearby. “Are they okay?”

“They’re fine,” Jax answered.

Ragatha stared at him. “You literally don’t know that.”

“Yeah, well, they’re still conscious, so we’re off to a great start.”

“We should probably get Caine,” Gangle said nervously.

“No,” you mumbled weakly before anybody else could answer.

Unfortunately, that only made the dizziness worse.

Your arm wrapped weakly around his shoulders, heat climbing sharply in your throat. His grip tightened against your back to brace you.

“Alright, no. Absolutely not.” His voice sharpened suddenly. “Hey, look at me for a second.”

You tried.

His face blurred frustratingly in and out of focus.

“You with me?”

“Mm.”

“Wow. Inspiring response.”

Despite the sarcasm, his hand stayed planted against the curve of your back.

Nearby, Ragatha was already climbing down from the equipment crate, concern written all over her face. “We should get them somewhere air-conditioned.”

“They probably need medicine,” Pomni added quietly.

“They need to stop trying to die during setup,” Zooble muttered.

Pomni winced. “...That too.”

You barely registered the conversation anymore.

Everything felt heavy.

Your head dropped weakly against Jax’s shoulder as exhaustion dragged hard at the edges of your consciousness. Through your haze, you felt him hesitate before suddenly shifting his grip underneath you.

Then the ground disappeared entirely, and the noise surrounding you dipped.

“Oh, you have got to be kidding me,” Zooble muttered nearby. “You’re actually helping…wow.”

“I’m not helping.”

“You’re carrying them.”

“And?”

“That’s, like, deeply concerning.”

“Cool observation. Shut up.”

The motion jostled unpleasantly through your fever-fogged thoughts as Jax lifted you fully against his chest. One arm hooked beneath your knees while the other stayed firm around your back, steady enough that you barely felt the uneven gravel beneath his boots.

“Jax,” Ragatha called after him, “where are you taking them?”

“My trailer.”

Ragatha frowned. “Why yours?”

“Because theirs isn’t unpacked yet.”

Zooble’s eyebrows lifted. “You know which trailer is theirs?”

“Oh my god, can everybody stop talking to me?” Jax let out a frustrated huff and picked up his pace, leaving the noise of the group behind you both. “You better not throw up on me,” his voice was tense, quieter now. “I mean it.”

You thought you felt his grip tighten against you.

Then, everything disappeared into darkness.

Consciousness returned slowly amidst a pounding headache and the uncomfortable realization that literally everything hurt.

Heavy heat pressed beneath your skin, suffocating and miserable, like somebody had wrapped your entire body in damp blankets and left you too close to a fire. Your throat ached. Every joint in your body felt wrong somehow, sore in that deep, miserable way only fevers manage to accomplish.

You shifted slightly and immediately regretted it. Something in your stomach rocked violently enough to make you groan under your breath.

“Cool, you’re alive.”

Jax’s voice drifted from somewhere nearby.

You cracked your eyes open reluctantly.

Dim yellow lamplight spilled across the cramped interior of a trailer you didn’t recognize. The ceiling curved low overhead, old string lights casting faint shadows across cluttered countertops. Uneven stacks of magazines, playing cards, empty soda cans, and half-unpacked costume pieces were scattered across nearly every available surface.

Jax’s trailer.

That realization took a second to settle through the fever’s haze.

You were sprawled across what was very obviously his bed, still wearing yesterday’s clothes beneath a blanket that smelled faintly like cigarette smoke and laundry detergent. One of your shoes had apparently vanished somewhere along the way.

Jax sat near the tiny kitchenette at the opposite end of the trailer, leaning back in his chair with one boot propped against a cabinet door. A cup of instant noodles steamed faintly in his hands.

“You passed out,” he informed you, in between a mouthful of noodles.

“Mm,” you managed to mumble weakly.

“Super concerning response, by the way.”

You squinted at him. “Why’m I here?”

“Your trailer’s still half unpacked.” He shrugged one shoulder. “Mine was closer.”

Only then did you notice a damp washcloth abandoned beside the pillow, along with two unopened bottles of gatorade sitting crookedly on the nightstand.

Jax tracked your gaze.

“Don’t make that face,” he muttered.

“What face?”

“That weird one.”

“…you got me sports drinks?”

“Ragatha told me to.”

There was probably something suspicious about how quickly he’d answered that.

Your head hurt too badly to investigate any further.

