Christmas sickness (oc sickfic
I know, I know it's late for the Holidays but atleast I got it done. (Contains: flu, family fluff, minor sickie)
Hunter Tailor is a 17 y/o British modern ballet dancer, living with his grandparents and twin sister Crystal in London. Feel free to ask about him.
"Oh hell", Hunter whined through laboured breathing as he shifted to throw up over the side of the bed. He was too far gone to care if it even care if it hit the designated sick bowl, but judging by the sound it was a pretty good blind aim. He flopped back on to his side with a hefty groan. There he lay, staring at the wall clock. Three o'clock in the afternoon, Hunter's family would start eating the Christmas meal any minute now. Grandma had been preparing it for so long, fussing around and about in the kitchen. Hunter had been banned from the heart of the house so he wouldn't contaminate the whole household.
Now this would have been a huge bummer any other time and it was now but honestly the last thing Hunter wanted to think about was food, about the bland Yorkshire pudding or that bloody cursed fruit cake. He felt horrid as yet another coughing fit erupted from and rattled his chest.
Also the high fever did not aid in the matter since Hunter had had two instances of holiday-esc hallucinations, elves coming from his stocking and snowflakes mixed into the pouring London rains.
Worst of all, Christmas was one of the rare occasions the Tailor twins actual parents would get a holiday from their jobs as archaeologists around the world and came for a few day visit. And Hunter just so happened to get basically quarantined.
Or even,"Merry Chrysler", which Hunter had blurted out that morning to his grandpa and got promptly sent back to bed after a few chuckles from the old man. His sister Crystal had noped out of their shared room as he went to bed to fight the illness.
"Ha'chuuh!", Hunter reached for a tissue from the Father Christmas themed box.
"Bless you", Hunter froze in the spot. A grin of pure glee spread acrosa his face like a kid opening presents. That voice. He whipped around to see the speaker at the door fast enough to cause dizziness.
"Mother", he chirped congestedly with fat tears of delirium and joy drippling down his blushed cheeks. They were here.
Mrs. Tailor smiled at her son with a sad, sympathetic look in her eyes.
"Hey Hunter", she sat on the bed and cupped Hunter's cheek right away.
"Happy Christmas my little Hunter. Grandma told us you were feeling poorly. Sorry we didn't stop by earlier, you see my boy, our flight from Rome was delayed and when we got here your grandparents took straight to church from the station. We went to greet my sister and by the time we got here it was meal time. And you were asleep so me and your dad didn't want to wake you. Oh I missed you", mrs. Tailor frantically apologised as she hugged him, lovingly squeezing the soul out of her sickly child.
"It's okay", Hunter squirmed in his mother's hold, suddenly feeling a strange bang of discomfort. This was not supportive, genuine way his grandparents hugged him. This was an attempt to get closer, too desperate, and too tight. Way too tight!
"Mother!", Hunter pushed his mom away and scrambled for the sick bowl and threw up once again.
Mr. Tailor was unsure of what to do, taken back by the sudden onset of sick. Hunter was her child but she wasn't used to handling miserable teenager. She awkwardly rubbed Hunter's back trying to shooth him somehow. The situation was shameful.
Hunter finally finished being sick and turned away from his mother.
"Sorry about that. Gosh I feel quite bad. You should probably leave. I know you only have a few days here. I don't want you to get ill. Please go spend time with Crystal. I'm fine here", he mumbled hoarsly, trying not to sound upset. Hunter knew his parents were busy traveling the world and the flu would be a great bother.
Mrs. Tailor gave his son a perplexed look.
"Hunter, dear, I know we haven't been the best of parents, but we were really thinking of your and Crystal's best. And Christmas is a time to spend together as a family. Why don't you come with downstairs and we can watch The Snowman?", she suggested. "I believe it's no fun to stay cooped up in this room all day, as lovely as it is. Your father probably wants to see you too".
Hunter smiled. He had definitely inherited his mother's tendency to babble on and on.
"Surely. I'd love to meet father too", he allow his mother to carefully make lift him from the bed and they made their way down the old fashioned stairs.
Maybe this Christmas would still be fun.
