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Seven weeks with a sickfic prompt for each week. Use it for any fandom, for fanfic or for art, and use it whenever you’d like to as well! Use just one prompt from each week, or use all three! I tried to group prompts that could go well together
Week One: Poisoned | Vomiting | “It’ll be okay, I’m here now”
Week Two: Hiding an Illness | “Let me help you” | Fever
Week Three: “Are you feeling alright?” | Passing Out | Recovery
Week Four: Dizziness | No Caretaker/All Alone | “I’ll be fine…”
Week Five: Contagious | Unwanted Help | “Quit being so stubborn”
Week Six: Sore Throat | “Shh, hey, you can rest now” | Stuck in Bed
Week Seven: “I’m used to it” | Chronic Pain | Working While Sick
"What do you think happened, uh?" Chris whispered, leaning against the other doctor's locker, as Claire put her scrubs shirt on top of the long sleeves she was wearing
Claire shrugged, "exactly what Lois said," she ditched her earrings inside a little box, along with her rings, "family emergency."
"Hmm," Chris huffed, disbelieving, "I don't know... Banks seemed aware, you should ask him."
"I should ask him?" Claire snorted, rolling her eyes, "I should ask him because you are curious? Why don't you ask?"
"Because he hates me and won't tell me," he said as if it was obvious, "you on the other hand, he will tell and then you can tell me."
"Jonah won't tell me," Claire rolled her eyes, amused, "and we really shouldn't be snooping in Wendy's life. Whatever it is, it's clearly private. C'mon, let's get to work."
Chris admired Claire's character, but God it could be annoying. So what if he was curious? It wasn't like it would change anything, he just wanted to know. Marshall had hardly ever missed a day of work and a year ago or something like that, Chris vividly remembered her working so many shifts that Lois had to kick her out of the schedule. So for her to drop off the face of the Earth? Intriguing, to say the least.
Nevertheless, there was nothing to be done. No one he was on speaking terms with knew what had happened, Lois obviously couldn't disclose private information for legal reasons and Banks would rather drink bleach than telling him. What a horrible fate.
He now had two more shifts added to his schedule, much to his annoyance, since Lois had distributed Wendy's hours among the remaining doctors. It made it all seem very... Final.
His boss had said Marshall wasn't fired, nor had she quit, but then why were they giving away her shifts? It was all very suspicious. Chris was on ER duty tonight, which at least kept his mind busy so he wouldn't drive himself insane over the mystery.
He was three hours into it, having just come back from the doctor's lounge after chugging a big mug of coffee, when Chris caught sight of Marjorie, their oldest nurse, struggling with a patient. That didn't normally occur — especially not with Marjorie — but every once in a blue moon, a random man decided he knew better than a licensed professional and acted like a total dickhead. Chris stepped closer.
"Nurse Marjorie, everything alright?"
"Yes, Dr. Lavin," her cheeks were a deep shade of crimson, "I was just telling Mr. Daniels that we cannot let him arbitrarily pick his doctor."
Chris glanced at the man's paper cuff, that had been wrapped around his wrist during trial. Blue, not an emergency, but not something that could be left hours unattended either, like the green cuffs meant. For some reason people thought they could show up to a hospital to see an optometrist? That's what green covered, absolute idiots.
"I'm fine," the patient decided, pushing himself up from the hospital recliner he was stretched on, or rather, attempting to. He was wobbly on his feet, "If Wendy- Dr. Marshall isn't here, I'll just go."
Oh, hell no. There was no way Chris was gonna let this guy walk away now!
"Dr. Marshall?" He voiced, watching as Daniels' head snapped up, "she's not working tonight, but we can take you. You came to the hospital for a reason, what is it?"
The man rolled his eyes, heavy bags under them and chapped lips, he looked pretty miserable, "I'm fine-"
"Lost fluids for over twenty four hours," Marjorie replied, all the more happy to pass the patient to Chris, "vomiting and diarrhea, blood pressure elevated, headache."
Daniels glared at her and Chris grinned, he had all patience in the world to break the spirit of a bitchy patient if needed be.
"Get comfortable Mr. Daniels, you're not going anywhere," he pulled the curtains that separated each cot from the next, giving them a sliver of privacy, "lie back down, please."
Daniels hesitated, looking between the doctor and the nurse, then he jolted with a nauseous hiccup and color drained from his face, making the decision for him.
Automatically, Marjorie pushed an emesis tray into his hands, and Daniels dry heaved over it for a solid minute, but didn't bring up anything other than some saliva and a dribble of bile. His face was pink and lashes clumped together by tears as he attempted to sit up straight, after belching over the slimy mess.
Chris felt a tinge of sympathy, professionalism overriding his inner desire to just interact with this man to extract information. "I got him," he told Marjorie, "can you please prepare him a saline IV? Zofran drip." The woman nodded curtly and rushed away
Daniels let out a groan, an arm wrapped around his stomach, the other hand holding the emesis tray in a shaky hold. "let me take this," Chris unpeeled his fingers from the tray, "lie back down, please."
The patient obeyed and Chris gave the man a minute, watching as he struggled with the nausea. After he settled, Chris moved closer, "I'm going to palpate your stomach, is that alright, Mr. Daniels?"
"Uhm," the man scoffed, "my name is Max."
"Max," not so much a dickhead then, "please roll up your shirt"
Max obliged with an annoyed grunt, "it's really not that bad, I just thought Wendy was here, so might as well-"
"Dr. Marshall took a license," Chris repeated what Lois had said, probably that was shareable information, "I don't know when she'll be back, but you're pretty dehydrated, Max. Let's deal with this n-"
"Wendy took a license?" Max blinked blearily at him.
So clearly this was news to the man. Interesting. Chris shrugged, "as far as I'm aware," he pulled his stethoscope from where it was resting around his neck and gestured for Max to lie flat on the cot, so he could be examined, "are you two friends?"
"Yes," Max volunteered no further information and Chris tsked under his breath, frustrated at the lack of real gossip.
Max obliviousness to the fact Marshall was gone painted two pictures. Either he wasn't as friendly with Marshall as he believed or her departure had been hasty, with no real prep. The second corroborated what Lois had said about a family emergency, but Chris felt like something was iffy about that. Maybe it was fact that this didn't really piece together with how the fellow doctor had been looking like a corpse later, the whole deal with her boyfriend that Chris had more or less puzzled together or maybe it was because he didn't know Marshall had any family.
In the last four years they had worked together, Chris had seen Claire's parents a handful of times, her sister too. He had in passing seen Jonah's now husband, as well as heard gossip about his famous parents, seen his father on TV once as his reality show played in the lounge — which Banks quickly shut down as soon as he found them watching it. Stewart's mother had once come to the hospital for an appendectomy and they still teased the older doctor about how much of a menace the elderly woman had been. Chris' own parents had visited Welton a handful of times, waiting for him on the waiting room as he got off work to take them to dinner. Marshall... He had never seen a soul, except for her boyfriend Tim that one time she had a migraine and he had to come collect her.
It was very weird she'd up and disappear in the middle of the night for a family emergency.
Max squirmed under him, as Chris pressed the stethoscope to the lower left quadrant, auscultating his bowel movements. The upset whining and snarling of the organ probably felt horrendous, but wasn't concerning. The dehydration in the other hand...
"When did the nausea start?"
"Hmmm," Max was pale as a ghost, tugging his shirt back down as soon as Chris was done palpating the quadrants of his stomach to rule out appendicitis or a gall bladder issue, "is today Saturday?"
"Yes," Chris checked his clock, "Saturday, 9 AM."
"Thursday after dinner," the other man shifted suddenly, pressing a hand to his mouth and muffling a thick burp. He looked humiliated by it, Chris sympathized, "thought it was just-" a gulp down, "my normal issues."
Chris frowned, "your normal issues? You have regular stomach issues, Mr- Max?"
A curt nod, Max shuffled on the cot so he wasn't as flat on his back.
"Have you investigated it at all?"
A shrug. Chris barely stopped himself from letting out a frustrated sigh.
"Would you want us to investigate it? Hopefully we can increase your quality of life."
"Yeah, right," Max snorted in disbelief, rolling his eyes. He looked clammy and judging by the nervous bopping of his Adam's apple, Chris reached behind him to grab another emesis tray, pressing it to the other man's hands.
The blonde let out an offended huff, "not gonna-" a gulp, "hurl."
Uh-huh.
"Keep it anyway," Chris stood up straight, pulling back the privacy curtain, "let's get you settled in our IV room and you can probably sleep it off for a couple of hours while the medicine works its magic. I'll come check on you again before my shift is over, Max."
"Thanks..." He didn't sound thankful at all. Chris waved him off, helping the man get down from the cot and then keeping his hands to himself, no matter how slow of a track Max made as they walked to the other room, where there were several reclining armchairs for patients to lie on, with an IV pole next to each, as well as a companionship chair. Daniels was alone, so that didn't matter.
Marjorie was talking to two other nurses, near an empty chair with a full IV bag attached to it, so Chris decided that was the one she had prepared for Mr. Daniels. Assuming he wasn't gonna get any other information form the man, Chris just watched as they hooked the guy up to the IV and then left him alone for the time being.
Hopefully he'd be in a less cranky, more shareable mood once he wasn't dying from dehydration and nausea.
The rest of his shift went without a hitch. Chris was dead on his feet by the time he was doing the check-up rounds and when he went to check on Max, he found out he had company now.
There was a blonde guy sitting next to him, going through his phone, and it took Chris a couple seconds to remember this was Banks' husband, whom he had examined several weeks back when he had had a panic attack that looked like a heart attack.
The guy looked friendly and sunny, reminded Chris of Emerald and made him wonder what did someone like that want with someone like Jonah Banks. Or Max Daniels, by the way, who still sported a cranky frown.
"Hi Max, how are you feeling?" Chris walked closer, checking the nearly empty IV bag, making sure the tag hadn't changed. The head nurse could've added something to it, although they rarely did that without at least letting the in charge doctor know first.
"Less crap," Max's voice was rough, but now he looked sleepy, rather than sick as a dog. He still was very pale, one arm wrapped protectively around his stomach, "thanks, doc."
"Call me Chris," he answered, mimicking the other guy's previous response and Theo (Theo? Was it Theo?) perked up on his seat.
"Can I take him home?"
"As soon as the IV runs out," Chris nodded, "Max, I'm gonna send you home with a zofran prescription, it should really help with the nausea, as well as a referral if you ever want to get those stomach issues investigated."
"No, thanks," Max scrunched up his nose, "no doctor has been any help when it comes to it."
Theo rolled his eyes, "you were a kid, when you last tried. Now it's different. Thanks Dr. Lavin."
Sweet and polite? How did Banks land that?
"Of course, your prescriptions will be with the discharge papers at the front desk."
Theo smiled brightly at him, nodding in thanks, while Max sulked, staring at a wall to avoid his eyes. Sitting side by side like this, both blonde and lean, it made Chris think they looked like siblings. Maybe that was the connection between Daniels and Marshall, given she was Banks' best friend.
Either way, no one was telling him anything and Chris had to go home with just theories and assumptions.
Blood swirled among the mess, delicate patterns of bright red mesh amongst the tendrils of saliva and the bits of her dinner.
Wendy stared at it, boneless, black dots dancing in front of her eyes and all fight depleted so long ago. Her knuckles were bleeding too, little crimson dots from where they had hit her teeth.
She knew what an ulcer looked, and felt like. The last time she had felt this engulfed by sadness, she had been sixteen and there was a bottle of pills melting in her stomach, entering her bloodstream.
This was bad, really bad. Sirens rung through her mind and yet she couldn't bring herself to get up from the bathroom floor. Wendy leaned forward, pressed her forehead to the cold porcelain, staring at the ground tiles. The grout was a light shade of beige and pristine clean, her bathroom, her sanctuary. She had scrubbed that same spot with bleach so many times, it was actually lighter than the rest of the room.
Her stomach spasmed, tears prickled her eyes and she leaned over the bowl once more, bringing up a mouthful of red tinged bile. Her body wrecked with shivers. She was so dizzy...
When Wendy woke up again, her head was pounding. There was light coming through the tiny bathroom window, on top of bathtub. She couldn't see the sky and the bathroom lights were still on, but no longer the only source. She was freezing down to her bones, so much that her teeth chattered.
Wendy wiped at her mouth, using the toilet and then the cabinet to pull herself up. Not standing, just sitting, and that was enough to make her head swim and for her to nearly pass out again.
She crawled out of the bathroom, gulping the air of the bedroom greedily, since it wasn't thick with sickness. Her phone had been left to charge, on her bedside table and she couldn't bring herself to stand up, so instead Wendy threw her weight against its foot and the whole thing came tumbling down.
Her cellphone fell on the rug, its charger as well, the remote control of her A/C near it and her flower shaped lampshade fell on the hardwood floor and broke, sending pink and orange glass everywhere. Wendy felt like crying.
Instead she grabbed her cellphone and pressed 1 on her quick dial.
It rang three times before being picked up.
"Wendy?" Vince's voice was thick with sleep and she struggled to figure out what time it was, exactly, or if it was a weekend. Shouldn't he have been up for now?
None of those questions made it out of her mouth, except for a wheezing sound, a knot squeezing her throat.
"Wendy?" Vince sounded a whole lot more alert, "Wendy, answer me."
"Can you-" She stared at her lap, her sight getting blurry. There were purple marks on her knees, something sharp digging on her ankle. Had she rolled on top of a glass shard? "...Help me?"
"Where are you?" He was moving around, if she closed her eyes she could just picture him, so vividly he was almost in the room with her. Messed up curls and grabbing his ditched jeans from the chair the Atwoods kept near the guest room's wardrobe. Hunting for his shoes.
It filled her up with warmth, the fact that he'd come in a heartbeat, that she hadn't broken him so much that he no longer cared if she lived or died. This probably made her a horrible person.
"Wendy," Vince stressed, "where are you? Are you home?"
"Yes, yes I'm home," except it hadn't really felt like home in a long time now. More of a cave, the only place that felt like home was the bathroom. Everywhere else she was performing normalcy.
"Okay," he sounded relieved, "I'm coming over, alright?"
"Can you- Can you stay on the line with me?" It sounded childish and it was, a child asking for their nightlight to be kept or for their parents to check under the bed. It didn't matter, it was out of her mouth before she could control it.
"I..." Vince hesitated, she remembered he drove a motorcycle, "yeah, I can. Hold on."
How?
Wendy blinked and she was looking at the broken lampshade. Much closer now. Her ankle was hurting more, she tried looking at it and realized the angle was wrong. Uhm. She was on the ground again.
"Honey, please answer me," Vince was begging, his voice distant, and Wendy pressed her eyes closed. It had felt like this the first time around too, except better. The fog had been thicker, the floating sensation stronger. There had been no nausea or cold, no one begging through a phone. Just her, lying on the cold floor, eyes following the veins on the marble.
She couldn't be dying this time around, though. It made no sense, there had been no pill bottle, no stuttering heart in her chest, no warning signs. Just guilt and a broken heart, none of which killed.
Made no sense. Stop being dramatic, her mind told her, get up.
Wendy tried, she really did. She planted a hand on the ground to push herself up, then didn't manage, and instead just fell back down. Drama queen, her mother whispered.
It was dramatic, but not the failing to get up part. That had been happening through most of the past ten days, all she needed was some time to recover, a quick nap, a piece of cheese, a bit of coffee... Calling Vince had been the dramatic part.
She shouldn't have done that. Maybe she could call him back, tell him there was no need to come over. She had fallen and gotten spooked, something like that.
"Wendy," Vince, shit, he was on the line still, right?
"Wendy, open your eyes," he was slapping her cheek and Wendy's eyes sprung open, although she didn't remember closing them at all. The bedroom was light enough that she could see Vin's face contorted with worry, pale as a ghost, "yes, keep 'em open, honey," his big hand was suffocating her, moving from her cheek to her neck. Wendy squirmed, claustrophobic.
"Lemme'go-"
"Shhh, it's just me, it's just me-" he moved his hands away from her neck, down her body, "are you hurt...?"
"No," Wendy said automatically and Vince let out a huff, eyes studying her and then widening.
"You're bleeding."
"It'sssnothin-"
"C'mere," suddenly he was sliding his hands under her armpits as if she was a child and pulling her up, planting her on the bed. The altitude change caused a new wave of vertigo to wash over her and Wendy's eyes rolled, the whole room going blurry, her neck giving up holding up her head.
"WENDY!"
"Hmm?" She forced her eyes open again and Vince's face was right next to hers, so close their noses were nearly touching. She had missed seeing him this up close, had forgotten how stupidly long were his lashes, "hi..."
He let out a breath, his head hung, then pulled back, "I got you some water, can you drink it?"
Wendy wrinkled her nose at the idea of drinking anything, putting anything in her body. She had worked so hard to get rid of it...
"Water, honey, it's just water," Vince promised, bringing a glass to her, a metal straw poking out. She took a little sip, it felt amazing against her raw throat, but settled badly in her stomach. The organ let out a whine, upset.
"That's enough for now," Vince pulled the glass back, set it on her bedside table... Hadn't she tipped that over? The lampshade was still on the floor, broken, proving she wasn't insane, "you're bleeding, don't move. I'll stop it."
As if she could move, Wendy thought with a snort. Her head was so heavy, she leaned it back against the pillow.
There was a sharp sting to her ankle and Wendy tried pulling it back, only for it to be trapped in Vince's hand. He grimaced, "I'm sorry, I'm sorry..." he had ripped open a band-aids box on top of her comforter and was using several of them as butterfly bandages, "what happened, Wendy?"
She let out a breath, shrugged, "drama. You can go-"
"I'm not going anywhere," Vince's voice was clipped with annoyance, "there's vomit in the bathroom and blood on the seat. Your knees are bruised just like they were back in March, even more actually! You can barely stay awake and I've never seen your face so pale, I-"
"Help," Wendy interrupted him, wanting to hug her knees to her chest, but Vin still have an iron grip around her ankle, "I think I need help."
His shoulders dropped, all fight left him. Vince nodded, quickly, "okay. I can help-"
"No," she sniffled, angrily rubbed at her eyes as the tears that had threatened to fall for ages finally managed to, "not your help. Actual- I think- I need to go to a clinic."
One with surveillance and therapists and others who understood, someplace where she couldn't keep hurting herself, because this was what this was. This was what it had always been.
"I... Okay," Vince seemed taken back, spooked. His eyes were the size of saucers and he had let go of her ankle, "okay. Tonight?"
She glanced at her bedroom window. It was a little past dawn now, judging by the peachy light filtering through her curtains. Vince scoffed, followed her gaze, "this morning?"
"Yes," she hugged her knees, curled up, "I'm sorry."
"Nothing to be sorry for," Vince lunged forward, wrapped her up into a hug and Wendy immediately melted against him, closing her fists on his shirt and weeping. He kissed the top of her head, "you have nothing to apologize for, I got you."
At some point, she stopped crying and Vince peeled himself away from her, starting to move around. He put together a duffle bag for her, all of her lounging clothes and personal items that Wendy was sure would be confiscated but she didn't have the heart to tell him.
"You should eat."
"I can't," she raised her arms, closed her eyes to avoid his as Vin helped her inside of a long sleeved shirt as well as a jacket. What would she see in his eyes? Disgust? Pity?
"Wendy-"
"It's not gonna stay down," she tugged on her shirt, glared at the ground, "please don't make me."
Vin let out a heavy sigh, crouching down in front of her and patting her thigh as he slid up a pair of sweat pants, "okay, okay."
She pulled her hair into a ponytail, then tried to get up from the bed and her legs refused to work, Vince catching her by the waist before she went down to her knees once again.
"I got you," he planted her back on the bed and only then did Wendy consider how the hell he had gotten inside her place. Did he have her keys still? It made her heart squeeze, she had thought he would've left them with Jonah long ago, "do you know a clinic? Or do I have to make calls?"
"I know one," Wendy rubbed her face, tired, "my phone-"
The first, and only, time she had been to an eating disorder recovering center it had been all the way back in New York. Going back wasn't a possibility, but she knew how to get a referral if she wanted one. Vince paced in front of her, holding out the water whenever her voice faltered her as Wendy tried to sound professional and not like she was falling apart at the seams.
She got a referral to Portland, the closest they could do and Vince was up and moving as soon as he got the address.
Wendy's head lolled as he deposited her on the passenger seat, carefully brushing the hair away from her face and pulling on her hoodie, fishing her sunglasses. God forbid someone saw her like this.