Rain tapped softly against the trailer roof overhead. Beneath it, you could hear the muffled sounds of the circus still settling outside: distant voices, equipment clattering somewhere across the lot, generators humming steadily through the evening.

Everything inside the trailer felt strangely cramped compared to the noise outside. Smaller. Warmer.

“You’re lookin’ at my stuff weird,” Jax called out, brows furrowing. Your gaze had drifted to the collection of knives scattered across the tiny kitchen table.

“…you have concerning hobbies.”

“They’re decorative.”

“One of those is literally a machete.”

“It’s decorative and practical.”

You let your head fall back against a lumpy pillow with a tired groan.

That tiny movement alone seemed to sharpen something in his expression.

“You gonna throw up?”

“No.”

“You sure?”

“...yes.”

“…That sounded fake.”

Before you could answer, another wave of dizziness crashed through, hard enough to make your vision warp painfully. You lifted a hand to cover your eyes.

A second later, the mattress shifted beside you.

“Whoa, okay.” Jax’s voice sounded closer now. Less teasing. “Easy.”

Cool fingers pressed awkwardly against the side of your neck for half a second before quickly pulling away again, like he’d only realized afterward what he was doing.

“You’re seriously burning up.”

“I noticed,” you muttered.

“Yeah, well, I noticed more.”

You cracked one eye open just enough to glare weakly at him.

He looked… strange.

Not soft, exactly. Jax didn’t really do soft.

But the constant amusement usually sitting somewhere behind his expression had dimmed into something darker now, restless energy flickering through every small movement. One of his knees bounced rapidly against the side of the bed frame while he watched you.

“You take anything yet?” he asked.

“For what?”

“The fever, genius.”

“Oh.” You swallowed painfully. “...uhm, when was I supposed to do that?”

Jax stared at you with a look of genuine horror.

“…How are you alive?”

You might’ve laughed a little if your head didn’t feel like it was splitting open. Instead, you attempted a shrug. Bad idea.

Nausea punished the movement instantly and your stomach lurched hard enough to steal the air from your lungs.

“Okay, nope.” Jax leaned closer. “Don’t do that.”

“I’m literally laying down.”

“Yeah, and somehow you still look like you’re losing a fight with gravity.”

Your throat felt painfully dry suddenly. Even breathing left you feeling overheated and exhausted in a way that made your limbs feel too heavy beneath the blankets.

Closing your eyes, you took a deep breath carefully through the dizziness, while rain tapped against the trailer roof overhead. The trailer felt almost strangely still now, the quiet outside broken only by distant generators humming somewhere across the lot.

Jax sighed into the silence, “You’ve been out since yesterday afternoon, by the way.”

That snapped your attention back toward him.

“What?”

“Mmhm.” Jax leaned back slightly in his chair. “It’s, like, two in the morning.”

For a second, genuine disorientation cut through the fever haze. Yesterday afternoon?

No wonder your body felt completely wrecked.

“…sorry.”

Jax’s expression shriveled.

“Ugh. Don’t do that.”

“Do what?”

“That weird guilty thing.” He dragged a hand through his hair roughly before looking away. “You scared the hell outta Ragatha.”

He glanced toward the rain-dark window.

“…and everybody else too, I guess.”

You looked at him quietly for a moment. “You stayed,” your voice came out raspy, barely a whisper.

Something unreadable flickered across Jax’s face before he covered it quickly with his usual smirk.

“Yeah, well. You looked all pale and gross.”

“That’s your excuse?”

“It’s a fantastic excuse.”

You would’ve smiled if your face didn’t feel half melted off from the fever.

A second later, Jax grabbed one of the unopened sports drinks from the nightstand and shoved it toward you.

“Drink something.”

You stared weakly at it. “I think lifting that might actually kill me.”

“That’s dramatic.”

“You carried me here.”

“…That doesn’t prove anything.”

The trailer door suddenly swung open hard enough to make both of you flinch.

Ragatha stepped inside carrying a plastic grocery bag against her chest, rainwater still clinging to the sleeves of her cardigan.

“Oh good, you’re awake!”

Jax leaned back so fast it almost gave you whiplash, all of that strange nervous energy snapping back behind his usual irritation.

“They were awake already,” he said defensively.

“Okay?” Ragatha blinked at him. “I wasn’t accusing you of anything.”

“You sounded accusatory.” Jax glanced toward the clock before looking back at Ragatha. “Aren’t you usually asleep by like… ten?”

