When Jaguars are Sick

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.

She came in, and Spirit had been unfortunate enough to be at the register. In a huff, she spat out her order faster than Spirit could put it in the computer, and in excruciating detail no less.

"I want a venti iced mocha latte. Quad blonde ristretto shots. Half-caf. Two pumps brown sugar, one sugar-free vanilla, half a pump toffee nut. Half oat, half heavy cream. Light ice. Extra cinnamon. Cold foam, but light. Add one packet of raw sugar. Double-cup it. Don't shake it too much, and I want a fetta wrap."

It had all been said in one breath, and when Spirit kept her smile on and tried to ask her to repeat, the girl huffed and rolled her eyes.

"Seriously? I'm in a time crunch here! Are you deaf or stupid? I gave you my order."

"Miss, I just want to be sure I understand your order so I can-"

"Should I speak slower?" she scoffed.

Spirit wanted to bite back, Yeah, that's literally what I'm asking you to do, you plastic-brained bimbo. Her jaw was starting to clench so tightly while forcing a smile that she couldn't even say anything for a minute.

"Are you retarded?" the bitch suddenly spat.

God, I hate people like this. Spirit took a deep breath. "I'm so sorry, Miss. But really, I just want to hear your order one more time, just to make sure it's exactly to your liking."

The girl groaned and rolled her eyes, and then repeated her order in a patronizing manner, slow and exaggerated. Spirit could practically feel the vein in her neck starting to bulge, but she just wrote down the exact order.

"Alright then. Can I get your name?"

"Caileigh. Spelled c-a-i-l-e-i-g-h. Got that?" she asked as if talking to a child.

Spirit nodded. "Your order will be out soon."

She went to stand right by the pick-up counter, staring at Spirit the entire time she worked on the drink. Spirit made it perfect, exactly as the girl had asked.

When the drink was done, Spirit called Caileigh's name. The girl picked up her drink. Took a sip.

Before Spirit could walk away, the drink hit her shoulder.

Coffee and cream exploded all over her clothes and hair and the floor, ice cubes down her shirt. She gasped, stumbling and slipping on the liquid, bracing against the counter.

"You really are stupid!" the girl yelled. "Are you kidding me? This is disgustingly sweet! How much sugar did you put in this?"

Spirit just stared at her, mouth agape.

Then, she lost it.

"The fuck is your problem?!" she yelled, storming around the counter to get in the girl's face. The girl's eyes widened as she was made abruptly aware of how much taller Spirit was than her, almost a full-foot height difference. "I made your goddamn order exactly the way you ordered it! Why is it 'so sweet'? You asked for brown sugar, regular sugar, mocha, toffee, cold foam, and even though sugar-free vanilla is 'sugar-free', it's still fucking sweet! You think I'm stupid? More like you're a conceited bitch with a stick so far up your ass that everything that comes out of your filler-fattened mouth is absolute shit!"

By then, Spirit's boss had come out, yelling at Spirit for 'causing a scene' and 'disrespecting the customers'.

Spirit scoffed at her boss. "Oh my FUCKING GOD! Don't give me that 'the customer is always right' BULLSHIT!"

"Do you want to be fired?!"

"No need. I fucking quit!" She ripped off her coffee-stained green apron and threw it at her manager. "I don't need to take this shit anymore!"

And that was that.

Still lost in the blur of events, Spirit got to her car and drove with astonishing calmness all the way to her dorm building. She made her way up all of the stairs, and all the way down to her shitty dorm, and shut the door with a slight slam.

She stood there. Hand on the knob. Staring at nothing.

Then, it hit her.

She just quit her job.

Her thoughts came in a rush. The only reason she had that job was because her job at the music store at the mall was barely enough to cover her car's gas and a phone bill, much less food and hygiene products and medicine and everything else a person needs on a regular basis to just live. What was she gonna do? Apply to another job? It was pure luck that she'd gotten that job in the first place!

Her chest felt tight, her breaths going shallower and shallower till she felt herself holding the air in her chest, not daring to inhale or exhale, her whole body trembling.

Oh shit, she thought. Shit shit shit shit shit shit shit!

When she managed a breath at last, she stormed over to her bed, grabbing her pillow and shoving her face into it, screaming at the top of her lungs. It was a scream that made her throat hurt, her head throbbing. "FUCK!" she yelled. "DAMMIT!"

Breathing hard, she lowered the pillow, throwing it back onto the bed.

Her fists clenched with anger. She imagined herself grabbing that bitch by her extensions, shoving her to the ground, wailing on her with her fists over and over and over and-

Spirit stopped. Her chest hurt. A migraine was starting to pulse horribly in the back of her head, making her wince.

She still had coffee all over her, making her skin and hair feel sticky.

She wanted to shower.

And, with a jolt, she realized she wanted something else too.

Something she hadn't wanted in years, but desperation to rid herself of the gnawing anxiety and the pain in her head and chest. She couldn't quite put a name to the desire for a moment. Then, it came to her, along with a hurricane of memories and caution and fear and guilt.

Ignore the thought, she told herself. It's been years. Don't let yourself go back. Don't. Please.

But she felt horrible, and she wanted the feeling gone. A little, she bargained with herself. A little bit. It'll be fine. She chuckled wetly, feeling dangerously close to tears, way too many emotions fighting against each other as she walked to her door again.

Several doors down the hall was a girl named Val. The chick was some kind of an arts major, and was well known in the dorms for one thing.

Spirit knocked on Val's door. A groan answered her, followed by a few thumping foot steps. The door opened, and Spirit got a face-full of smoke. The girl's pupils were dilated so wide that Spirit wondered just how high it was possible for one person to get.

She almost chickened out. Almost just made a crummy excuse about having the wrong door.

Instead, she pulled out her wallet. "Got anything to drink?"

The girl smiled around the vape in her mouth. "Hell yeah, I do," she chuckled, words slurring slightly. "Come in. Pick your poison."

-- -- --

Birdie stood outside the Starbucks, leaning against her car, staring at the entrance as she waited for Spirit. Doesn't her shift end at five today? she wondered, checking the time on her phone. It was almost 5:30, and Spirit still wasn't out yet.

She had all but begged Spirit to come out with her to get dinner. Nothing too extravagant, but some Chinese food at a local place she liked because of their egg-drop soup.

Curiously, she made her way to the entrance, wondering what was taking Spirit so long. A few customers glanced up at the sound of the door's bells as she came, some doing double-takes at her outfit that consisted of an ankle-length skirt made up of layers and layers of mis-matching fabrics and bandanas, and a white off-the-shoulder micro-top that exposed most of her abdomen, which she decorated with golden swirls of henna drawn up her side, matching the gold extensions in her waist-long braids.

She walked up to the register, standing in front of the teen-guy behind the counter, staring for a bit too long at Birdie's top.

"Is Spirit here?" she asked, snapping his attention back to her face.

He shook his head, but before he could say anything, a stern-faced woman who had just come out of the back room came over and said, "You know Spirit?"

Birdie nodded, eyes wide and head slightly tilted, voice soft and curious. "I thought her shift ended at five today. Was it earlier?"

The woman sneered. "She quit."

Birdie tensed at the venom in the woman's voice before the words even registered. "She. . . what?"

"Quit," the woman said. "After causing a scene this morning that had a customer threatening lawsuits." She scoffed. Then she looked Birdie up and down. "Whatever. You see her anytime soon, tell her I'm glad to be rid of her. She was one of the worst employees I've ever had."

Birdie felt something hot and angry rise up within her, but she quashed the feeling down and just smiled sweetly. "I hope that spiders lay eggs in your ears while you sleep, and that both sides of your pillow are always warm."

She turned on her heel and left without waiting for any kind of response.

She left and went back to her car, pulling out her phone and trying to call Spirit like she had several times already.

No answer.

She frowned, setting her GPS to Spirit's dorm.

The drive wasn't too long. Birdie hummed along to about four Queen songs before she was pulling into the dingy building's parking lot. She saw Spirit's car parked several spots away from hers.

She walked in and found the stairs, bracing herself with a deep breath before traversing them all. She was tired and her legs were burning by the time she reached the top floor. She wondered if the elevator in this building would ever get to working before they graduated.

Birdie walked over to Spirit's dorm, knocking a little beat against the wood. "Heyyy," she said softly. "You in there? I heard that you quit your job today." She paused for a moment, waiting for some kind of response. "You okay?"

No response. Though, faintly, Birdie could hear what sounded like a shower running.

She tried the doorknob. Locked. She pouted, reaching into the pockets she'd sewn into her skirt herself, and pulling out a hair pin.

When she and Spirit were kids, they'd play hide-and-seek-tag, and Spirit tended to lock herself in a room, so Birdie watched tutorials on how to literally pick locks, much to Spirit's utter shock when they'd played once many years ago.

Birdie had never lost the skill, frequently having locked herself out of rooms in her own apartment on accident.

The door clicked, and Birdie walked in, immediately noticing the open bathroom door.

She frowned, shutting the door behind herself as she walked over.

"Spirit?" she called. She peeked into the bathroom.

She gasped. The pin fell from her fingers.

The sight before her sent a torrent of memories rushing through her mind. Memories of Spirit crying while hungover and miserable. Memories of several times she'd shown up to check on her best friend, only to find her passed out with some cheap alcohol she'd bought off a rando in her shitty neighborhood.

Nothing could've prepared her to see anything like that again. But here she was, staring wide-eyed at her best friend who was sitting in the corner of her shower, fully-clothed as water drenched her hair and body, a two glass bottles by her leg, the one closest to her limp hand was half-full of some brownish liquid, and the other completely empty.

The bottles weren't exactly big, but is was a lot of straight alcohol for one person to drink nonetheless.

Birdie stared, shocked. Spirit's head hung, wet hair shielding her face though Birdie knew she was entirely unconscious.

Tears filled her eyes.

Her voice came out soft. Small. Scared.

"Oh, Spirit."

She stepped forward, moving to first turn off the shower. Spirit didn't react.

She crouched down in front of her best friend, reaching forward to cup her face and tilt her head up. Spirit groaned, eyes opening into unfocused, shiny slits.

"Why did you do this, Spirit?" Birdie whispered, voice cracking softly, fingers pushing wet hair away from Spirit's flushed face. "I know why you're upset, but this is too much. You can't do this again. Please, Spirit, I can't— Please, I can't watch my best friend do this again." She sobbed, fully crying now. "I don't want you to ruin everything you've worked so hard to make better for yourself. You can't go back now because of one little setback."

Spirit just blinked, her brain too fried with alcohol to actually comprehend anything. It was a numbness that truly got rid of all the feelings she didn't want to feel.

Numbness.

Birdie couldn't get through that numbness.

When Spirit only groaned, eyes closing again, Birdie sighed, deciding it would be better to talk later. She gently let Spirit's head sag again.

She wondered how she'd possibly be able to carry her from the shower to her bed when Spirit suddenly made a strange noise. A gurgle? A cough?

Birdie realized what was happening a second too late, and Spirit vomited all over herself, her already damp clothes now soaking up the regurgitated liquid.

Birdie gagged, slamming a hand to her mouth and turning away.

Crap, she thought. She wanted to help, but another gurgle came from Spirit and Birdie all but ran out of the room, the intense wave of sympathy nausea giving her no other choice

Who was we?

Only then Angie looked around and realized most of her classmates were already out of the room, animatedly chatting in the hallway outside. None of them seemed to mind having Sophia as an intruder, if anything, they seemed very eager to have her. She was a bit of a celebrity, what for Angie had no idea.

"Uhh..."

"She's coming!" Sophia decided for her, skipping outside the classroom and throwing herself on Matt's back, who let out a chuckle and fixed her arms around his neck so she didn't strangle him from behind.

Defeated, Angie grabbed all of her things and followed the group outside.

MassArt was located in a pretty green side of Boston. Angie absolutely adored the building and the neighborhood, the amount of galleries, trees and parks surrounding it was a constant stream of inspiration. It also wasn't far from Boston University, the reason why Sophia was so often hanging at their building... Or at least, the reason she claimed.

Angie wasn't so sure about that, she had seen how enraptured Soph seemed while watching a lecture or two, while Matt himself seemed to be completely observed by his girlfriend. If anyone didn't know the couple, they would say she was the arts major and he was the business one.

There were many restaurants and coffee shops surrounding the area, a lot of nice sit down places, so it was much to Angie's horror that they ended up in some hole in the wall pub, badly lit and poorly cleaned. Ew ew ew.

"Why this place?" She whispered to herself, tugging on the sides of her oversized cardigan in a comforting way, as if they were wings she could wrap around herself protectively.

Sasha, a girl in her class that sported bright blue hair and beautiful tattoos all over her arms, snorted, having overheard Angie's comment, "because they don't check IDs, silly," she whispered back.

Angie had grown up in the Banks household. Alcohol wasn't a novelty for her, not in the least. Jasper had always had a "do it at home" policy — or at least he had that policy with her, who knew how he had raised Jonah — and her mother was French, meaning the drinking age was eighteen there, but sixteen inside their home.

She thought it was gross. It burned her throat, made her feel woozy and a little panicked and she couldn't fathom the fact it was more expensive than mocktails or juice, when it tasted horrible.

Their little group of nine shuffled to the back of the bar and Angie started to look around for exits. No way she was gonna stay there until they were all drunk...

"Sit down," Sophia tugged on her arm, since Angie had just been standing like a statue or a deer in the headlights. She tried hard not to make a face when her palms immediately stuck down on the greasy table. Disgusting.

Matt was at the counter with some other two guys, getting beers for the whole lot of them, and Angie started to pick the corner of her nail anxiously.

"Oh, I'm starving," Sasha said, opening the sticky menu and leaning in with her best friend, Veronica, as they looked over the options. Angie leaned in slightly, her own stomach was rumbling with hunger — and the heavy smell of bacon in the air wasn't helping — but she was very, very hesitant to order anything in this place.

"Wanna share?" Sophia poked her arm, eyebrows raised and a sly smile on her face. Angie shrugged, unsure.

"I don't know... What- What are you thinking of having?"

Now that she thought about it, Angelina wasn't sure she had ever seen Sophia eat. She had too, she was still human, right?

The thought caused her to snort as she imagined Sophia as some sort of vampire. She certainly had the looks for it, the bad attitude too. Her hands itched, she reached in her bag for her sketchbook without thinking, but only closed her fingers around its spiral spine, too embarrassed to pull it out in the middle of their dinner.

"Don't you agree?"

What?

Angie blinked, whole face turning a shade darker as she blushed, realizing she had completely tuned out Sophia's answer. The cheerleader was staring expectantly at her and when Angie took a second too long to answer, her bright blue eyes squinted, "did you hear a word I said?"

"Well, I-... Uh, no," she admitted, sheepishly, fully expecting Sophia to glare and say something mean. Instead she received an amused snort.

"I was saying," the other girl said strongly, "that we can split a burger, what do you think? Unless you're too hungry for that, then we can get a salad too."

How in the hell was a salad meant to be more filling than the burger? It was Angie's turn to snort.

"No, that's fine by me..."

"Great!" Sophia turned on her seat, only to immediately get trapped back down, as Matt slid next to her, passing three different glasses filled with disgusting yellow beer. Angie stared at it, considering if she could sneakily get up to dump it somewhere the others wouldn't see.

They for sure would make fun of her if she said she just wanted a lemonade.

"Maaatt," Sophia stretched the word, caused the guy to perk up, leaning into her space to butt his nose with hers.

"Yeah?"

"Order for us?"

He deflated, Angie ducked her head to muffle a chuckle.

Matt and Jose, another guy from her class, got back up to do the overall order for all of them and finally, returned to the table, Matt with a dramatic sigh and throwing an arm around Sophia's shoulders, squeezing her to him and causing her to thrash in his hold like a disgruntled cat.

Angie was mystified by how they seemed to all get along to easily, when she struggled with everything. Subjects covered their teachers, Ronnie and Felicity high fiving as they apparently agreed on everything, then moving on to sports — and Angielina had no idea why so many fucking Arts kids knew about Basketball. Sophia she could understand, she was a cheerleader for the University, but the rest of them? It had taken her a whole minute to realize the Celtics mentioned were a team and not a European tribe — then their dinners arrived.

A new round of beers, and an array of different foods. Six different burgers, one that was planted right in front of Angie, who poked it with her pinky, suspicious.

"It's not gonna bite you," Sophia teased her, tearing the wrapping paper around the meal and bringing it up to her face, inspecting it. She wrinkled her nose, putting it back down, "the patty is overdone as hell."

Angie shrugged, she absolutely hated rare meat. She added another tally to her "Is Sophia a Vampire?" list, "I think it's fine... Looks good."

It looked and smelled great and the small hunger she had been harboring before had morphed into ravenousness. She took a bite, let her eyes roll back as the flavor exploded in her mouth. It was great. Greasy and she didn't want to think about what the kitchen of this place looked like, but damn it was amazing.

Soph was watching her eat with an amused smile, "I thought you were a vegetarian?"

Angie frowned, cheeks puffed out like a squirrel, "who'old'at?"

"Very nice," Sophia's voice was dripping with teasing and Angie gulped down the too big bite, being forced to take a sip of that horrible beer in order to speak.

"Who told you I'm a vegetarian?"

"No one," Soph shrugged, "you just seemed the type. Artsy, loves nature, tree hugger."