"How do I look?" She asked with a teasing smile, knowing damn well that her lips were chapped and she had dark circles so deep, they looked like bruises. Vin's lips turned up, an amused huff through his nose.
"Beautiful," he lied, helping her with the seatbelt.
"Tsk, liar," she smiled, letting her head rest back and crossing her arms to her chest. She was freezing, even though he had helped her dress a long sleeved shirt and a sweat jacket.
"Here," Vin crouched in front of the open car door stripping his large white hoodie and passing it to her. When Wendy only stared at it, he let out a huff and manhandled her inside of it, "there you go."
Vince was a furnace by default and his hoodie was like a weighed blanket smelling of his aftershave. She tugged on the hood part, buried her nose in it and felt every muscle in her body respond by relaxing.
Then they were on the road.
She was in and out of consciousness for the better part of it, only waking up when they were about fifteen minutes away from Portland, as Vin turned the GPS a little louder to find the way to the clinic.
He was staring straight ahead, shoulders up to his ears and that had nothing to do with the fact he had barely fixed her car seat. Wendy felt the bitter taste of guilt in the back of her throat, looked around for a water bottle to rinse it off. She was ruining this man's life... But he had come and that meant the world to her.
Her movement startled him and Vince swore, softly, under his breath, taking his eyes off the road, "are you okay? Do you need me to pull over?"
She felt like she was a bunch of little pieces glued together with spit and bubblegum, "No, I'm fine."
Silence.
"How long will you have to stay there?" Vince asked, then cleared his throat as his voice came out deeper than intended, after so long not talking.
Wendy shrugged, "I don't know," she wanted to say not long. The rational part of her, or so she thought, told her she was going out of her own will and that she had picked the more radical of treatments. The outcome should be that she was out sooner, right?
Yet, she couldn't say it out loud. It felt a little too close to lying.
"Did you..." Vince trailed off, squeezed the steering wheel, "the first time... Did you also go to the hospital?"
She had gone to the hospital alright, but Vince wasn't asking that, "it's not a hospital, it's an inpatient clinic... And yes, I did," she picked at her cuticles, "one week in the actual hospital, seven at the clinic. Needed a bunch of tutors when I went back to school..."
He breathed out strongly, jaw clenching, Wendy squirmed on her seat, ready to beg Vin to say something, anything, when he opened his mouth again.
"Will I be able to visit you?"
Wendy's eyes burned and she stubbornly swallowed down the swell of emotion, nodding, "no-" gulping down the knot in her throat, "not on the first week... But yeah, they'll call you to let you know when visitations are open."
Vin nodded as if he was mentally jolting down what she was saying, then he let out a deep breath, "and do you want me to?"
Wendy couldn't answer at all, so she only nodded, briskly. Blindly, Vince reached out for her hand and squeezed it in his, bringing it up to his lips as he kissed her bruised knuckles, "I'll be there."
She squeezed his hand right back, so tight it hurt.
"Can- Can you tell Jon?" Wendy asked, a handful of minutes later, as she watched the buildings pass them by. The clinic was on the outskirts of the city, away from the pollution and the chaos, but not so far away they didn't have access to the best doctors and care. Money might not buy happiness, but it tried its best, "I would but-"
But it was just turned 6 AM, the dashboard told her. Wendy tried to do the math, figure out how long ago she had called Vin. At 4 AM? 3 AM?... And he had showed up.
"I'll talk to him," Vince agreed, "can I give him the address? He'll want to visit."
"Yes," Wendy curled up, snuggling into his hoodie, "it's fine if Leo knows, Jonah wouldn't be able to keep a secret from him... The others too, it's fine."
She knew damn well who she meant by the others. The fact that she couldn't call Bell ate Wendy up daily. She wondered how her friend was, had many questions to ask her, some cognitive dissonance making her want to talk to Bella about the breakup, as if Bell wasn't deeply intertwined in the mess.
More often than she missed Vince, Wendy missed Bella.
"Are you sure?"
"I... Yeah," Wendy squeezed his hand, finally pulling it back, "I wish Max wouldn't know."
"Why him?" Vince frowned, confused and Wendy couldn't help but feel slightly giddy at the possibility of him being jealous. He wasn't, of course not, but she still wanted him to be. The desire vanished very quickly as she gave him an honest answer.
"He was so... Kind to me the other night," Wendy's voice dropped as she thought of the gentleness Max had extended her during Leo's dinner party, none of which she had earned, "I wish he wouldn't- see me like this..."
There was a deep wrinkle forming between Vince's eyebrows, "getting help? That's not a bad thing to be, honey."
"I know that, I do-" Wendy wished she could live in that phrase of his, the honey, the steadfast reassurance, "I just... Don't feel it."
Vince looked genuinely upset about it, but there was nothing he could say besides an useless "you shouldn't feel like that", which he had sense enough not to voice. Instead another awkward minute passed and then he asked, "do you need me to tell your job?"
"No, the clinic will do that," Wendy sat up straight as she saw they were nearing it, the GPS point appearing to be almost on top of them. One more turn and she could see it, a large sprawling building in between suburbs and city, set in a manicured lawn with gorgeous flowers upfront and the start of a forest behind it.
Vince slowed down the car to crawl, "are you sure about this?" He asked quietly, "say the word and I'll take you back home..."
The last time she had been to inpatient care, no one had asked her if she wanted it. No one had even offered her the option to go home. Wendy leaned in, planted her hand on his knee, "this is good, Vin."
He looked skeptical, but defeated, and parked near the entrance, alongside other visitor's cars.
"Don't move," Vince instructed, getting out of the car and circling it. First he went for her bag, throwing it over his shoulder, then for Wendy herself, wrapping an arm around her waist as he pulled her up. The best he could do without just carrying her and Wendy wouldn't allow him to.
Inside it was pristine. Brightly lit, but not sterile. Blue walls and a lady sitting behind a white counter, typing away. She raised her eyes, expectantly, placid smile on, "may I help you?"
"Hi, I'm- I'm Wendy Marshall? I called earlier to set up an evaluation for the inpatient care...?"
"Oh of course," the woman — Christie, said her name tag, next to her pronouns — "why don't you take a seat while you fill up our form? Can I have your ID, Ms. Marshall?"
Vince had all of her things, so he did that too and Wendy felt a little bit like a child, watching him take charge of the situation. He looked older, but that was just her brain playing tricks on her.
"Are you greying out?" She whispered, as Vince helped her to one of the baby blue couches across the room, planting a clipboard on her lap along with a pen.
"What?"
"Here," she reached in, as she had wanted to do all night and grabbed a white singular hair out of his messy curls, "that's a white hair."
"No, the fuck it's not," he shooed her hand away, horrified, "focus."
Wendy smiled, a flutter went through her, "I got this," she started ticking on the boxes about what exactly was her eating disorder, "you should go, Vin."
"I... I wanted to speak with your doctor..."
"This is gonna take hours," Wendy rolled her eyes, "they're gonna take me inside, to the general doctor to assess my health, then the shrink probably and then, only then, they'll take me to the rooms in the back... You better go, I..." she hesitated, chewed on her lip, "I'll see you next week?"
Vince was crouched down in front of her and his face wrinkled with a smile, a genuine one, the first one yet, "you bet."
"Thank you for... For showing up."
He rolled his eyes, leaned in a kissed her brow, "I love you, of course I'd show up."
Wendy scoffed, face burning, eyes too, angrily putting her pen down, "now you've done it," she said angrily as the waterworks started, throwing the clipboard to the side as she lunged forward, hugging Vince tightly and muffled a watery, barely audible "I love you too" in his hair.
"Open up," Bella said, causing Luke to perk up like a dog from the couch where he had been sprawled on the whole morning.
For anyone else, this would be perfectly normal. Vince was trying — key word: trying — to teach Bell how to cook, so they had been busy and Luke had been watching the F1, while spending a lazy rainy saturday morning in. Except this was Luke, so the fact he had been lying down for the past 3 hours, without coming into the kitchen to pester them or insisting on going outside to do something or talking a mile a minute had caused both Vin and Bell to raise their eyebrows.
"Is it a croissant?" Lucas asked, pushing himself up on his elbow and Vin pressed his lips not to laugh, as he could see Bella holding the thermometer behind her back.
"Close your eyes."
"M'kay," he sounded so excited, Vince felt bad enough he ran back to the kitchen to grab a croissant, just as Bella pushed the thermometer in Luke's mouth and caused him to splutter and spit.
"BELLA!"
"No, don't move it!" Bell was holding Luke's chin, while he glared at her, offended, when Vince walked back with a plate holding several different pastries.
"M'notick" Luke mumbled, then considerably perked up as he saw the plate Vince was carrying.
Up close, they could tell Lucas looked off. Beyond just the odd behavior, he was also looking a little pale, eyes with shadows around them and a pinkish hue to his nose that made Bella squint. Had he been blowing or rubbing at it while trying to be inconspicuous?
The thermometer beeped and she retrieved it before he could grab it, jumping out of Luke's reach.
"Sorry, handsome, 99.5ºF, that's a fever in my book," Bella said, sounding a little smug as her husband pouted and collapsed dramatically back against the cushions.
"I'm just warm, it's not a fever."
"Uh-huh," she circled it, perching herself on the couch's arm and ran her fingers through his hair, knuckles brushing against his forehead. More than just a little overheated, "just get some rest, Luke. No point pretending you're not sick."
"I don't pretend I'm not sick," Luke scoffed, which caused Vince to snicker, sitting down on the couch opposite to them.
"He really doesn't, he bitches and moans for hours, you'd know," Vin shrugged, only to receive a couch pillow straight on his face. Apparently the fever hadn't damaged Luke's aim one bit.
"I don't bitch either!"
Bella giggled, leaning in to press a kiss to the top of his head, "you don't bitch, you whine."
"I'm sick and being ganged up on," Luke groaned, curling up his legs and rubbing at his face, thinking he was being oh so very smooth at hiding how he was actually rubbing his nose, "you two are the worst."
Bella rolled her eyes at his mannerisms, jumping from the couch to go sit near their fireplace, where they kept most of her records collection, "because you're sick you get to pick the music, baby."
Luke was busy grabbing two croissants off of Vin's plate and he shrugged, mouth already full, "you know I don't care-"
"I care," Vince interjected, "please no metal. I'm actually begging."
"And you have the nerve to call me dra-ah-AMATCISKFZEW!" Luke sneezed loudly mid phrase, jumping on the couch and crumbling a pastry in his fist as he did so, "shit, my croissant..."
Vince cackled at his expense, while Bella took pity on Luke, maybe because he looked close to tears at his now destroyed pastry.
"You can have mine," she crawled on the rug, passing him her plate, "and lie back down, I'll grab you a blanket."
"Can't Vince grab a blanket and you cuddle me?"
Vince rolled his eyes so hard he feared they might get stuck, "you're such a big baby."
"Yeah, Vin can grab the blanket," Bella promptly sided with Luke, causing him to beam and Vince to scoff at her.
"You're babying him."
"Because he is my baby," Bella shrugged, getting a mischievous look on her face as she tackled Luke, covering his face with kisses, "my. Six. Foot. Four. Nearly. Thirty. Years. Old. Baby!"
Luke let out a whine as she continued to kiss all over his face, covering it in lipgloss, "Bella, what the hell- My head hurts!"
"He's juuuust a babyy-" she held him by the hair, almost managing to headlock him, "Poor sickly- I could bi-ITE yOU!" She punctuated the last phrase by biting Luke's bicep, pinching his sides and he nearly threw her off the couch as they tickle wrestled.
Vince snorted at their antics, deciding to abide and get a blanket. When he came back, he threw it on top of their heads, as Bella continued to try and wrestle Luke, whose face was no longer pale, but pink. If it was from exertion or embarrassment, Vince didn't know.
"Lemme- Stop- STOP!" He shouted, only to immediately fold down with a coughing fit. He clutched his throat, groaning, "awn-"
"Shit," Bella was fallen on her ass on the rug, face flushed and sweaty, "I'm sorry, I'm sorry-"
"It's fi-ASHTSKEW!" Lucas let out a groan as a powerful sneeze caused him to hurry to cover his face, as he got snot all over his palm, "Oh'gross..."
He got up, swaying a little, walking to the downstairs bathroom to blow his nose and wash his face. When he returned Bella cringed, now he was really pale.
"Okay, c'mere, mi vida," she opened her arms, sitting on the couch and Luke let out a pained groan as he collapsed down onto her lap, hiding his face on her thigh, "you're really warm."
"Hmm," he yawned, closing his eyes and Bella felt a pang to her heart. She hated seeing Luke without energy, it just felt extremely wrong.
Her hand ran through his hair, curling the wavy strands around her fingers as Vince switched through the channels and ended up settling on a HGTV show.
Luke's weight slumped, as he actually started to relax, green eyes locked onto the TV screen. Bella ran her thumb over his forehead, smoothing the wrinkle between his eyebrows away.
"I don't think I've ever watched this channel," Luke mumbled and Bella cringed, his voice was hoarse as hell.
"Never?" Vin frowned, confused, "not even in passing?"
"I don't think so?" His eyes were droopy and he shivered violently, "why are they renovating the house if they're gonna sell it?"
"It's called house flipping," Vin stretched on the opposite couch, "you buy a shabby place, upgrade it yourself for cheap, up its price, sell, rinse repeat."
"Sounds predatory," Luke scrunched up his nose, while Vin shrugged, unbothered. Bella let out a little scoff.
"They're upgrading a place, how's that predatory?"
"Isn't that gonna cause gentrifi-ShWAZOn-" He interrupted himself with a powerful sneeze, quickly followed by two others. Luke clutched his head and Bella all but forgot about their previous conversation.
"Your head hurts?"
"Is it a migraine?" Vince asked, looking concerned. Bella had heard about the recent cluster episode that had happened while she was in New Mexico and although she knew, objectively, that there was nothing she could've done and that it wasn't her fault for being away when it had happened, it still left a bad taste in her mouth.
"Not a migraine," Luke sniffled, turning on the couch so he was facing the ceiling, or rather, Bella's nose, "just a headache."
"Hmmm," Vince squinted at him, while Bell turned her head down, twirling a hair strand of his between her fingers.
"Let's get some meds in you," she folded in half, pressing a kiss to his feverish forehead. Was he warmer than ten minutes ago?
In order for Lucas to have meds he needed to eat and apparently, as he said, crumbly croissants were not a meal. They ended up having lunch in the actual dining room, a rare occurrence because normally they ate in the living room in front of the TV or in the kitchen, and while Luke started eating excitedly, it quickly dimmed and he was left pushing his steak around his plate, as well as the mashed potatoes.
"I'll finish for you," Vince fished Luke's plate from him and the other man let out a huff, another uncharacteristic trait, letting others take his food like that.
"Are you okay?" Bella paused eating, inspecting him closely. Luke shrugged.
"Head hurts," he planted an elbow to the table, cradling his head and staring down at his lap, "stuffy."
"Go lie down on the couch, baby," Bell suggested and Luke shook his head, stubbornly.
"Lonely."
She let out a huff, smiling at him, "it's not gonna be long-"
"Nuh-huh," Luke lowered his forehead to the table, sniffling and coughing at his lap, "m'not going."
Vince rolled his eyes, shuffling closer as he continued to chew and pressed his arm to Luke's. He was most definitely warmer, something Bell probably concluded too since she was eyeing him worriedly.
They ate and chatted, over the constant background noise of Luke groaning like an old man and occasionally coughing and sneezing, only getting up to blow his nose. By the third time he did that, Vin and Bell got rid of all the food and took the plates back to the kitchen, piling them into the dishwater.
"Hey," Bella crouched down in front of the couch when they returned to the living room, finding Luke cocooned into three blankets he had retrieved from upstairs and curled up on the smallest of the two couches, which was a choice considering his height, "talk to me, you're looking a little clammy."
Luke's nose was really red from all the blowing and rubbing and he was pale as a ghost, but Bell was right, to top it off there was now a sheen of sweat covering him that wasn't good news.
"Feel gross," he whined pathetically, raising his head just enough to gesture to the cushion, "cuddle?"
Vin rolled his eyes at their antics, running upstairs to grab a book, just as outside a thunder exploded. The temperature was dropping considerably, so Vin put on a sweater and grabbed one of his chunky cardigans for Bella as well.
She beamed at him as Vin dropped it on top of her head, circling the coffee table to collapse on the opposite couch. Luke was now draped over her lap and coughing, surfing through their streaming apps.
They settled on some dumb sheep mystery movie that had Bella sucked into it like a little kid, while Luke bitched about the sheep. Vince drowned them out, focused on his novel.
About fifteen minutes in, Luke squirmed and braced against Bella's thigh, pushing himself up.
"Where are you going-"
Instead of answering her, he pressed a fist to his mouth, muffling a deep burp in it. Bella raised her eyebrows, hands frozen in the air as she was about to check his fever, "reflux?"
"Nuh-huh," he turned his head, muffling a deep chesty cough on his elbow crook and it morphed in a bit of a gag at its tail end. Vince lowered his book.
"Bowl?"
Luke shook his head, raising a hand to stop both Vince from asking and Bella from fussing as he continued to try and hack up a lung. Then suddenly a particularly watery cough had him shooting up and rushing out of the living room, towards the downstairs bathroom.
Bella was up on her feet immediately and Vince cringed as he heard what he couldn't make out as coughs or gags.
Luke stumbled back a couple minutes later, now swaying on his feet, arms crossed in some sort of self hug as he shivered. Bella was shortly behind, bringing with her the roll of toilet paper and the bathroom waste basket.
"Are you nauseous?" Vince stretched to grab the remote control, pausing the movie.
"Just a little," he sat down on the couch, elbows perched on his knees as he stared at the coffee table, trying to figure out if it was safe to lie down. Bella slid right next to him, planting a hand on his back and rubbing up and down in a soothing manner.
"Let's hope you didn't throw up the tylenol," she sighed, pressing a kiss to his shoulder, "you're really warm, I don't like it."
"Yeah, I'm dying," he groaned, deciding he was fine enough and tipping to the side to return to their initial positions, except this time Luke had his back turned to the TV and his face pressed to Bella's stomach, "rub my belly?"
"So it is a bellyache?" Bella asked, squirming under him so she could plant her feet on the coffee table and shuffling with the covers in order to get her hand on her husband's stomach, fingers moving in slow circular motions.
"No," he interrupted himself with another burp, followed by a groan, "I don't know, I feel like crap. My head hurts, my stomach hurts, my back, my eyes, my-"
"What doesn't hurt?" She snickered, grinning at his little baby attitude, all the while Vince decided their were fine and returned to his book.
"My hair?" Luke pouted, wrapping an arm around her waist, "not even sure if that."
Bella let her hand slide under the curve of his belly, where it met the elastic of his sweatpants, then back up with pressure all the way to his navel, causing Luke to squirm and muffle a burp against the blanket, "you're sounding terribly pukey, captain."
"I'm not," he guided her hand closer to his ribs, "don't press so much, I'm all... Fragile."
"Fragile," she chuckled at the word, running her knuckles against his ribcage, "that's a word for it. Don't throw up on my lap."
"I'm not gonnaa-ahA-AatSCHOow! ," he groaned loudly at the powerful sneeze, followed by three others and then stretched out a hand so Bell could pass him a wad of toilet paper, "kill me."
"Not happening," she pressed her free hand over his forehead, wiping away the clamminess, "I want to check your temperature again."
"Uhm," Luke shuffled, so he was now belly up instead of lying on his side and allowed Bell to put the thermometer in his mouth, glaring at nowhere. His eyes were shining with fever and there was now a permanent red splotch in the middle of pale cheeks.
Bella continued to rub his stomach, fingers barely ghosting over his skin, as she waited for the device to beep. Here and there he squirmed as she tickled him by accident.
"How much is it?" Luke asked, when it finally beeped and Bella retrieved it.
"Uhm-100.2ºF," she snorted, "not that high, honestly."
"There's no way," Lucas whined, "m'dying! This must be broken."
Bella giggled, shaking her head, relieved by the lower than expected temperature, "I don't think so, baby."
"It totally is, gimme it-" he snatched the device from her hands, pressing the reset button and putting it back on his mouth, "otta'ee'oken"
"Sure it is," Bella's voice dripped with sarcasm and Luke let out a scoff, glaring at her.
"On'ean"
"What's that?" She plucked the thermometer right out of his mouth and Luke let out an offended cry.
"I said don't be mean!"