Ragatha gave him a look. “You texted me six times.”

“...okay, that feels exaggerated.”

“It wasn’t.”

Jax looked genuinely offended. Ragatha ignored him completely and crossed toward the bed instead, pressing the back of her hand gently against your forehead. Her expression shifted into worry.

“Oh, honey…”

“See?” Jax pointed vaguely from somewhere beside you. “That’s what I said.”

“You definitely didn’t say ‘oh, honey,’ Jax,” Ragatha replied absently while digging through the grocery bag. “You told me they looked medically disturbing.”

“Which was accurate.”

Ragatha pulled out a bottle of medicine and handed it toward you along with a water bottle.

“Did you eat anything recently?”

You stared blankly at her.

“…does half a gas station pretzel count?”

Both Ragatha and Jax looked horrified by that answer for completely different reasons.

Jax rubbed a hand down his face. “You are, like, alarmingly bad at being a person.”

“Well,” Ragatha sighed, “that explains a whole lot, actually.”

You groaned weakly into the pillow. “You guys are being mean to me in my time of need.”

“Your time of need started like twelve hours ago,” Jax shot back.

“Jax,” Ragatha warned.

“What? I’m right.”

Despite the bickering, exhaustion was already dragging heavily at the edges of your consciousness again. The medicine left your body feeling heavy beneath the blankets while the steady sound of rain softened everything else into background noise.

Ragatha noticed your eyes slipping shut first. Her voice lowered. “Hey, do you want me to stay with them for a while?”

You expected Jax to agree.

“They’re fine.”

Ragatha blinked. “That wasn’t the question.”

Jax avoided looking directly at either of you. “I got it under control.”

A strange little silence settled over the trailer.

Then Ragatha’s expression softened into something suspiciously knowing.

“...Oh,” she said quietly.

Jax pointed toward the trailer door. “Don’t start.”

“I didn’t say anything.”

“You were gonna.”

A smile tugged faintly at the corner of Ragatha’s mouth as she gathered the empty grocery bag again. “Alright. I’ll check in tomorrow morning.”

“Cool,” Jax muttered. “Don’t.”

Rain drifted softly against the trailer roof after she left.

You barely registered the mattress shifting slightly beside you before exhaustion finally dragged you under again. The last thing you felt before sleep overtook you completely was cool fingers pressing gently against your forehead.

“…still ridiculous,” Jax muttered under his breath.

Everything faded softly back into darkness.

Sleep came and went in miserable fragments afterward.

Every time consciousness surfaced again, it felt worse.

The fever had settled deeper somehow, dragging heavy heat through your body until even breathing felt exhausting. Your skin burned beneath the blankets while violent chills rattled through you, jarring enough to make your teeth ache. At some point during the night, you’d kicked half the blankets off the bed. Sometime later, Jax must’ve pulled them back over you again.

Jax had turned most of the trailer lights off, leaving only the faint yellow glow above the kitchen counter to cut through the darkness. Rain still pattered lightly against the roof.

You became vaguely aware of movement nearby before you fully opened your eyes. Cabinets opening and closing. Footsteps pacing unevenly across the narrow trailer floor.

Jax.

Your vision stayed blurry for a few seconds after you blinked awake. The ceiling lights smeared strangely at the edges while your stomach churned unpleasantly. You groaned into your pillow.

The movement across the trailer stopped cold.

“Oh, cool,” Jax muttered. “You’re up again.”

Again.

That word lodged uncomfortably somewhere through your haze.

You shifted weakly beneath the blankets. Even subtle movement made the room tilt. You grunted.

“Whoa, okay— nope.” Footsteps crossed the trailer quickly before the mattress dipped beside you again. “Easy, easy, take it easy.”

Your eyes squeezed shut automatically.

Everything hurt.

The mattress shifted under his weight as Jax leaned closer, one hand pressing against your shoulder before you rolled too far sideways off the edge of the bed.

“You are genuinely awful at being sick,” he informed you, his voice strained.

“Mm.”

“That wasn’t a real response.”

You tried opening your eyes again.

Jax looked worse than before.

His hair stuck out messily in every direction now, dark circles settled heavily beneath his eyes, and the sleeves of his shirt had been shoved unevenly up to his elbows like he’d been too distracted to fix them properly. Several empty sports drink bottles sat abandoned near the sink beside what looked like a half-melted bag of ice.

Jax pressed the back of his hand quickly against your forehead.