"Being environmentally conscious is a bad thing now?" Angie snapped, then blushed, because that was the most bitey she had ever been with anyone who wasn't Jon or Luke.

Soph's eyes sparkled, "Ooh, I knew there was a bad bitch there somewhere," she was grinning from ear to ear, "so you are not a hippie, just environment conscious... Still, shouldn't that make you a vegan?"

"No," Angie rolled her eyes, then took another bite to avoid continuing the conversation. She could go on a rant on how being vegan was a very privileged attempt at environment consciousness and that agricultural monocultures were just as harmful, if not more, as the meat industry, but every time she had tried having this conversation with her previous acquaintances — because calling them friends was a stretch — their eyes had glossed over; Sophia was for sure going to roll her eyes at her and write her off, so Angie stayed quiet.

"Okaaay..." Sophia turned away from her, fishing through her black purse, and draping herself on Matt's side, "who here knows how to play scopa?"

Angie didn't know Scopa, but she got roped into conversation as it switched to popular culture topics. She was a proud nerd and had many opinions on everything, much to her surprise finding herself giggling along with her classmates as they made fun of the old Spiderman movies and voiced how hyped they were for the new ones.

All the while, she continued to eat, poking Sophia only once to ask her if she didn't want a bite, when she reached about half of the burger. The other girl shook her head, "too greasy, all yours."

It was too greasy and Angie was thirsty, but not thirsty enough to have a beer. She wanted to get up to grab a soda, but she was the last one in the booth and it would require Sophia, Matt and Lydia all to get up so she could move. Trapped, Angie stared at her glass with disdain.

"What did it do to you?" Sophia leaned into her personal space and Angie jumped back, as much as she could. Not that she didn't appreciate touchy people, she actually loved them, but Soph was right up to her face.

"I just don't like beer..."

"Why did you order it then?" Sophia frowned, confused, "what do you want?"

"I didn't or-" It's useless, she changes directions mid phrase, "Uh...A coke?"

Sophia poked Matt's arm, "grab me a coke?"

Immediately he was on his feet, jumping over Lydia, causing Angie's mouth to drop, "is he your slave or something?"

Able to control minds, Angie added under her growing list of evidence of Soph being a vampire.

"Yes," the other girl beamed, "my lackey."

Was that a sex thing or was Sophia joking? Impossible to tell.

Unsure if she was the butt of the joke, Angie just nodded and scooted up on her seat, taking another bite.

Now the burger wasn't as good. It had grown cold with all their chatting and she felt like she was chewing out of obligation. She let it fall down back to the plate, reaching for flimsy paper napkins.

"We're thinking of going to watch the latest Obsession," Sasha said, touching Angie's arm, "you're coming, right?"

Was she already drunk? Two different hang out invitations in the same day?

"Uhm, er- When?"

"Tomorrow, after class, what do you think?" Sasha perked up, seeming relieved.

"Oh yeah, that's- Yeah!" Angie felt jittery with giddiness. A friend hang out! And all it had taken her was sitting in a greasy pub for two hours and sip horrid beer!

"What about you, Soph?" Sasha was nearly climbing over Angie in her eagerness. It was crazy how Sophia attracted people like moths to a flame, the same quality Angelina had once observed in Luke, but at least with Lucas she could understand because he was nice... Sophia was Sophia. She didn't seem to like anyone and yet they toppled over themselves for her.

"What?"

"Are you going to join us to watch Obsession?" Ronnie pulled Sasha back down on her seat, cheeks pink, noticing she was making a fool of herself. She had a bunch of glittery stars in her nails, Angie vaguely noticed, deciding to ask her later what polish it was.

"What is that?"

"Have you been living under a rock!?" Ronnie exclaimed, shushed quickly by Sasha, "the new horror movie that's breaking records all over!"

"Oh," Sophia rolled her eyes, unbothered, "I think horror movies are lame, so no, thanks."

Angie's stomach felt heavy, causing all of her already flimsy attention spam to slip as she focused on it. She was wearing a baby yellow tee paired with light washed mom jeans and right now it was squeezing her middle.

She stirred on her seat, glaring at her lap and wondering how the hell she was gonna get out of her trapped position, because she really wanted to go home now. Or well, the dorms. Her roommate, Marie, seemed to have Angelina-Banks-Blindness. For some reason she was completely deaf and blind to Angie's presence, sometimes she felt a little like Russell Crowe in a Beautiful Mind, that's how weird it was.

"Earth to Space Cadet?" Sophia snapped her fingers in front of Angie's eyes, an incredibly rude gesture that had Angie recoiling and pushing her hand away.

"What?"

"You spaced out... And went pale," Sophia was frowning at her, all the while Matt was snaking an arm around her waist, which she pushed off with an annoyed huff, "everything okay?"

Weird. Angie squinted, unsure if she should disclose the growing displeasure her body was showing with the meal or her own discomfort, she settled for saying, "I need to get some fresh air, can you move?"

"Oh, yeah," Sophia was still frowning, looking like she didn't believe a word out of Angelina's mouth. She turned around, planted her hands on Matt's shoulders, cheering in a playful tone, "move, move, you gotta M-O-V-E!" She got Matt and Lydia up, so Angie could slip out.

She all but bolted for the door, anxiety prickling her skin. Claustrophobia. It was so many people, she had never really been in the eye of the storm like this. In the classroom it was pretty easy, they were spread out, and in the dorm Marie ignored her... Even back in Welton, with Jonah and Luke, they never crowed on her like that.

Her hands were sweating and she was not sure if the nausea was due to the greasy burger or the overstimulation and God, she felt ridiculous. She had wanted friends so badly, but now she was running away from the most friendly interaction she had had in months, if not years.

Angelina moved as far away from the main entrance of the pub as she could and pressed her back to the brick wall, taking slow, shaky breaths. Her stomach gurgled, unhappy, seeming to stop digesting altogether. She really wanted to go home, and she didn't mean the stupid dorm with the roommate who hated her. Home.

Her sight went blurry, because Angie vividly remembered fighting tooth and nail against her dad to get to stay in the dorms and live the "legit" college experience and now she felt pathetic. Her heart was racing, but she did not want to cry out in the streets, so she sunk her nails on her palms, trying to recenter her body.

"Out of everyone whom I expected to run without paying, you were not on the list, baby Posh," Sophia said, appearing next to her, and Angie blinked at her, too stunned to answer the jab.

"Wha-what?"

"Nothing," Sophia pursed her lips, arms crossed to her chest, "what's your deal?"

"I don't- What are you talking about...?" Was Angie going blind or was Sophia glowing? Not in a positive way... Things were looking bright, too bright. She sucked in the air, it got stuck in her chest in a painful way and went back up, in a burp.

Oh shit.

Sophia's eyebrows jumped, "oh... You're not feeling well. Girl, why didn't you just say so?"

"I'm-" Her mouth felt cottony and slow to connect with her brain. She was gonna faint, Angie only hoped she fainted before she ended up hurling all over Sophia's shoes. Her stomach churned, unhappy and not reassuring in the least, "I think I'm gon'pass out..."

"Oh shit!" Sophia jumped forward, grabbing Angie's elbows before the other girl toppled over. She didn't quite pass out, but things went out of focus and muffled for a moment and next thing she knew, Angie was sitting on the curb and Sophia's face was right next to hers.

"Angelina," Sophia's hands were on her shoulders, nails sinking onto her, like claws, "Angelina, snap out of it!" Angie didn't think Sophia had ever called her by her name, nor used that high pitched tone of voice with her.

"Hmm," Angie's cheeks burned with embarrassment, "I'mmkay..."

"Are you?!" Sophia squealed, light eyes huge on her face. Angie nodded, then gagged and changed her head gesture to a shake, groaning.

"Queasy..."

"Are you drunk? You can't be that much of a lightweight..." Sophia pulled back, standing up, and Angie cradled her head. She did feel a little drunk, but no, it wasn't that. Just anxiety and a ridiculously oily burger swimming in her belly- She gagged again at the thought.

"What do you want me to do about it?" Matt's voice travelled, followed by an impatient huff.

"Get her up!" Sophia bossed, then suddenly someone was grabbing Angie by her armpits and bringing her up to her feet. Her stomach rolled at the movement and she groaned.

"Noo- What are you doing..."

"Okay, I got her," Sophia took one of Angie's arms, throwing it around her shoulders, "what's her dorm, do any of you know? It's in Huntington Dorms, right?"

"Yeah, uh, the beige building," Sasha's voice was frantic, "she's on the second floor I think? Room 04? Ronnie, is that right?"

"It's right," Angie leaned her head to the side, cheek resting on Sophia's head. She hadn't realized the other girl was that much shorter than her, what the hell? Angie forced her eyes open and sure enough, she was a full head taller than Soph. Weird.

"I'll go with you-"

"I got her," Sophia interrupted Matt and Angie's whole face burned as she finally got slightly more aware of what was going on, no longer feeling faint.

The whole lot of them were outside, Matt staring at Sophia with a frown and Sasha and Ronnie behind him, looking much more concerned.

"Are you sure?" Sasha stepped forward, "I can help-"

Angie's whole body burnt with humiliation. There went her chance to make friends, she had just embarrassed herself in front of them... They for sure wouldn't want to hang out again...

"I got her," Sophia repeated, sharply, and Angelina mused how she was holding her up so easily. Nausea overrode her following thoughts, making a bunch of goosebumps cover her arms. Angie felt like crying, she really didn't want to puke in front of this bunch of strangers-

Then Sophia was dragging her down the street.

"Do not," Soph told her, voice tense, as she pulled Angie around the corner, "puke on my hair."

Angie hiccupped, moved her head away from Sophia's, "not'gonna..." she spat on the curb, "I don't feel well..."

"Yeah, you're drunk," the other girl sounded amused and Angie wanted to correct her, say she wasn't drunk, but then what was she gonna say this was? A panic attack because she was having fun? One singular greasy burger? That was pathetic.

Thankfully she didn't have to say anything, because her whole body suddenly felt clammy and her stomach picked this moment to call it quits. She pushed off Sophia in order to brace against a street trashcan and the horrible smell of it was all it took.

Her stomach spasmed, again and again, struggling with the heavy meal, but eventually a wave of chunky vomit fell in the metal basket. It all smelt of beer and pickles-

Angie gagged again, harsh and loudly. Faintly she heard Sophia curse, then felt her tugging on her braids, gently pulling them back, "you're gonna get them covered in yack, babe," the other girl scoffed, holding it back as Angie burped up another wave, this one much more liquid.

She panted over the trash, arms shaking with effort, before wiping her mouth and chin, straightening up. Her sight was blurry from tears and Angie sniffled, looking around.

"Are you good?" Sophia asked, voice a little choked out and Angie nodded, trembling like a leaf. Her body temperature was all over the place, because now she was freezing.

"Good-" Soph turned around with a sharp retch, folding in the middle with a gag, then another, then a burp. Nothing came up, except for some ropey spit, and Sophia groaned, standing back up, "ugh."

"Are you sick...?" Angie was confused. Was this not her body being dumb? Were they both sick?

"Nuh-huh," Sophia wiped the corner of her eyes, where black mascara tears had rolled down, "I'm no good with vomit."

"Oh..." Angie gulped down, a new wave of embarrassment threatening to engulf her, "I'm sorry- I-"

"Shut up," Sophia waved her off, "c'mon, let's get your wasted ass to the dorms."

"M'not drunk," Angie wrapped her arms around herself, walking slowly, which forced Sophia to keep up with her pace, "tonight was just... A lot."

Sophia turned to look at her, walking backwards as she did that, eyes wide, "you're hurling because... The bar was crowded?"

"No," Angie pouted, although yeah, partially, "burger was also..." just thinking about it had her gagging again and she froze on the spot, pressing the back of her hand to her mouth, trying to keep it down.

It took a handful of seconds for her to get body in check, although she still felt queasy enough that she knew she'd be puking sooner rather than later. Sophia was openly staring at her.

"What?" Angie mumbled, self consciously.

"Nothing," Soph shook her head, "c'mon, baby Posh, bed with you."

"Why are you being," Angie gulped down the horrible taste, "so-so nice to me?"

Jamie sighs, rubbing his forehead as he decides that Keegan is his priority for the night (it was supposed to be a date night, after all), and he ignores Charlie and Colin, turning back to his boyfriend.

He shifts a little, pushing himself closer to Keegan, who's sitting at the opposite end of the couch. It's enough that Keegan's eyes snap over to him, and for the first time all night, it feels like he's got his full attention.

"Did something happen at school? Are you okay?" he asks softly, and Keegan's eyebrows furrow, before he answers, "I'm okay," and turns back to the TV.

Jamie catches him glancing over a few more times though, and he's getting more and more worried by how closed-off he seems.

After a few more minutes of the weird tension, he turns his hand palm-up, leaving it on the cushion between them, a clear invitation for Keegan. At this point in their relationship, Keegan is consistently comfortable with gentle, predictable touches, even if he doesn't always initiate it. So Jamie is a little concerned that there's been no touch tonight at all, since it's reminiscent of the early days of their relationship.

Keegan glances at his hand, and twitches, like he wants to reach out. He doesn't. His hands stay tucked against his body, and Jamie feels his heart sink a little more, wanting to know what's running through Keegan's mind and tripping him up.

Before he can bring himself to pause the movie and start the conversation, knowing that would get Colin's attention, and he'd go straight into motherhen mode, Keegan excuses himself, mumbling something about the bathroom. He slinks away, and Jamie frowns, catching the way he sticks close to the walls.

Yep, something's wrong. Keegan's moving like he's being hunted - something he only does when he's thrown too far into his past. Jamie's seen this body language after nightmares, but the idea of it happening during the day, without a discernable cause, curdles something in his stomach, and he so desperately wants to know what's hurting his boyfriend.

He is, however, unsure if he should follow him. He's clearly not ready to open up about it, and he doesn't need to actually hunt him down… he can't imagine that would be helpful. He resolves to try and have a proper conversation once he's back from the washroom, reassure him and try to help him sort through his mind.

Before he can decide what to do, Keegan shuffles back into the room, settling carefully at the end of the couch. His shoulders curl in on himself, and he pointedly doesn't look at Jamie.

For the first time, Jamie wonders if maybe he's done something to upset Keegan. It's possible, he thinks, It would certainly explain him being closed-off. But he can't think of anything out of the ordinary - nothing that he can think of that could be a problem.

He twists so he's facing Keegan, hoping for a reaction, but none comes. He sighs gently, reaching out and bridging the gap between them. He's slow, but when his hand lands softly on Keegan's arm, his entire body pulls taught, face paling dramatically. Jamie winces, pulling his hand back.

A wash of guilt coats his mind - that was the opposite of the intended effect. Jamie's a little thrown by how intense the reaction was. Of course, he's seen Keegan in all kinds of states at this point, with a range of comfort regarding physical contact, however, he has mellowed a lot towards Jamie in the past few months.

He has an apology ready on his lips, when Keegan stands abruptly, hurrying down the hall.

Great, he thinks sarcastically, Now I've really upset him. He grimaces, wondering how he can fix this.

He hears Charlie growl from her room, marching down the hallway as the bathroom door clicks shut.

She stomps into the room, Apple clutched in her arms. "I'm trying to get ready, and this cat is in my face! This is-" she pauses, glaring around the room, "And who am I even talking to? Where's Rowyn?"

When Colin doesn't answer, Jamie sighs, "He's not home yet."

"Fine," she huffs, dropping Apple on the end of the couch. She points at her, muttering, "You stay there." Apple blinks wide-eyed, the picture of innocence, and Jamie snorts - she's trouble.

Charlie turns back, apparently satisfied now that the cat is out of her room, when she glances back at Jamie, and throws out, "You know Keegan's sick, right?"

He bluescreens, mind flashing through the evening, trying to slot this new information into place, and finding that it fits with ease. He sees Colin sit up straight, out of the corner of his eye.

"Wait!" he calls, scrambling up and Charlie stops where she was already halfway down the hall, "How did you know?" he asks, genuinely confused as to how she picked up on it, "I thought something happened at school, or he was upset with me or something?" He's a little ashamed that he immediately jumped to an emotional reason, not even considering that he was sick.

"It's in the eyes," she answers cryptically, shrugging and moving back to her room. He's suddenly reminded that she's known him most of her life, and definitely longer than he has. Charlie closes the door with a snap, and Jamie's amused to see Apple creeping back down the hall, pausing outside Charlie's room. The little menace definitely behaves better when Rowyn's around, he thinks wryly.

Jamie moves past to the bathroom. He hesitates just a second longer, not wanting to intrude on Keegan's privacy, but no longer able to curb the concern he has for his boyfriend.

He knocks softly on the door, immediately murmuring, "Key, it's me, it's Jamie." There's a cut-off choking sound, and Jamie grimaces, leaning his forehead against the door, as he considers his next step.

Bursting in there is a sure path to a panic attack, especially after his reaction to touch earlier. Staying outside isn't a good enough option though, knowing Keegan is struggling on the other side. He needs him to know that he's not alone.

He compromises, telling him, "I'm coming in," and gently opening the door, slipping just inside, and sitting down against the door.

Keegan is hunched on the other side of the toilet, stifling a gag against his hand as his eyes shoot up to the door, landing on Jamie, who can see his pupils are diluted in fear of whatever memory is warping his perception this evening.