"I'm not," Bella's relief at the lack of seriousness of his condition was palpable, she looked at the thermometer in her hand, "uh-oh, now you're 99ºF."
"Ah, fuck off," Luke curled up, trying to hide himself against her, "I am dying, I don't care what this stupid thing says."
"Can you die in silence? I'm trying to read," Vince voiced, shaking his novel and then had to dodge as Lucas promptly threw a cushion at him.
"Don't be a dick," he sniffled, rubbing at his face, "let's just watch the movie."
"I think the butcher did it," Bella said, shuffling around so they were back into cuddling, "or maybe one of the sheep."
"You think one of the sheep killed a guy?" Luke scoffed, "were you even watching? They love him."
"Yeah, but they forget things on purpose. Maybe they killed him and don't remember it," Bell slid her hand down his stomach and let out a little cuteness aggression squeal as she grabbed a handful of pudge, folding by the middle to kiss temple, "you're so squishy today."
"Yeah, keep squeezing me and I will hurl," Lucas poked her hand, trying to free himself, "it's testy already, don't push it."
"Sorry, sorry, you're just so cute, I can't help it," she was smiling from ear to ear and Vince let out a loud suffering sigh.
"You two are disgusting," he sat up, "I'm gonna read in my room."
"Someone is salt-AH!"
They were dipped into the dark as a loud thunder exploded over their heads and the power flickered and went out.
"Shit," Vince whispered, ignoring Luke saying that was karma for him trying to go read alone. Bella was up and moving already, in search of her lighter to light up the million candles she had scattered around the house.
"Now it looks haunted, great," Vince glared at the various black and red candles they had upon the fireplace mantlepiece, "we're months away from Halloween."
"It's never too early for Halloween," Bella shrugged, the smacked his chest, passing him the lighter, "get the fireplace going."
"Why me?"
"Because Luke is sick-"
"He doesn't even know how to get a fireplace going in the first place-"
"Slander on my name! I learned!"
"-and because I told you so," Bella ignored both their comments, walking back to the couch to curl up with Luke, "chop chop."
"So bossy," Vince scoffed, but considering it was far too dark to read and that it was pretty cold even for him, probably even worse for Luke, he got to it with minimal complaint.
They had extra logs in the mudroom close to the kitchen and Vince had to grab some old newspaper to use as fuel for the fire, but it eventually caught on, just as they heard the wind howling outside.
"It's bending the backyard trees," Vin pointed out, ditching the couch so he could sit down criss crossed on the rug, head near Luke's feet because no way he was gonna sit close to the wastebasket.
"Soo... What do we do now?" Luke asked, restless.
"You should sleep, you're dying remember?" Vince turned to glare at his best friend and received a sneeze right on his face as a response.
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Just read Alpha by Audrey Faye, which is so not a romance or erotic book but a cute, hurt/comfort read where pack bonds mean everyone touches and hugs all the time and turn into wolves and back anytime and person and wolf often have different personalities...really good quick read and a cool concept.
I'm thinking of writing little experiment snippets in a world where everyone has word names with meanings about their life/state personality. OCs like Hollow, Ghost, Rust, Solace...
The setting by a little old boathouse turned to bookshop cafe on the beach offers itself up for little hurt/comfort and sick moments
You know the feeling when you don't have a story, but you have a place and characters with whimsy word names, an inkling of a magical realism concept and lots of vibes?
Anon that requested the person trying to hide their sickness here. Max is always the person I have in mind lol……
Combining this ask with the one that asked for gassy Max 👀
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Wine and Dine
He was sweating.
Max felt ridiculous, wiping his palms on his jeans and shifting on his foot. He was standing in front of the classroom, watching the kids perform a dissection on their frogs — a bit archaic, but oh well, he had gotten permits from the parents and the school board, the kids were excited — and trying to ignore the growing pain in his middle.
It wasn't his usual nausea after lunch, organ working hard at churning a meal and deciding if it was going to reject it. He hadn't even eaten lunch yet, because he had woken up late as hell and all but bolted out of the door. On his way out he had picked the first clothes he managed to get his hands on and now Max could feel it. His jeans were cutting into him, did he grab too small a pair?
Had he gained weight during the cabin trip?
His day dragged. Twice he had run across Vince, once in the teacher's lounge, once in the hallways and during both times Vin had frowned at him, a little wrinkle of concern forming between his eyes. Max didn't want Vince to fret about him, at the very least not in front of their other coworkers, so he did his best to avoid the other man going forward.
By the time the day ended, he was feeling downright claustrophobic. Max wanted to crawl out of his skin and he opened his jeans as soon as he got inside his car, letting out a relieved sigh and tugging on his shirt to cover up the fact his belly was poking out from his boxers.
His phone buzzed.
Leo: Can you pick up a bottle of wine on your way over? Red, doesn't matter the brand it's for cooking.
Uh-oh, he had forgotten. Max let out a groan, leaning his forehead on the steering wheel and wincing. Leo's dinner party had totally slipped his mind.
The blonde had mentioned it about a day after they came back from the cabin and he was really excited, apparently it was the first dinner party he was ever throwing for his coworkers. Max had no idea why he had been invited, but Leo had glared daggers at him when he mentioned passing on the invitation, making it clear it was not optional.
There was a tap on his window, startling Max. He jumped on his seat, a bubble of gas went up and he had to press a fist to his mouth to muffle a burp, in case it was a student or worse, a student's parent.
He shouldn't have bothered, it was just Vince, clutching his helmet with one hand, the other one tapping Max's glass window.
"What?" Max rolled it down, but didn't make any move to open the car door.
"Are you okay?" Vince frowned at him, "you've been looking kinda pasty since morning."
"Peachy," Max shrugged and Vin let out a scoff, rolling his eyes.
"Yeah, right..." He looked around, leaning an elbow on Max's rolled down window, "do you want to grab something to eat?"
God, fuck this guy. Max knew, objectively, that Vince was being friendly, not flirty — At least not this time, he had apparently gotten the hint during the weekend trip that Max was not feeling very "rebound fuck after the worst heartbreak of my life"-y — but that didn't stop him from feeling exposed, like a raw wire.
"I can't, I got Leo's thing tonight."
"Oh yeah, the party I have not been invited to," Vince pouted and Max chuckled.
"Yep, that one. I can't do anything if Leo likes me more."
Vince let out a huff, a smile tugging at his lips, "tell Leo he's on my shit list."
"Will do," Max nodded, turning his key and starting his car, to hint at Vince to step back. He didnt.
"Are you sure it's smart to go, you're really looking rather ill..."
"I'm not sick," Max planted his hand on Vin's arm, starting to shove it away from his window, since Vince was adamant on ignoring his subtlety, "lunch didn't agree." A little white lie.
"You had lunch? I didn't see you at the cafeteria-"
"I ate in the classroom, had papers to grade," a second little lie, Max was feeling increasingly frustrated. He wanted to be gone already, he still needed to shower and change, buy the dumb wine Leo wanted. His belly was feeling really unsettled, maybe he could try using the bathroom too, if Vince just got the hint and let him go.
"Are you avoiding me?"
"God, no," Max successfully shoved his arm off his window, "I gotta go."
"Okay," Vince blinked those sad cow eyes of his at him and Max pressed his lips in an unimpressed line. He hated how much of an effect it had.
"I'm not avoiding you, idiot," he shooed Vince, "I am late and gotta go. Scram."
Vince's face got all wrinkly as it opened a lopsided smile and Max shooed him with renewed intensity.
"Have fun at the party," Vin finally waved at him, putting his helmet on as he walked back to his motorcycle.
All the while Max drove back home, his stomach was grumbling and churning, sending up a string of bitter belches that kept fizzing out in the back of his throat.
He bee-lined to the bathroom, once inside his apartment, and collapsed on the toilet, trying to make his stomach feel better. Cold sweat broke over him and Max groaned, rocking back and forth as a bunch of little cramps erupted on his lower belly, but nothing came out. Not even a fart.
He fanned himself, stripping his shirt and throwing it to the side, as he stepped out of his jeans. When he got up, the nausea spiked for a split second, enough he whirled around to gag over the water, but nothing came up.
He took a decently long shower, hoping the warm water might help, then wrapped the towel around his hip and walked into his bedroom.
Jonah had texted him a dress code, just in case Max didn't have enough common sense to know he should be more or less put together to meet Leo's coworkers. It was both offensive and incredibly funny. Max had texted back a thumbs up and a middle finger.
He picked his most plain pair of jeans, not because he wanted to acquiesce to Jonah's wishes, but because those were the only ones that actually closed around his waist. To pair with it, Max dug out a white henley that he was sure belonged to Vince and had no idea how it had ended up in his apartment. It hung very loosely on his frame, which was a relief as any of his shirts for sure would've hugged his bloated belly.
Max combed through his hair, then grabbed his wallet and keys and was out of the door once again, to buy Leo's wine.
"Ooh, thanks," Leo beamed, as soon as he opened the door of his and Jonah's apartment, "you're a life sa- Is that Vin's?"
Dammit.
Max's cheeks burned and he shrugged, "is it?"
Leo squinted at him, seeming puzzled by the shirt, "you tell me..." he walked back into the kitchen and Max followed up until the counter that split his kitchen from the dining room. It had three stools next to it and he perched on one of them, planting his elbows on the counter and staring down at his feet. There was a horrible blubbering happening right under his ribs.
"Are you two hooking up again?"
"What?" Max raised his head quickly, squeezing the counter when it caused him to feel dizzy.
"You and Vince?" Leo had a black apron protecting his baby blue shirt and his sleeves were rolled up. His cheeks were red from the heat coming from the pan and Max's mouth watered at the smell of garlic and onions that raised when the other man started to pour wine inside one of them.
"God, no," he shook his head, "no, it was just lying around my place. McDreamy told me to come dressd up, this was the only shirt I have without skulls on it."
Leo pursed his lips, seeming annoyed, and Max frowned, confused.
"You don't believe me?"
"No, I believe you," Leo shrugged, then beamed as JD came to slither between his legs, "look who crawled out of her hiding space..."
Max tried to ignore the growing unsettledness in his middle, watching as Leo baby talked JD, all the while trying to shoo her away from the kitchen.
He got up, crouching down to let the cat sniff his fingers and then petting her. Max truly did like JD, even if cats weren't his favorite. She was such a beauty queen, blue eyes staring up at him as she plated her front paws on his knee.
"You're so pretty..."
"Oh, hi Max," Jonah said, walking down the hallway, perfume trailing with him. His hair was perfectly styled, the curls popping, and he was wearing a deep maroon button up with dark dress pants, "this smells great, baby-"
"Did you text Max what he should wear?" Leo's voice was clipped and Jonah seemed taken aback. Max moved away from the kitchen floor, bringing JD with him, eyes glued to the couple, "what the fuck, Jon?"
"I was just making sure he didn't turn up looking like he's part of a garage band!" Jonah cried out and Max let out a snort, flipping him off.
"I do not look like I'm part of a garage band."
"So what if he did?" Leo scoffed, "I don't want my friends pretending to be who they aren't."
"You're making a big deal out of nothing, baby," Jonah pressed a kiss to Leo's temple, chuckling when the blonde promptly shoved him off by the stomach, "Max isn't offended."
"Yes, I am," Max smiled from ear to ear and Jonah glared him to pieces.
"That's not the point," Leo pouted, then popped something in the oven and set up the timer, "don't do this again."
"I won't," Jonah vowed, while Max tried his best not to laugh.
He moved to the balcony of the apartment in order to smoke, watching as Jonah and Leo bickered and set up the big dining table. He'd never quit smoking if this was the only thing that allowed him some privacy.
Alone in the balcony, he took advantage of the fact the wind was blowing hard and forced out a deep burp. It got muffled by a soft song that was playing inside the apartment and brought a sliver of relief to his stomach. His hand twitched, wanting to clutch his sore abdomen. He had no idea how he was supposed to have dinner on such an upset stomach.
"Put that out," Leo poked his head outside, glaring at Max's cigarette, "they're here."
The first one to arrive was Dean, a coworker of Leo's whom Max vaguely recalled seeing at the wedding. He was tall and skinny, with brown hair and pale skin, really brown round eyes and covered in moles.
Definitely the clown of the outfit, as he had brought over not only a bottle of wine as a bottle of José Cuervo tequila, which made Jonah's nose wrinkle with distaste and Leo snort.
"How are you doing, man?" Dean squeezed Max's hand, all smiles.
After Dean arrived, it was Sandy. She was gorgeous and Max thought it was very funny it hadn't occurred to Leo to mention one of his coworkers was a smokeshow and single. Leo probably had completely forgot that Max was into women as well.
Either way, not only he was feeling too crappy to flirt, but Sandy and Dean immediately were giggling together, teasing Leo about the table setting and the fact he had gone all out, and Max got it.
He was lurking near the couch, as glasses were passed around, trying his best to be participative on a small conversation that had started about travelling when the door opened again and in came Wendy.
Max's heart skipped three whole beats, so badly that he choked on air and when he tried to catch his breath he ended up burping in his glass. Dean, standing next to him, chuckled and patted his back.
"You good?"
"Yeah, sorry-" Max tuned him out completely, taking Wendy in.
Things hadn't been awkward between them since the breakup, because things had been nonexistent. Ever since he had moved out, Max hadn't seen Wendy even once.
After he had signed his lease, a couple days before the breakup, he had very little to pack at Wendy's place and he had left on the day after the final blow. Ever since, they hadn't crossed paths.
She looked... Different. Skinnier, much skinnier, but still just as beautiful. Wendy was clad in a mossy green mini dress that made her eyes pop and her hair was ruffled and messy, waves falling over her face.
They locked eyes and her face turned into that strawberry shade he loved, eyes widening. She turned to the side, a little frantic and then Jonah blocked his view by stepping in front of Wendy.
"I'm so sorry," Leo whispered, spawning from the ground next to him and causing Max to jump. Dean threw them a funny look, smiling, "I had no idea Jon had invited her, otherwise I'd have told you."
"It's fine," Max forced out, past the lump in his throat. There was something burning in his stomach, bile or anger or longing.
"I'm sorry," Leo whispered again, then perked up as two other people walked inside the apartment.
"Oh Chuck's here!" Dean announced, causing Sandy to slap his arm in a fond way.
"Do you always gotta be so loud?"
Chuck was stripping his jacket and taking his wife's as well. He was a shorter guy, shorter than Max, with a stocky build and longish brown hair, warm brown skin and almond eyes. In front of him there was a woman, dark hair down to her shoulders and two pins holding it back, clad in black skinny pants, over the knee boots and a bright yellow top...
"You!" Emerald exclaimed, circling Chuck and stepping closer. Max' eyebrows jumped, not expecting to be recognized, "it's uhm- Max, right?"
"Have you two met?" Leo asked, walking closer to plant a kiss on Emerald's cheek, both coats now thrown over his arm so he could put it back in the guest room that had been converted into a cloakroom.
"Just in passing," Max smiled, taking her in. She wasn't wearing any makeup and there was a little cut on her cheek, "she saved my life."
"I'm known for doing that, yeah," Emerald grinned at his overt exaggeration, "I take it she liked the flowers?"
From the corner of his eye, Max could see Wendy had moved from her frozen position by the door and was now being introduced to Chuck by Jonah.
"She loved them," Max nodded, "although I think she liked the gift card more."
"Who did you get flowers for?" Leo sounded confused and Max opened his mouth to answer, but got interrupted by Emerald exclaiming:
"Oh my God! Wendy, right?"
"Damn, I think this is Em's dinner party now," Chuck laughed, while Wendy blushed, leaning in to greet the other woman.
"How did you two meet?" Jonah voiced Max's thoughts.
Wendy shrugged, eyes downcast and none of that social butterfly Max knew she could be, while Emerald was blissfully unaware as she said, "she helped my friend out the other day. Did he ever say thank you? Because really, thank you. Chris can be such a pain, but he was in no shape to be alone, I'm so glad you stepped up."
Who the fuck was Chris?
Max frowned, wanting to grill Wendy, but Jonah thankfully beat him to it by saying, "Lavin? Chris Lavin? What- When-"
"It wasn't a big deal," Wendy finally spoke up, seeming uncomfortable, "Chris was sick as hell while in the same restaurant as me and I just helped him to his apartment, that's all."
"You're underselling yourself," Em scoffed, "other people would've ignored it."
Wendy's cheeks were crimson at the compliment, while Jonah still had his eyebrows raised in disbelief. Max just didn't like being out of the loop.
"Wait, Chris we met at your place the other day? The one with the eyebrows?" Dean asked and Emerald nodded eagerly.
"Yep!"
So they were all friends, uh?
Max's eyes moved from Wendy, to Leo, who seemed to be struggling to understand something, eyes shining as he pieced things together. It was quite a sight, Max had to admit, observe Leo use that analytical brain of his.
Nevertheless, he didn't seem to reach any conclusion and soon they moved away from the topic as the timer went off in the kitchen and Leo urged everyone to sit down.
Max didn't want to sit down. Not only because he had been more or less able to ignore the bloating while standing and certainly wouldn't be when sitting down, but also because through sheer luck Wendy ended up next to the only empty seat, which obviously was his.
Trying not to show his hesitance, Max sat down next to her and pointedly avoided looking at her, as Wendy did the same.
"So," Emerald was sat in front of him, averting her eyes from where Leo, Chuck and Dean bickered, "what do you do, Max?"
"I'm a teacher," he answered, then squirmed on his seat as the pants started cutting him in half. He slid a finger between it and his bloated belly, curling the fabric of the shirt around his thumb and shoving it in the little gap. It didn't make it any looser, but at least there weren't the sharp jeans edge against him.
Emerald was still watching him, probably waiting for him to elaborate. Shit. He was no good at small talk, "uhm- At Welton Hall? I teach Chemistry and Biology."
"Ooohohoh," Em perked up with a chuckle, which caused Max to look at her puzzled and Chuck, who had been overhearing their conversation, to lean in and explain.
"Em is a scientist herself," he said, looking lovingly at his wife, "she collects nerds like she collects rocks, be careful."
"I'm not a nerd," Max mumbled, but he was smiling. Next to him, Wendy let out a little huff. So much for not paying attention, uh?
"He went aaaall out," Dean's voice cut through their conversation, overjoyed, "I didn't know you knew how to cook like that!"
"It's not that hard to make ossobuco," Leo scoffed, "I know how to read a recipe, that's all."
"Dean can't relate, he doesn't know how to read," Sandy teased him, causing the other man to let out a dramatic shriek and clutch at his chest.
"Sandra! You wound me!"
Max snorted, caught Em's eyes and she wasn't looking at the end of the table, instead she was studying Wendy as if the other woman was a bug under a microscope. It made something protective and ugly stir in Max's stomach, but he gulped it back down. He was all over the place.
"What even is ossobuco?" Max asked, which he immediately regretted, as Leo decided right then and there that Max needed to be the first one to taste.
Ossobuco apparently was a piece of steak that still had the shin bone in the center of it. It was slow cooked with a bunch of vegetables, red sauce and wine and served with some sort of gooey yellow thing that Max poked at, suspicious.
His stomach stirred and the last thing he wanted was to take a bite, but there were seven pairs of eyes on him and well...
"It's really good," Max mumbled, although he was barely chewing. He gulped it down, took a sip of water to rid his mouth of the taste. It was watering for all the wrong reasons.
"If it's Max approved, then I've won the night," Leo beamed, then started plating the rest of his guests. He seemed to be over the moon, Jonah apparently more than happy just starring at Leo and making sure no glass was ever empty.
"That's polenta," Wendy leaned in to whisper to him, as Max poked the yellow mass once more. He couldn't stop eating so early in, but the meat was completely out of question. Just the smell of it was making him want to gag, "its basically just corn meal porrigdge."
He turned to look at her, not realizing Wendy would be that close and his nose nearly brushed with hers, causing her to jump back. There were golden flecks all over her lids and he could tell part of her pink cheeks was actually makeup. She looked terribly pale underneath all that.
"Hi," Max said and Wendy opened a tentative little smile.
"Hi," she gestured to his plate, "polenta should be safe."
Yeah, not tonight. Not even rice would be safe, he felt like an over inflated balloon. His belly let out a growl, he squirmed once again to try and find a comfortable position.
"Thanks," Max nodded, let his eyes linger. He had forgotten how pretty Wendy was, "uhm- How are you...?"
"Fine," she said a little too quickly, pushing her fork around, "you think we could talk?" her voice was hardly a whisper and Max nodded, gestured to the balcony with his head.
"Smoke break in a bit."