The expression on his face darkened. Like something inside of him had dropped out beneath his feet.

“Oh, you have gotta be kidding me.”

You frowned weakly. “What?”

“You’re hotter.”

“…I’m flattered,” you struggled to get the words out.

“That is not what I meant and you know it.”

The room tilted again.

You swallowed hard against another wave of nausea as Jax stood abruptly from the edge of the bed, pacing two restless steps toward the door before stopping short and turning back.

“Okay, nope. I hate this.” He dragged both hands through his hair roughly. “Ragatha said if your fever got any worse we were supposed to go to the emergency room.”

You frowned weakly through the fever haze. “...You talked to Ragatha?”

Jax stopped pacing.

For a second, the trailer went completely quiet except for the rain hammering against the roof.

“…What?”

Your head was throbbing. “When?”

Something in Jax’s face went oddly still.

“Ragatha was here,” he said slowly. “A couple hours ago.”

Silence.

“…You seriously don’t remember that?”

“...sorry,” you murmured.

“Oh my god, stop apologizing.” He pointed vaguely toward you, unpausing his pacing. “That thing where you keep saying sorry like you’re inconveniencing me? Hate it. Knock it off.”

You might’ve answered if your thoughts didn’t feel so far away.

The trailer blurred again, and Jax’s pacing came to a halt.

“…Hey.”

You blinked slowly toward him.

“Look at me for a second.”

You tried.

His face wouldn’t fully focus.

That seemed to scare him.

“No,” his voice sharpened suddenly. “Don’t do that.”

Jax leaned down again, fingers pressing quickly against the side of your neck like he was checking for something you couldn’t understand through the fog of the fever.

“Hey,” he repeated, dire now. “C’mon.”

You tried answering him.

Your tongue felt heavy somehow.

“...Jax,” you mumbled weakly instead.

“Yeah, I’m here.”

Something cold pressed briefly against your forehead before disappearing again. A wet washcloth, maybe. Your thoughts kept slipping sideways before you could grasp onto them properly.

The trailer suddenly felt scorching. You closed your eyes again for what felt like half a second.

When you opened them next, Jax was shoving his arms hurriedly through a hoodie near the trailer door. Keys jingled loudly somewhere nearby. The rain was hammering harder outside now.

“What—” your voice cracked painfully, “what’re you doing?”

“We’re going to the hospital.”

The words cut clean through your daze, enough to make your jaw clench.

“...no, I’m fine.”

“Yeah, see, the problem is you stopped being believable like six hours ago.”

You tried pushing yourself upright.

That turned out to be a horrible mistake.

The room lurched violently sideways before your body could fully follow the movement, dizziness crashing through you hard enough that you barely registered yourself slipping sideways off the mattress.

Jax caught you before you hit the floor.

“Holy shit.”

One arm locked hard around your waist while the other caught your shoulders against his chest. Your head spun weakly against the front of his hoodie while rain battered the trailer roof overhead loud enough to make everything else disappear.

For one awful second, Jax didn’t move at all.

“...you’re scaring me.”

You’d never heard genuine fear in his voice before. Not until now.

The words came quieter after that, almost whispered underneath his breath as he adjusted his grip beneath you.

“I got you.”

The sudden lift sent dizziness crashing through you again as he scooped you fully against his chest, one arm beneath your knees while the other held you tightly enough that you barely felt the movement beneath him.

Your head dropped weakly against his shoulder.

Rain and cold air hit your skin for barely a second before Jax pulled you closer beneath the shelter of his jacket.

“Stay awake,” he muttered, voice tighter than you’d ever heard it before.

Then the trailer door slammed shut, and you were off into the storm.

You recognized the ceiling before you fully opened your eyes.

The dim yellow glow above the kitchenette blurred softly through your vision while the familiar smell of cigarette smoke and laundry detergent settled around you again. For one disoriented second, panic twisted sharply through your chest before memory returned in fractured pieces:

Rain. Jax’s voice. Cold air against your scalding skin. Hospital lights smeared white and blurry through a feverish haze.

Your throat burned suddenly as you swallowed.

Speaking hurt too much to even attempt.

A weak sound escaped you anyway, more breath than actual noise.

Movement stirred somewhere nearby almost at once.

“Well,” Jax’s voice cut through the quiet, rougher than usual, “that’s slightly less terrifying.”