He doesn't seem to catch that it's Jamie, as he curls his shoulders in more, eyes darting around the room.

"Hey," Jamie softens, voice as calming as he can make it, "Key, honey, you're safe, okay? It's just me."

He keeps talking, remembering how his voice is helpful when Keegan has a nightmare, and hoping the same principle applies now.

Keegan's face is red with the effort of not vomiting, though Jamie can tell he lost the battle earlier, seeing a splatter of vomit on the floor by Keegan's knee, and the way his hands tremble against the toilet seat.

His eyes flick around the room, stopping just above Jamie's right shoulder, landing, he realizes, on the door knob. His heart clenches again, wincing as he realizes he blocked the only exit from the room.

"Alright, I'm just going to move over here," he narrates, shifting to the opposite wall, equally far from Keegan, but no longer covering the door.

"It's okay, no ones going to hurt you. You're okay," he reassures softly, voice landing carefully in the space between them.

Keegan's eyes finally seem to settle on Jamie, and he smiles softly, "Hey love," he murmurs, relieved when Keegan seems to recognize him,

He watches as some of the tension drains from Keegan's posture, replaced immediately by an exhausted slump to his shoulders.

Keegan's breath hitches, and for a heartbreaking moment Jamie thinks he's going to start crying, but instead his hands clutch the toilet with renewed strength and he heaves himself up just in time for a wave of puke to spill from his mouth, splashing into the toilet.

Jamie grimaces, never a fan of vomit, but the knowledge that Keegan is disoriented and needs him to be steady is enough to drive everything else from his mind.

He stays where he is, against the wall, despite every instinct telling him to get closer, that Keegan needs him. This is what he needs right now, he reminds himself, staying put.

He keeps up a low stream of encouragement, softening the tension of the room and hoping it reaches through the sickness and can comfort Keegan at least a little.

Keegan finishes throwing up, spitting harshly into the soiled toilet water, staring listlessly at the floor.

When he starts to sway where he's sitting, Jamie can't help how he lurches forward a little.

"Keegan," he starts, more firm than he's been all night, "Look at me," he instructs gently, seeing in real time when the words filter into Keegan's awareness and he's able to drag his eyes up to meet Jamie's.

"I'm going to come closer, okay?" he waits for Keegan to acknowledge him, eyes focusing more and a hesitant nod. Good, he thinks, At least he recognizes me.

He can't tell if Keegan is actually relaxing, or if he's just so worn out that the stress isn't sustainable, but either way, it's nice to be able to creep across the floor and sit beside him. He deftly avoids the puke still sitting on the floor, and reaches around Keegan to flush the toilet, letting the vomit spin away.

"I'm still here, not going anywhere," Jamie murmurs, after silence invades the room for a few seconds, "You're safe here," he reiterates.

Keegan slowly tips towards Jamie, as if he's unsure if he will catch him or not. When his head finds purchase on Jamie's shoulder, it's as if all the anxiety he's been holding vanishes, and he droops against Jamie's steady form.

Jamie wraps an arm around him gently, tucking him closer and dropping a kiss on his head, still mumbling comforting words.

After a moment of soaking in the show of trust and the ability to look after his boyfriend, Jamie pulls back just enough to glance properly at Keegan's face.

"How're you doing?"

"I feel awful," Keegan mumbles back, and Jamie hides a grateful smile in his hair - not because he's miserable, but because he's finally being honest.

Jamie hums in acknowledgement, then asks, "What's going on? Are you sick?" He carefully brings his hand up to cup the back of his neck, feeling for a fever, but finding nothing alarming.

"Not sick…" he gulps carefully before continuing, "There was some banquet thing at school, and something didn't sit well-" he leans to the side with a small half-cut-off heave, and mutters, "Felt sick pretty much right away."

"You should've said something," he reprimands, tone still light, and Keegan somehow wilts further.

"I wanted to see you," he admits quietly.

Jamie rolls his eyes affectionately, "I always want to see you," he reassures quickly, "But you don't have to hide from me, about anything, ever. I'm still going to be here. You being sick, or simply not feeling well, is not something I want for you, but it will never be a problem. I'd rather handle it with you, than have you tucked away dealing with it by yourself."

Keegan sniffs, and Jamie glances down at him quickly, surprised to see tears trickling down his face.

"Aww, don't cryyyy," he whines, leaning in to kiss his head again, feeling his arms wrap around him more tightly in response.

Keegan huffs a laugh through his tears, a soft sob shuddering through his frame. He pulls away from the embrace abruptly, leaning back over the toilet as a sob morphs into a gag. He hovers there for a minute, as if waiting for his stomach his revolt. When nothing more happens, he groans, slumping back into Jamie's arms.

Jamie swipes the tears away, sitting in silence now, with his boyfriend settled in his arms.

"I'm sorry-" Keegan starts quietly.

"You don't have to apolo-" Jamie answers, but is quickly interrupted.

"No, let me…" he sighs, considering his words carefully, "I'm sorry that my past still dictates everything… That I can't just hug you without thinking it through first, that you can't just touch me without worrying about a panic attack, that I don't know how to talk about everything. Just… thank you, for dealing with all of my shit and putting up with me even when it drags me into nightmares and whatever the fuck this was tonight."

Jamie huffs a breath, twisting so he can bump their foreheads together, looking deep into Keegan's brilliantly blue eyes.

"Oh, hon, you sweet beautiful doofus. Okay, listen carefully," he speaks slowly, deliberate in his phrasing, but still passionate, "Your childhood, and life growing up, was shitty. It's not something anyone should have to experience, let alone a fucking kid. The fact that it left some scars is honestly kind of expected, and you were - and are - so brave for handling it, even when it tries to haunt you. I know it doesn't always feel like it, when it feels like it follows you, but you are so strong, and getting to know you has been the best thing in my life," his voice takes on a sternness briefly as he adds, "That is not something to apologize for, nor to thank me for."

Before Keegan's emotions can settle and he can form a response, Jamie resolutely concludes, "When things like tonight happen, all it does is remind me how amazing you are for coming out of that situation with the passion, love, and warmth that you carry with you."

Keegan's eyes closed at some point during his speech, Jamie's words soothing the self-deprecating thoughts, and all he can think is I love you, which he must have said outloud, since Jamie answers, "I love you too," a reverent whisper against his skin.

There's another moment of silence, as Keegan soaks in the love and care pouring out of Jamie, even while they sit on the bathroom floor.

There's a knock on the door, and Keegan tenses in his arms immediately pulling away from Jamie, settling back on the wall.

Recognizing how much stress another person could add to the situation, Jamie is about to tell them to leave them alone, but Colin's head pokes in before he can figure out how to phrase it more diplomatically.

Jamie sighs in exasperation at Colin's boldness, turning to his friend, reaching for Keegan's hand to remind him that they're okay.

"You guys need anything?" Colin asks, practically vibrating with the desire to be useful. He looks right at Keegan, "You doin' okay?" he asks more hesitantly, noting Keegan's wary posture.

"Colin, we're good. I've got him," Jamie reassures, "Leave us, please?" he asks perhaps more bluntly than he usually would, but he doesn't want this situation to escalate more than it already has.

Colin's eyes dim, slumping just a little bit, but he still smiles and nods, "Hope you feel better," he tells Keegan, than catches Jamie's eye again, "Let me know if I can help." He closes the door softly behind him, and Jamie's attention returns immediately to Keegan.

His arm winds around his shoulders to tug him back in, but he freezes when Keegan groans, "No, don't-"

He pulls away, and Jamie feels a brief tug of disappointment. It's quickly explained though when Keegan coughs up another wave of chunky vomit. Jamie grimaces, turning his face away.

It takes him a minute to realize that Keegan left his hand open next to him, and Jamie is relieved to have an invitation and not have to guess what Keegan wants, quickly connecting their fingers.

"I've got you," he murmurs, as Keegan rides out the waves, heaving weakly into the toilet. His entire body is taught as he strains over the bowl, only a thin trickle of stomach acid to show for his efforts. Jamie winces in sympathy, cooing gently as Keegan decides he's done, and tension starts to seep from his form.

He stays hunched over, eyes fixed in the difference as he swallows carefully and sighs shakily.

"Let's go to my room," Jamie suggests, as he flushes the toilet, and recognizes the sluggishness now weighing Keegan down. He lifts his head, dragging his eyes up to meet Jamie's, and then his eyebrows furrow, and he looks back at his lap.

"But…" Keegan hesitates, gesturing at the toilet and the half-congealed puddle of puke sitting there.

"You still feeling sick?" Jamie asks gently, already planning to grab a bowl or bucket or something.

"Kind of…" Keegan affirms, but is eyeing the puddle of sick now, face paling as it makes his stomach squirm further.

"Oh, I've got that," Jamie says nonchalantly, following his gaze, unsurprised that Keegan is fixating on every potential problem more than his own well-being.

"No, I can-"

"Keegan, let me look after you, please," Jamie pushes. Jamie can see the battle he's fighting; His need to be independent, learned through years of abuse and relying pretty much only on himself, against his desire to hide somewhere safe, having already been pushed so far out of his comfort zone from being sick away from his home with other people around.

Finally, his eyes sparkling with tears once more, he nods, and relief drips down Jamie's spine.

"Alright, come on," he agrees, movements slow and predictable as he shifts away, tugging Keegan up after him with hands on his elbows as he leads him out of the bathroom.

He opens the bathroom door, and Charlie's voice, previously muffled by the door, now calls clearly, "Has anyone seen my-?! Never mind! I found it!" and the movie still plays in the living room. Keegan shifts out of his grip, and scampers ahead into Jamie's room.

He follows Keegan into his room, where he's already sitting on the bed, with his head in his hands.

He crouches down in front of him, peering up at his pale, washed-out face.

"Can I borrow some clothes?" Keegan asks through his fingers. Jamie chuckles, moving to his dresser and fishing out a pair of loose pymaja shorts and a sweater that was draped over the chair in the corner.

"Love that that's your first thought," he teases under his breath, passing him the clothes, "Try those?"

"Thanks," Keegan says, stifling a yawn behind his hand, as he starts to peel of his shirt. He came right from the school, still dressed in his soft grey polo shirt and pants that cannot be comfortable with a sore stomach. Still, it makes for kind of a funny image; his beanpole of a boyfriend wearing an oversized sweater and shorts that, while big on Jamie, are noticeably short on his taller form. He doesn't seem to mind though, already moving to lie down.

Jamie leans down, kissing the top of his head, "I'll be back in a minute, kay?"

Keegan nods, turning onto his side, and Jamie slips from the room.

His first stop is the bathroom, to clean up, just like he promised Keegan he would.

He pauses outside the door for just a second, fomalizing the list of things he wants to grab, then beelines for the kitchen. There, he gathers a water bottle, and glances through the fridge, before turning back towards the living room.

"Hey Colin?" he calls, watching his head snap up, like a dog on alert, "D'you have any Gatorade that we could have?"

He hops up, walking over to Jamie, "Yeah, of course! There isn't one in the fridge?"

Jamie shakes his head, "I didn't see any…?"

Colin frowns, then groans, "Crap. I completely forgot to replace it," he mutters to himself, bending down to fish some out of the cupboard. "Looks like there's only purple and lemon-lime left - does that work?"

"Sure, thanks," Jamie agrees, grabbing the bottles, hoping that Keegan will like the flavours.

Charlie walks past them calling, "Purple is not a flavour, Colin!"

Jamie starts walking back to his room, then pauses turning back, "Colin? Um, I'm sorry… for before," wincing when Colin frowns, remembering his own bluntness.

"Oh! That. Yeah, no, I get it, it's fine," he confirms with a smile, "Go look after your boy!"

Jamie nods, grateful that Colin's so understanding.

Charlie calls over from where she's putting her shoes on, "How's he doing?"

He shrugs, "Okay, I think? It looks like food poisoning, so hopefully he'll feel better soon, and then I'll take him home."

Charlie nods, but Colin hurries to add, "You know he could stay over?"

Jamie tips his head in acknowledgement, explaining, "Yeah, but he'll be more comfortable at his place, without extra people and stuff."

Colin takes the explanation with a thoughtful nod, and Charlie smiles.

Finally satisfied, he heads back to his room, stopping again when he hears the telltale trill of Charlie's low alert.

She groans, "Are you kidding me? Guess I'm correcting on the bus," she mutters, and then Colin murmurs something that he can't hear, and she adds, "Yes, I have everything I need, it's fine. I don't even feel low yet."

Even though he's still a little shaken by her emergency low a couple weeks ago, he's reassured that she feels okay and has a handle on it, finally making it back to his room.

"Hey," he murmurs, entering slowly, in case Keegan's in a weird headspace. He half-expects to find him asleep, but instead he's hunched over the side of the bed, head in his hands.

"What's going on? You okay?" he questions, crouching in front of him.

"Yeah, just… too far in my head right now. Can't sleep, and don't wanna to think," Keegan answers, voice muffled by his hands.

"Alright. And how are you feeling? Better at all?" Jamie questions, placing a hand on his knee, resulting in an unconscious flinch, but he doesn't pull away from the contact. And he lifts his head, eyes meeting Jamie's for the first time in awhile, and he's relived to find them noticeably clearer than earlier, so he leaves his hand where it is.

"A bit, yeah. Not, um, great, but…" he trails off with a shrug.

Jamie files that information away. He tugs on Keegan's hand as he settles himself against the headboard, waiting until he joins him to wrap an arm around his shoulders. He stretches back towards the table to grab the Gatorade, offering them to Keegan (he opens the lemon-lime one).

It's supposed to be comforting, the two of them cuddling, but it quickly becomes apparent that it's not helping. For one, Jamie's shorter than Keegan so his shoulder is being pulled in a weird way trying to keep his arm there. For another, Keegan is stiff against his side, fingers toying with the sweater sleeve.

Jamie finds his mind wandering, wondering if he should have called Jayden or Alix; He's feeling definitively out of his depth, and doesn't want to be adding any stress to the situation. Keegan seems uncomfortable and on-edge, and they have the history and understanding of Keegan that he just doesn't entirely have yet. The trust is there, but it's not instinctive the way it is for the three of them. But, selfishly… he doesn't want to call them. It feels like he's just earned their respect as Keegan's boyfriend, and he doesn't want to admit that he might need help.

He decides not to call for now. He's figured it out so far. And they are boyfriends: that has to count for something.

After another few awkward seconds, Jamie makes the executive decision, gently pulling back and dropping his arm.

Keegan's the one who breaks the silence though, quietly asking, "Could you find me a book? Left mine in the car, I think."

"Yeah, 'course. D'you feel like a classic, or something easier?" He knows that Keegan's favourites are often the classics, but he's also well-versed in the joy of a low-stakes YA novel. He kneels, turning around so he can scan the bookshelf above his bed.

Keegan frowns at him, "You don't like classics…?" he questions, puzzled.

"Well yeah, but I can only listen to you rave about them so many times before reading them myself," he teases, a soft smile on his face. When he glances over at Keegan, his eyes are glossy with tears, and he's looking at him in awe.

"You… you're reading them for me?"

Jamie raises an eyebrow, not sure why that's such a surprise, "I mean, yeah? I spend half my time reading anyways - I wanted to be able to understand what you're talking about, and what you're teaching. And I must admit, while a little dull, they're plenty enjoyable, and I can really see the themes you're always talking about…" he trails off, when Keegan grabs his hand, glancing back at him.

"I love you so much," Keegan says through a watery smile.

"Likewise," Jamie grins at him, "Now, classic? Or something YA?"

"I think YA tonight. Something I've read before?" Jamie nods, scanning his shelves, and pulling down a couple, then walking across the room to the other shelf and retrieving one from there, offering them to Keegan for him to peruse and choose from, "I think you've read these?"

Once he's settled with a book, Jamie grabs his own from the bedside table, and they cuddle together, much more relaxed than before. Jamie pretends not to notice when Keegan slips a hand under his sweater to rest on his belly.

After a moment of consideration, he grabs his phone, logging into Charlie's glucose moniter app, checking that she's in range, and relieved when her values are normal - proof that her correction worked properly.

He thinks back to his previous train of thought, glad that he hadn't called Jayden or Alix earlier. He's more comfortable with the knowledge that he can offer support and comfort to Keegan. They have grown since the early days of their relationship.

Unless… it could have helped Keegan, and his own desire to prove he's good for him meant he took that comfort from him.

"Hey, bookworm?" Keegan interrupts his thoughts, and he peels his eyes away from where they've been staring blankly at the page, "You haven't turned the page in over 5 minutes. What're you thinking about?"

Jamie takes a deep breath, leaning more into him, "Did you want to call Jayden, or Alix?"

Keegan pulls back, caught off guard. "Um, no? Why would I want to call them?" He looks so confused, and Jamie almost feels bad bringing it up, when he knows Keegan must be tired, and still not feeling great.

"I just thought, maybe because they know you so well… that you might want them instead of me."

He frowns, before understanding dawns across his face, "Oh Jamie. I don't think you understand how much I think about you every day. Like, I always want to be around you. Even like this. And I'm sorry I didn't tell you earlier when I felt off - I'm working on that, but it was more about the situation than it was about you, or us."