Wendy's lip upturned as she nodded, "you really have got to quit that."
"Yeah yeah yeah," Max waved her off, attention returning to his dish.
He could tell Emerald was incredibly interested in the two of them. If it was out of genuine desire to meet new people or just curiosity, Max didn't know, but the woman kept asking them questions all throughout dinner.
She also was an open book, volunteering any information. Apparently she worked in the city hall, was a geologist and a transplant in Welton.
"So are both of us," Wendy said, gesturing to Max and her and it made something flutter in his stomach. A passing reference to why he had moved to Welton in the first place.
Nowadays it seemed like forever ago, but it wasn't, not really.
"I moved here in 23, Max just got here at the start of the semester."
"Oh, where are you from originally?"
Emerald herself was from Michigan. Her family- Max completely tuned her off, because his stomach chose this moment to flip. He pulled back hastily from the table, mumbling an "excuse me."
Hopefully the rest of them were too enthralled with something else to notice him.
Max abhorred the fact that the guest bathroom was so close to the dining room. A belch escaped as he undid his jeans and sat down on the toilet, so gross and frothy that he quickly leaned to the side to grab a trashcan.
Some reddish saliva fell on top of the papers and he squeezed his eyes shut-
The music turned a little louder.
God bless Leo Wagner-Banks.
His intestines gave out.
Max's eyes prickled with tears as the cramps wrecked his body, knuckles curling around the edge of the bin as the nausea increased and then receded, increased and the receded....
He felt so so sick. More saliva flooded his mouth and he spat in the bin, working up a frothy burp in an weak attempt to get some relief. His stomach muscles were exhausted from the cramping and he felt weak and humiliated.
Max rubbed a hand over his face, putting the bin down and closing his eyes, tipping his head back against the flush. He crossed his arms and under them, he could just feel his stomach gurgling and churning.
He muffled another burp, staring at the ceiling.
"I'm not puking," he whispered to no one, trying to make it a reality. His stomach whined, loud enough Max managed to hear over the music. More cramping and more diarrhea. His throat bobbed up and down as another wave of nausea washed over him. His mouth tasted like rotten wine.
"Not puki'-" He couldn't even finish his chanting, his mouth struggling to shut. A chill went up his spine, on Max was too familiar with, "ah fuck," he grabbed the trashcan from the floor, hugging it to his chest just as his dinner came up.
Ossobuco sucked, Max decided, as more red sludge fell inside the bin and his whole body shuddered. His belly was taut and painful. He wanted to lie down, get out of these clothes...
There was a knock on the door, soft and barely there, "Max?" Leo's voice travelled, "dude?"
"I'll be right out..." He gulped down, his voice hoarse.
It wasn't right out, because it took him forever to clean up and by the time Max did stumble out of the bathroom, his face was dampen after having just washed it on the sink and he knew there was no way he'd be able to feign normalcy for the rest of the dinner.
Leo wasn't right in front of the door, thank God, but he caught Max's eyes as soon as he stepped out.
Dean was keeping most of the conversation, which Max very thankful for. He kept his eyes on the ground and pretended he couldn't feel everyone looking at him-
Wendy's hand found his thigh, as soon as he sat down. Leaning into his space, "are you ok?"
He nodded, but Max knew he had to get going. His reprieve wouldn't be long lived.
Wendy frowned, thinking his answer over.
Emerald, sitting in front of them, was carefully pretending she wasn't overhearing every word. Max planted an elbow on the table and cradled his face. He needed to go home now, if he infected Leo's guests with a flu, Leo would never forgive him.
"I think I gotta go."
"Okay," Wendy nodded, "I'll drive you."
It wasn't exactly an offer, more of an order, but fuck if Max wasn't thankful. Awkwardness and conflict aside, this still felt like Wendy. Wendy who had seen him sick before, who had seen him naked before. He felt comfortable with her and, perhaps some sort of betrayal to the others, he still trusted her.
"Okay."
They both got up and Max didn't really have it in him to say goodbye to all of Leo's coworkers, so he just walked to the front door, watching as Wendy moved through the whole lot of them and did it for the both of them.
Probably for the best, he had no idea if he was contagious or not.
"I can drive Max, you stay and enjoy the party," Jonah offered, walking alongside Wendy, her coat thrown over his arm. Only then did Max realize he had never stripped his brown jacket.
Maybe he was feeling worse than he had realized.
"No, it's all fine, Jon," Wendy tiptoed to press a kiss on his cheek, wiping away the bright red mark, "thank you for having us."
"Of course," Jonah smiled at her and when he did look at Max, his smile was oddly genuine, "feel better, Max."
"Thanks," he smiled back, ignoring the horrible nausea already starting to mount once more, "tell Leo I'm really sorry."
"Nothing to be sorry for, he'll be more pissed you jeopardized your health than anything else," Jonah waved him off, "I gotta head back, safe drive."
They waved and walked out of the apartment.
"Keys," Wendy stretched out her hand and Max promptly dropped his car keys on it, quietly walking alongside her as they left the building through the garage.
His white pick-up was parked near the park that was right in front of the building and Max shivered violently. Was the night really cold or was he running a fever?
He sat collapsed on the passenger seat, watching wordlessly as she fiddled with his driver seat in order to fit her.
Max' stomach rolled and he muffled a burp in his hand, leaning his head back with a groan. He could feel a pressure at the base of his throat, a heaviness to his jaw that he knew well.
"Can we just go?"
"Sorry," Wendy mumbled, moving hastily and strapping her seatbelt, starting to drive, "are you sick or is this something else?"
"Cursed," Max groaned, eyes still squeezed shut. Wendy didn't laugh, not understanding it had been a joke, "I have no idea, my stomach's a mess, but I'm also really cold-"
He didn't get to finish his sentence before Wen's knuckles were brushing against his cheek, the back of her hand pressing to his forehead, "I don't think you have a fever, you seem overheated, but not overtly so."
"Hmmm," he curled an arm protectively against his belly as the car swayed a little bit with Wendy's movement. A burp gurgled up and Max blew it off under his breath, shuddering as he could taste dinner.
He tugged on the front of his shirt as the warmness started to spread, burning his stomach. Max fished a plastic bag out of his glovebox, glad that he kept his car stockpiled for all belly related issues. The perks of having the most little bitch stomach of all time.
"Should I pull over?" Wendy asked, noticing as he opened a plastic bag on his lab.
Max shook his head, digging into his side, "n'uh- Not yet..."
The nausea was present, of course, but not tipping him over the edge just yet. He pressed his forehead to the dashboard, taking slow breaths, "so..." Max let out a little burp at the end of his sentence, "you wanted to talk alone..? We're alone."
Wendy let out a humorless huff, "not how I envisioned this happening."
Max snorted, opened the glovebox again in search of his bottle of pepto, "start talking, Wen."
There was a split second of silence, interrupted by his stomach letting out a nasty growl. They stopped at a red light, his hand closed around the plastic bottle but when Max raised it he realized it was empty. Great.
"I just- I wanted to apologize..."
"Oh, I heard you're doing the shame rounds," Max teased her, rolling down his window even though it was a pretty chilly night, "you don't have to apologize, Wendy."
"No, I do," she glared at him, "I do. I made you uproot your life, I caused this big disaster and then I left you in the middle of it, with no support whatsoever, not a care about your feelings. If there's one person I need to apologize to, it's you."
"I'm not a child, Wendy," Max rolled his eyes, rubbing his face, "you didn't make me move here, I wanted to. I'm happy I did, I love my job here, I'm making friends... Well friends that I don't wanna fuck," he pointed out with a sly smirk and it caused a tiny smile to tug at her lips, he counted it as a win, "I've got a place that's not super cramped and dark, I have a pet... I'm happy. If anyone got left in the nuclear waste, that was you."
"Well, I caused it, so..." Wendy shrugged and Max's stomach curdled with despair when he realized he could see her collarbones now. She wasn't skin and bones, far from it, but the plumpness he loved was gone, her cheeks sucked in, her eyes surrounded by dark circles that no amount of makeup could conceal.
"You did," Max agreed, "but I-" he got interrupted by his stomach spasming, a sudden wet burp causing him to fold and gag over the bag. All thoughts vanished, his stomach squeezed again and a mouthful of red sludge fell in the plastic bag. It hurt, was too chunky.
He gagged again and again, blindly reaching to get rid of his seatbelt as it squeezed his middle and when Max thought he might pass out from all the heaving, it eased up, the glitters in his sight vanishing.
The blonde bunched up the top of the bag, leaning his head back and wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. All his limbs were heavy, he was dizzy and spent.
"Are you done?" Wendy's voice was gentle and he felt her thumb stroke his cheek. Max let out a deep sigh.
"For now..."
"Give me the bag, I'll dispose of it and get you some water."
He opened his eyes, confused, and realized they were parked in front of a gas station, with a convenience store attached.
"Do you need anything else? More pepto?" Wendy asked, gesturing to his empty bottle. Max nodded, regaining some of his dignity and will, and patted his pockets.
Shit, he had left his cigarettes at Leo's.
"Can you buy me a pack of camels? I left mine at Leo's."
Wendy scrunched up her nose in distaste, but she nodded, "yeah, be right back."
As soon as she was done, taking the now tied sick bag with her, Max got out of the car. He leaned heavily against it, spitting the awful taste in his mouth on the tarmac and enjoying the cool air, instead of the car's stuffy one.
His head was pounding, he could feel a vein pulsating on his forehead, and his stomach was still testy with nausea and sore as if he had done a thousand abdominals. Still, Max felt better than he had five minutes before.
"Here," Wendy handed him the whole plastic bag and he fished through it. Pepto, a bottle of water, chewing gum, a pink lighter and camels. She had gotten the type right too, camel blues. It brought the conversation they were having back to his mind.
"Thanks," he gulped down the water, thumping his chest to work up a burp, then opened the pack and lit up a cigarette, expecting Wendy to wave her hand dramatically in front of her face.
Instead, she jumped up to sit on the hood of his car and patted his arm, "gimme one?"
Max's eyebrows raised all the way to his hairline, "a cig?"
"Yes," Wendy seemed confused by his confusion, looking at him expectantly. He scrambled, fished out a cigarette and passed it to her, then lit it up as Wendy put it between her lips and leaned in to touch the tip of it to the flame. She did that too well.
"Were you a smoker?"
"When I was a teen," Wendy took a drag slowly, holding it in, but coughing lightly as she let the white smoke out, "then later it became just when stressed... Then I quit completely a little after I moved here."
Max hummed, planting his elbows on the hood, "I smoke since I was fifteen."
"That's nothing to gloat about," Wendy huffed, her knee touching his elbow as she pushed him in a playful manner, "are you actually happy? Or are you just saying that?"
"No, I am," that came out so easy, he was shocked by it, "I'd do it again, even if I knew- I'd do it all again, Wendy. Yeah, you were a bitch, but I forgive you."
She smiled, "you're too nice, Max."
"That's a first," he chuckled, "normally it's people calling me a dick..." He turned to look at her, draped an arm over her lap since she was taller than him sitting on top of the hood, "are you okay, Wendy?"
She opened her mouth to answer, then hesitated, and just shrugged, "I'm... You know, figuring it out. I've talked with you, Bella and Vince, so that's a relief, some closure... But now-" she picked on the skin of her thumb and Max frowned, planted his hand over hers to stop her from doing it.
"I missed you, Wendy."
Her eyes darted up, meeting his, the really? so clear in them that it was painful. Max nodded, "yes. Really."
Wendy didn't bother hiding her smile, she touched the tip of her cig against his in a little cigarette kiss and took a drag, "I missed you too, Max... I messed up, I became such a bully... "
"You're not the only one who's messed up in the past," he shrugged, wanting to tell her to not think that everyone else was such a saint and beat herself up.
Wendy nodded, eyes downcast and rolling the cigarette between her fingers, "I know."
Max let out a frustrated groan, feeling like his words weren't getting through her, "can I see you again? I know things won't go back to the way they were but we can be friends, can't we?"
Wendy's eyes searched his face, seeming a little hesitant, "what about Vince-"
"He wouldn't care and even if he did, I don't care," Max said, then let out a groan as his stomach cramped and squeezed his eyes. When he opened then again, Wendy had regained some of herself, she stood a little taller.
"Yes, we can hang out," she patted his cheek, "now let me drive you home."
A/N: yeah, yeah I'm not dead. Not going to make any excuses but thank you to everyone who reached out. This will have a part two.
Avery was fucking miserable.
That wasn’t unusual these days, but he’d thought he’d been improving. Hoped he’d been improving. Assumed, even. It had been almost five weeks since he’d been shot and so really, a scrambled egg and a couple of spoonfuls of yogurt should have been a piece of cake.
Cake, pfft - wasn’t like he was trying to eat that - he didn’t even have an appetite for it, at all. And that was a whole different kind of suckage from the fact that he’d just puked up his meager lunch. Practically all over Adam, and definitely on the floor, where he’d missed the garbage can because he’d been trying to ignore the nausea and keep the food down until - fuck - he’d not been able to.
He probably should try to clean it up before it started to smell or something. But right now that felt like too much effort to move from where he was now, curled pathetically on the sofa while Adam (with Drew on FaceTime) was in Avery’s bathroom checking on Gabe. Because whatever was going on with Calder was a lot more serious; at this point, Avery nauseous and puking a little blood wasn’t anything new. It certainly wasn’t going to prevent him from going back to work next week. He’d go back to only drinking his stupid liquid nutrition and keep his mouth shut about how he still felt like shit as long as he could get out of his apartment for more than ten minutes.
As if determined to torment him, Avery’s stomach took that moment to spasm and a wave of familiar nausea rolled through his middle. He knew he was empty so he didn’t bother reaching for the garbage can, just retched emptily into the air. The second heave brought up a dribble of bitter saliva that he swallowed back down stubbornly, mentally threatening his body not to start anything. It came back up as a messy burp and Avery swore to himself while he grabbed a crumpled napkin off the coffee table to spit into, biting the inside of his cheek until the pain won and his stomach calmed down.
He blew out a relieved breath. A couple of days ago he would have kept dry heaving until his abs were burning and he was light-headed and dizzy. This had to be progress; he refused to think it was anything else.
There was a sharp rap on the door which was fortunately enough to jar Avery out of the feeling that he kind of did need to throw up again. Which he refused to do, and so instead gulped down and hauled himself off the sofa to answer. It could have been anyone - he didn’t even care because any distraction was welcome these days - but Drew’s voice called out a second later which made Avery feel simultaneously happy and annoyed. Happy because Drew was a friend and not a Doordash driver or something, and he was usually full of fun gossip. Annoyed because Drew was also a nurse and probably coming to check in on him in that casual, I’m pretending I’m here as a friend but really I’m being a nurse way that he kept pulling with Avery. And yeah, he’d definitely needed him those first few weeks but now it kept reminding him that he wasn’t as recovered as he should be.
These thoughts got him off the sofa and to the door, where he forced his back to straighten in an approximation of I’m fine before he pulled it open. Because he was fine.
And then Drew barely glanced at him.
“Sit down, Morrison; you look gray.” Drew was already moving across the room before the words landed, scanning the empty space, “Calder’s in the bathroom?”
“Yeah . . . with Gabe,” Avery managed, and then realized that oh yeah, Gabe was a Calder too and that’s probably who Drew meant. Before he could explain any more Drew had disappeared into the bedroom.
For half a second, Avery considered following Drew’s order to sit down, but giving into his lingering nausea didn’t fit with his narrative of I’m fine. So he forced up a burp and followed the nurse.
The bathroom was as cramped and dingy as the rest of the apartment. It was definitely not a space made for sharing, and Avery tried not to think about the few times he’d tried, cramming his body against Adam’s as they playfully fought for space in front of the sink or somehow fitting themselves into the tiny shower together. He definitely was not thinking about any of that. Not when he’d been the one to decide - very firmly - that he and Calder should only be friends. Which was absolutely the right decision. Absolutely. And anyway, not important at the moment.
Gabe was sitting on the floor with his arms wrapped around his knees and Adam was leaning against the opposite wall holding a nearly full glass of water. The puking blood seemed to have stopped for the moment but Gabe was pale as fuck and his face contorted in pain.
“Get out of the way, Adam; I’ve got him.” Drew pushed his way bossily into the bathroom - which Avery supposed was his right - and Adam immediately popped out like a cork because clearly the room couldn’t hold three grown men. He stared at Avery for a second, face unreadable, until Drew’s voice floated out.
“Go be useful and make Morrison sit the fuck down. And drink something.” The tone of the nurse’s voice clearly conveyed that he didn’t have time for Avery’s shenanigans at the moment. It was almost comforting; for once he wasn’t the sickest guy in the room. A second later he flushed because what kind of asshole thought was that?
“C’mon; let’s go to the sofa and get out of the way.” Adam tugged on his arm and gave him another unreadable look and Avery wondered if he’d noticed the blushing. He let himself be led back into the living room, grateful for the excuse to sit down. He didn’t think he was going to puke again but he also had absolutely no interest in the various beverages Adam tried to offer him.
Adam finally blew out a frustrated breath. “C’mon, dude, Drew’s right. You’re gray and shaking and your lips are so chapped I’m surprised you can close them. “You’ve got to drink something,” - he pulled open one of Avery’s cabinets - “how about tea?”
“Can you give it a rest? I literally just stopped puking.” Avery could hear how irritable he sounded but he didn’t really care. “You don’t have to do every single thing Drew says; I’m pretty sure I’m not going to die if I don’t drink a fucking glass of water. I’m just too nauseous to put anything in my stomach right now, so lay off.” It was probably unfair to take his frustration out on Adam but at the same time it was a relief not to edit himself. With everyone else Avery was cheerful and enthusiastic about his progress and fine. And if he didn’t want to examine too closely why he was more honest with Adam, well, that was his absolute fucking right.
Adam didn’t seem put off by Avery’s mood; instead he glanced back in the direction of the bedroom. “Yeah, well lie and tell Thorton I made you have a Gatorade so he doesn’t ream me out again, okay?” Adam opened a bottle, poured a third of it into the sink and then plopped the rest on the coffee table. “You drank, you’re keeping it down, and you’re going to finish it, okay?”
It was so unlike Adam to act so nervous, or whatever this was, and about Drew? Avery tried to remember if there had been any recent tension between the two men, but his memories of anything not having to do with his own situation over the past month were murky. He didn’t push though, but shrugged instead. “Yeah, okay,” he agreed, picking up the bottle and turning it in his hands, “yummy.”
“Fuck you,” Adam retorted immediately, but there was a little smile on his face and some of the tension seemed to have left his shoulders. Avery actually took a little sip so he wouldn’t make him a liar when Drew came back.
“Stay down,” he muttered in the direction of his stomach, and that made Adam huff out a soft snort.
“Are you talking to the Gatorade or your dick?” The words were teasing but Adam was watching him with something like a question on his face. Avery flipped him off, because of course he had to, but then he answered the question he knew was underneath.
“I wish I was talking to my dick,” he groused. Even the mouthful of liquid he’d swallowed felt like it was swirling in his gut now. “That hasn’t been an option since . . . well, you know.” It could either mean since before the shooting or the last time he and Adam had been together; either was true. “It’ll probably be a while before I’m ready for . . . urrHRP.” The wet-ish burp interrupted whatever he was going to say, which was fine because Avery wasn’t sure what he meant - until he was ready to have sex again in general? Until he was ready to date? Right now both felt very far away. “I’ll settle for being able to eat lunch without wanting to puke.”
“I’m sorry,” Adam said with that intense sincerity Avery joked was his political consultant voice. It was both dialed in and real, and Avery had no idea how he did that . “Do they have any idea when it will get better?”
“Last week,” Avery answered, not bothering to keep the bitterness out of his voice, “I was finally trying new foods today and you can see how that went.”
Adam’s face contorted into something much less professional. “Ugh, Morrison, that totally sucks.” He sat down next to Avery on the sofa and took the Gatorade bottle out of his hand. “Is there anything I can do?”
Avery’s first instinct was to deflect like he did with everyone else; I’m fine, thanks. His second was to huff and bitch somewhere between sarcasm and serious; how about a new digestive system? His third instinct . . . well he never got there because at that moment Drew appeared in the living room, Gabe leaning against him but at least walking under his own power.
“I’m taking him to the ER,” he announced briskly, “I suspect he’s got a bleeding ulcer.”
Adam jumped to his feet. “But that’s . . . it’s not serious, right?”
“I’m puking blood, bro, what do you think that is?” Gabe’s voice was raspy and wrecked but there was an air of teasing in his tone. Adam flipped him off.