He sat slouched sideways in one of the chairs near the coffee table, an arm folded beneath his head while the other hung limp against his lap. Judging by the awkward angle of his neck and the blanket half-draped on his shoulder, he definitely hadn’t meant to fall asleep there.

A half-empty cold brew sat abandoned beside him alongside pharmacy bags, crumpled receipts, and a bottle of prescription medicine.

Your gaze lingered there a second too long.

“Don’t start.” Jax warned.

You frowned weakly.

“Whatever stupid emotional thing you’re about to do,” he muttered while dragging a tired hand down his face, “don’t.”

Despite the sarcasm, relief still lingered visibly around the edges of his expression now that you were awake.

Your throat burned again as you swallowed carefully, the lingering soreness sharp enough to make you wince.

“Yeah,” Jax muttered, already up and reaching for the water bottle beside the bed before you could ask for it. “Doctor said your throat’s pretty messed up.”

You opened your mouth, trying to force words to form anyway.

Nothing came out.

Only another painful rasp clawing uselessly at your throat.

Jax shook his head.

“Yeah. Don’t do that either.”

Frustration burned hot behind your ribs as you sank back against the pillows.

After everything from last night, the silence felt cruel now.

For once, Jax didn’t immediately fill it with sarcasm.

Instead, he reached toward the nightstand beside you before holding out a small notebook and pen.

You stared at it.

“…What?” he asked defensively. “The nurse gave it to me.”

You turned the notebook over slowly in your hands.

The first few pages were already filled.

Messy handwriting crowded unevenly across the paper:

water. more ice chips? yes/no blink system sucks btw stop ripping the pulse monitor off ow

You raised a brow at him.

Jax immediately looked offended. “Before you say anything, hospital-you was super annoying.”

A weak laugh escaped you soundlessly through your nose.

“That’s the other thing,” he pointed accusingly. “You keep doing that silent laughing thing and it’s weird.”

You scribbled slowly across the notebook again.

sorry

Jax groaned. “See? There it is again.”

His chair scraped softly across the trailer floor as he dragged it closer to the bed before dropping back into it heavily.

Outside, rain still drifted softly against the roof, quieter now than the storm from the night before. Daylight filtered dimly through the trailer windows, washing everything pale gray.

Silence stretched between the two of you.

Then Jax leaned forward slightly, squinting toward you.

“…You remember any of the hospital?”

You paused to think for a moment, then wrote your response:

not really

Something unreadable crossed his expression again.

“...Cool. Good,” he muttered eventually.

Your gaze drifted downward absently while adjusting the blankets.

Purple bruising enveloped the inside of your arm beneath the hospital wristband still looped loosely around your wrist.

You frowned.

Jax followed your gaze.

“…Don’t.”

You looked back toward him, then slowly lifted the notebook again.

what happened?

Jax groaned quietly into one hand.

“Seriously?”

You stared at him expectantly.

For a long moment, he looked like he might refuse outright.

He sighed, “...Are you sure you really wanna know?”

Something about the question unsettled you.

Still, you nodded.

Jax leaned back heavily in the chair, rubbing tiredly at one eye.

“You kept ripping the IV outta your arm.”

Your eyes widened slightly.

“Four times,” he added flatly.

Mortification hit instantly.

“Oh, save the shock, it gets worse.” Despite the sarcasm, exhaustion dulled the usual sharpness in his voice now. “You kept trying to get up and leave the room.”

Broken fragments flickered vaguely through your memory: fluorescent lights, cold hands adjusting something against your face, Jax arguing with somebody somewhere nearby.

“You kept asking me to take you home,” he continued more quietly. “Said you hated it there.”

Your fingers stilled slightly against the notebook page.

Jax looked away afterward, attention settling hard on the coffee cup in his hands.

“And then,” he muttered, “you started begging me to sneak you back to the trailer so you could sleep.”

He paused.

“You were pretty convinced we could somehow outrun the nurses.”

Despite everything, a weak, soundless laugh escaped you.

Jax pointed toward you. “See? That one was at least a little funny.”

Then his expression shifted again, subtly. The exhaustion returned around the edges.

The trailer stayed quiet except for the soft tapping rain outside.

Then, after a long moment, Jax broke the silence:

“…You didn’t really know where you were for a while.”

The words landed heavier than anything else he’d said so far.

You watched him carefully while he continued picking absentmindedly at the edge of the cup label.

“They had you on oxygen for most of the night.” His voice lowered slightly. “At one point they were talking about intubating you if your breathing got worse.”