"Oh. It's just that, sometimes, I kind of wonder where I fit?" he's quick to add, realizing how that sounds, "And it's nothing against them! I completely appreciate their role in your life! I didn't mean-"

"Hey, hey, it's okay," Keegan interrupts, "I get it." He's quiet for a minute, trying to connect his thoughts in a way he can articulate them, "I know what I have with Jay and Lexi is… different. I don't remember my life without them, and I can't imagine it without them now. But at the same time, I like that you're learning… me. It's been a long time since someone has bothered to get close to me, and I like that you're getting to know me as I am now. And I like that you don't know everything about my past, and that I get to share it on my own. These are all things I like about our relationship, that set you apart as my partner. You don't have to fit, because I'm always going to make space for you."

Jamie's quiet for a minute, letting it set in, then he releases the breath he didn't realize he was holding, leaning in to Keegan, "Oh. Okay. That's… really nice to know."

"How long have you been feeling like that?" Keegan suddenly asks, clear blue eyes staring at him.

"Um, I don't know? It's something I try not to think about. I guess I just really thought through it tonight?"

"Well, you know you're my favourite boyfriend," Keegan adds with a teasing smirk.

Jamie processes, then bursts out laughing, "Hon, I'm your only boyfriend!"

"Still my favourite," he insists, devolving into laughter himself.

Tension resolved, they settle back to their respective books, Jamie actually reading this time.

After a while, there's a knock on the door, and a half-asleep Keegan stiffens against Jamie, glancing warily at the door. Through the wood of the door, Max's voice is muffled when they ask, "Are you guys okay? D'you need anything?"

Jamie calls back, "We're good, Max, thanks!" The receding footsteps are enough for Keegan to slump back, though Jamie can tell he's on edge from the tightness around his eyes.

"I think we should maybe head out," he mentions, and Keegan frowns at him.

"What do you mean?"

"Oh, shoot. I thought I'd already told you - I thought we'd head back to yours. You'll probably be more comfortable there, yeah?" Jamie worries his lip between his teeth. While he's sure it's true, he's realizing now that he might have jumped to that conclusion a bit prematurely.

But Keegan melts, tucking his face into Jamie's neck, arms wrapping around him.

"Thank you," he sighs, relieved, "That sounds nice."

So they gather their things, and Jamie tucks an arm around him as they head to the front door. Max now sits on the living room floor petting Sage the guinea pig.

They glance up as they pass, and Jamie teases, "You managed to avoid the chaos this evening, huh?"

They laugh, tugging Sage back when she tries to scamper off, "I guess."

As they start to pull on their shoes, the front door opens and Rowyn trudges in, dropping his bag by the door. He barely glances at them as he toes off his shoes and drops into a kitchen chair. Jamie and Max share a glance, as Max scoops up Sage and comes closer.

"Ro?" they ask, and when he looks up, he looks exhausted, eyes red-rimmed. Jamie winces, glancing back at Keegan only to find him completely oblivious, eyes fixed on the floor.

Right, he reminds himself, This is not helping, we should go.

He taps Keegan's hand to get his attention, and meet Max's gaze one last time, "Guess you didn't miss all the chaos," he jokes, before telling them, "I'm gonna take Key home… Bye."

He walks out the door, Keegan trailing after him.

Once they're tucked inside his little Punchbuggy, he sighs, leaning his head back against the headrest, hoping against hope that Rowyn and Colin can sort their mess out before it implodes on the rest of them.

When they pull up outside Keegan's apartment, he doesn't move right away, glancing at Jamie instead.

"You're um… you're coming right?"

Jamie smiles, "Yeah, I thought I'd stay the night, if that's okay."

"Please," Keegan sighs, exciting he vehicle. Jamie's quick to follow him, grabbing their bags from the backseat.

Walking up the stairs and into Keegan's place, Jamie feels a profound sense of calm. Sure, the evening did not go at all as they expected, but he has a newfound security in his relationship.

He smiles at Jayden and Alix when they pass, and settles onto Keegan's bed with his book. Watching Keegan puttering about, he's relieved to see more of the tension draining away now that he's in his safe space.

They spent the evening on some together activity that they both liked and counted as quality time.

Because Adalyn was his co-worker and girlfriend. And boss, in a way.

Sometimes Lucian felt like the life he was living wasn't his own. Like it was all a dream he couldn't wake up from.

Adalyn said it was normal. They just moved cities and moved in together, starting on her funded PhD project on meaning making and identity-building in urban areas.

They needed to create so many things from scratch. Routines in the new apartment. Routines around each other. Turn the place into a home, the huge city maze into a collection of favourite spots.

Lucian couldn't remember why he wanted to come here. But he had, obviously, made the decision, so it was probably for a good reason.

He had no reason not to love Adalyn. She was beautiful, ethereal, with those soft silver-blond locks and seaglass eyes. They carried that strange in-between shade he could never quite name — too green for blue, too blue for green. Like a walking fairy princess.

Strangely enough, he couldn't remember why he loved her either. He was supposed to. His day was made of all the things he was supposed to do.

"You are drifting, because you just lost your school structure," Adalyn told him during their coffee ritual at the balcony with the city view. "Think about it; it's the first time nobody is creating an external order for you. Not your parents, not university, not the dorms or friends. Just you."

He leaned back in the chair with a wry smile, watching her long silver locks in the wind. "You mean just me to handle money, social pressure, productivity demands, and independent decisions."

It should have felt freeing. He just felt empty.

She smiled at him, bright white teeth flashing in the falling twilight. "It's a strange responsibility, huh? Whether you are happy or unhappy, it's suddenly all your fault."

When her pale hand reached out to him, he took it automatically. Taking comfort from her touch, even if it was cold.

"We'll figure it out together," she promised.

...

Adalyn waited until Lucian went to shower before bed to write up her latest research thoughts.

Subjects struggles with memory loss and new identity, but accepts reasonable explanations. He doesn't seem to doubt the artificial memories or reality presented to him. Though subject feels uneasy in his own skin. The routine created for him might not be demanding enough. Considering more structured activities. Head researcher feels uneasy about independent outings, but they might be necessary to create hobbies subject would find stimulating enough to build his own taste and sense of progress.

She closed down her notebook, lost in thought while the city buzzed with life beneath her. Her new apartment was especially devoid of all demons and spirits she was used to having around. As if they felt the demon king was here.

Even trapped in his human form, he seemed to radiate a presence they had to respect.

Yes, it was an ambitious experiment, having the demon king building a human life and personhood. She wondered how much he would remember. How much of his personality would resurface. If he had a strong enough one to manage that.

Adalyn needed to keep him close. What better way than to pretend he was her boyfriend, going through a quarter-life crisis while working on this research with her? She was head of that identity and meaning-making project.

The university just didn't know it also involved demons (to be fair, demons were such an undervalued resource that beautifully represented the city's moods and lifestyle) nor that the demon king became the main research subject.

“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.

"I don't sound like that, you gave me an accent."

"You sound like you chain-smoke, oh, which you do," the little shit insisted, leading the way. Max did not chain smoke, "how was the date with Vin?"

"It wasn't a date," Max groaned, although his stomach filled up with butterflies at the memory of their little intimate dinner, "he just cooked me dinner because he says I can't live on a beige diet."

"Honestly," Leo agreed, gloomily, "all you eat is rice, potatoes and the occasional avocado. That cannot be healthy."

"I have steak sometimes!" Max cried out, speeding up to keep up with Leo, "and I'm perfectly healthy."

Leo looked pointedly at his stomach, "yeah, except for the Curse," he snorted, then let out a weird choking noise and braced against the shelves as he started coughing.

Max jumped back, raised his hand to smack his friend on the back in case he was choking, but those were deep. chesty coughs. Leo whimpered at the tail end, clutching his throat.

"Urgh, fuck."

"Are you sick?" Max guessed, squinting at Leo. The other guy had a bright pink splotch in the middle of his cheeks, but other than that he was pale as a ghost.

"Probably," Leo groaned, walking ahead as if leading the way, "it's just a cold, don't worry about it."

"Why the hell are you thrift shopping when you have a cold?" Max rushed to keep up, just as Leo beamed as he found a big lava lamp.

"This is cool-"

"Leo," Max scoffed, "why are we shopping if you're sick? Shouldn't you be in bed? Did McDreamy even allow you to leave home if you're sick?"

Leo huffed out a chuckle, which quickly morphed into a cough and he had to shove the lamp into Max's arms in order to turn around and fold in the middle. It sounded painful.

"Sh-she-et," Leo whined, grabbing onto a shelf to straighten up, and pretending Max wasn't seeing it, "I'm fine. I wanna shop, I'm excited. Besides, I don't need Jon's permission to leave home, he's not the boss of me."

"He doesn't know, uh?" Max grinned, rolling his eyes, "sneaky little shit."

Leo blushed, but shrugged, "leave me alone," he mumbled and kept walking, "help me pick a rug."

Max sighed, rubbing his forehead in a frustrated manner and following the guy around, "do you have siblings?" He asked, as Leo continued to pile random items on his arms, unbothered.

He froze on his tracks, eyebrows up and looking around as if Max had been talking with anyone else, "Uh- me?"

"Yes, you," Max rolled his eyes impatiently, procuring a basket to dump all the trinkets he was carrying.

"No," Leo snickered, cheeks turning pink slightly, "none that I know of, anyway."

Max narrowed his eyes at the cryptic answer, "your parents aren't together anymore?" He guessed, already imagining Leo as the child of a nasty divorce. It would explain why they got along so well, damage recognized damage.

"You could say that," Leo mumbled to himself, not as an answer to Max, rubbing his chest and then holding up a finger, as he turned around to cough mercilessly. They were turning really nasty, wet and deep, obviously painful.

Max finally managed to find a basket and got rid of the items — a lava lamp, a welcome mat, a bathroom rug, a black and white biker poster and an assortment of containers for shit like dish soap — and moved so he could pat Leo's back. His hand hung in the air for a split second before he made up his mind and planted it on the guy's back, putting force into the pats and rubs.

Leo spluttered for air, face pink and eyes teary, bracing against a wall as he took difficult breaths, "fuck," he whined, pitifully, clutching his throat. Max pursed his lips, now he was close enough to be able to tell Leo had a fever.

"Yeah, that's enough, I'm driving you home," Max decided and Leo raised a hand in the air and shooed him away as if he was an inconvenient dog.

"Not yet," he said, or rather, whispered, his voice shot. Leo groaned, a hand clutching his throat, a grimace on his face, "the quicker you help me, the quicker we leave."

Max rolled his eyes dramatically, Leo was such a prick. Dying, but still being stubborn, "fiiiine, what do you need me to look for?"

"Uhm-" Leo squinted at his phone screen, the glare of it bothering him enough he reduced the brightness to nearly dark. He tapped on the screen for Max to see and he had to step closer in order to see what was written.

"Curtains, okay- Uh, why the fuck is there cat written here?" Max chuckled, taking the phone from Leo's hand in order to make sure he hadn't read it wrong. Sure enough, the word "cat" was written under curtain and above "lava lamp", "I don't think Goodwill has those, buddy."

"You need a kitten," Leo said, defensively, stretching and snatching his phone back with a bit of a pout, "cute and cudd-Aw," he hissed, hand curling around his throat. He gulped down, then gestured as if locking his mouth, meaning he wasn't planning on speaking further.

Max groaned, dramatically, "I'm gonna end up killing it! I'm not fit for a pet!"

"Jon said the same," Leo grinned, his eyes sparkling with fever, "c'mon, curtains."

It took them fifteen more minutes before they finished Leo's list and a whole lot more bitching from Max as he paid for all of it, then they were off.

Leo was sneezing now, the tip of his nose red, as well as his cheeks and he looked miserable. On his way out he had grabbed a box of tissues and he sniffled as he walked side by side with Max.

"Are you finally gonna go home?"

"Nuh-huh," Leo gulped down, shuddering. His voice had grown really hoarse, "pet store."

"Dude!" Max cried out, finishing shoving his bags on Leo's backseat. Now he regretted not having driven there, because he felt like he was in a hostage situation, but on the other hand there was no way Leo could drive himself back. So whatever, "I cannot keep a pet alive, I can barely keep myself alive-"

"Exactly the reason you need one," Leo jiggled the car keys and Max considered manhandling him for it. He wasn't as tall, nor did he frequent a gym half as often, he definitely couldn't win in a fight on a good day, but Leo looked sick enough he might just get lucky.

Or he could call Jonah, Max thought smugly, but gave up on the idea immediately. Him and Jonah weren't friends, it felt awkward calling him about anything that wasn't an emergency.

"Lessgo, Max!" Leo jumped ahead of him, way too much energy for someone who was sick, entering the driver's side and slamming his door. Max sighed, heavily.

"You're like a toddler," he declared, entering the passenger side and glaring at his friend. The car started before he even managed to put his seat belt on, "such a pain in the ass."

"You're just sooo much fun to rage bait," Leo beamed at him, then ducked his head to sneeze loudly, rubbing at his nose, "aww'sfycks," he reached blindly for the tissue box and Max handed it to him with a judgemental glare, watching as he blew his nose and it triggered a coughing fit.

"You're in no state to drive," Max scoffed, as soon as they stopped on a red light and Leo lowered his forehead to the steering wheel, coughs harsh enough Max was half convinced he was gonna bring up his lunch, "pull over."

"Nuh," Leo shook his head, grabbing three different tissues and pressing it to his mouth as he shuddered, spitting into it. Gross, Max thought with a grimace.

"I'm serious, pull over, you're gonna end up crashing," Max gestured for him that the light had turned green, "I'll drive."

"To the-" Leo sniffled, his nose starting to run, so he pressed a tissue under it, voice coming out muffled, "pe'sfore?"

"Leoo-"

A stubborn, feverish glare answered him and Max sighed, loudly, "Fine! To the fucking pet store so I can pick the animal that will end up killing!"

Leo squinted at him, from the corner of his eye, the car going so slow that they received a honk and a swear. His shoulders dropped, "M'kay..."

Max had half a mind to just ignore his promise and take Leo straight home, but he decided against it because he was about 50% sure this might cause Leo to cry and he really wouldn't know how to fix that.

There was a pet store near the Wagner-Banks building anyway, one where Leo was apparently a regular, because the guy behind the counter perked up at seeing him and said, "Leo! Where's JD?"

Max shifted uncomfortably, looking around the place. Rows and rows of canned pet food, all sorts of trinkets... There were birds in the back and Max abandoned Leo with his acquaintance, in order to go inspect it.

He thought birds were cute, but too noisy and, honestly, too fragile. The chances of him killing it were exponentially higher than a cat, and they were already pretty high for the cat.

On the opposite wall there were three large tanks, with fishes and Max grinned. He should get one of those, they seemed easy enough-

"You're not getting a fish," Leo spawned next to him, as if reading his mind, "they're boring."

Max rolled his eyes, "they're fine-"

Leo grabbed him by the elbow, guiding him further inside, grumbling like an old man. Max ignored his bitching in favor of trying to gauge just how high was his fever. Seemed higher than it had been in Goodwill and he seemed more pale now, sweaty.

"Are you nauseous?"

Leo did not dignify him with a response. Max groaned, dragged his feet.

They passed by a tank with snakes and he perked up, "those are cool-"

"You need something you can cuddle," Leo shook his head and then nearly walked straight into a shelf as the movement made him dizzy. He braced a hand against the nearest wall, taking measured breaths through his mouth.

"Sorta looks like you're gonna hurl," Max egged him on, deciding if Leo did puke in the store, maybe he could walk away pet-free. Though the snakes had looked truly really fun.

"M'not," Leo gulped down, coughing in the crook of his elbow and finally managing to get Max where he wanted him, in front of a playpen with four little cats inside of it, for donation.

Two of them were tabbys, with blue eyes and stripes all over. One seemed to be wearing a tuxedo and the other one was a very fluffy ginger.

"Pick'em up," Leo shoved his arm in a friendly way, then collapsed against the fire exit, glaring at the floor as he very clearly was fighting nausea. Max rolled his eyes, bossy motherfucker.

They were wriggly and yeah, adorable... Just not enough, Max decided, inspecting a kitten that tried to swat at his face. Meowing pitifully.

"Eh, they're fine," he shrugged, "I don't know, Leo..."

"Are you more of a dog person? You don't seem like one," Leo seemed genuinely puzzled by not knowing Max inside out. Which was crazy, because as this day had made clear, Max didn't even know if he had siblings. How did Leo decide he just knew him so well, uh?

"No, I'm not a dog person..." He put the cats back down, crossing his arms... Then glanced back to the enclosure with the repetiles, leaving Leo behind as his friend hacked up a lung. Stubborn idiot.

There were three snakes inside of the tank, all skinny and tiny, like freaking zip ties. Max immediately lowered himself to get a better look, unable to stop himself from smiling when he got a clear view of their derpy faces and long, darting tongues.

"Oh, they are cute," he sighed, dreamily.

"Wanna pick 'em up?" The store clerk asked and Max nodded, eagerly.

One of them was red, with orange markings all over its body, the other one was plain brown and the third one was yellow. He had never held a snake in his life, so he was surprised by how friendly they were and stiff, holding themselves up in his hands.

"This one is really cute," Max decided, bringing the red snake up to his face, to the point they were almost nose to nose. They were babies, he could tell by how skinny and tiny they were, "how big does it get?"

"Eh, no bigger than 4 feet," the clerk shrugged, "they're corn snakes, they're not large."