“I just meant, you’re not . . . dying or anything, right?”
“Right,” Drew confirmed, “not dying but we need to get things checked out, probably an endoscopy tonight, or maybe tomorrow morning.”
“I’ll call Logan,” Adam announced. He looked rapidly around, from Gabe’s pale face to Avery’s even more pale one, and then landed on Drew, “I’ll uhh . . . come with you.”
Avery didn’t miss the tiny smirk that played around Drew’s lips before he answered, “better stay here with Morrison; he’s a mess too, or hadn’t you noticed?”
Adam’s posture relaxed. “Oh, I noticed. He’s a disaster. Won’t even drink all his Gatorade.”
“Asshole,” Avery shot back immediately, and was stupidly pleased when Adam sat back down on the sofa, “I’m drinking it.” He reached out and picked up the bottle and took a gulp he was sure was going to be a mistake. But he just needed to keep it down until Drew left, or else he was likely to drag him off to the hospital with Gabe. He swallowed hard and then burped into his fist, willing his body to behave for just a couple more minutes. Drew cleared his throat and Avery knew he wasn’t fooled.
“Text me - immediately - if you start to feel worse.” Drew put his eyes on Adam. “I’m trusting you to keep an eye on him, Calder, “so take this seriously.”
There was a flash in Adam’s eyes that Avery was pretty sure only he recognized. It was gone a second later and he and he braced himself for Adam’s sharp retort. But he only nodded.
“Of course,” he agreed easily, “we’re going to watch basketball and take it easy.”
“Damn, I’m missing basketball,” Gabe mumbled. He slumped a little into Drew’s side and Drew gave up lecturing Adam and started leading Gabe towards the door.
“I’ll see you tomorrow; I’m doing your return-to-work assessment.” Drew dropped the bombshell as if he was commenting on the weather. “1 pm.”
Avery hadn’t heard anything about going back to work and certainly not anything about an assessment first, but he wasn’t about to admit it. “Sounds . . . sounds good,” he managed, hoping he just sounded tired. He had about a million questions, but obviously wasn’t going to ask them now; maybe Rory would know something. “See you at 1.”
And then they were gone and the quiet was a relief. Avery kind of felt like he was going to throw up again, but he wasn’t sure it was only because of the Gatorade. Adam took the bottle from him again and put it on the table. He watched Avery for a long moment.
“You didn’t know about the return-to-work,” he stated. Avery shook his head.
“No. No one’s said a word.” He thought maybe he should be happy about it - this had to mean he was getting better, right? But it was hard to be excited when he was trying not to puke.
Adam nodded slowly. “You want to talk about it?” The question didn’t sound nosy or like he was trying to analyze him, which is why Avery answered the way he did.
“Yeah, in a bit; right now I want to watch the game and not think about it.”
Adam nodded again. “Do you want the trash can near you?”
As much as he wanted to say no, Avery was on a roll with the honesty. He sighed. “Yeah, thanks.”
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"Last one in the water is a sack of shit!" Leo squealed, sprinting down the deck and slipping at the last second, falling into the lake none too gracefully, limbs spread out in a funny way.
Jonah let out a dramatic, "LEO!" While Vince chuckled loudly, whole body arching back as he grabbed his left pec, cheeks flushed. Max snorted at their antics, even more so when Leo emerged from the water spluttering, a piece of algae stuck to his hair.
"What are you waiting for?!"
As if he was just waiting for his cue, Vince patted Max's back and then ran down the deck, jumping and hugging his knees, cannonballing nearly on top of Leo's head.
"Is it cold?!" Max asked, eyeing the lake. It looked pacific and today was a really, really warm day, but he was the skittish kind, he couldn't help it.
"Nope," Leo swam closer, splashing water Jonah's way and causing the other man to let out a yell.
"Leo, my phone!"
"Let go of that and get in the water!"
Vince emerged, shaking his head like a dog and sending water droplets everywhere. He swam to the edge of the deck, throwing his arms on the wood and smiling at Max, "c'mon in, it's great."
God, Max bit down a dreamy sigh at the vision.
Lately he felt like he was slowly, key word here, falling out of love with Vince. He seemed more annoying than usual, which Max knew he wasn't really, but the flaws he had originally noticed before crushing hard on the guy were visible once more. Which wasn't to say he had turned blind overnight and his whole body didn't react to Vin still, but there was a hint of annoyance now that wasn't there at first.
Annoyed at Vince and Wendy for the shit show they had made of his life in the past months, but in a surface level. Something he hadn't felt at first, but now he did. Leo said it was a good thing, Max didn't care either way. It wasn't like his feelings had been a decisive factor lately.
Cold water hit him straight on the face, snapping the blonde out of his thoughts and he glared at Vince, whose cheeks were flushed as he pointed at Leo briskly, "wasn't me!"
"Wasn't me!" Leo cried out, although he was giggling too much. Max wasn't sure who to believe, so he opted for raising both middle fingers.
"You guys suck," he scoffed, walking back to the shore to ditch his flip flops and his T-shirt.
Atwood was hanging back like some sort of ghoul, arms crossed and sunglasses, which made him look even more douchey than usual. Max rolled his eyes at the guy, turning his back at him and running down the deck, yelling, "INCOMING!"
He did a pirouette mid air and then dunked in the water. They hadn't been lying, the water wasn't really cold, the perfect temperature. Leo wolf whistled when he emerged, cheekily saying, "that was a ten out of ten, baby!"
"Baby?" Vince whispered in his ear, causing Max to get covered in goosebumps and splash water his way. Fuck this guy, really.
Jonah sat on the edge of the deck, putting his feet in the water, but not getting in, not even as Leo swam between his legs and puppy eyed him, "c'mooon, Jon!"
"No, it's gonna fuck up my hair," Jonah said, while Leo did his best imitation of those wet eyed seals. Max tried not to laugh, just as Vince poked his ribs and raised a finger to his lips, in a stay quiet gesture.
He disappeared underwater, a shadow swimming to where Leo was still trying to convince Jonah to join them. Max watched, pressing his lips not to laugh as Vince swam under the deck and then just his hands poked out, wrapping around Jonah's calves in an iron grip.
"what- VIN-AHHH!" Jonah yelled as he was pulled from the edge of the deck and thrown straight on the water, on top of Leo who didn't move out of the way fast enough.
Max laughed, even harder as Leo emerged clutching his nose, while Jonah spluttered and cried out, "you are such a jerk, Vince Monacelli! Such a fucking je-" he got interrupted by Leo tugging the front of his soaked tanktop and kissing him.
Vince splashed water on them, "leave some room for Jesus, you two."
"Someone is envioussss," Leo sing song, hiding his face in Jonah's neck, seeming more content than Max had seen him be in ages. They were adorable, even if Max thought Jonah was a bit of a stuck up prick, it was heart warming how much he clearly fawned over Leo.
Vince rolled his eyes, gesturing to the shore, "C'mon, Luke, you're missing out! Get in the water!"
Luke shook his head, he had sat down on the shore, back resting against a tree trunk, in the only shadowy patch there was. He had a book in his hand, but Max would've bet money that he hadn't read a single page. Nevertheless, Lucas raised it as a justification for staying out of the water.
Jonah snorted, voice low as he said, "he's so jealous."
"Should we get him?" Vince swam a circle around them, face partially in the water, voice causing bubbles to appear, "I grab his legs, you get his arms?"
Leo perked up at the idea, "maybe in a bit, he's too aware right now."
"Okay," Vince's foot found Max's leg, causing the blonde to jerk, at first thinking it was a fish, but nope. He hated how weak his body was, because that alone caused heat to curl in his belly, his cheeks to burn. Max lowered himself in the water, leaving only his nose out, pointedly avoiding Vin's eyes.
Was he all healed up from the break up and now wanted Max back? He probably just wanted a booty call, but how stupid was it to fish for it within his friend group. Idiot.
He sent Vince a glare and the man smiled, pulled his foot back, hands raised in a disarming way.
"Chicken Fight?" Leo suggested and Max let out a disbelieving scoff.
"Who's gonna get André The Giant over here?" He pointed at Vince, who seemed offended at the comparison, "We can't play it in a fair way!"
"We put Jon with Vin," Leo shrugged, "Jonah sucks at it."
"Wow, real nice, baby," Jonah scoffed, making Max chuckle at their antics.
He guessed Leo had a point, Jonah was all prim and proper, no way he was a good player.
"You know what? Sure, get on top," He swam to Leo, patting his shoulders.
"Leo doesn't hear that often," Vince teased, receiving a splash of water straight to his face, by Jonah.
Max and Leo were a good team and since they had similar builds, they could switch between turns. Max was a little flabbergasted by how shredded Leo was, he had known the guy was lean, like himself, but those abs? Not a thing regular people should have, only movie actors.
Nevertheless, they didn't stand a chance against Jonah and Vin. Jon might be a diva, but he was just as strong, if not stronger, as Leo, and Vince well... The guy was clearly playing with them like he did with his baby sisters.
Probably feeling dejected and sensing that he was the only one who could level the playing field, Luke had moved closer to them and had his feet in the water. He reminded Max of how JD skittered around Leo's place when he was over.
"He's ticklish," he told Max and Leo, clearly invested in the game, as Leo spluttered and sunk his fingers on Max's calves with so much force that there would be purple bruises there in the morning, "like really ticklish."
As if Max didn't know that.
Leo apparently didn't, because he used the infirmation to try and touch Vin's armpit, for the first time in the whole game managing to have Jon wobbling on top of his shoulders as Vince jerked away to try and avoid the tickles.
"Luke! Not fair!"
"He's got a weak spot!" Leo cried out like a warrior, immediately moving forward to do it again, but forgetting to hold Max, nearly causing him to fall backwards.
Lucas watched them play another round, then apparently they weren't being sufficiently vicious for his taste, because he said, "fuck it," and got in the water.
"Jon, get on my shoulders."
"I'm not a dog, you can't just say jump and I juUMP!" Jonah squealed as Vince shrugged him off, causing him to fall back into the water, "Vin, what the fuck?!"
Max snorted, lowering himself so Leo could dismount his shoulders and they played rock paper scissors to figure out who'd get to be Vin's partner for the round.
Max won, much to his chagrin, because being on top of Vince like that, his hands curling around his thighs to properly position him... Yeah, that wasn't helping his "Fuck Vince" agenda.
"Squeeze your legs," Vince told him, "and brace yourself, Luke is the worst."
"You just say that because I win every time," Luke shrugged, causing Jonah to wobble and tug on his hair as if he was a disobedient horse.
"With Wendy against Bell? Of course you do, my gi-" Vince's mouth slammed shut mid sentence, realizing what he was saying. They all flinched, Max feeling vaguely nauseous as it dawned on him just how not over it Vince was. Max couldn't even hold it against him, this would all be so much easier if he could just hate Vin, but no... He liked the guy, he was attracted to him and to top it off, he sympathized with his plight.
"Okaaay," Leo said, awkwardly, "Uhm- players get in position! Three, two, one- FIGHT!"
Lucas lost the first one and Max, Leo and Vince watched amusedly as Jonah and him yelled at each other for a solid minute before resuming to their initial positions. They won the next one, Max falling into the water with a splash that caused his back to hurt and by the time he emerged, Leo was already climbing Vince like a tree, causing the other man to whine about having his curls tugged at.
The next round Luke and Jon lost again, causing Luke to rage quit entirely.
"Don't be such a baby, Luke!" Leo cried out, as Lucas used the deck to lift himself out of the water, "c'mon, dude, we're just playing!"
"No, I have a headache, I'm gonna lie down," Lucas lied through his teeth. Max eye rolled so much he feared it was gonna get stuck.
"Sore loser, much?"
"Fuck off, Daniels."
Max didn't pay him any mind, if anything he was glad the guy was gone, but apparently the others didn't share his satisfaction, because they only stayed in the lake for another hour before heading inside.
As soon as they were out, Max overheard Vin tell Jonah in a quiet voice, "I'll check on him."
Atwood truly was spoiled rotten, huh?
Max followed Leo into the kitchen. They should probably shower, since the sun was setting and the temperatures were dropping quickly, but his stomach was hurting from hunger.
"Okay, we got, uh-" Leo's voice came muffled from inside the fridge, "chicken and uhm... What is this... Chicken, but in cubes now... And this is... Chicken but in burger form!" He pulled back, smiling, "so what is it gonna be?"
"Chicken?" Max grinned, pushing Leo aside so he could look at their options.
He wasn't a stellar cook. When someone had a fussy stomach as bad as he did, all they needed to know was how to cook potatoes, rice and chicken. From the ingredients they had brought, he figured they could do full on burgers or maybe just rice, chicken and fries.
"So?" Leo asked, but not directed at him. Max looked up, Jonah was by the doorway, having already showered, "is he pissy or he's got an actual headache?"
Jon grimaced, "I think it's an actual headache, I'm hoping it's because we didn't eat all day."
"That wasn't very smart of us, no," Max relented, when he actually wanted to ask why they were acting as if a headache was the equivalent of bleeding out.
"He's gonna be fine," Vince entered the kitchen, circling Jonah and grabbing Max by the hips to push him away from the fridge. Apparently he had already decided he was gonna cook, "did we bring any garlic? Or onions?"
Max shrugged, he hadn't been in charge of anything. He hadn't even been sure if he was gonna come or not, torn between his desire to join and his fear of falling back under Vin's spell and his annoyance at dealing with Atwood for a whole weekend. So far so good, though.
"Do we really need that?" Leo asked, "I prioritized space, bought beer."
Vince stared at him as if Leo had just said all puppies should die, "you prioritized buying beer versus spices?"
"He's from bumfuck Oklahoma, give him a break," Jonah teased, receiving an elbow in his stomach.
"We had limited space in the car and you told me to keep the budget tight!" Leo cried out.
"So tight you didn't bring garlic?!"
"Not everything needs garlic!"
"Did you at least bring salt?!" Vince's cheeks were red now and Max was beyond enthralled. He didn't particularly care what they ate, even if it ended up sucking, he thought it would be fine. Clearly, his ex didn't share his opinions.
Leo's face turned pink, "uh... I brought juice packets for cocktails and vodka..?"
"MA QUI CAZZO!" Vince exploded, causing Max to break and start cackling.
"Why are you guys yelling?" Atwood walked in the kitchen, that was getting too cramped for all of them, glaring at them. Party pooper that he was, he instantly killed the mood.
"Leo didn't bring SALT!" Vince exclaimed, pointing angrily at Leo, who had his lips pressed not to laugh, "you had one job!"
"I brought the essentials!"
"We can head to town and get salt," Jonah intervened before the vein in Vin's forehead exploded, "and Excedrin?" He asked in a lower tone, to Atwood, who nodded.
The drama queen was leaning against the doorway, forehead touching the wooden frame and face pinched.
"I'll go with," Vince decided, "I don't trust any of you to buy food."
"I know how to buy groceries, I was making a strategic decision," Leo argued, while they all moved to the living room, Jonah already grabbing the car keys.
Although he hadn't said it out loud, Max could tell he was worried about Lucas. Over a headache, the drama.
Jonah and Vince left, leaving Max and Leo behind, as well as Atwood, who had sat down on the couch and was cradling his head as if he was dying.
"Awn, Luke," Leo lowered his voice, "is it very bad?"
"Not that bad yet," Lucas answered, his voice barely above a whisper, "Jonah is right, I probably just need to eat."
"Uhm, we can make fries..?" Leo offered. Max noticed he had started to shake, since now it was getting pretty chilly.
"No, kid," Luke pushed Leo's wet shorts, "go shower, your teeth are chattering."
"Yes, dad," Leo teased him, ruffling his hair, "I'll be right back."
Leo sprinted upstairs and Max was left alone with Atwood. Great, just great.
He looked around the room in search of his cigarettes, fishing one out and walking to the front door, opening it so he could smoke half inside, half in the porch — Jonah had threatened him with bodily harm if he smoked inside the house, even the bathroom was off limits... But he was too cold to go completely outside, fuck that.
"Can you not smoke?" Atwood bitched.
Max rolled his eyes, taking a long drag and blowing it out in a thick ring of white smoke, "nope," he poked the ring with his cig, "no wonder you act like this, they coddle you like crazy."
"They're not coddling me," Luke scoffed, moving on the couch in a weak attempt to get away from Max. If he really wanted to avoid the cigarettes, Max figured he could stop with the performance and simply go back to bed.
"What do you call them babying you then?" Max snorted, continuing to smoke. His favorite part of the lake house was, by far, how silent it was. He could hear the crickets chirping and an owl hooting far away. It relaxed every muscle in his body.
Lucas let out a long suffering sigh, shuffling on the couch. Max glanced at him, the guy was pretty pale, maybe he wasn't faking the headache to get attention. Maybe.
There were footsteps upstairs, followed by a shriek. Both their heads snapped, "Leo?!" Luke called out, before Max beat him to it. He got up, walked to the staircase and Max followed, concerned.
"Leo?!"
"I'M FINE!" Leo's voice travelled, "There was a spider in the shower!"
"How big of a spider?" Max chuckled, imaging the other man shrieking because of an itty bitty spider.
"Uh- About the size of my hand...?"
Oh, wow, that was pretty big.
"You killed it?" The nerd in him wanted to go up to check it out, but Luke was absolutely gonna snitch if Max went up to the second floor while smoking.
"Yeah, it's fine," Leo shut the bathroom door once more, ending their shouting conversation.
Max turned around to walk back outside, to pat out his cigarettes that had burned down considerably, only for his eyes to fall on Atwood... Who was shaking...?
"Atwood?"
"Urg-uck," the man clamped a hand over his mouth, then rushed to the kitchen, leaning over the sink with a loud retch. Max jumped, surprised.
"Oh, wow," he walked closer, unsure of what to do, standing awkwardly on the doorway, "are you good...?"
Was this because of the headache or something else?
Luke retched again, this time managing to bring up a mouthful of thick saliva and something cloudy in it. Max wrinkled his nose, stepped closer to reassess his original diagnose of drama queen. Atwood was trembling, maybe he did have a pretty bad headache or maybe it was a bug-
"Go. Away," Luke's voice was clipped with annoyance, one shaky hand attempt to shoo Max away. The blonde snorted.
"You seem a little woozy, I'd rather you didn't split your head on my watch," he peered at Luke's face, the way his throat was bobbing as he fought the nausea, "are you gonna be sick?"
There was a vindictive hint to his voice, a mean part of him that wanted to make this worse a little bit, after Luke had acted like such a fucking asshole back in the car, crying out he wouldn't pull over. Such an asshole.
"GO'WAY!"
Max put down his cigarette on the windowsill, frustrated, "I'm trying to help!"
"Yo'huurk-" Luke gagged mid sentence, spine curling as he heaved again, this time managing to actually bring something up. Cereal? They had brought cereal?
Max wouldn't know, he had skipped breakfast entirely because he had slept until 11.
"Do you have the flu?" Max wondered out loud. Surely a headache shouldn't cause puking, not unless- His mind flashed Wendy, a year ago, throwing up on his shirt while she cradled her head, on the side of the road in Doveport. Not a headache, a migraine.
That explained why the lot of them were making such a fuss about it, "Ah, you have a migraine?" Max whispered, looking around for the light switch. Darkness helped, right?
Luke heaved again, then his knees buckled, but he didn't fall because Max wrapped his arms around his waist before he managed, "Whoa! Hey, don't faint!"
"Mmn'ell," Luke slurred and there was something in his voice that made Max look away from his search for the light switch.
Luke's face had collapsed, right side turned down, left up.
He was having a stroke.
"Lucas," Max's heart was so loud in his ears, he couldn't hear his own voice, "Shit, Lucas. Lucas, open your eyes!"
"Mmgh'ell!" Luke cried out, a hand coming up to grab at his hair, tugging on it with so much force that a couple hairs came out.
"What?! What are you saying -" what do I do?!
Luke gestured, uncoordinated, to the windowsill and it took Max an embarrassing amount of time to realize he meant the stupid cigarette. Shit, the smell.
"Oh my god- My bad, my bad, my bad," he said frantically, putting the thing off inside the sink and turning the register on for good measure.
"What's going on-" Leo froze by the doorway, taken back by the scene. Max's heart nearly leaped out of his mouth.
"Help?! I think he's having a stroke- I- I-"
"Shit, Luke," Leo whispered, concern clear on his face, "lets get you lying down..."