Your stomach dropped.

Jax finally glanced back toward you then, exhaustion sitting plainly across his face now that the sarcasm had mostly worn itself out.

“You don’t remember any of that?”

Slowly, you shook your head.

Something unreadable crossed his expression again.

“…Good,” he muttered eventually.

That single word hurt worse than hearing the details themselves.

You looked down at the notebook resting in your lap for a long moment before finally writing carefully across the page:

i made you stay there all night

Jax read the sentence once before immediately looking irritated again.

“Oh my god, we are NOT doing the guilt thing again.”

Despite the complaint, his chair still scraped softly across the trailer floor as he dragged it even closer beside the bed.

You watched him quietly for a moment.

Then reached for the notebook again.

Jax’s eyes dropped to the notebook and he sighed. “I already don’t trust that look.”

Your writing came slower now, exhaustion still weighing heavily through your limbs.

stay?

Jax stared at the page.

“…Stay where?”

You looked pointedly toward the empty side of the bed.

He pursed his lips.

“Oh, absolutely not.”

You raised an eyebrow weakly.

“You are literally contagious.”

You scribbled again.

coward

Jax let out an offended noise. “Excuse you? I spent like twelve straight hours making sure you didn’t die.”

Your eyes drifted toward him expectantly. He just stared back.

Then, he groaned dramatically into one hand before shoving himself up from the chair.

“This is emotional manipulation, by the way.”

The mattress dipped beneath his weight a second later as he climbed reluctantly onto the edge of the bed, still muttering complaints under his breath while awkwardly trying not to jostle you too much.

“There. Happy?” He settled stiffly on top of the blankets beside you. “This is already the worst decision I’ve made all week.”

You stared at him for a second before slowly lifting the corner of the blanket toward him.

Jax blinked.

“…Oh, come on.”

Your expression didn’t change.

He looked genuinely conflicted for half a second before sighing heavily and sliding underneath the blankets beside you anyway.

Warmth curled around you both beneath the cramped layers of blankets and tangled sheets. Jax still felt faintly cold from the rain outside, though exhaustion radiated heavily from him now that he’d finally stopped moving long enough to notice it.

For a few quiet seconds, neither of you spoke.

Then, carefully, you shifted slightly closer. Your head settled weakly against his shoulder.

Jax went strangely still.

Not rejection. Not quite freezing either.

More like his entire body suddenly forgot how to function properly.

“…You are unbelievably clingy after near-death experiences,” he muttered finally, voice noticeably quieter now.

A silent laugh shook weakly through your chest.

Jax glanced downward at the movement before something in his expression softened despite himself.

His arm adjusted hesitantly beside you.

Then, after a brief moment of visible internal conflict, it slid carefully around your shoulders.

You relaxed against him before you could stop yourself.

Outside, rain drifted softly against the trailer roof while pale daylight filtered dimly through the curtains. The steady warmth beside you combined dangerously with the exhaustion still dragging at your body, making your eyes start slipping shut again despite yourself.

“You better not be dying again,” Jax muttered.

You lifted one hand weakly from beneath the blankets and gave him a slow thumbs up.

“That is not medically reassuring.”

Despite the complaint, his hand traced shapes into your shoulder anyway.

By the time you were finally well enough to leave the trailer for longer than ten-minute intervals, the rain had stopped entirely.

Soft spring air drifted across the circus grounds while workers finished hauling the last equipment crates between caravans. In the distance, somebody was testing stage lights, flashes of gold and white flickering across canvas tents.

Your voice had mostly returned over the past two days.

Talking still hurt if you did it too long, your throat rough and scratchy around the edges now…but at least actual words came out instead of painful silence.

Jax, unfortunately, had started making fun of your voice the second it returned.

“You sound like you swallowed sandpaper,” he informed you cheerfully from where he lounged against the side of his trailer.

You shot him a glare over the sleeve of the hoodie you’d stolen from him three days ago.

“Your concern is touching.”

“I know. I’m practically a saint.”

Despite the usual sarcasm, something lighter had settled between you both now that the hospital panic was over. The exhaustion still lingered visibly around Jax’s face if you looked too closely, but he’d finally stopped hovering every time you coughed.

Most of the time, at least.

You stepped carefully down from the trailer stairs, adjusting the oversized hoodie sleeves around your hands while the cold breeze swept through the lot again.