"How much is he?" Max carefully petted the head of the snake who was watching him curiously. It's whole head was about the size of his thumb, a little bigger.

The pet was only 60 bucks, but he needed a bunch of extra crap, so Max ended up spending more in the pet store than he had in the previous one... Not that he minded, feeling like a kid as he cradled the snake in his palm and wondered what the hell to name him.

Leo had, at some point, slipped outside the store and Max met with him as he loaded up the trunk of his car with his new pet's enclosure and a box of frozen pinkies.

"I can't believe you're getting a snake," Leo groaned, glaring in the direction of the animal, as he pressed his overheated forehead to the cool metal of Max's car.

"Aw, c'mon, he's super cute!" Max cried out, circling the vehicle so he could hold it up to Leo, "look at him!"

Leo squinted, eyes rimmed red and nose too, looking about ready to collapse. Max lowered the snake, "okay, you're done for today," he said, strongly, "c'mon, get in the car, Leo."

"What- What are you gonna name him?" Leo collapsed on the passenger's seat, flinching as Max put the snake inside of a styrofoam carriage he had been given and planted it on his lap.

"I don't know," Max shrugged, "Snake?"

"What the fuck, you can't name your snake snake," Leo glared at him, flabbergasted.

"How about Serpent?"

"Absolutely not," Leo waved him off.

Several minutes passed and they were in a comfortable silence when Leo groaned, "I'm getting carsick."

Said point blank and deadpan like that, Max took a minute to process it, "you- What?"

"Speed up," Leo bossed, wrapping an arm around his stomach, "don't feel well..."

"Goddammit, Leo," Max scoffed, pressing on the gas pedal, "do I have to pull over? I think I gotta-"

"Urrk-UURK-" Leo heaved, grabbing the snake box at the last second as he leaned forward, to avoid puking on its head.

"LET ME PULLOVER!" Max squealed, blindly reaching to grab his pet while his eyes scanned the street for a spot to park. Leo's back convulsed with another empty retch.

There was a parking spot a meter away-

"Max-" Leo warned him, voice clipped, pressing a hand to his mouth as his whole body shook. Max ignored him, driving a little manically in order to stop the car and then clicking the release button of Leo's seatbelt, shoving the passenger door open, just as Leo leaned to the side and brought up a stream of his lunch.

"Aw, dude..." Mx cooed, heart racing from the little adrenaline spike, planting a hand on Leo's trembling back as the guy coughed and ended up vomiting even more.

"Did I..." Leo groaned, then sneezed loudly, body lurching. He gasped for air for a couple minutes, not seeming to realize he was making a breathless, whining sound, before he tried again, "did I puke on him?"

Max took a second too long to realize Leo meant the snake, who was still in the styrofoam box clutched in his other hand. He snorted, looking at it. Sure enough, there was a disgusting dot of orangey saliva on top of the white box and he wrinkled his nose, using the hem of Leo's sweater to clean it, because fuck this kid.

"Almost," he grimaced, opening the box and beaming when the snake immediately poked his head out, clearly curious about what all that jostling around had been, "I think you just startled him."

"Should..." Leo spat and straightened up, falling against the seat's back with a laborious breath, clutching his chest, "name him Barfy."

"Absolutely not," Max glared at the side of his head, closing the lid of the snake's enclosure again, "how are you holding up, Leo?"

"Awful," he wheezed, voice all croaky, "think I got a fever..."

Without hesitating, this time around, Max pressed his hand to Leo's forehead and groaned out loud, "yeah, you're burning up... Are you done? We're about a block away from your place..."

Leo gulped down, seeming to think it over, then ducked his head quickly as three rapid sneezes overcame him. He let out a loud, long groan, "fuuuuck- Yeah, led'sjustgo..." his words slurred together and he sniffled, pitifully.

Max smiled, "If I put him back on your lap you promise not to puke on him again?" he said, already planting the little box on Leo's lap. The other guy let out a huff, a smile breaking in his pained face.

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.

— — —

The park that's within walking distance from their place is a delightful green space, with a path winding through a small forest, and a fairly impressive playground that always has kids climbing all over.

By the time they make it to the park, Colin has stopped dragging his feet, and is actually talking to them, a running stream of thoughts. When they pass someone walking their dog, Colin glances at them, eyes bright, and pauses on the path, asking to pet the dog.

He crouches down run his hands across the wiry jack russel terrier, it's pink tongue licking at his hands. He laughs, the sound brighter than it's been in days, and Max feels their heart warm at the sound.

Colin stands, thanking the owner, and they continue on their way, Colin with a new bounce in his step.

Max is glad to see him acting more like himself, but part of them can't help but wonder if any of it is for their benefit, or if it's entirely genuine. Colin is usually exactly what he seems, but Max wouldn't be entirely surprised if he saw through their attempt at cheering him up and are doing it to appease him - he's perceptive like that.

But on the other hand, he does legitimately seem happier, the sun adding a glow to his skin, and his grin is characteristically bright. Max feels their own tension start to ease, now that Colin is acting more like himself, turning their face to the sun as their skirt flows in the gentle breeze, laughter floating around them.

— — —

Colin knows they're trying to cheer him up, but he went along with their scheme easy enough, ready to shake off the fog that's been clouding his mind. He's not typically a negative person, or someone who dwells on things, but the undercurrant of anxiety has been plaguing him for days at this point.

He shakes the thoughts from his head. There's no new information and he can't think about Rowyn more than he already has.

So he throws himself into the afternoon, sun beating down, and letting himself get swept up in the effort of his friends.

He pets the dog, and watches the children squealing as they climb the playground, and shrieking as they rush down the slide. It's enough to remind him of the good in the world.

Max and Jamie walk with him, sometimes ahead, sometimes beside. They talk about everything, except he realizes, Rowyn and Julie. Every topic is gently steered away from the pool, and away from their place. He finds himself commenting on everything under the sun, glad to be able to give his unfiltered thoughts and feel fully un-judged.

They find a picnic table under a tree, and sit watching the park for a few minutes, Colin making up scores and commentary for the kids going down the slide.

"Ooh, did you see that?! That was cool," he laughs, as a kid goes shooting out the bottom of the slide and does a pose towards their friend before running off again.

Jamie laughs, and Max grins, their day continuing in the easy comfort of their friendship.

After the park, they stop by a coffee shop. Colin gets some fancy new lemonade thing with a name way longer than should be necessary. Max gets an iced latte, and Jamie gets a hot chocolate. It's a little too hot outside for a hot drink, Colin thinks to himself, as he sips his cool lemonade, that for some reason is coloured blue, but Jamie seems happy enough.

There's still time in the afternoon, before any of them have adult responsibilities, so they walk back to the park, and spend them hanging out on the shaded grass, under a large maple tree.

It's nice. They haven't spent much time as a trio lately, with everything that's been going on - Colin's issues with Rowyn, Jamie spending so much time with Keegan, and Max settling into their job and talking more with Leo.

Jamie hasn't turned to a book once, even though Colin knows he has one in the bag he's been carrying around all afternoon, and instead he's filling them in on his relationship with Keegan, telling them about his latest date, and they're giggling like high school girls.

All to say, Colin's enjoying the time with his best friends, where he doesn't have to think about what he says.

So he can't exactly be to blame when there's a lull in the conversation and he lets slip that, "I think Rowyn's avoiding me." He regrets it immediately, because the mood sours instantly as Max tenses, and Jamie glances between the two of them. We were doing so good, not talking about Rowyn. He takes a sip of his drink to avoid their eyes.

Jamie looks back at Colin, and says, "Are you sure? You know he's busy…"

"I know he's busy Jamie. But he's hardly been home the last few days, and I can't remember the last time I woke up with him still next to me. That's not just being busy, that's intentional."

Max softly adds, "You know, he seems pretty run down. I'm kind of worried about him."

Colin's gaze snaps to them, "Yeah?" He's fishing for any grain of information, anything that will help him understand what went wrong between them.

Now that the topic has been broached, the weight comes rushing back. He's underwater, no goggles, trying to wade through to find whatever he's missing. He's untethered and doesn't know how to find his way back. And he's starting to realize that he's actually scared of what happens next.

Max hesitates, then nods, a microexpression hinting at something, and Colin frowns. Assessing them, he finds a small furrow between their eyebrows, and that they're biting down on their lip just a bit. They look… guilty.

"Max? What do you know? What has he said?!" he knows he sounds a little desperate, leaning forward in his desires to know, but Max shrinks away. Jamie looks between them again, eyes flicking back and forth like he's watching a tennis match.

"Colin, maybe you shou-" Jamie starts, trying to diffuse the tension.

He waves him off, eyes fixed on Max, who's fingers move nervously on the lid of their cup, "Please, just…" he trails off, finally noticing how uncomfortable Max is. "I just want to understand," he finishes weakly.

He looks away, fight draining out of him, and Jamie sighs as Max starts to murmur, "I don't know… I don't want to…"

"Colin," Jamie says more sharply than normal, waiting until he's looking at him, "Rowyn is our friend too, and he's going through something right now. That doesn't mean the way he's treating you is right, and we are both rooting for you guys to work things out. However, that does not mean Max has to share things that were said in confidence, nor should you be using us as sources of information." He slumps back when he finishes, as though he's been waiting to say that.

Colin pouts a little, looking properly chastised, but he chews on his lip for a second, before glancing at Max and muttering, "Sorry dude, that wasn't cool."

Some of the tension from Max's shoulders drops away, and they sigh, adding, "We're happy to listen, if you need to talk or vent, but you have to recognize that we are in the middle here, yeah?"

He frowns, then explodes, "Well, so am I! I'm so sick of this! Rowyn's hardly looking at me anymore, but somehow has me questioning my life choices, and Julie's whispering in my ear all shift about how Rowyn's being emotionally abusive and he 'can't possible be good enough for me' and I can't even argue with that right now, but I know Rowyn, just apparently not as well as I thought! And I don't know what to do."

Jamie sighs, fingers twitching next to him, "You need to talk to him." Max squirms, uncomfortable, and adds, "And listen to him. Properly, I mean."

"Yeah," he sighs, taking another sip of his drink.

"Wait a sec, Julie think Rowyn is being emotionally abusive?!" Jamie suddenly exclaims.

Colin nods, biting his lip, and looking at his drink, "She won't listen to me when I tell her that's not what's happening."

Max sighs, takes a drink of their latte to stall, then says, "You have to know, he really does care about you, right? He's not doing this on purpose. I just… don't think he knows what else to do either."

"I know, I know. He's 'going through something'. He just doesn't want my help with it."

Jamie adds, "Or he doesn't how to ask for your help," shrugging.

"I don't think he understands it himself," Max says quietly, like they're weighing every word.

Jamie explains, "So, we have to listen, and try to help him anyway, until we can understand. It's like learning someone's boundaries, or understanding their love language, or recognizing when you can help them. It's not always easy, but it's just another layer of them." His eyes get that far away look they do when his thoughts drift to Keegan, and Colin snorts, realizing they lost him to his fantasies.

Max looks at him, and he look at Max, and then Colin counts down, "Three, two, one", and they both look at Jamie just in time to see him sneak a peak at his phone, checking for messages from Keegan. When their eyes meet each other again, they both start to chuckle, and then they can't help it and they're full on howling with laughter, giggling and lying on their backs on the grass. Jamie looks up startled, finding both his friends in peals of laughter, and he looks between them, wondering what joke he missed.

The tension now broken, Jamie starts to laugh too, their giggles infectious, and the three are laughing together like they haven't done in a long time. Colin feels the tethers of friendship tugging on him, until he can find the surface of the water, and he finds himself in the present again, thoughts of Rowyn flowing out of his mind, for the time being at least.

After a few minutes, they start to sit up, Colin still gasping for air. Max grins at him, then something in their expression shifts, and pinches a little.

Jamie, glancing at his phone again, doesn't notice, but Colin does. He frowns a little, mouthing "You okay?" and Max nods their hand back at him, and he squints in disbelief for a second, but lets it go.

Colin turns his attention to Jamie then, "So, what's going on in the life of our favourite English teacher?" watching in amusement as Jamie takes a second to pull himself from his typing, frowning as he processes the question, then grinning brightly.

"He's good! Yesterday was kind of rough - he had a big assignment due that had him on edge, but he's glad it's done, and he thinks he did well enough."

"Oh yeah, I keep forgetting that he's in classes at the same time. Sheesh, I can't imagine that; sounds like a big workload!"

"Yeah, but he handles it really well," Jamie says, voice softening, eyes straying back to his phone.

Colin huffs, "Go on, keep texting your boy, ignoring us, it's all good," mock annoyance drips from his tone, then he softens to add, "Tell him we say hi!"

Jamie gives into the urge, fingers tapping away on the screen, before a moment later saying, "He says hi back."

Colin glances over at Max, surprised that they didn't add anything. He frowns crawling closer to them, looking them over in earnest now. Their posture looks wrong - tense, and controlled in a way that screams wrong.

"Max?" he asks, "You good?" They look at him, and they read the discomfort on their face. Their face which has gone milky white, mouth pinched.

"Um," they start, then pause, swallowing, "I'm like 96% sure that that wasn't lactose free milk."

"Aw, shit Maxi," he exclaims softly.

Max snorts, "Yep, probably gonna happen," they mutter to themself, amused by Colin's wording, but glancing up, they're glad to find that he didn't hear their response.

Colin snags their latte cup from where they abandoned it in the grass ten minutes ago, glancing at the label.

"It says lactose free…" he mutters.

Max groans, "I know. I said lactose free milk, and I watched the lady write it down. But that's not what it was."

Jamie looks up, catching the end of the interaction, eyebrows coming together as he processes this development.

Now that Colin knows what to look for, it's obvious - They have on hand curled into the grass, and the other wrapped around their waist in a way that would look casual, if he couldn't see how much pressure they were putting on their abdomen. Which, now that he thinks about, looks painfully bloated, waistband of their skirt cutting into the skin in a way it wasn't half an hour ago.

Colin shares a glance with Jamie, then they both move at the same time. Colin swings an arm across Max's shoulders, offering gentle comfort, and Jamie grabs their bags, and the mostly empty cups.

"Come on," Colin murmurs, "Let's head home."

They've both seen Max post-dairy before, and milk is always the worst. They can eat cheese, and ice cream and other stuff is usually okay, but milk itself tends to fuck them over pretty good.

Jamie stands to the side, and Colin falls in beside him, waiting for Max to pull themselves up. Max tucks themself under Colin's offered arm, too distracted by the rippling in their guts to be that embarassed, instead leaning into the comfort.

"It's a ten minute walk, yeah?" Colin reminds them.

"Let us know if you need to stop," Jamie adds, but Max shakes their head.

"Better to just get home," they mutter, wincing as their stomach whines audibly.

"Fair enough," Colin agrees, glancing down the street before hustling them across.

It's relatively quiet until they're home, with everyone focused on getting there, and less about everything else.

Max's stomach continues to complain, loud enough that Colin can hear it from beside them, and he winces in sympathy. Every so often, Max squirms from the discomfort bubbling in their intestines, and Colin picks up the pace just a little.

By the time they're opening their front door, Max is wiggling, and they dart in past Colin and Jamie, and they hear the bathroom door click shut down the hall. They wince at each other and move inside themselves.

Colin shucks his shoes off my the door, and goes straight to the fridge, pulling out a can of ginger ale, and then finding some crackers in the cabinet, delivering them to the living room table.

Jamie disappears to his room, but Colin knows he's keeping an eye out for them, equally worried about their friend.

Music starts to play loudly from the bathroom, and Colin decides to occupy himself with something other than his worry, until either the music turns off, or Max emerges.

A long while passes - long enough that Colin has finished turning the living room into a blanket nest, scolled on his phone for 15 minutes, and tidied the front hall, putting shoes and bags back where they belong after being left haphazard in the rush to return. After all of this, there's still no sign of Max, and Colin can't hold off concern wrapping itself around his chest, and he gives in and knocks on the bathroom door.

"Maxi? How're you doing?"

— — —

Max darts into the bathroom, shutting out the world beyond. Tucked away from the observant gazes of their friend, they drop their skirt immediately, sighing at the release of pressure. They run a hand across their belly, wincing as it bubbles angrily under their hand. The smallest bit of pressure intensifies the sound and sends a ripple of pain through their intestines.

They sigh, swallowing a groan, and lower themself onto the toilet. As their gut groans again, a warning of what's coming, they realize their phone is in their skirt pocket. Reaching forward, they manage the to snag the fabric, pulling it across the floor.

The position only serves to disrupt the fragile balance found in their body, their entire body seizing instinctively as their abdoment ripples, low in their gut.

They move quickly, fingers fumbling in the skirt's fabric until they find the pocket, grabbing the phone. Fingers slick with a clammy sweat, they swipe it open and find their music app, turning on the first thing they see, and cranking the volume. It's the only shield they have between their intestines about to shred their control, and the rest of the world.

The music is loud enough that they can't hear their stomach whining anymore, but it does nothing to help with the cramping and writhing, as their body moves without permission, evacuating the offending milky beverage into the toilet.

The sensation is all-consuming. With no effort on their part, their bowel continues to squeeze out whatever it can. They lean forward, hunched protectively over their belly, groaning when it only adds pressure to the overly sensitive organs, another cramp clenching their bowel.

Their fingers dig into the bloated flesh, searching for any relief, the momentary discomfort worth any chance of ending this experience sooner.