"Leo, call 911," Max instructed, trying to keep his cool and failing miserably. He had never seen a stroke before, but a collapsed face... He'd have to be daft to ignore that glaring red flag, "Leo!"
"It's not a stroke!" Leo snapped at him, sliding under Luke's opposite arm, "c'mon, Luke, we're gonna get you lying down..."
Slowly they made it back to the living room, depositing Luke down on the couch. The man let out a groan, pitching to the side as he heaved again and Leo rushed out to grab him a bowl, while Max planted both his hands on Luke's shoulders to keep him from falling completely.
His face was terrifying, one eye leaking tears like a faulty faucet, lips down turned and limp, the other bright, alert and pinched in pain.
"Fuckfuckfuckfuck," Max chanted under his breath, making a silent prayer to the universe that Atwood didn't die on him. He was terrified, he couldn't understand why Leo wasn't completely losing it too, "Leo, he's going to die, we really need to call 911-"
"He's not having a stroke," Leo fell to his knees next to Luke, holding a plastic bowl under his mouth and curling his opposite arm around Luke's head, trying to keep it steady as the empty heaves rocked him, "migraine. He's got-"
"Migraine doesn't cause his face to fall!" Max hissed, "call Jonah at least-" he was begging and he knew it, but fuck, this guy couldn't die on him.
Leo hesitated, then nodded, "hold him, keep his head steady."
He then ran to grab his cellphone, ditched upstairs. Max moved around, taking Leo's spot and wrapping himself around Luke's head kinda like an octopus, cooing out of instinct when he heaved and whimpered.
He should ignore Leo's bullshit and call 911 himself. Even if Luke didn't die, if he had had an aneurysm, time was crucial...
"His face collapsed," Leo's voice arrived before he did, talking on the phone, "it's bad, Jon, it's really bad..."
The other man appeared in front of Max, gesturing for him to move, "okay... Just squeeze his hand? That's all?" Leo's hand wrapped around Luke's and he whispered to the fallen man, "Luke, Jon is asking you to squeeze my hand, can you do that? Please?"
Max waited, biting his lip with so much force he was drawing blood. Luke's hand tightened around Leo's, who let out a relieved sigh, "Okay, Luke, now the other one..." Again, a tight hand squeeze.
Leo sat down on the ground, boneless, "yeah, he squeezed it, it's strong," he said on the phone and judging by the clear relief on his voice, Max counted it as good news. He just wasn't sure if he trusted it.
"Ice pack?" Leo asked, on the phone, "no, we don't, but Uh- I have a bottle of vodka in the freezer... Works?"
Max was up and moving before he got an ok from Leo. He took the bottle of alcohol, wrapped it up in a dish cloth and brought it back to the mini chaos in the living room.
"Hold it to his forehead," Leo instructed.
Max obeyed and upon the cool touch, Luke whimpered and curled up even more.
"Ssstop'urtssss-"
"Sorry, man, I can't," Max said, truly apologetic. He watched Luke's face like a hawk, hoping the horrible two-face condition was gonna ease.
It took forever.
Jonah and Vince arrived and promptly took over the caretaking, a bag of groceries being shoved in Max's hands as he was sidelined.
He dumped it in the kitchen, unable to stay away from the living room, where the other two were fussing over Luke in a rhythm that informed Max this wasn't their first time doing it.
Leo got up to wash the vomit basin and his whole face was pink as if he was crying, so Max followed him.
"Leo..."
"I'm okay," his voice came out strangled and Max let out a huff. Leo dropped the bowl inside the sink, whole body shaking and a terrible whine falling from his lips.
"Hey," Max wasn't sure what he was doing, but Leo was his friend and he wanted to comfort him. He stepped closer, pulled Leo's arm and guided him into a hug, which was reciprocated immediately. Leo melted against him, crying, "I know, it was scary..."
It sounded childish said like this, but Max too was shaking, adrenaline starting to come down. Leo sniffled, hugged him tighter, "I thought he- he-"
"I know, I thought so too," Max patted his friend's back, "but Jonah said he's ok, right?"
"Right," Leo pulled back, wiping his eyes, "sorry-"
"Don't," Max squeezed his nape, looking back to the living room. Jonah and Vin seemed to have managed to knock Luke out. Jon was sitting on the coffee table, watching him, while Vince paced behind the couch like a caged tiger, biting his thumb.
Luke's face was normal now and he seemed peaceful. Max walked up to Vin, while Leo curled up on the floor, resting his head on Jonah's thigh.
"Should we move him to a bed..?" Max asked, after a long quiet minute. He noticed Vin's face was white as chalk and his eyes were bloodshot, and he reached in without thinking, taking Vin's hand in his and giving it a friendly squeeze. Vince latched onto him with an iron grip.
"Not yet," Jonah answered, sounding defeated, "I should've seen it coming, he was squinting all day and wearing the stupid sunglasses."
"Not your fault," Leo pressed a kiss to Jonah's thigh, while Max asked again "is it over now?"
"Not necessarily," Vince's voice was raspy, he cleared his throat, "last cluster I thought he'd be better after sleeping, but he was worse. Had to take him to the ER."
"Ah..." What else was he supposed to say?
They eventually disbanded. Vince took a lot of pushing and prodding to move away from Luke, but he did go cook dinner once Jonah promised he wouldn't leave the other man alone. Leo shooed Max to shower and they had a quiet dinner in the kitchen, while Vince watched Luke.
Jonah curled up on the armchair in front of the couch, eyelids heavy, but refusing to move to the bedroom no matter how many times Leo asked... And Leo didn't ask that many times. Instead he came back downstairs with a huge pile of pillows and Max quickly got what he wanted, so he ran upstairs to grab all the blankets.
They curled up on the living room floor, pushed the coffee table out of the way. Max sandwiched between Vince and Leo.
It was only when Vin snuggled up against him, much, much later that night, that Max's heart finally stopped racing. He let out a sigh, used Vin's bicep as a pillow and curled his hand around Leo's wrist, thrown over his middle. Max fell asleep watching Luke's slack face.
Bella stirred on the bed, blanket wrapped around her lower half, letting out a heavy sigh. She had been looking forward to spending some time with her mother and it was going great, but for as much grief as she had given Luke for being clingy, here she was, missing him.
She hadn't slept alone in a long while, it was weird, to say the least. Besides, this whole house was a new place, there wasn't even the familiar aspect of being back to their little trailer park home. Not that she was complaining, not at all, it was just weird.
Marisa had never been a night owl — something that amused Bella to no end how she kept surrounding herself with these early birds type people — so she had already gone to bed and the house was dead silent now.
Bella had promised herself she wouldn't pester Luke during the weekend, not after she had been the one to push for some time apart. It was only fair he got to have fun... However she really wanted to hear his voice now.
Pouting, Bella turned on the bed and fished her phone from the nightstand. Vaguely she thought she really needed more friends of her own, so right now she could be texting one of them, since all the people she considered her friends were in the cabin trip. Terrible. At least Marilyn seemed to want to befriend her, their lunch together after the talk with Wendy had been productive, and the other woman had been texting her semi constantly now, but they were still stiff and awkward texts. Besides, right now she didn't want anyone else, but Lucas.
Bella: Are u up?
Luke's contact was offline and she clicked on the little ball housing his picture in order to enlarge it. She frequently changed his contact picture and the most recent one was him in the shelter, during one of the communal Sunday luncheons. He had been helping in the kitchen, so he had an apron on and a stupid hair net and still Bella thought he looked painfully handsome. Truly ridiculous that he still made her heart skip a beat when looking goofy as hell.
Her phone buzzed and she quickly clicked out of the picture.
Luke: barely standing
She chewed on her bottom lip, bummed.
Bella: I'm gonna let you sleep then. Love you.
Not a second after she clicked send, the phone switched to video call. Bella perked up, picking it up.
Luke was lying on his side, part of his face concealed by a pillow being on the way, and the room he was in was dark. Still, she could see just enough.
"Oh hi-"
"I didn't say I didn't wanna talk," Luke scoffed, rolling his eyes, "hi baby, how are you?"
"Better now," Bella smiled, propping the phone against the other pillow on the bed, so they were now facing each other, in similar positions, "you look like hell, Luke."
"You look beautiful," he teased, squirming to get a better view of her, "is that my shirt? You packed my t-shirt instead of actual pajamas?"
"These are my actual pajamas, excuse you," Bella rolled her eyes, tugging on her shirt, that had Call Your Senators, Not Your Ex written across the front in a curvy font. She still remembered clearly seeing him in that shirt for the first time, in campus.
"Looks better on you than on me."
"Aren't you a smooth talker," Bella opened a smile, poking the camera, "why do you look like shit? Didn't you and Vince take turns driving?"
"No, me and-" Luke yawned, snuggling down, "and Leo, Vince was too hungover."
"Oh yikes, I didn't know that was a thing that could happen."
"Yeah," Luke snorted, "then Leo got carsick, then Daniels puked lunch because he's a little bitch, then Vince puked because he thought being super hangover for four hour long-" another yawn, "-trip was smart, then Jonah puked all over himself and the car, because fuck me I guess."
Bella's eyebrows were so high in her face, she was sure they disappeared in her hairline, "you're joking, right? All of them got sick?!"
"Yep," Luke rubbed at his eye, cranky, "and the drive that was meant to be four hours ended up turning into six, because we had to wait one hour before getting them all back in the car and then I had to pull over twice more for Leo and Daniels... Just a fucking mess."
Bella let out an incredulous chuckle, "are you sure it wasn't some sort of bug? What are the odds they'd all get sick, Lu?"
"I think if it was a bug, then it would be less likely for them to get sick at the same time, no?" She could hear by the sound of his voice that he was in a foul mood, "whatever, at least they're all slee-Eeping," he yawned again and Bella smiled.
"So are you, Luke," she reached for the phone, "goodnight, I-"
"No, don't hang up," Luke cut her off, "I'm not sleepy. Tell me how was your day? Better than mine, I hope?"
Bella rolled her eyes at his stubbornness. His eyelids were heavy and she guessed he had about five more minutes in him, so she humored him, lowering her voice on purpose, "it was fun. We visited the National Museum of Nuclear Science with tia Nicole and the twins. Apparently the museum is hiring and none of my relatives have a fucking clue of what my job actually is, because they were harping on me to join. The position was more like you than me," she chuckled at the fact her mom couldn't hear the word "scientist" without immediately thinking of her, when Bella was actually a backend developer. A word combo she was pretty sure her mother would never learn, no matter how hard she tried.
"They are trying to get you to move to Burque, uh?" Luke mumbled, eyes already closed. Bella studied his profile, considered not even answering him so she wouldn't wake him up when he was about a second away from sleeping. Luke opened his eyes, annoyed, "I'm not asleep."
God, he must've been an annoying little kid, she thought, biting down a smile. Her mind provided her with a fresh image of 5 years old Luke battling sleep and getting grumpy about it, "they just miss me, that's all... What are you guys doing tomorrow?"
"I'm sleeping in, I don't care what the others are doing," Luke huffed and she laughed.
"You haven't slept in a day in your life, captain. Not unless you're sick," she squinted at him, "you are terribly pale..."
"Just an annoying headache," he dismissed her quickly, "from the tension, nothing sleep can't fix... Max and Vince are being awfully cozy."
"Good," Bella shrugged, "they both deserve a break, it's been a rough six months."
"Hmmm," Luke had his eyes closed again and she waited, in silence. A huff, "not'sleep..." he breathed out, still with his eyes closed. Bella let out an amused sigh through her nose.
"I think we're going to town tomorrow for some shopping," Bella whispered, "I'll use the black Atwood card and I'm super nervous about it."
"Why?" He sounded slightly more awake now, "it's your-" yawn, "-your card..."
"I have this paranoid sensation the bank is gonna block it because I never use it and the people in the store will laugh and it's gonna be awful for all the involved," Bella confessed. Luke frowned.
"None of that is gonna happen," he promised, "if the bank does call, throw the surname on them. It ought to serve for something."
She paused, not wanting to point out that the Atwood surname was his mother's, not Kit's. Luke never spoke ill of his mom, all Bella knew about Veronica's flaws she had learned through Jonah or pieced together from Luke's anecdotes. It was a testament of how cranky he was that he had said that.
"Okay..." Bella fake yawned, "I think I'm going to sleep."
"Already?" He yawned too, much to her amusement, "it's too early for you..."
"We walked around a lot today," that wasn't even a lie, "have fun tomorrow and don't sulk because of Max."
"Did you know he'd be here?" Luke squinted at her, tugging on the blankets so he was tucked under them. Bella felt an urge to squish him until she left marks.
"Of course I did, I suggested it," Bell laughed when his eyes darted open, pure betrayal in them, "I just brought up the idea to Vin, that's all! It's not fair he'd stay behind all alone."
"Do you hate me?" Luke groaned dramatically, "now they're all in pairs and I'm wifeless! I feel like a fifth wheel!"
She rolled her eyes, even though she could tell he wasn't wrong in that aspect. Although Vince and Max weren't dating, the tension was there, and Jonah and Leo were insufferably adorable.
"Channel your captain abilities and suck it up, Atwood," Bella scolded him, faking a coach voice, "walk it off."
"You're terrible," he whined, "I'm going to get payback for this, you just watch."
"Sooo scary," Bella teased him, "go to sleep. Really, I can see you're squinting and your eyes are red."
"Fine!" He groaned, whole body relaxing against the mattress, "I love you, have fun tomorrow."
"You too, baby," she felt a pang at the fact she couldn't reach through the screen, "I love you too."
Bella pressed the red button and then grabbed a pillow, pressing it over her face as she let out a frustrated groan.
She woke up sticky with sweat, feeling like she was suffocating. It took a minute for Bella to realize that it wasn't a dream, but real life, and she kicked off her blankets, grumpily sitting up.
Sunlight was invading the bedroom, because she hadn't closed the curtains. Outside the birds were chirping and the sky was cerulean blue, but when Bella checked her phone it was just 7:30 AM.
"What the hell," she whispered, rubbing her eyes and stumbling out of the bedroom. There was noise coming from downstairs and when she entered the kitchen, her mother was cooking breakfast, "morning..."
"Morning, baby," Marisa smiled at her, "a little early for you, isn't it?"
"Uhm," Bella sat down by the counter, still sleepy, "it's too warm to sleep."
"Did you turn on the A/C?" Marisa asked and Bella blinked quickly, remembering the new place had A/C. For a second she had been sixteen and back home.
"I forgot you had it," she yawned, "are you making omelettes?"
"Here you go," Marisa turned around to place a thick omelette on a plate in front of Bella, "with green chile sauce, it's still your favorite, right?"
"Right," she perked up, "do I have you all for myself? You're not going to the salon today?"
"I quit working Saturdays, I'm a woman of leisure now," Marisa snorted at her own joke, killing the heat and plating her own breakfast, "I don't even know what to do with the money I used to pay for rent. So far I'm spending it all on hair products and shoes."
Bella chuckled, "you already had way too many shoes, mamma."
"A lady can never have too many shoes, Isabella," Marisa rolled her eyes at her, sounding annoyed, "I'm thinking of saving it for a trip. I'm gonna take a whole month off work. Rita is in disbelief."
Something warm lodged itself in between Bella's ribs, a feeling she couldn't name. For as long as she could remember her mother had worked six days a week, every week. Hearing that she was planning a vacation made Bella emotional, in all sorts of ways. Relief, gratitude, guilt.
"What did Rita say?" Bella asked, gulping down a forkful of omelette and swallowing against the knot in her throat.
"She said I'm too fancy for the salon now and asked if I was going to quit," Marisa's voice was sounding with smugness as she talked about her boss. As far as Bell was aware, Marisa had a turbulent relationship with Rita, considering her mother was hot headed as they came and consistently quit her job over intercalations with clients, then regretted it and had to ask to get it back. She made Bella herself seem calm and collected in comparison.
"Again?" Bella needled her, grinning, "when was the last time you quit?"
Her mother's cheeks turned pink and the older woman rolled her eyes, ducking her head to look at the food, "that's none of your business, mija."
"I'll just ask tia Nicole," she taunted and Marisa let out a long suffering sigh.
"I don't know, February. This snotty lady tried to yell at me because I refused to bleach her hair, but you should've seen it, Isa, it was like a escoba! If I had bleached it would fall right off her head!"
"And Rita sided with the client?"
"Rita doesn't know anything about hair," Marisa's words quickly became rapid fire as she went on a rant about her frenemy and Bella was enraptured, her mother was one hell of a story teller.
A social butterfly too, as they walked down the center of Albuquerque and ran into several acquaintances of hers. Marisa stopping to say hi to each and everyone of them, making sure to flaunt that this was Bella — "Little Isabella?! She's all grown up now!"
"You're worst than Luke," Bella grumbled, social battery already shot and it wasn't even lunch yet, "how can I be your daughter?"
"My little storm cloud," Marisa grinned, looping their arms together and dragging Bella inside a store.
Even inside the stores it seemed to be warm, Bella couldn't fathom how that was possible. They were blasting A/C — she remembered being a teenager and going to the mall just to get the A/C during the summer months. Summer could be brutal in New Mexico —, but it wasn't cutting it.
"I'm gonna chop off all of this stupid hair," Bella said darkly, pulling her hair up. Marisa was inspecting two different couches, since Bell had told her she needed one that was water resistant now that she had a pool, and she snorted at her daughter's theatrics.
"You don't have the face for a bob, baby girl," she said, long red nails running over the fabric of the couches, "I don't know if I like this. It's not... It has no personality."
"It has plenty personality, mamma," Bella rolled her eyes, curling the hair around itself to put it in a bun. Her nape was dampen with sweat, "it's just not fire engine red like the one you have."
"Don't these fancy stores have any red couches?" Marisa pouted, crossing her arms, "rich people don't have taste?"
Bella giggled at her mother's idea of taste, looking around in search of something that was at least maroon, "they have this leather one..." she walked closer to a couch, then suddenly stumbled as the floor seemed to be a little closer than it should've been, "whoa! Wow, I don't know what happened... Uhm, this is pretty..."
"What's wrong?" Marisa ignored her conversation about the couch, frowning at Bella, "you stumbled."
"Just lost my footing, it's nothing," Bella waved her off, "what do you think of this one?"
After they picked a couch — Marisa settled for the deep red leather, much to Bella's giddiness —, they went on to pick a new double bed for the main suite, since Marisa's was ancient and then sat down in the park for a quick break while going over their list.
"You still need, uhm-" Bella squinted at her phone screen, struggling to see with the sun shining down so strongly, even with her brightness at max, "oh, you're gonna like this, bathroom stuff for the guest room. The vanity there is falling apart."
"It's not that bad..."
"A piece of it came out on Luke's hand, mamma," Bella rolled her neck from side to side, a nagging headache starting to bloom behind her eyes, "it's been in the house for forever, it needs to be changed."
"I don't know..." Marisa was doing a damn good impression of Bella herself, looking sheepish. Bella knew why already, she didn't have to ask. The fact she was the one buying everything.
"Yes, it does," Bella said strongly, "then we're gonna pick you a new fridge and it's all for today."
"All for today," Marisa huffed, sitting on the bench and glaring at the sky. She planted a hand over her eyes, to protect them from the sun, "we should've been in the pool."
"We'll get there soon," Bella comforted her, tugging on the front of her tank top. She could feel her shoulders burning from the heat and it felt like her brain was cooking. There wasn't any shade, Albuquerque's trees were a flimsy excuse and most of them had been put down to become parking lots.
Bella couldn't believe she had previously considered moving here. Relationships aside —because she knew what had been the real catalyst behind her desire to go back home — Bella adored Maine. She loved the orange trees, the humidity, the gloomy weather in the later parts of the year. New Mexico was always so fucking sunny, she'd go insane in that place.
"Ándale," Marisa ushered her, "you're getting all pink cheeks, we need to get you out from the heat."
"I'm not getting pink cheeks," Bella scoffed, as her mother planted her hands on her back and shoved her forward, "I don't do that."
"Please," Marisa scoffed, "this might work on that chalk white husband of yours, but you're my child. My irish baby, I remember having to take you to the ER with heatstroke on second grade, I'll never forget."
"I'm not an Irish baby," Bell pouted, "I don't remember that."
"You were seven," Marisa clicked her car open, "get inside."
"The car is really counter productive, it's a furnace, mamma," Bella pointed out, stumbling when she opened the passenger door and a roll of hot air hit her. She squeezed the plastic handle of the door, blinking quickly to will the vertigo to pass.
"Open the backseat door, it'll cool quicker," Marisa bossed her, "are you nauseous?"