“Don’t wander too far,” Jax called lazily from where he still lounged against the trailer wall. “If you pass out again, I’m charging you.”

You rolled your eyes. “I’m going for a walk, not reenacting my medical emergency.”

“That sounds exactly like somethin’ somebody about to reenact a medical emergency would say.”

You left him muttering to himself anyway.

Spring had finally settled over the circus grounds sometime while you’d been busy almost dying.

The grass felt cool beneath your bare feet as you wandered between caravans, still damp in places from old rain but warmer now beneath the afternoon’s gentle sunlight. Wind stirred softly through blooming trees near the edge of the lot, carrying the faint smell of dirt and fresh-cut grass instead of storm air.

Somewhere farther off, Kinger appeared to be speaking very seriously to a folding chair.

You found Ragatha sitting beside an open costume trunk near the wardrobe trailer, carefully sorting thread spools into neat rows.

The second she noticed you, her expression brightened.

“Oh!” She sat up straighter. “Well, look at you. Up and walkin’ around and everything.”

Ragatha’s eyes narrowed toward your face.

“…Okay, maybe still a little pale.”

“Rude.”

“Lovingly rude,” she corrected, already reaching toward the paper cup resting beside her. “Here, have some tea. Before your throat starts yelling at you again.”

You blinked.

“…You just had tea ready?”

Ragatha hesitated like the answer should’ve been obvious.

“Well… yeah?” She tucked a loose curl behind one ear. “You scared everybody pretty bad.” She lowered her voice slightly. “...Jax especially.”

She quickly brightened again, nudging the cup toward you.

“Anyway! Drink that before it gets cold.”

You settled beside the costume trunk while she returned to sorting thread, occasionally pausing to untangle stubborn knots with quiet concentration.

For a little while, the two of you sat comfortably in the soft spring warmth. Wind stirred through nearby trees, carrying the smell of damp grass while voices drifted faintly from the main tent.

Ragatha clicked her tongue softly at a tangled spool in her lap. “Honestly, I swear thread knots itself up outta spite.”

You huffed a laugh into your tea.

Silence settled again after that, easy and familiar.

Your gaze wandered absently toward the row of caravans farther down the lot.

“…Oh.”

Ragatha glanced up.

“What?”

“I haven’t even checked if my trailer’s unpacked yet.”

Her hands stopped.

“…What do you mean?” she asked.

“I mean,” you shifted awkwardly, “I kinda got hospitalized before I finished?”

Ragatha paused, clearly confused. She bit her lip.

“…Oh.”

A funny little expression crossed her face.

“Sweetheart, your trailer’s been unpacked since the first night.”

You stared at her.

“…What?”

“Gangle and I finished most of it after setup,” she explained, attention drifting briefly back toward the loose seam in her lap. “Jax brought your things over after the hospital.”

She paused, before carefully adding a question of her own, “…You didn’t know?”

Slowly, you shook your head.

Ragatha went quiet for a second.

Her mouth twitched upward softly.

“Oh, hon.” Her tone was amused, but not teasing. Fond.

“He could’ve moved you back days ago,” she said gently.

The silence afterward landed differently.

Ragatha watched realization settle over your expression before quickly pretending to become very interested in reorganizing thread.

“…Don’t be too mean to him,” she said after a moment, quieter now. “He’s had a real hard time actin’ like this whole thing didn’t scare him.”

A startled laugh escaped you.

“Oh, I’m absolutely teasing him.”

“That’s fair.”

You found Jax exactly where you’d left him, still leaning lazily against the side of the trailer with all the practiced indifference of somebody who absolutely had not spent the last week quietly spiraling.

His gaze lifted when he noticed you walking back. Whatever he found on your face seemed to put him on edge immediately, shoulders shifting faintly against the trailer wall before his expression settled somewhere between suspicion and annoyance.

“…Why are you lookin’ at me like that?”

You crossed your arms loosely.

“So…”

The single word earned you a visible pause.

“…So?” he asked carefully.

“How long were you planning on keeping me?”

Jax went still.“…What?”

“My trailer,” you said mildly. “Apparently it’s been unpacked all week.”

Silence stretched long enough for realization to settle over him.

Then he sighed, raising a hand to rub his temple.

“…Ragatha talks too much.”

The deadpan delivery almost made you laugh. You stepped a little closer to Jax instead.

“‘Mine was closer,’ huh?”

He groaned softly.

“You cannot use my own lines against me. That feels illegal.”