When they finally feel their insides settling enough for the time being, they stand on shaky legs, flushing the toilet, and cleaning themself up as best they can. They wash their hands quickly, and splash some water on their face, rinsing away some of the clammy sweat that's clinging to their washed-out face.

They stumble from the bathroom, across the hall to their room, slumping down onto their bed as their legs threaten to give out under them.

They feel aboslutely wretched.

This was not how today was supposed to go.

— — —

"Maxi? How're you doing?" Colin calls gently, not sure what response to expect, but needing to check to assuage his concern.

"Max?" he adds, a bit louder, when he realizes they might not hear him over the music still playing on the other side of the door.

While there's no answer from Max, it does attract Jamie, who's head pokes out his room.

"What are you doing?" he asks, sounding exasperated, "Leave them alone."

"You're not worried? They've been in there a long time…"

"Uh-huh, and dairy has claimed war in their body. Leave them be, I'm sure they're fine."

Colin bites his lip, feeling antsy, but without actual evidence that something might be wrong, he can't exactly argue.

Jamie looks at him knowingly, and his lips quirk up in a small smile. "Go fix up their room or something then, since you clearly need something to do."

Colin offers them a wry smile, before doing just that, inching into Max's room. It feels weird to be there uninvited, but it's a much safer breach of privacy than the alternative.

He's so focused on the task that it takes him a few seconds too long to process that Max is already in the room.

He turns around to find Max lying in their bed, and he curses, dropping the shirt he was holding, and cutting himself off when he realizes Max looks to be asleep.

"Max?" he mumbles, creeping forward and craning his head to try and get a better look at their face.

"Aw, dude," he sighs sympathetically, seeing their sickly complexion and the way, even half-asleep, their arm rests protectively over the still-bloated swell of their stomach.

They shift, and he hurriedly steps away, trying so hard to be careful that he inevetibaly trips over the earlier dropped shirt, and swears again. Max blinks awake, hazily taking in the scene in front of them, as Colin smiles sheepishly.

"Heyyy," he starts, dragging out the word, as he thinks of what to say, settling lamely on, "How's it going?" and he winces at the obviousness of the answer.

"I'm fine," Max answers, so clearly a lie that Colin raises his eyebrows in disbelief, Max curling into themself a little more.

He softens immediately, seeing the discomfort written on their face. He crouches next to them, so he can look them in the eye.

"You don't have to hide, Maxi. I was worried about you, and I just want to know you're okay."

"I'm okay," they whisper, avoiding his gaze.

He scoffs lightly, "Sorry, but I'm calling bullshit. I… You're not okay, Max, and that's fine. But you don't have to deal with it alone."

Their eyes fill with tears, grey orbs swimming with emotion.

Colin coos, "Aww, can I… never mind. I'm gonna hug you now, okay?" And he doesn't quite wait for an answer, sliding up onto the bed, and wrapping his arms around them.

They clutch weakly at his shirt, and he pulls them closer.

"I'm sorry," they murmur against his arm.

Colin pulls away to look at them, confusion written all over his face.

"For what? This? This isn't your fault, Max, and I'm not at all upset - you know that."

"For… this isn't how today was supposed to go. We wanted to cheer you up."

Colin huffs a laugh, and answers playfully, "Ah-ha, so you two were scheming!" He then takes a more thoughtful tone, "Take it this way, you certainly got my mind off Rowyn and Julie and all the dramas of the month."

Max snorts a small laugh, and Colin grins triumphantly. "We're good Max. I had a good time today, at least until they decided to poison you."

"Stupid milk," they declare, yawning.

"Yeah, stupid milk," Colin agrees, biting back a smile as they seem to be falling asleep again, "I'll leave you to sleep, but you'd better not hide in here all night," he instructs gently, before detangling them, and tucking them in gently.

He leaves their room, and pops his head into Jamie's, "I'll have you know, it was good I checked on them; They needed good vibes for their nap," he teases, and Jamie sticks his tongue out in reply.

"They're okay?" he checks, and Colin nods gently, "Yep, mad at milk, and trying to hide, but yeah, they'll be fine."

— — —

The park that's within walking distance from their place is a delightful green space, with a path winding through a small forest, and a fairly impressive playground that always has kids climbing all over.

By the time they make it to the park, Colin has stopped dragging his feet, and is actually talking to them, a running stream of thoughts. When they pass someone walking their dog, Colin glances at them, eyes bright, and pauses on the path, asking to pet the dog.

He crouches down run his hands across the wiry jack russel terrier, it's pink tongue licking at his hands. He laughs, the sound brighter than it's been in days, and Max feels their heart warm at the sound.

Colin stands, thanking the owner, and they continue on their way, Colin with a new bounce in his step.

Max is glad to see him acting more like himself, but part of them can't help but wonder if any of it is for their benefit, or if it's entirely genuine. Colin is usually exactly what he seems, but Max wouldn't be entirely surprised if he saw through their attempt at cheering him up and are doing it to appease him - he's perceptive like that.

But on the other hand, he does legitimately seem happier, the sun adding a glow to his skin, and his grin is characteristically bright. Max feels their own tension start to ease, now that Colin is acting more like himself, turning their face to the sun as their skirt flows in the gentle breeze, laughter floating around them.

— — —

Colin knows they're trying to cheer him up, but he went along with their scheme easy enough, ready to shake off the fog that's been clouding his mind. He's not typically a negative person, or someone who dwells on things, but the undercurrant of anxiety has been plaguing him for days at this point.

He shakes the thoughts from his head. There's no new information and he can't think about Rowyn more than he already has.

So he throws himself into the afternoon, sun beating down, and letting himself get swept up in the effort of his friends.

He pets the dog, and watches the children squealing as they climb the playground, and shrieking as they rush down the slide. It's enough to remind him of the good in the world.

Max and Jamie walk with him, sometimes ahead, sometimes beside. They talk about everything, except he realizes, Rowyn and Julie. Every topic is gently steered away from the pool, and away from their place. He finds himself commenting on everything under the sun, glad to be able to give his unfiltered thoughts and feel fully un-judged.

They find a picnic table under a tree, and sit watching the park for a few minutes, Colin making up scores and commentary for the kids going down the slide.

"Ooh, did you see that?! That was cool," he laughs, as a kid goes shooting out the bottom of the slide and does a pose towards their friend before running off again.

Jamie laughs, and Max grins, their day continuing in the easy comfort of their friendship.

After the park, they stop by a coffee shop. Colin gets some fancy new lemonade thing with a name way longer than should be necessary. Max gets an iced latte, and Jamie gets a hot chocolate. It's a little too hot outside for a hot drink, Colin thinks to himself, as he sips his cool lemonade, that for some reason is coloured blue, but Jamie seems happy enough.

There's still time in the afternoon, before any of them have adult responsibilities, so they walk back to the park, and spend them hanging out on the shaded grass, under a large maple tree.

It's nice. They haven't spent much time as a trio lately, with everything that's been going on - Colin's issues with Rowyn, Jamie spending so much time with Keegan, and Max settling into their job and talking more with Leo.

Jamie hasn't turned to a book once, even though Colin knows he has one in the bag he's been carrying around all afternoon, and instead he's filling them in on his relationship with Keegan, telling them about his latest date, and they're giggling like high school girls.

All to say, Colin's enjoying the time with his best friends, where he doesn't have to think about what he says.

So he can't exactly be to blame when there's a lull in the conversation and he lets slip that, "I think Rowyn's avoiding me." He regrets it immediately, because the mood sours instantly as Max tenses, and Jamie glances between the two of them. We were doing so good, not talking about Rowyn. He takes a sip of his drink to avoid their eyes.

Jamie looks back at Colin, and says, "Are you sure? You know he's busy…"

"I know he's busy Jamie. But he's hardly been home the last few days, and I can't remember the last time I woke up with him still next to me. That's not just being busy, that's intentional."

Max softly adds, "You know, he seems pretty run down. I'm kind of worried about him."

Colin's gaze snaps to them, "Yeah?" He's fishing for any grain of information, anything that will help him understand what went wrong between them.

Now that the topic has been broached, the weight comes rushing back. He's underwater, no goggles, trying to wade through to find whatever he's missing. He's untethered and doesn't know how to find his way back. And he's starting to realize that he's actually scared of what happens next.

Max hesitates, then nods, a microexpression hinting at something, and Colin frowns. Assessing them, he finds a small furrow between their eyebrows, and that they're biting down on their lip just a bit. They look… guilty.

"Max? What do you know? What has he said?!" he knows he sounds a little desperate, leaning forward in his desires to know, but Max shrinks away. Jamie looks between them again, eyes flicking back and forth like he's watching a tennis match.

"Colin, maybe you shou-" Jamie starts, trying to diffuse the tension.

He waves him off, eyes fixed on Max, who's fingers move nervously on the lid of their cup, "Please, just…" he trails off, finally noticing how uncomfortable Max is. "I just want to understand," he finishes weakly.

He looks away, fight draining out of him, and Jamie sighs as Max starts to murmur, "I don't know… I don't want to…"

"Colin," Jamie says more sharply than normal, waiting until he's looking at him, "Rowyn is our friend too, and he's going through something right now. That doesn't mean the way he's treating you is right, and we are both rooting for you guys to work things out. However, that does not mean Max has to share things that were said in confidence, nor should you be using us as sources of information." He slumps back when he finishes, as though he's been waiting to say that.

Colin pouts a little, looking properly chastised, but he chews on his lip for a second, before glancing at Max and muttering, "Sorry dude, that wasn't cool."

Some of the tension from Max's shoulders drops away, and they sigh, adding, "We're happy to listen, if you need to talk or vent, but you have to recognize that we are in the middle here, yeah?"

He frowns, then explodes, "Well, so am I! I'm so sick of this! Rowyn's hardly looking at me anymore, but somehow has me questioning my life choices, and Julie's whispering in my ear all shift about how Rowyn's being emotionally abusive and he 'can't possible be good enough for me' and I can't even argue with that right now, but I know Rowyn, just apparently not as well as I thought! And I don't know what to do."

Jamie sighs, fingers twitching next to him, "You need to talk to him." Max squirms, uncomfortable, and adds, "And listen to him. Properly, I mean."

"Yeah," he sighs, taking another sip of his drink.

"Wait a sec, Julie think Rowyn is being emotionally abusive?!" Jamie suddenly exclaims.

Colin nods, biting his lip, and looking at his drink, "She won't listen to me when I tell her that's not what's happening."

Max sighs, takes a drink of their latte to stall, then says, "You have to know, he really does care about you, right? He's not doing this on purpose. I just… don't think he knows what else to do either."

"I know, I know. He's 'going through something'. He just doesn't want my help with it."

Jamie adds, "Or he doesn't how to ask for your help," shrugging.

"I don't think he understands it himself," Max says quietly, like they're weighing every word.

Jamie explains, "So, we have to listen, and try to help him anyway, until we can understand. It's like learning someone's boundaries, or understanding their love language, or recognizing when you can help them. It's not always easy, but it's just another layer of them." His eyes get that far away look they do when his thoughts drift to Keegan, and Colin snorts, realizing they lost him to his fantasies.

Max looks at him, and he look at Max, and then Colin counts down, "Three, two, one", and they both look at Jamie just in time to see him sneak a peak at his phone, checking for messages from Keegan. When their eyes meet each other again, they both start to chuckle, and then they can't help it and they're full on howling with laughter, giggling and lying on their backs on the grass. Jamie looks up startled, finding both his friends in peals of laughter, and he looks between them, wondering what joke he missed.

The tension now broken, Jamie starts to laugh too, their giggles infectious, and the three are laughing together like they haven't done in a long time. Colin feels the tethers of friendship tugging on him, until he can find the surface of the water, and he finds himself in the present again, thoughts of Rowyn flowing out of his mind, for the time being at least.

After a few minutes, they start to sit up, Colin still gasping for air. Max grins at him, then something in their expression shifts, and pinches a little.

Jamie, glancing at his phone again, doesn't notice, but Colin does. He frowns a little, mouthing "You okay?" and Max nods their hand back at him, and he squints in disbelief for a second, but lets it go.

Colin turns his attention to Jamie then, "So, what's going on in the life of our favourite English teacher?" watching in amusement as Jamie takes a second to pull himself from his typing, frowning as he processes the question, then grinning brightly.

"He's good! Yesterday was kind of rough - he had a big assignment due that had him on edge, but he's glad it's done, and he thinks he did well enough."

"Oh yeah, I keep forgetting that he's in classes at the same time. Sheesh, I can't imagine that; sounds like a big workload!"

"Yeah, but he handles it really well," Jamie says, voice softening, eyes straying back to his phone.

Colin huffs, "Go on, keep texting your boy, ignoring us, it's all good," mock annoyance drips from his tone, then he softens to add, "Tell him we say hi!"

Jamie gives into the urge, fingers tapping away on the screen, before a moment later saying, "He says hi back."

Colin glances over at Max, surprised that they didn't add anything. He frowns crawling closer to them, looking them over in earnest now. Their posture looks wrong - tense, and controlled in a way that screams wrong.

"Max?" he asks, "You good?" They look at him, and they read the discomfort on their face. Their face which has gone milky white, mouth pinched.

"Um," they start, then pause, swallowing, "I'm like 96% sure that that wasn't lactose free milk."

"Aw, shit Maxi," he exclaims softly.

Max snorts, "Yep, probably gonna happen," they mutter to themself, amused by Colin's wording, but glancing up, they're glad to find that he didn't hear their response.

Colin snags their latte cup from where they abandoned it in the grass ten minutes ago, glancing at the label.

"It says lactose free…" he mutters.

Max groans, "I know. I said lactose free milk, and I watched the lady write it down. But that's not what it was."

Jamie looks up, catching the end of the interaction, eyebrows coming together as he processes this development.

Now that Colin knows what to look for, it's obvious - They have on hand curled into the grass, and the other wrapped around their waist in a way that would look casual, if he couldn't see how much pressure they were putting on their abdomen. Which, now that he thinks about, looks painfully bloated, waistband of their skirt cutting into the skin in a way it wasn't half an hour ago.

Colin shares a glance with Jamie, then they both move at the same time. Colin swings an arm across Max's shoulders, offering gentle comfort, and Jamie grabs their bags, and the mostly empty cups.

"Come on," Colin murmurs, "Let's head home."

They've both seen Max post-dairy before, and milk is always the worst. They can eat cheese, and ice cream and other stuff is usually okay, but milk itself tends to fuck them over pretty good.

Jamie stands to the side, and Colin falls in beside him, waiting for Max to pull themselves up. Max tucks themself under Colin's offered arm, too distracted by the rippling in their guts to be that embarassed, instead leaning into the comfort.

"It's a ten minute walk, yeah?" Colin reminds them.

"Let us know if you need to stop," Jamie adds, but Max shakes their head.

"Better to just get home," they mutter, wincing as their stomach whines audibly.

"Fair enough," Colin agrees, glancing down the street before hustling them across.

It's relatively quiet until they're home, with everyone focused on getting there, and less about everything else.

Max's stomach continues to complain, loud enough that Colin can hear it from beside them, and he winces in sympathy. Every so often, Max squirms from the discomfort bubbling in their intestines, and Colin picks up the pace just a little.

By the time they're opening their front door, Max is wiggling, and they dart in past Colin and Jamie, and they hear the bathroom door click shut down the hall. They wince at each other and move inside themselves.

Colin shucks his shoes off my the door, and goes straight to the fridge, pulling out a can of ginger ale, and then finding some crackers in the cabinet, delivering them to the living room table.

Jamie disappears to his room, but Colin knows he's keeping an eye out for them, equally worried about their friend.

Music starts to play loudly from the bathroom, and Colin decides to occupy himself with something other than his worry, until either the music turns off, or Max emerges.

A long while passes - long enough that Colin has finished turning the living room into a blanket nest, scolled on his phone for 15 minutes, and tidied the front hall, putting shoes and bags back where they belong after being left haphazard in the rush to return. After all of this, there's still no sign of Max, and Colin can't hold off concern wrapping itself around his chest, and he gives in and knocks on the bathroom door.

"Maxi? How're you doing?"

— — —

Max darts into the bathroom, shutting out the world beyond. Tucked away from the observant gazes of their friend, they drop their skirt immediately, sighing at the release of pressure. They run a hand across their belly, wincing as it bubbles angrily under their hand. The smallest bit of pressure intensifies the sound and sends a ripple of pain through their intestines.

They sigh, swallowing a groan, and lower themself onto the toilet. As their gut groans again, a warning of what's coming, they realize their phone is in their skirt pocket. Reaching forward, they manage the to snag the fabric, pulling it across the floor.

The position only serves to disrupt the fragile balance found in their body, their entire body seizing instinctively as their abdoment ripples, low in their gut.

They move quickly, fingers fumbling in the skirt's fabric until they find the pocket, grabbing the phone. Fingers slick with a clammy sweat, they swipe it open and find their music app, turning on the first thing they see, and cranking the volume. It's the only shield they have between their intestines about to shred their control, and the rest of the world.

The music is loud enough that they can't hear their stomach whining anymore, but it does nothing to help with the cramping and writhing, as their body moves without permission, evacuating the offending milky beverage into the toilet.