"I don't have heatstroke, mom," Bella argued, obeying the order and leaning her forehead against her hand, planted on the hot glass of the car window. She was a little dizzy and fucking burning, because it was 92ºF on the shade.
"You absolutely do," Marisa gestured for her to get inside, "I should've known, you woke up too early."
"What the hell?" Bella giggled, confused. She obeyed and entered the car, cringing as her back stuck to the seat and the metal of the seatbelt was so warm it caused her fingertips to burn, "what does me waking up early have to do with the heat?"
"You were a fussy baby when it was warm," Marisa said, fiddling with the A/C to put it on the max, "wouldn't sleep."
"Mamma, we lived in Burque with no A/C," Bella scoffed, "it was always burning up."
Marisa cringed, squeezed the steering wheel, "I should've moved with you."
Oh there they went, Bella thought with a frustrated groan. Down the road of should-have's and ifs. Her mother always did this, feeling impossibly guilty for how she had raised her, as if she hadn't been a nineteen year old with no support, doing her best. No amount of reassurance managed to quell Marisa's guilt and Bella had long given up on it.
She leaned her head back, then regretted it as the car seat seemed to go back. The feeling was so real, that Bella opened her eyes to check, but no, her seat hadn't moved. It was just the heat.
"Drink some water."
"We can't head home yet, we gotta stop by the stores," Bella argued, staring at the lane ahead. The heat was creating turvy lines in the horizon, cars disappearing in it, "I'm serious, mamma."
"Who's the mom here?" Marisa glared at her, "drink some water, Isabella."
"It's gross," Bella wrinkled her nose at the lukewarm water. They both had brought water bottles, but no amount of heat protection could salvage it when locked in a hot car. She should've invested in one of those Stanley bottles that survived fire, but why would she even need one of those back in Maine? When she never even left the home office?
"Puta madre, Isabella, drink the water!"
Bella whined, taking a sip of the gross lukewarm water, then immediately leaning out of her window to spit it out, "I can't, its disgusting..." she unscrewed the top of the bottle and dumped it over her head, whole body suddenly relaxing as the liquid soaked through her curls and ran into her top, "oh thank fuck..."
"Bella," Marisa chuckled, "mija, what the hell?"
"It helped," Bella grinned back, beaming as her mother only shook her head in a fond manner, not one bit concerned about the car's upholster.
"Let's head home and we can shop when it's not so bright out," Marisa offered the olive branch and Bella nodded, closing her eyes and leaning back her head.
"Okay, mamma," she felt sleepy, the car movement both making her a little queasy and lulling, "I'm gonna rest my eyes."
"Sure, you are," Marisa snorted, reaching blindly to run her knuckles against Bella's cheek, stroking it in a fond way, "get a little rest."'
Kieran is reckless, Isaiah is worried. Emeto included.
"What are you doing?"
Kieran flinched against his will. This was the first time in three days since he heard Isaiah speak to him.
"What does it look like? Getting my pants." Which was pretty painful and humiliating without an audience, thank you.
Isaiah's face was closed off, drawn in that neutral way that didn't give anything away. It was the closest to Kieran's older brother's face, the one he hated the most—disdain.
Except Isaiah was too damn polite to actually spell it out loud.
"The doctor didn't clear you yet," Isaiah said, suit somehow no wrinkles, but his hands were uncharacteristically in the pockets of his jeans.
"Three to four days of bed rest. This is a waste of time, I can sleep this off at home." He really wanted his pants, except he got stuck halfway around pulling them up his ankles, still only in the hospital gown. Not that he was shy, but around Isaiah he felt far too underdressed.
Isaiah lifted an eyebrow and then closed the door of Kieran's room. "You can't even walk straight. No way you are leaving."
"Watch me."
A twitch to Isaiah's eye. "Sit down before you collapse."
"Stop ordering me around." Kieran stood his ground. Wolves have given him enough orders. So he was a little dizzy, and the incision side was burning more each second standing up, but the argument was also giving him the right adrenaline boost. He knew his body. This kind of wave could take him behind the door, maybe even to the elevator, before he folded.
Now Isaiah sighed, shoulders sagging. "Don't make me pin you to the bed, Kieran."
Red fog clouded his eyes. "Just because you are a wolf, you think you can-"
"Not because I'm a wolf. Because you are shaking, just had an operation and acting like you have a fucking death wish."
Yeah, yeah. Useless. Weak. Vulnerable. Way too human to be around.
"Don't worry about it. I'll leave you the fuck alone just as soon as I can walk."
A minute of stunned silence followed. A minute after which, Isaiah had the nerve to act surprised.
"Leave? Where?"
Kieran gulped down. A wave of cold sweat went through him. His hands were shaking and he felt full and weak at the same time. He couldn't take deep breaths, so getting light-headed was easy, but the dull ache he could tolerate lying down was starting to drawn out everything.
He curled his hand protectively around his ribs. His side hurt, the cuts around his navel were reminding him of their existence. Nausea was climbing up his neck and back of his head.
Isaiah didn't seem to register his state, voice thoughtful and quiet, almost a whisper. "I understand if this is not the kind of pack or life you would...choose for yourself. Yes, this is entirely fair..."
Kieran wanted to say he wouldn't stay where he wasn't wanted. He wanted to tell Isaiah it was his loss, their pack's loss, they didn't want him.
Neither made it to his lips. He wanted to cry, throw up and curl up on the floor at the same time.
"I cannot fault you for wanting a better life than with me around- Kieran? Hey-! What the-"
One second he was up, watching the walls close down around him, and the next he was sideways on the bed, blinking his eyes.
Isaiah was beside him, propping him up and patting his cheek. "Hey, hey, hey, wake up. Stay with me, Kier."
Hmm. That was Alessia's and Dominick's nickname for him. Nobody else was allowed to call him that. Maybe his littlest brother.
Then the pain hit. Falling forward onto the bed with how sore his stomach was and how his muscles screamed? He whined at the shock wave that shot through him, pain as if someone kicked him into his side all over again.
Then revulsion and something milky and watery came out his mouth. He gagged on the texture, spraying liquid vomit over the sheets.
"Shhhhh. Okay, you're okay. I know it hurts. I got you."
All the distance and silence forgotten, Isaiah moved as a trained nursemaid. His touch was gentle, somehow managing to turn Kieran onto his back and prop him up against the pillows into a sitting position, the least painful one.
The Executioner took a wet towel from the bedside table and wiped vomit and bile from Kieran's face and hands. Then he threw the sheets to the side and took the spare one rolled at the end of the bed to cover him with.
Truly. The guy had the wrong kind of job for being such a softy.
Isaiah took Alessia's chair, pushing himself closer. And he kept a hand on Kieran's forearm with an exasparated look. "Stay put. Don't make me hold you down just to make you rest."
Kieran rolled his head away, trying to catch his breath and not cry at the same time. His ribs hurt and his left shoulder hurt, the weird kind of pain that lingered since the operation. "I know how pathetic I look, you don't have to remind me."
Isaiah's hand on his arm stiffened. "You are not pathetic, you are wrecked. There's a difference."
"A wolf wouldn't have been so hurt."
Isaiah hummed. "Maybe that's your problem, actually. You fight like a wolf, but wolves fight the way they do because they can heal. You can't. So why don't you just fight like a human?"
Kieran frowned, slowly looking back up at the other man.
"You are one of the strongest, bravest and most stubborn people I know," Isaiah continued, as if he didn't just defy everything Kieran knew about life. "So just use your human strength. Take silver with you. Take backup. Don't whirl yourself into trouble like your life is disposable and you got eight others to spare."
Kieran splattered for words, face heating up. "Y-you just said I should leave."
"I said it wouldn't surprise me. I don't have exactly an easy...or calm life. Anyone associated with me won't have it any different."
Ah right. This was a more familiar terrain. "You have such a nonchalant way of throwing yourself under the bus. It's fucked up."
"Well, you would throw yourself under one for sport," Isaiah snorted, "so who are you to judge?"
Kieran chuckled at that, then moaned when it pulled at his stitches. Laughing and breathing and sitting up were the most painful movements.
Isaiah was smiling though, holding onto Kieran's arm like a pathetic little schoolgirl.
Getting ideas for the Shadow wolves OCs again...yay after a what, 8 months break? Lol.
Anyway, thinking of trying out some snippets/chapters and continuing where we left of in November (ignoring the two experimental chapters with the one year timeskip where Isaiah disappeared).
The demon wip is not closing, I'm still accepting requests. Just wanna see if switching between them will work
Hellow hellow, how about "Caretaker? Can you come home/pick me up? I feel like crap." for Adalyn/Lucian? You pick who the sickee is, either one would be lovely!
Glorified roomates
Struggling with something was annoying to people. Adalyn had not realized this, when she left home.
It was interesting for maybe 10 seconds, while the person next to you considered and solved your problem and went to their own. And if you insisted that wasn't a solution for you, they called your problems trivial or you selfish and oversensitive.
Adalyn had never felt as alone as when she moved out of her home. With her boyfriend and the research dream job she had worked to get for years, she looked like the epitome of success and independence.
But she felt so lonely. And it wasn't even because she wasn't around people, because she was. She met with friends for iced lattes; she had work colleagues she was actually, for once, trying to befriend and make into useful contacts; she had Edmond for her neighbor still...and she had Lucian.
Lucian, who it turned out, wasn't at all alleviating her pain of isolation and being misunderstood.
When she didn't want to focus on how much she wanted to call her mother to talk about her uselessness and fear of what to shop for dinner, how to cook the stupid soup without burning down her apartment - she wanted to focus on him.
Her experiment. Her demon in a human body.
She wanted to see him struggle and adjust. To see him go from being a ghost to being corporeal, to awaken from his white sheet of paper innocence to the societal expectations, timelines, and pressures.
But to her chagrin, Lucian seemed to thrive.
He got annoyed for being fragile and out of shape, so he started to go on runs before work and swimming after. He took courses in urban sketching to improve and carried a blank notebook everywhere, only to turn the sketches into watercolor wonders at home.
She went to the course with him to see how he would fare. The teacher claimed Lucian was a natural-born prodigy with an incredible eye for perspective and proportions. That he could imagine buildings and people from impossible angles, bird perspective...as if he floated above them.
Of course he floated above them. In his non-corporeal demon form, that was all he did for the past years of his endless existence.
Not like Adalyn could reveal that detail to take away from Lucian's pride.
And proud he was. As if the new skills and interests fattened him up more than the food. There was something so...brave and carefree about his attitude to things. He wasn't concerned with what he should have had done or known - he just did what he wanted.
He made her watch TikTok videos so they could cook together, except she didn't have his patience for measuring and details. He dragged her to swim and walk by the river, as if she wasn't the one who loved water the most. She spent years being fascinated by the river cutting through the city with all her arms like a sparkling ribbon, attracting spirits and demons everywhere.
That's how she knew all the little water fairies, the spirits of ways, the shy ones hiding in the trees looking like doves, or the playful ones under the recreational motorboats playing in the waves.
That's how she met him.
Adalyn saved him. She gave him his name. It wasn't fair for Lucian to be happier than her.
Even at work. Lucian was just an assistant to her research, yet somehow he befriended everyone in their office. Brought people coffee, made stupid conversation, smiled, and flirted as if he knew how. But always polite and gentle and smooth, as if he had done it for years and not learned to talk three months ago.
On some level she knew she should consider this a success. Maybe Lucian was even happier without his memories. He didn't have her awareness and concerns and overthinking everything. He just watched and experienced.
The emptiness turned to hunger in his eyes. To curiosity. When they came home from work, she wanted to lie down with her texts, go over the papers and make notes. He wanted to get back out there. To the river, the museums, even the coffee shops. Just so he could watch and sketch people, observe and observe.
As if he had not had enough opportunities to do so in his past life. It was ridiculous. True knowledge lay in the books written by exceptional minds, connected to what they interviewed and observed, not in the experience of the mundane and boring.
She was so annoyed she refused to go with him that day. He was actively protesting her. Didn't mind going alone. Didn't want to follow her around like a duckling anymore.
And Adalyn was left with her thoughts, the memory of her mother at the coffee shop she glimpsed at lunch, telling her friend with a huge smile that Adalyn moving out was the best thing that could have happened to her.
...
Adalyn stared at the same sentence for the fourth time.
The development of identity under conditions of uncertainty—
She had no idea what came after that.
The words blurred together on the screen. Her temples pulsed in time with the ticking clock on the wall, a dull, nauseating ache spreading behind her eyes. She pressed the heels of her palms against them.
It had started during lunch. Too much heat, perhaps. Not enough water. Too little sleep.
Or maybe just another side effect of existing.
Lucian had been gone for almost two hours now. The sketchbook he'd become inseparable from was missing from the kitchen counter, along with his headphones and favorite charcoal pencils. Somewhere by the river, no doubt, happily immortalizing old men feeding pigeons or children throwing pebbles into the water.
The thought irritated her disproportionately.
She checked her kitchen drawer. No aspirin. Second drawer. No brufen, paracetamol, nothing.
Bathroom cabinet. Bandages, disinfectant, vitamins, enough stomach medicine to survive a minor apocalypse. But no painkillers. Wonderful. She should have packed more from her mother's house. It was expensive, and she had hesitated at buying it at the pharmacy, although she was stacking up everything she could think of for the new place.
Adalyn leaned against the sink and closed her eyes.
Her first instinct was immediate and humiliating.
Call Mom.
She could already imagine it.
"You have headaches because you sit behind your laptop all day. When was the last time you took a walk? Do you go to sleep before midnight? When was the last time you were exposed to the sun?"
Practical. Solvable. Familiar.
Adalyn set her phone back down. She felt like she spent her studying years fighting her mother. She was the gravity force dragging her towards the world and 'real life' as she called it.
"Spirit hunters need real professions and interests, or they will be consumed by the invisible world," her mother always said. That's why Arthur was a lawyer and Amelia a psychologist. That's why Adalyn had studied and thankfully found something she liked almost just as much as the spirit world.
She was twenty-seven years old. A researcher. Independent. Perfectly capable of surviving a headache without involving her mother.
The realization did not make her feel any less miserable.
Her gaze drifted to Lucian's contact.
She hesitated.
He was busy.
He would have to stop whatever he was doing, find a pharmacy, come all the way back—
Her head throbbed. Her thumb pressed call before she could think better of it.
He answered on the second ring. "Adalyn." His voice carried wind and distant traffic.
"Lucian," she sighed in relief.
"Yes, that is my name."
She paused in surprise. Did he just make a joke?
"...You usually only say my name when you're annoyed with me," he explained.
"I am not annoyed."
"Mm." She could hear the smile. "You missing me already?"
She huffed in annoyance. "Where are you?"
"You want to come join me?" He sounded hopeful. Almost excited.
"No,...I was just wondering if there is a pharmacy nearby."
Another long pause. She could practically hear him think.
"There is no convenient pharmacy on the Danube island. But there is one on the way home. What do you need?"
"I have a headache." She sounded whiny even to herself.
An amused huff. "That doesn't sound so dramatic."
"It is a very severe headache."
"Did you eat today?"
Adalyn scowled. "I am regretting this call already."
"So that's a no."
"I had coffee."
"Adalyn."
"Fine. A pastry."
"At what hour?"
She remained silent.
"Oh, this is grave."
"I hate you."
The headache throbbed harder. "Lucian."
"No, you don't." He sounded absurdly pleased about it.
Something in her voice must have changed, because his teasing disappeared immediately.
"What happened?"
"Nothing happened."
"Adalyn."
"I just..." She pinched the bridge of her nose. "I feel like crap."
Silence. Not awkward silence. Attentive silence. Waiting. She realized she never called him like this for help. It made something uncomfortable twist in her chest. Asking the demon for help. Asking her captive to save her. Pathetic.
"There isn't any aspirin at home," she said quietly, swallowing back her hurt pride. "Could you buy some?"
Another pause. Then, softly, "Of course." As if it was the easiest thing on Earth.
"You don't have to come back immediately," she added quickly. "I know you were out—"
"I'm already on my way."
"You don't need to—"
"I'm coming home."
The words landed strangely. Simple. Certain.
She looked down at the floor tiles. "...Okay."
"Anything else?"
"No." Just hurry up. She could feel tears at the back of her eyes. Maybe she also had PMS. That would explain it.
"Tea?" he suggested.
"I don't want tea, it's 35 degrees outside!"
"You always want black tea with milk when you're miserable. I will throw some ice cubes in it. Or buy you iced caramel latte, what about that?"
"I resent how much data you've collected on me."
"I know." She could hear the grin again. "Go lie down," he said. "I'll be there soon."
The call ended.
Adalyn remained standing in the kitchen for several seconds, staring at the dark screen.
Then she quietly made her way to the couch.
She must have drifted off, because the next thing she registered was cool fingers brushing her hair away from her forehead.
Her eyes opened.
Lucian was crouched beside the couch, silver-gray eyes studying her with unconcealed concern. A pharmacy bag sat on the coffee table. Beside it was a glass of water, Gatorade, protein milkshake with caramel flavor, chocolate pudding yogurt with 18 grams of protein, and—traitorously—a box of ice cream.
"You bought food." Way more than she had asked for. More than he should have known to bring. What boyfriend of hers ever brought her something she didn't specifically list in her demands?
"You become unbearable when you forget to eat." His brown hair had a honey shade to it under the light peeking from the window curtains.
"I am perfectly pleasant."
"You once cried because the grocery store was out of your favorite yogurt."
"I was under considerable stress."
"You told me your life had no meaning."
"It didn't have my favorite yogurt." She grabbed for the protein pudding he brought. It was the most chocolate thing she could eat while watching her calories.
She couldn't exactly admit to him she gained weight in the last 3 months since she had moved out. 10 kilograms. She wasn't sure if it was from stress or horrible diet without her mom watching her or just from sadness. It was just another proof of her failure to be an adult. To handle what everyone else handled and much sooner and better than her.
Lucian laughed softly. The sound made something in her chest loosen. Demons shouldn't have such melodic laughter.
He handed her the medicine and the glass of water.
She swallowed the tablets obediently. "Thank you," she muttered, looking away. He caught her unpolished and needy, failing at basic care for herself.
He blinked. Adalyn almost never thanked people. And she definitely never thanked him.
"You called me," he said eventually.
"Yes?" She gulped down the tablets and felt defensiveness returning.
"You could have called Edmond. Or your mother."
She looked away.
"Why me?"
Because Edmond would worry too much. Because her mother would ask questions she didn't want to answer. Because despite everything, despite her resentment and jealousy and confusion—she had wanted him.
Wanted him here. Wanted someone to come home.
"I don't know," she lied.
Lucian regarded her for a long moment.
Then, very gently, he sat down on the couch next to her. In a way, he shouldn't have asked why him. They were supposed to be dating. The more independent and comfortable he got though, the more it felt like they were just roommates who slept in the same bed.
Glorified roommates. Sounded better than captor and captive, but not by much.
"You can call me whenever you want, Adalyn." He said it with such severity as if it was a promise.
Adalyn stared. The panicked loneliness and shame eased, just slightly.
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Hellow hellow, how about "Caretaker? Can you come home/pick me up? I feel like crap." for Adalyn/Lucian? You pick who the sickee is, either one would be lovely!
Glorified roomates
Struggling with something was annoying to people. Adalyn had not realized this, when she left home.
It was interesting for maybe 10 seconds, while the person next to you considered and solved your problem and went to their own. And if you insisted that wasn't a solution for you, they called your problems trivial or you selfish and oversensitive.
Adalyn had never felt as alone as when she moved out of her home. With her boyfriend and the research dream job she had worked to get for years, she looked like the epitome of success and independence.
But she felt so lonely. And it wasn't even because she wasn't around people, because she was. She met with friends for iced lattes; she had work colleagues she was actually, for once, trying to befriend and make into useful contacts; she had Edmond for her neighbor still...and she had Lucian.
Lucian, who it turned out, wasn't at all alleviating her pain of isolation and being misunderstood.
When she didn't want to focus on how much she wanted to call her mother to talk about her uselessness and fear of what to shop for dinner, how to cook the stupid soup without burning down her apartment - she wanted to focus on him.
Her experiment. Her demon in a human body.
She wanted to see him struggle and adjust. To see him go from being a ghost to being corporeal, to awaken from his white sheet of paper innocence to the societal expectations, timelines, and pressures.
But to her chagrin, Lucian seemed to thrive.
He got annoyed for being fragile and out of shape, so he started to go on runs before work and swimming after. He took courses in urban sketching to improve and carried a blank notebook everywhere, only to turn the sketches into watercolor wonders at home.