“And the soup?”

“It was medicinal.”

“The hoodie?”

“You looked cold.”

“You carrying me to the emergency room?”

“That hardly counts.”

You tilted your head.

“…While wearing bunny pajama pants?”

His entire expression shifted into something resembling betrayal.

“Oh, okay. Cool. Awesome.” He pointed vaguely toward nowhere in particular. “Apparently everybody talks too much.”

A laugh slipped out before you could stop it.

Something softened around the edges of Jax’s expression at the sound before he caught himself, jaw shifting faintly as though he was annoyed by his own reaction.

“…You gotta stop doin’ that.”

“Doing what?”

“That laugh thing.”

The answer came quieter than usual, like he hadn’t entirely meant to say it out loud.

The breeze moved softly between the caravans, carrying damp earth and cut grass through the lot while distant voices drifted somewhere near the tents. Jax looked away first, one boot nudging absently at gravel while he shoved a hand into the pocket of his hoodie.

“…You can stay, by the way,” he mumbled.

Your brows lifted.

“In your trailer?”

He shrugged one shoulder too quickly.

“I mean. If you want.”

The words sounded uncomfortable coming out of him, rough around the edges in a way sarcasm usually covered too well to notice.

“You don’t gotta make a whole thing outta it,” he muttered, eyes fixed firmly on the gravel. “Just figured it’d probably be easier.”

Something warm twisted quietly through your chest.

He still looked exhausted. He’d stopped sleeping properly sometime around the emergency room, and the dark circles under his eyes still hadn’t gone away.

Jax shifted beneath the silence.

“You are makin’ this unbelievably difficult for me.”

You blinked up at him.

“What?”

“This whole ordeal. Us.” He frowned at you. “Horrible experience. Zero stars.”

The laugh that escaped you this time came warmer.

His gaze lifted automatically toward the sound. Something uncertain lingered there beneath all the usual sarcasm. He wasn’t exactly nervous, but something was different. Unguarded.

You stepped closer before you could talk yourself out of it, the sleeve of his hoodie brushing lightly against your own.

Jax straightened a little.

“…What’re you doin’?”

You weren’t fully sure. Not until your fingers curled gently into the front of his hoodie.

Not until you leaned up.

The kiss landed soft, careful. Almost uncertain.

For a second, Jax didn’t seem to move at all, and you started to pull back.

His hand caught lightly at your sleeve before you could get very far.

“…Oh.”

The word left him quieter than usual. His gaze dropped toward your mouth and stayed there a second too long.

“You…”

He stopped.

“…Okay.”

The word sounded distracted. When he realized he wasn’t getting far talking, he kissed you again, this time without hesitation.

His hand found your waist before seeming to think better of it, hovering there awkwardly for all of half a heartbeat before settling anyway when you shifted closer on instinct.

That seemed to completely ruin whatever composure he’d been trying to hold onto.

“Oh, this is real unfair,” he groaned weakly against your mouth.

The complaint lost most of its bite when he dove back in, chasing your lips.

The cool spring breeze drifted through the narrow space between trailers while one hand tightened lightly at the fabric of your sleeve, the other resting firmer at your waist now.

You gasped against his lips when he nearly backed himself into the trailer wall trying to pull you closer, to kiss you deeper.

That stopped him entirely.

He stared at you for a second, expression gone strangely helpless.

“…Yeah,” he muttered, voice rougher now. “No, I’m never recoverin’ from that.”

Then he kissed you again.

Hard enough this time to knock the breath from whatever teasing remark had nearly left your mouth.

Your fingers grasped against the front of his hoodie, balling into fists while his own hand shifted lower against your back, pulling you closer without seeming to realize he was doing it. When you made the smallest startled sound against his mouth, something in him seemed to snap.

“…Yeah, okay,” he murmured, sounding vaguely overwhelmed by the entire situation.

One hand settled more firmly at your back as he started guiding you backward toward the trailer without really pulling away.

“C’mon,” he muttered against your lips, words quieter now, rough around the edges. “Before Ragatha sees this and starts cryin’ or somethin’.”

a/n: thank you so much for reading, i hope you enjoyed!! sorry if that last scene sounded a little wonky/rushed (as of 5/18), i wanted to crank this fic out tonight....will re-read later this week and nitpick it then as always, i would love to know your thoughts and any requests/prompts you would like to see, so don't be shy and leave a letter in my inbox!