The sensation is all-consuming. With no effort on their part, their bowel continues to squeeze out whatever it can. They lean forward, hunched protectively over their belly, groaning when it only adds pressure to the overly sensitive organs, another cramp clenching their bowel.

Their fingers dig into the bloated flesh, searching for any relief, the momentary discomfort worth any chance of ending this experience sooner.

When they finally feel their insides settling enough for the time being, they stand on shaky legs, flushing the toilet, and cleaning themself up as best they can. They wash their hands quickly, and splash some water on their face, rinsing away some of the clammy sweat that's clinging to their washed-out face.

They stumble from the bathroom, across the hall to their room, slumping down onto their bed as their legs threaten to give out under them.

They feel aboslutely wretched.

This was not how today was supposed to go.

— — —

"Maxi? How're you doing?" Colin calls gently, not sure what response to expect, but needing to check to assuage his concern.

"Max?" he adds, a bit louder, when he realizes they might not hear him over the music still playing on the other side of the door.

While there's no answer from Max, it does attract Jamie, who's head pokes out his room.

"What are you doing?" he asks, sounding exasperated, "Leave them alone."

"You're not worried? They've been in there a long time…"

"Uh-huh, and dairy has claimed war in their body. Leave them be, I'm sure they're fine."

Colin bites his lip, feeling antsy, but without actual evidence that something might be wrong, he can't exactly argue.

Jamie looks at him knowingly, and his lips quirk up in a small smile. "Go fix up their room or something then, since you clearly need something to do."

Colin offers them a wry smile, before doing just that, inching into Max's room. It feels weird to be there uninvited, but it's a much safer breach of privacy than the alternative.

He's so focused on the task that it takes him a few seconds too long to process that Max is already in the room.

He turns around to find Max lying in their bed, and he curses, dropping the shirt he was holding, and cutting himself off when he realizes Max looks to be asleep.

"Max?" he mumbles, creeping forward and craning his head to try and get a better look at their face.

"Aw, dude," he sighs sympathetically, seeing their sickly complexion and the way, even half-asleep, their arm rests protectively over the still-bloated swell of their stomach.

They shift, and he hurriedly steps away, trying so hard to be careful that he inevetibaly trips over the earlier dropped shirt, and swears again. Max blinks awake, hazily taking in the scene in front of them, as Colin smiles sheepishly.

"Heyyy," he starts, dragging out the word, as he thinks of what to say, settling lamely on, "How's it going?" and he winces at the obviousness of the answer.

"I'm fine," Max answers, so clearly a lie that Colin raises his eyebrows in disbelief, Max curling into themself a little more.

He softens immediately, seeing the discomfort written on their face. He crouches next to them, so he can look them in the eye.

"You don't have to hide, Maxi. I was worried about you, and I just want to know you're okay."

"I'm okay," they whisper, avoiding his gaze.

He scoffs lightly, "Sorry, but I'm calling bullshit. I… You're not okay, Max, and that's fine. But you don't have to deal with it alone."

Their eyes fill with tears, grey orbs swimming with emotion.

Colin coos, "Aww, can I… never mind. I'm gonna hug you now, okay?" And he doesn't quite wait for an answer, sliding up onto the bed, and wrapping his arms around them.

They clutch weakly at his shirt, and he pulls them closer.

"I'm sorry," they murmur against his arm.

Colin pulls away to look at them, confusion written all over his face.

"For what? This? This isn't your fault, Max, and I'm not at all upset - you know that."

"For… this isn't how today was supposed to go. We wanted to cheer you up."

Colin huffs a laugh, and answers playfully, "Ah-ha, so you two were scheming!" He then takes a more thoughtful tone, "Take it this way, you certainly got my mind off Rowyn and Julie and all the dramas of the month."

Max snorts a small laugh, and Colin grins triumphantly. "We're good Max. I had a good time today, at least until they decided to poison you."

"Stupid milk," they declare, yawning.

"Yeah, stupid milk," Colin agrees, biting back a smile as they seem to be falling asleep again, "I'll leave you to sleep, but you'd better not hide in here all night," he instructs gently, before detangling them, and tucking them in gently.

He leaves their room, and pops his head into Jamie's, "I'll have you know, it was good I checked on them; They needed good vibes for their nap," he teases, and Jamie sticks his tongue out in reply.

"They're okay?" he checks, and Colin nods gently, "Yep, mad at milk, and trying to hide, but yeah, they'll be fine."

Luke dropped his hands immediately, lowering himself slightly so he could get a good look at her face. He opened the faucet to wash away the mess and wet his hand, running it over Bella's face and wiping her mouth, "better...?"

"No," Bella grimaced, gagging, but nothing came up, "my stomach's feeling horrible..."

He let out an unhappy noise, rubbing her back and waiting to see if Bella would be sick. Instead she gulped down convulsively a couple of times and blew out a little burp under her breath, sighing, "okay..uhm," she wiped the little tears glued to her lashes, "let me brush my teeth and we can go."

"We're not going," Lucas scoffed, frowning at her, "are you crazy? You're sick-"

"I'm fine," Bell rolled her eyes, removing his hands from her, "relax. I'll be fine, no need to worry."

She grabbed her toothbrush and Luke leaned back against the wall, glaring at her in the mirror, "that's not a smart idea, Bell. What if you get sicker?"

"The'wee-omeback'ome," Bella shrugged, leaning to spit on the sink and washing her mouth, as well as her face for good measure, "I'm fine, Lu. Besides, I wanna go."

"You? Wanna go to my lunch meeting?" He raised a skeptical eyebrow and grabbed her face, as if to feel a fever, "are you a body snatcher?"

Bella snickered, pushing him back as she walked back into their bedroom and she could grab her lipstick, "Yeah, those are super boring, but you said the Mayor is coming right? I like his wife."

"Marilyn? Since when are you two friends?" He sat on the bed, bewildered, watching as Bella finished getting ready.

"I wouldn't say friends," the ginger shrugged, sitting next to him and draping her feet on his lap so he could buckle her sandals, "but she's nice. I think maybe we could be friends, you know?"

"Isn't she a billion years older than you?" Luke mumbled, strapping her shoes and getting up with a sigh. Clearly this was a battle he wouldn't win.

"She's two years older than us, Lucas," Bella rolled her eyes, "she just seems older because of her husband."

"Those two are a super weird couple," Luke whispered judgementally, following her out of the room, "like, beyond the age gap."

"Because the mayor is annoying as fuck?" Bella snickered, smiling and jumping the last two steps of the staircase, sick stomach forgotten.

Vince was sprawled on the couch, laptop open on his lap, in his gym clothes. Luke sighed, turning around with his hands on his hips like a mother, "are you sure you don't want to tag along? Free food and drinks, man."

Vince rolled his eyes, "I'm not your child or your pet, you guys don't need to take me- Geez, Bell, you're pale as a ghost!" He exclaimed, interrupting himself.

Bella cringed and Lucas let out a smug snicker, "tell my darling wife that she really shouldn't come when she just threw up?"

"You threw up?" Vin echoed, looking concerned, "are you sick?'

"I'm fine," Bella glared at Luke, "what are you gonna do home all day?"

"I'm not staying in all day," Vince shrugged, still looking worried, "I'm visiting a couple apartments and then I'll have dinner with Max- As friends!" He exclaimed, as Luke opened his mouth to tease him.

"Friends, alright," Luke huffed, whisking the keys from Bell's loose grip, "well have fun on your not date date."

-------

Lucas had to admit, lunch was way more pleasant than he had expected it to be. Yes, he had spent the first half of it worrying over Bell, but she seemed way more in her element than during the previous times he had brought her to a work function. He still found her newfound friendship with Marilyn weird as hell, though.

His boss left around 2 PM, giving him carte blanche to leave as well, but since Bella and Marilyn had gone on a smoke break — well, Marilyn had and Bell had tagged along — Luke dealt up the charm and assumed they'd hang back for a bit more.

"So...Does the missus know?" Mayor Joshua leaned back on his chair, body language all open and inviting and Luke mentally scoffed. He fixed up a pleasant smile, biting down the full body shudder he got at the word "missus", especially when said in that condescending tone.

"Knows what?"

"About your political aspirations?" The man was smiling at him, "you're a politician, Atwood. I've been watching you all evening, you knew everyone in the restaurant, from the staff to the patrons, everyone came to greet you and you remembered names and tidbits about their lives... You're a natural."

Luke shrugged, uncomfortable with the compliment coming from someone he didn't like. Yes, he knew he liked politics and he most definitely adored people, but coming from Joshua it left a bitter taste in his mouth.

"I assume the missus doesn't know or approve?" The older man went on, blue eyes scanning Luke's face in search of a hint or a weakness. He shuttered his expression entirely.

"Why do you say that?"

"If she knows, then she doesn't approve. Your wife stands out... Style wise, of course," he raised his hands in a mock placating gesture and Luke's blood started to race, singing in his ears, "you couldn't run for a position with the whole witchy schtick, but you know this already...So either she doesn't or she knows and doesn't approve."

"There's nothing about me that Bella doesn't know," Luke bristled, biting the inside of his cheek as he tried to keep his tone neutral, "and you misread me, I have no political aspirations," that was a lie, but a strategic one. He could tell what this was, Joshua felt threatened by him. It had been obvious when he mentioned the people Luke greeted during dinner, when half of those hadn't bothered to greet the actual mayor himself.

The man squinted at him, clearly not buying it, "you come from a political background, you're inserted in the scene all the way to your elbows, son, and you don't want to be a part of it?"

Luke wasn't sure what pissed him off more, if it was the scathing remark about Bella, the fact the man had called him son or if it was the glaringly obvious hint at his mother.

"Not at all, sir," He lied, smoothly, pushing back his chair just as Marilyn rushed back inside the restaurant. Immediately he tensed up as he saw the concerned look on her face, delicate features pinched with worry.

"Lucas-"

"Where is she?" He asked, rushing up already, mayor and anger forgotten.

"Outside, she asked me to get you..." The woman frowned, seeming self conscious. He didn't quite run out of the restaurant not to cause a scene, but it was close.

Bella was leaning against the wall outside, facing it, hands on the rough texture and head hanging between her arms.

"Bell?" Luke stepped closer, already pulling her hair back and rolling it around itself to secure it on a knot. She was clammy and pale, "baby?"

"Que- HUrk-" she let out a little burp-retch and shuddered, "queasy..."

"Here," Marilyn stepped around Luke, holding out a water bottle and Luke took it, opening it, but waiting before offering it to Bella. She gulped down, brows meeting and wobbling slightly on her feet, then nodded.

"Gimme..." Bella turned around with a heavy sigh, leaning her full weight against the wall, "I'm really- uuurp," she muffled a burp in her hand, cheeks turning slightly pink, "I'm sorry, Mari..."

"Oh, it's fine, it's my fault anyway," the blonde was blushing and Luke suddenly realized she was their age. He really couldn't tell most of the time, with her sober, stuck up posture, the heavy make up and deeply conservative clothes.

"Not your fault..." Bella took a gulp of the water and leaned forward, so she could drop her forehead to Luke's chest, breathing out slowly.

"What happened?" He asked, rubbing her back and ruling out the flu, since she was still cold to the touch, just like in the morning. Surely the stomach flu would've made her feverish by now...

"Got nauseous with the- The cigarette smoke," Bella chuckled at her own expense and Marilyn's face scrunched up in distaste.

"I swear I'm trying to quit," she pouted, causing Bell to huff out a laugh and Luke to smile as he realized it was nothing serious.

"That's fine, not your fault my stomach's been a little bitch today..." Bella groaned, taking another gulp of water and then tilting her head back to look at Lucas, batting her eyelashes. Her face had some color back and her eyes were overly shiny, lashes clumped from when she had been heaving... She still looked so damn pretty, he had half a mind to kiss her, queasy or not.

Instead he held her chin, forcing their eyes to meet and Bell scrunched up her nose at him, "don't say it," she whined and Lucas rolled his eyes, pressing a kiss to her brow.

"I'm not gonna say it, but I'm thinking it," he teased her, thinking I told you we should stay home, "let's go home?"

"We don't have to, I'm alright now," Bell mumbled, her voice muffled by the proximity to him and Lucas kissed the top of her head.

"We're leaving, baby," it was not discussion, was a statement.

She let out a sigh, but didn't argue and Luke let go of her in order to go back in the restaurant handle the bill, as well as to say their goodbyes to the mayor. When he went back outside, Bella was leaning against their car, talking with Marylin in a low voice.

The blonde woman had her arms crossed in a weird self hug, expression pinched with sympathy and bitterness. She spooked like some sort of rabbit when she caught Luke's eyes and quickly ended their conversation, reaching in to squeeze Bell's hand in an amicable way.

"You have my number," Lucas heard her say, as he approached the vehicle, "text me, come over for tea."

"I will," Bella promised, while Luke bit the inside of his cheek to keep the incredulity he felt from appearing on his face. He forced a smile to the lady and then held the passenger door open for Bell, raising a puzzled eyebrow but that she either didn't see or ignored.

"Sooo..." He dragged the word as they drove back home, "you drink tea since when?"

"It was probably an euphemism for wine, Luke," Bella snorted, leaning her head back and closing her eyes, "I'm really sorry for ruining your meeting..."

"Oh, you didn't ruin it, the mayor was getting on my nerves," Luke drummed his fingers on the steering wheel, "what's wrong with your stomach? How are you feeling?"

"Just queasy," Bella was breathing deeply, eyes still shut, "probably PMS-ing."

"PMS-ing?" He frowned, mentally doing the count and when they stopped at a red light, he redid it on his fingers. Numbers had never been his strong point, "Bell, shouldn't you have had your period already? I last bought tampons over a month ago, did you get any when you went grocery shopping?"

As a rule, Bella wrote their list of groceries since she was the one who stayed home and he was the one who went to the store... But Vince was living with them now, maybe he had bought it...? But why would he, if she hadn't had her period yet?

"No," Bell opened her eyes, grimacing and rubbing her stomach, "it's late, you know my periods are whack," she leaned forward slightly, planting her forearms on the dashboard and groaning, "ugh, I feel sick."

The red light turned green, someone gave a slight honk behind them and Lucas was forced to turn his attention away from her.

"Do I have to pull over?" He asked, half paying attention, "you're late and you're nauseous, you don't think-"

"Nope," Bella cut him off, voice strong and none of that whiny tone from a second before, "no, it's just PMS-ing, trust me."

He let out a huff, nodding and staring ahead. She knew her body best, it was probably PMS.

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

"So did you find anything you liked?" Luke asked, opening a juice bottle and planting it on the counter next to where Vince was hunched as he worked on some bread loaf. Bella was still asleep.

"Eeh," Vin shrugged, wiping his forehead on his bicep since his hands were covered in flour, "I think the problem is that I don't know what I'm looking for."

"What do you mean?" Luke took a bite of his cereal, bouncing on his feet slightly. Later that day they had baseball and Lucas was thankful for it, because he was feeling antsy and anxious and couldn't pinpoint why.

"I mean, am I looking at any cheap apartment next to my job?" Vince asked, rhetorically, "or for a more long term commitment, with a good kitchen and maybe a guest room? My realtor keeps asking me these questions and I don't know what to answer..."

Luke could hear it loud and clear. Vince didn't want to move anywhere else, he wanted to go back home. To Wendy. Well, fuck that.

"That's alright, you can stay here as long as you want, Vin," Luke shrugged, forcing a lightness in his voice he didn't feel, masking the concern, "you don't have to figure things out immediately."

"I know, thank you again," Vin sighed, stopping kneading the dough, "I just... I do need to move on, Luke. I hate living in a temporary arrangement, I'm a routine type of guy."

"I know," Luke stepped closer to pat his back, "I can help you look for apartments if you want? I know you said you didn't want me meddling, but-"

"No, I think I do need help... Oh, hi beautiful," Vince's voice went up a note, a smile appearing on his face as Bella stumbled inside the kitchen, sleep drunk.

"Mor-morning," she yawned, promptly wrapping her arms around Luke and resting her cheek on his chest, as if she could take a nap standing.

"Morning," Luke grinned, pressing a kiss to the top of her head and picking up his cereal bowl, raising it over his wife's head as he continued to eat, unbothered, "you know, I still have the keys to that old apartment of mine, the one near the university..."

"That's absolutely out of my budget, Luke," Vince rolled his eyes, turning back to the dough.

"I'm the owner, you dumbass. If you're interested in it, we can adjust the rent accordingly," in truth, Luke had no need for there to be a rent and he would've just let Vin move in without charging him, but he knew his best friend would never agree to that in a million years.

Vin squinted, cheeks turning pink and Lucas felt a wash of triumph. He knew Vin had always loved that place, besides, he was a sentimental guy and the apartment was filled with good memories. Maybe it was what he needed, instead of some white apartment with no character or personality.

"Maybe..." He was trying hard to fight a smirk and Luke rolled his eyes, grinning. Vin's brows furrowed.

"Bell? Are you okay?"

Luke tilted his body back so he could look at her, who was still latched onto him. Her face was pretty pale, lips nearly the same shade as her skin, "baby?"

"Just... Queasy," Bella breathed in, eyes shut, and her grip around Lucas tightened, as if she was using him for support, "I'm fine."

Luke's heart skipped a beat and he fought, really hard, not to exchange a look with Vince, knowing his best friend would read the weird mix of excitement, hope and concern in his face.

"Do you wanna lie down?"

She shook her head no, rubbing her face and opening her eyes finally, "no, I was lying in bed for the past hour, wasn't helping. I got lonely."

Vin snorted, while Luke snickered, planting his cereal bowl down on the counter so he could wrap his arms around her and squeeze her to him, "you've got no business being this cuuuute-"

"Let go off me!" Bella's voice came muffled by his chest, but considering she wasn't sinking those claws of hers into his back yet, Luke gauged she really didn't want out of the hug.

He just hoped she couldn't hear his heart racing.

Not that Bell couldn't get queasy without him jumping to conclusions, it was just that after yesterday's conversation, he had lied awake in bed doing the math and she had absolutely missed a period since the last time they had bought tampons... It was hard not to get excited.

"Seriously, Luke," Bella groaned, "stop squeezing me, I'm gonna puke on you."

Oh yeah, he chuckled and loosened his grip, causing her to let out a relieved sigh and muffle a wet, disgusting burp against his pajamas shirt. He planted a hand on her back, "that sounded nasty..."

"My stomach's a mess," Bella sighed, resuming to her original position using him as a standing pillow, "what- what are you baking?" her question was directed at Vince, who was watching them intensely. Lucas had the distinctive sensation that the hardest part of them sharing a house was Vin watching them be cute together, it must suck.

"Pies," Vin gestured to the ingredients scattered across the counter, "apple and chicken, for lunch."

"Ugh," Bella scrunched up her nose, "chicken..." she shuddered.

Vin pouted, "you're not gonna eat? It's not just chicken, I mixed red sauce and corn, you love corn-"

Luke cringed as he saw Bella gulp down, "can we change the subject? How was the date with Max?"

Vince didn't dignify his question with a response besides a middle finger, still watching Bella like a hawk, and so was Luke, because he could feel the light tremble in her body as she fought to keep down the nausea.

"Bell..."

"Ugh, fuck-" She jerked away from him, pressing the back of her hand to her lips and rushing out of the kitchen.

"Shit," Luke hissed, running after her.

He found her curled up on the downstairs bathroom, knees on the ground as she gagged weakly over the toilet water, shaky hands trying to keep the hair off her face.

"Shhh, I got you, I got you," he pulled her hair back, cringing as Bell's whole spine curled with a retch, "oh baby..."

"It's ok'itsssok," she slurred, heavy breathing, "gimme a minuteURK-" Bella rocked forward, now managing to bring up a mouthful of liquid. She whimpered, wrapping an arm around her stomach.

She gagged again, then finally went boneless against him, as if her spine was giving up on her. Luke rushed to keep her sitting up, grabbing a wad of toilet paper to wipe her mouth and throwing it inside the soiled water, pressing the flush, "Bell...?"

"I wanna lie down," she groaned, sounding defeated, "I don't feel well."

"I know, I'm sorry," he kissed her temple, rubbing a hand up and down her arm and noticing she was covered in goosebumps, "you think you're done?"

"Uhm- Think so..." Bella's face scrunched up, "help me up?"

"Hold on to me," he instructed her, then carefully pulled Bell up to her feet, only for her knees to wobble. With a sigh, Luke wrapped his arms around her thighs and pulled her up completely, her arms instinctively wrapping around his neck.

Vince was anxiously standing in the middle of the living room, holding a steaming cup of something, "hey..." he moved closer, just a bit, "I'm really sorry-"

"Not your fault," Bella groaned, face pressed to Luke's neck, who kept walking and Vince had to follow up the stairs.

"I made you some peppermint tea..." Vince's cheeks flushed and he took a step so he was ahead of them, rushing so he pulled the door of the master suite for Luke and folded the blankets on the bed, "I hope you feel better."

"It's just my stupid period," Bella groaned, as soon as Luke planted her down on the bed, curling up into a little ball and tugging the blankets to hide her head, embarrassed.

Vince let out a sympathetic sigh, "that sucks," he squeezed her calf from over the blankets, exchanging a puzzled look with Lucas, who shook his head, trying to communicate that he didn't know, "uhm- I'm gonna go- uh- gonna go," he cleared his throat, planting the tea on the bedside table, "Luke, holler if you need anything."

As soon as Vin was gone, shutting the door behind him, Bella groaned loudly and pulled down the blanket that was covering her head. Her cheeks were a deep crimson and Luke snorted, he could count in his hands the amount of times he had see her embarrassed.

"Kill me now, Lucas."

"I'm not fit to be a widower," he rolled his eyes, pushing a fluffy, tangled curl away from her eyes, "Bell... Are you sure-"

"Yes," she glared at him, moving away from his touch and curling onto her side, "it'll probably come tomorrow or the day after-"

"You've never been this queasy before and you didn't have a period last month, Bell," he argued, poking her thigh, "c'mon, baby, we've been trying, you don't think this could be it-"

"It's not," her big blue eyes got a little too shiny, voice a smidge harsher, "leave me alone, Lucas."

"Look, I'm not saying I don't believe you, it's just- When did you last get a test done?" He chewed on his bottom lip, ignoring Bella attempting to push him off the bed, "it could be it..."

"It ISN'T," She insisted, kicking his thigh with a little too much force, "leave me alone, Lucas. I'm miserable as is, stop-"

"Okay, okay, okay!" He cried out, frustrated, "I'm dropping it!"

"Thanks!" Her voice was laced with sarcasm and slightly shrill, "go away," she buried her face in the pillow and he let out a groan.

"Bell..."

"Please leave me the fuck alone, Lucas," Bella exclaimed, looking visibly upset, "please!"

"That's not fair," he pouted, "I'm just as anxious as you are, I'm just as hopeful, you're not being fair-"

"I'm sick, I'm crampy, my stupid husband is pushing me about something I know I'm right! Yeah, I'm not being fair!" Bella's face scrunched up, tip of her nose turning pink, "just go away!"

"Okay..." He sighed, resisting the urge to say anything else, even as his brain supplied "you can't do this to me". He got up from the bed, dejectedly, "uhm- I'll be just downstairs, call me if you need-"

"I won't," Bella scoffed, not even bothering to look at him and Luke let out an annoyed huff, stomping out.

Vince was downstairs, having finished one pie and standing in front of the stove as he did the apple filling for the other. He glanced up as Luke walked in, marching to the fridge to grab a Gatorade bottle and shutting it with too much force.

Vin raised his eyebrows, but didn't say anything and Luke didn't volunteer any information either, glaring holes on their kitchen floor. Bella was being intransigent and that wasn't fair. He felt hurt and excluded.

"Do you want to-"

"She's being so fucking stubborn," Luke spilled, immediately, as soon as he got the slightest invitation, "c'mon, she's been queasy for days and she didn't have a period last month and I'm the crazy one for suggesting her to get a pregnancy test? When we've been actively trying? That's fucking ridiculous..."

"Uhm... Why doesn't she want to take a test...?" Vin's cheeks were pink and he looked alarmed, brown eyes huge on his face.

"Fuck me if I know," Luke scoffed, "stubborn? She says she knows her body best, which is a fucking lie because I always know she's PMSing before she realizes it, so-"

"Dude, you do not know her body more than she does," Vince snorted, rolling his eyes, "look... You don't wanna fight with her. If she's pregnant, she'll be pregnant a week from now too-"

"But I wanna know now! We both do! We've been trying for months now! I thought-" I thought I was the problem, Luke cut himself short, "look, I'm worried there's something medically wrong and now that she could possibly be pregnant she doesn't even wanna do the fucking test! It takes twenty minutes!"

"Yeah, but-"

"She's being stubborn for no reason," Lucas decided, ignoring Vin's interjection, "this is ridiculous, I'm gonna-"

"Luke, don't, leave her alone-" Vince lurched to try and hold him back, but Lucas was quicker and ducked under his arm, marching out of the kitchen and fishing his car keys, "where are you going- Dude, you're the one being ridiculous-"

"Getting a pregnancy test," Luke decided, despite the fact he was still in his ratty t-shirt, flipflops and loose sweatpants, "I can't just stand around without knowing..."

"Luke, she's gonna bite your head off and she'll be right-" Vince groaned, "c'mon, dude, chill out. I know you're anxious, but if it's a positive it's gonna be positive a week from now too. No reason to pick a fight-"

"I'm not picking a fight, Bella is the one who's being inflexible," he walked out of the house, "she's gonna be over the moon when its positive."

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

He expected to find Vince in the kitchen when he came back, forty minutes later, and Bella still holed up in their bedroom, still mad at him. She could stay mad for hours, he knew that well.

Instead, he found Bell lying on the couch, head resting on Vin's thigh, as they chatted and Luke glared daggers at his friend, a wave of jealousy washing over him. He wasn't normally a jealous guy, but how dare Vince be giggling with Bell when she wouldn't speak with him. Fucked up.

"Bell," he walked closer and she lifted up her eyes, seeming to no longer be angry. Good sign!

"Hi," she sounded normal, happy even, "I'm sorry for snapping at you earlier," Lucas raised his eyebrows at the apology, clutching the pharmacy bag in his hand, "where did you go?"

"Pharmacy," he mumbled, feeling a little embarrassed for his earlier freak out, "uhm- I went to get you a pregnancy test..."

In fact, he had gotten three.

Her face shuttered, Bella sat up on the couch and scoffed, "Lucas-"

"Please?" He talked over her, "please, Bell, it's driving me crazy."

She crossed her arms to her chest, glaring at him, "it's not a positive, Luke-"

"You don't know that," he pointedly ignored Vince, still feeling jealous of how friendly he had been with Bell, and jumped over his legs so he could crouch down in front of the ginger, squeezing her hands in his, "baby, I really think this time-"

"Give me the stupid bag," she took it from his hands, still glaring daggers at his face, and jumped up to her feet, stomping up the stairs. Luke opened a victorious smile, only to catch Vin glaring at him.

"What?"

"You're acting like a dick, dude," Vin wrinkled his nose with disgust, "she's in pain and sick, you're making it worse."

"I'm about to make it better," Luke dismissed him with an eyeroll, "when we get the positive result."

"Uh-huh," Vince sighed, getting up, "I think I'm gonna have lunch out..."

"What? Didn't you make pie and all-"

"Yeah, but I don't wanna hang out with you right now and I don't wanna be in the way when Bella murders you," Vince shrugged, "see you later at the game."

"You're being soooo dramatic," Luke scoffed, walking ahead so he could follow Bella up the stairs. The bathroom door was shut, so he paced nervously in front of it, bouncing on his feet. His heart was racing. She was totally pregnant.

"Bell? You need me to get you water or something?" Did she have to pee in three cups because of the three tests or just one cup and put all three sticks in it? "talk to me, baby."

A sniffle answered him.

His heart sunk.

"Bell," Luke tried the knob, but the door was locked, something Bella never did, "baby, c'mon... What's going on? is it-" Negative?

"G'AWAY!"

He jumped back at the volume of her yell, the way her voice wavered and the sobs that followed. Oh no, "Bell...? I'm not gonna go away-"

A harsh sob answered him and he heard something vaguely colliding with the bathroom door. A soap bottle, probably.

Had he been wrong? But it hadn't been twenty minutes, there was no way the results were on the strips yet...

"Bella-"

The bathroom door unlocked and Bella chucked, with no small amount of force, the pregnancy tests straight into his chest, probably aiming at his head.

Her whole face was pink, tear marks down her cheeks, "just got my period, asshole. I don't need those," Bella's voice wavered, "if you could just listen to me about my own fucking body-"

"That's not- Bella, that's not what I meant, it was just-"

"Oh, you're anxious?" She shoved his chest, eyes welling up with fresh tears, "didn't sleep last night? Boo fucking hoo, Lucas! I could've been sparred from this humiliation ritual today, if you weren't such a stubborn asshole. Happy now?!"

"You know I never meant for that-"

"It's killing you to wait for a positive? Yeah, me too, Luke!" Bella shoved his chest once again and he wrapped his hands around her wrist, heart breaking, "you have no fucking idea how hard it is! It's not you second guessing your body at every little possible symptom, it's not you dreading a whole week of the month, every month, it's not you not even being able to be sick in peace without your stupid hus-husband," her voice broke, more tears coming up and Bella easily pulled her hands from his hold, "I don't wanna look at you today anymore," she circled him, collapsing onto the bed and curling up.

"No, no, baby, I'm sorry," Luke crawled on the bed, hugging her, "I'm sorry, I was a dick, I-" his heart squeezed, so much it physically pained him, as he could feel her crying, "I'm sorry..."

"Leave me'lone," her words stuck together, tears sliding down from the corner of her eye, into her ear, "please, leave me alone..."

"Bell, please," he begged, rubbing her back in a soothing manner, "I'm sorry..."

"Just leave me alone!" She snapped, shoving his arms away from her, "if you're really sorry- Go away."

Luke felt his own face burn, eyes prickling, "I'm sorry..."

"I'm at work," Adalyn said nonchalantly, throwing her long silver-blond waves behind her shoulder. She was wearing a dark blue blazer and matching pants.

"Yes, all working people have time at eleven on Monday," Arthur said with an eye roll in his voice. Adalyn supposed he deemed the actual gesture too childish for himself.

Adalyn pointedly looked at her wrist watch. "I have two interviews today, one participative observation and then I'm meeting with my assistant. And it's not my fault you two have such inflexible jobs."

That has been one of the things her mother threw into her face. Not having real work, cause obviously urban research about meaning-making and identity building at the University research institute didn't count.

Among other things she said that made Adalyn drastically change her life.

"Addie," Amelia said quickly, shooting Arthur a look. She reached across the table. "We don’t have to fight."

"We’re not," Adalyn said.

"Then why are you angry?"

"I am not. I just don't have the time." To waste on people who don't believe in me.

Was it the high Castellan expectations their parents had for them? Not just spirit hunting, but good-sounding jobs and success in them to ground them in reality?

Or was it that even as the eldest among them, Adalyn's job was the hardest to understand? Compared to Amelia's therapy practice and Arthur's highly family-relevant lawyer and insurance skills...researchers weren't among the jobs her mother could admire. Or see as useful for spirit gatherings.

Her parents with the fitness center and sport activities as bussiness-people, both physically grounded, well-earning and suited for catching sensitive individuals...

Researchers didn't seem as fitting for spirit hunting, Adalyn supposed. Not in an obvious way.

Or maybe it was because she didn't have a demon of her own.

"Well, make it," Arthur said into the uncomfortable silence. "Family comes first."

"Yes, yes. No life allowed, if mother doesn't approve," Adalyn said disapposionately. It still made Arthur's eyes narrow, which was as well as a yell from her stoic brother.

"Addie," Amelia tried again. "Your fight is with mom, not with us. You don't have to leave over it."

Adalyn leaned back in her seat as the waitress brought their coffees. She took an experimental sip. They ordered caramel latte for her, all sugary, just like Adalyn liked it. "I'm not doing this for her. Or for you. I'm doing this for me and right now I feel like I want some privacy."

"You can be locked up in your room at the family house for free. And you have a garden and proper meals too," Arthur said.

Adalyn put the cup down, regretting it wasn't to go, so she could storm out with it. Instead she leved her younger brother with a cold look. The implication someone had to look after her, make sure she would go outside, eat and take care of herself infuriated her.

Arthur took a sip of his cappuccino with almost unnoticable smirk to his eyebrows. Loss of words was rare for Adalyn.

It all just confirmed what she knew deep down already — it was just the right time to move out. Even if their family sports club was in a large house full of apartments, even if they all lived together, the multi-generational family they were. Without grandfather and with her mother thinking her this weak, it was pointless.

She didn't stop Arthur for taking another sip, although she could see the milk spirits dancing around his cup. Playful and cheerful, they resembled little white fairies with cornflake wings. This must have been a place specializing in breakfast.

Amelia noticed her look, focusing in that direction. She could inspect the cup all she wanted, no one could see spirits so tiny.

Nobody had Adalyn's sensitivity to them.

And they thought it made her weaker and not stronger for some reason! That she was too close to the spirit world to be capable in the real one. That she couldn't hold a contracted demon, or he would swallow her up.

Contrasts, sure. When she blinked, she could see Amelia's and Arthur's auras were like the colours of their demons. Not present in the room, but close—probably just outside the coffeshop, monitoring the street.

They would treat them as demons, watchman and overqualified servents instead of partners. Instead of humans. With their ridiculous names that weren't modern or actual at all.

Adalyn pointedly looked at her watch. "If there is nothing else, I would like to get going."

Amelia and Arthur exchanged a glance.

"At least give us your current adress. So we can visit when....if something happened."

To check on me? Yeah, sure.

"Leave her be, Aimee," Arthur said, finishing his cup and relaxing his shoulders on purpose. "She'll figure it out on her own. Come crawling, pleading we take her back."

Who are you taking back? It's not your house yet, you little shit.

Adalyn just quirked an eyebrow at him. Arthur's face was already starting to heat up, redding around the center of the forehead and his left cheek. Like a red map on white paper under the dark brown slick hair.

"I wonder who needs to figure what out." She got up from her chair, throwing five euroes on the table. "That wasn’t lactose-free, by the way."

Arthur couged abruptly, spluttering the remanents of the coffee on the table. The alergy started with the face, but often ended up messing up his bowls as well.

Amelia looked horrified, too occupied by thumping their brother on the back to help him breathe again to follow after her as Adalyn left.