She went to the course with him to see how he would fare. The teacher claimed Lucian was a natural-born prodigy with an incredible eye for perspective and proportions. That he could imagine buildings and people from impossible angles, bird perspective...as if he floated above them.
Of course he floated above them. In his non-corporeal demon form, that was all he did for the past years of his endless existence.
Not like Adalyn could reveal that detail to take away from Lucian's pride.
And proud he was. As if the new skills and interests fattened him up more than the food. There was something so...brave and carefree about his attitude to things. He wasn't concerned with what he should have had done or known - he just did what he wanted.
He made her watch TikTok videos so they could cook together, except she didn't have his patience for measuring and details. He dragged her to swim and walk by the river, as if she wasn't the one who loved water the most. She spent years being fascinated by the river cutting through the city with all her arms like a sparkling ribbon, attracting spirits and demons everywhere.
That's how she knew all the little water fairies, the spirits of ways, the shy ones hiding in the trees looking like doves, or the playful ones under the recreational motorboats playing in the waves.
That's how she met him.
Adalyn saved him. She gave him his name. It wasn't fair for Lucian to be happier than her.
Even at work. Lucian was just an assistant to her research, yet somehow he befriended everyone in their office. Brought people coffee, made stupid conversation, smiled, and flirted as if he knew how. But always polite and gentle and smooth, as if he had done it for years and not learned to talk three months ago.
On some level she knew she should consider this a success. Maybe Lucian was even happier without his memories. He didn't have her awareness and concerns and overthinking everything. He just watched and experienced.
The emptiness turned to hunger in his eyes. To curiosity. When they came home from work, she wanted to lie down with her texts, go over the papers and make notes. He wanted to get back out there. To the river, the museums, even the coffee shops. Just so he could watch and sketch people, observe and observe.
As if he had not had enough opportunities to do so in his past life. It was ridiculous. True knowledge lay in the books written by exceptional minds, connected to what they interviewed and observed, not in the experience of the mundane and boring.
She was so annoyed she refused to go with him that day. He was actively protesting her. Didn't mind going alone. Didn't want to follow her around like a duckling anymore.
And Adalyn was left with her thoughts, the memory of her mother at the coffee shop she glimpsed at lunch, telling her friend with a huge smile that Adalyn moving out was the best thing that could have happened to her.
...
Adalyn stared at the same sentence for the fourth time.
The development of identity under conditions of uncertainty—
She had no idea what came after that.
The words blurred together on the screen. Her temples pulsed in time with the ticking clock on the wall, a dull, nauseating ache spreading behind her eyes. She pressed the heels of her palms against them.
It had started during lunch. Too much heat, perhaps. Not enough water. Too little sleep.
Or maybe just another side effect of existing.
Lucian had been gone for almost two hours now. The sketchbook he'd become inseparable from was missing from the kitchen counter, along with his headphones and favorite charcoal pencils. Somewhere by the river, no doubt, happily immortalizing old men feeding pigeons or children throwing pebbles into the water.
The thought irritated her disproportionately.
She checked her kitchen drawer. No aspirin. Second drawer. No brufen, paracetamol, nothing.
Bathroom cabinet. Bandages, disinfectant, vitamins, enough stomach medicine to survive a minor apocalypse. But no painkillers. Wonderful. She should have packed more from her mother's house. It was expensive, and she had hesitated at buying it at the pharmacy, although she was stacking up everything she could think of for the new place.
Adalyn leaned against the sink and closed her eyes.
Her first instinct was immediate and humiliating.
Call Mom.
She could already imagine it.
"You have headaches because you sit behind your laptop all day. When was the last time you took a walk? Do you go to sleep before midnight? When was the last time you were exposed to the sun?"
Practical. Solvable. Familiar.
Adalyn set her phone back down. She felt like she spent her studying years fighting her mother. She was the gravity force dragging her towards the world and 'real life' as she called it.
"Spirit hunters need real professions and interests, or they will be consumed by the invisible world," her mother always said. That's why Arthur was a lawyer and Amelia a psychologist. That's why Adalyn had studied and thankfully found something she liked almost just as much as the spirit world.
She was twenty-seven years old. A researcher. Independent. Perfectly capable of surviving a headache without involving her mother.
The realization did not make her feel any less miserable.
Her gaze drifted to Lucian's contact.
She hesitated.
He was busy.
He would have to stop whatever he was doing, find a pharmacy, come all the way back—
Her head throbbed. Her thumb pressed call before she could think better of it.
He answered on the second ring. "Adalyn." His voice carried wind and distant traffic.
"Lucian," she sighed in relief.
"Yes, that is my name."
She paused in surprise. Did he just make a joke?
"...You usually only say my name when you're annoyed with me," he explained.
"I am not annoyed."
"Mm." She could hear the smile. "You missing me already?"
She huffed in annoyance. "Where are you?"
"You want to come join me?" He sounded hopeful. Almost excited.
"No,...I was just wondering if there is a pharmacy nearby."
Another long pause. She could practically hear him think.
"There is no convenient pharmacy on the Danube island. But there is one on the way home. What do you need?"
"I have a headache." She sounded whiny even to herself.
An amused huff. "That doesn't sound so dramatic."
"It is a very severe headache."
"Did you eat today?"
Adalyn scowled. "I am regretting this call already."
"So that's a no."
"I had coffee."
"Adalyn."
"Fine. A pastry."
"At what hour?"
She remained silent.
"Oh, this is grave."
"I hate you."
The headache throbbed harder. "Lucian."
"No, you don't." He sounded absurdly pleased about it.
Something in her voice must have changed, because his teasing disappeared immediately.
"What happened?"
"Nothing happened."
"Adalyn."
"I just..." She pinched the bridge of her nose. "I feel like crap."
Silence. Not awkward silence. Attentive silence. Waiting. She realized she never called him like this for help. It made something uncomfortable twist in her chest. Asking the demon for help. Asking her captive to save her. Pathetic.
"There isn't any aspirin at home," she said quietly, swallowing back her hurt pride. "Could you buy some?"
Another pause. Then, softly, "Of course." As if it was the easiest thing on Earth.
"You don't have to come back immediately," she added quickly. "I know you were out—"
"I'm already on my way."
"You don't need to—"
"I'm coming home."
The words landed strangely. Simple. Certain.
She looked down at the floor tiles. "...Okay."
"Anything else?"
"No." Just hurry up. She could feel tears at the back of her eyes. Maybe she also had PMS. That would explain it.
"Tea?" he suggested.
"I don't want tea, it's 35 degrees outside!"
"You always want black tea with milk when you're miserable. I will throw some ice cubes in it. Or buy you iced caramel latte, what about that?"
"I resent how much data you've collected on me."
"I know." She could hear the grin again. "Go lie down," he said. "I'll be there soon."
The call ended.
Adalyn remained standing in the kitchen for several seconds, staring at the dark screen.
Then she quietly made her way to the couch.
She must have drifted off, because the next thing she registered was cool fingers brushing her hair away from her forehead.
Her eyes opened.
Lucian was crouched beside the couch, silver-gray eyes studying her with unconcealed concern. A pharmacy bag sat on the coffee table. Beside it was a glass of water, Gatorade, protein milkshake with caramel flavor, chocolate pudding yogurt with 18 grams of protein, and—traitorously—a box of ice cream.
"You bought food." Way more than she had asked for. More than he should have known to bring. What boyfriend of hers ever brought her something she didn't specifically list in her demands?
"You become unbearable when you forget to eat." His brown hair had a honey shade to it under the light peeking from the window curtains.
"I am perfectly pleasant."
"You once cried because the grocery store was out of your favorite yogurt."
"I was under considerable stress."
"You told me your life had no meaning."
"It didn't have my favorite yogurt." She grabbed for the protein pudding he brought. It was the most chocolate thing she could eat while watching her calories.
She couldn't exactly admit to him she gained weight in the last 3 months since she had moved out. 10 kilograms. She wasn't sure if it was from stress or horrible diet without her mom watching her or just from sadness. It was just another proof of her failure to be an adult. To handle what everyone else handled and much sooner and better than her.
Lucian laughed softly. The sound made something in her chest loosen. Demons shouldn't have such melodic laughter.
He handed her the medicine and the glass of water.
She swallowed the tablets obediently. "Thank you," she muttered, looking away. He caught her unpolished and needy, failing at basic care for herself.
He blinked. Adalyn almost never thanked people. And she definitely never thanked him.
"You called me," he said eventually.
"Yes?" She gulped down the tablets and felt defensiveness returning.
"You could have called Edmond. Or your mother."
She looked away.
"Why me?"
Because Edmond would worry too much. Because her mother would ask questions she didn't want to answer. Because despite everything, despite her resentment and jealousy and confusion—she had wanted him.
Wanted him here. Wanted someone to come home.
"I don't know," she lied.
Lucian regarded her for a long moment.
Then, very gently, he sat down on the couch next to her. In a way, he shouldn't have asked why him. They were supposed to be dating. The more independent and comfortable he got though, the more it felt like they were just roommates who slept in the same bed.
Glorified roommates. Sounded better than captor and captive, but not by much.
"You can call me whenever you want, Adalyn." He said it with such severity as if it was a promise.
Adalyn stared. The panicked loneliness and shame eased, just slightly.
We have @bellysoupset to thank for bringing this plotline to light :) thanks for the inspiration
CW: homophobia, religion trauma (?), questionable family dynamics
-------
Rowyn glances at the time once more, peering down the track. No train. It's not late, but the anticipation has him fidgeting, double checking once more that he's on the right platform, and that the train is still on time.
When it finally crawls into the station and squeaks to a stop, he scrambles forward, getting swept through the doors. He climbs up to the quiet floor, and slumps down in a luckily-available window seat, bag dropping at his feet.
He drifts, fingers toying at his phone. He tunes out the announcements - he knows exactly where he's going, after all.
The train pulls out of the station, and he turns his gaze to the window, watching the scenery flash past.
Eventually, the familiar sights of his city fade behind him, and he feels further from his tether than ever.
— — —
3 days ago.
He stumbles back through his front door, dropping into a kitchen chair.
His mind reeling, his phone burning a hole in his pocket.
He's so tired. But more than that, he's sad.
Max is there in his periphery, and he can feel their concern, but the fear and overwhelming sadness means all he can do is blink down at the table, letting it all wash over him once again.
"Ro?" Max's voice shocks through his internal spiral, and he lifts his heavy head, finally looking at them properly.
He must look like a mess, if their reaction is anything to go by. He believes it too, the combination of overcaffeination, exhaustion, and crying leaving him beyond wrung-out, and it's no surprise that's reflected on his face.
Max takes his hand, pulling him up, and he goes easily, moving like a puppet with its strings cut. His mind strays back to the message, fingers itching to reach for his phone again, but he uses the last of his will-power to resist.
Max pushes him through his bedroom door, and he feels whatever remains of his energy disappear at the familiar sight. He drops, boneless, onto the bed, a renewed wash of tears leaking from his eyes. Max crouches next to him, but ultimately leaves, and he can't even be surprised.
He curls up, reaching for the comforting fabric of Colin's hoodie that he left on the bed yet again, pulling it over his body like a weak substitute of a blanket.
It could be minutes, or it could be hours, before Colin creeps into his line of sight.
Even with all the problems the two of them are having, with as much as Rowyn is doubting and questioning, it's amazing how much relief the sight of him can still bring.
It's as though, suddenly, he doesn't have to do this alone, and a sob wrenches out of his throat, his hands coming up to cover his face.
The bed dips as Colin sits down, a soft sigh betraying his worry, and then Rowyn is pulled against Colin's strong chest, a kiss dropped against his hair.
— — —
His stomach clenches, the memory still fresh.
Colin dropped everything to help him, without even knowing why. He's always done that though; the generosity and kindness is half the reason Rowyn fell in love with him.
How many times has he returned the favour though? Certainly not enough. How many times has Colin asked to spend time with him, and he's turned him down? How many extra shifts has Rowyn picked up without considering what that means for them?
Maybe it's his fault things are falling apart.
He feels sick.
His stomach churns under his crossed arms, and he shifts uneasily, ignoring the side eye from the woman next to him.
He's never had an anxious stomach before, but he wouldn't be surprised if that's what's plaguing him now. Between the emotions dregged up from his past, and the impending reunion, and the mess still brewing between him and Colin… let's just say he's beyond frazzled. The swirling in his stomach could very well be reflecting the chaos of his mind.
Just as he reaches this conclusion, the train screeches to a stop at the next station, and his stomach jumps up into his throat.
Now, he's a science-y man, and he knows how to draw connections between variables. And these variables show a correlation; he's motion sick.
Actually, now that he thinks about it, he does have a memory of being sick on a train as a kid. One of their few forays into a city. He was so impressed by the speed and the size of the train, until is started wreaking havoc on his stomach.
He remembers telling his mom, and her frowning at him, offering him weak platitudes, but no real solution.
He made it until they got off the train, walking across the platform on wobbly legs before vomiting all over the pavement.
Usually memories like this fill him with resentment towards his parents, and he leaves feeling relieved that he made a better life for himself.
Now though… it's not quite so satisfying, with the reminder of what he left behind fresh in his mind.
— — —
earlier that day (still 3 days ago)
His body feels like it's moving through molasses as he stumbles out of the cafe, dropping down on the bus stop bench.
After an intense morning of classes interspersed with studying, and a grueling shift at the cafe, he's more than ready for sleep. Normally, he'd force himself to slog through another reading or something before bed, but he can already tell that's not happening.
He's been pushing himself too hard lately - he's self-aware enough to recognize that - but he can't slow down. He has to study and get good grades so he can get into vet school. He has to work so he can pay for vet school. Studying and working lets him avoid home, and put off the impending conversation with Colin.
He's dreaming of his bed, ready to collapse into a deep sleep. He pulls out his phone to check the bus schedule, hoping it's running on time tonight.
Swiping to open it, he hardly registers the notifications littering his home screen. But his name catches his eye, and he frowns, thumbing over to the messages app, the red badge declaring there's one new notification.
The number isn't in his contacts.
Rowyn, the twins have requested your presence at their graduation dinner. We expect you to present yourself in an appropriate manner, without discussion of unsavoury topics. Trattoria Russo, 7:00, Saturday the 20th. The boys are doing well, and deserve your attendence.
His breath catches.
The twins… want him… at their dinner.
They're graduating. (He missed so much.)
Finn and Liam want him there.
The rest of the message sinks in. He didn't even know his mother had his phone number, let alone would reach out to him.
They want him there, but he's only allowed to show up if he hides everything important to him. If he's not gay, and Colin's not his boyfriend. If he can pretend to be the perfect model son.
He's only allowed to be their brother if he censors himself the way he used to… before his parents found out about him.
Before he realized their love was conditional. Before he learned what it meant to have a personality and your own values. Before he worked so hard to leave them behind.
But he never meant to leave Finn and Liam; that was a product of moving away and starting his own life, but he always regretted losing touch with them.
Would he even recognize them now? Would they recognize him?
Suddenly it doesn't matter. He needs to see them.
He can be a straight, religious, obediant son for one weekend with his brothers.
They asked for him.
The tears come hard and fast. They course down his face in hot streaks, as he muffles a sob behind his hand.
The bus pulls up and he brushes his tears away, swallowing past the lump in his throat, taking a deep breath, and climbing aboard.
As he sits there, reality sinks in. Yes, his brothers want him, but the message is clear - his parents are doing this simply for Finn and Liam. They have no desire to see him again.
They don't trust his "lifestyle" not to rub off on the boys. Plus, they phrased it as an expectation (even now, they presume he'll jump through hoops to please them) and a privelege that Finn and Liam "earned". He needs to show up for them now, in whatever way he's allowed.
It's… nice to know they haven't forgotten him, even though he's been gone for the last 4 years and 5 months. He doesn't even know how Mother and Father explained his absence.
Still though, part of him is terrified. As much as he loves his brothers… it's been years. They could be carbon copies of his father by now. They could reject him the same way his parents did.
And speaking of his parents… He hates what they're capable of making him feel. He has zero desire to see them again, let alone sit with them through a dinner. He's scared of who he becomes around them.
Of course, there's also the heartbreaking truth, a reminder of the childhood he never had, and the parents who were never going to love him in his entirety. It's a harsh reality, and one he's about to relive.
— — —
The message is open on his phone, staring up at him. He doesn't remember opening it, but he can't help but run his eyes over the long-memorized words. This time though, there's a flush of anger. They fucking expect him to just drop everything, with only 3 days warning, the second they deign to message him... And he's proving them right.
It's for Finn and Liam, he reminds himself, not them.
His stomach spins under his hand, and he grimaces. He leans down towards his bag, muffling a small burp that's pushed out by the pressure.
He fishes out his water bottle, taking a delicate sip, and washing away the sticky saliva that pools in his mouth. At this point, it feels a bit like delaying the inevitable, as the train slows to the next stop and he has to fight to keep his stomach in check.
He thumbs out of the message, hovering over Colin's contact, as he contemplates calling him for a minute. It would be fine - Colin would answer, and talk his ear off to distract him.
But he would also be worried. In fact, he's already worried.
It doesn't help that the thought of Colin currently pulls up flashes of something hot and ugly. Anger, or fear, maybe.
He clicks his phone off, tucking it away, staring resolutely at the horizon.
Pieces of conversations, images of the message, emotions he can't explain all swirl through him sickeningly, and he winces, pulling his lips closed and swallowing once more, fighting to keep himself together.
— — —
yesterday
"Rowyn, I really wish you'd let me come with you. I don't feel good about this…" Colin pushes, leaning against the doorway as Rowyn tucks clothes into his overnight bag.
"It doesn't matter. It's fine. I'll go back to my hometown for two days, it'll be fine." He's not sure who he's trying to reassure exactly, "You being there will not help my case."
"Well it's not like I have to come to the dinner! I just want to be there for you… I know how hard your relationship is with them, and you shouldn't deal with that alone."
"You don't get it," he groans, frustrated, "You have a picture-perfect relationship with your parents, and I just… don't. I managed for 18 years, I will be fine for one night with my brothers."
For years, he's been living with no contact, content to forget his family ever existed. But now… he's been offered a peephole, and he can't decide whether it's good or bad.
But the risk is 100% worth it, to see Finn and Liam again.
"They're not good for you!" Colin pleads, "You've spent so much energy on working through everything you grew up with!"
"Exactly!" he explodes, "I have to believe that I've grown enough to handle it! It's not like one night with them with take everything I've become away! I JUST WANT TO SEE MY BROTHERS AGAIN!"
Colin sighs, drooping, and finally comes into the room, "Alright. But at least take the train then? I don't think it's a good idea to drive."
He nods, folding his nicest pair of pants, knowing his parents will expect him to dress smartly.
"Promise you'll call if you need me?"
— — —
He feels bad breaking that promise, but he can't bear having to justify himself to Colin right now. Colin just can't understand.
Hating on, blaming, and ignoring his family has been instinct, and he's realizing that it became so ingrained in his new identity that Colin only really knows the surface level bad stuff. What happened when they found out he was gay. How he was essentially told to leave and not come back.
His chest jolts with an airy burp as he reminisces about his childhood. His stomach churns with intention now, and he leans forward, hugging his abodomen as a cramp tears through him.
He hasn't really shared the memories that still haunt him sometimes, about growing up with his two brothers, and the friends he had at school, and the community he found at church (before it became a weapon against him, of course). There were good things. Just not enough to commit to a lifetime of hiding and masking.
His sour stomach clenches. He staggers to his feet, wobbling with the train's movement. He inches past the woman sitting next to him, scanning the walls for any hint as to where the washroom is. When he doesn't see a sign, he groans, picking a direction, climbing down the stairs.
He finds one in the next car, slipping into the cramped bathroom, locking the door. He grimaces, hand cradling his stomach. The train under his feet shifts with a turn, and his stomach jumps. He leans over the toilet with a weak heave.
It's not bad enough that he expects to puke, exactly, but he's half hoping he can get it over with, instead of having to question when he'll lose control.
Unfortunately, his body loves to drag out his misery, and his waiting is rewarded only by unsatisfying burps, and a half-aborted gag.
He spits out the sticky strings of saliva, heaving again as it triggers a weak gag reflex.
A knock on the door startles him, and he jumps, stomach finally overbalancing enough that a small mouthful of puke spills from his mouth, landing in the toilet with a plop.
Taking a careful, measured deep breath, he assesses his stability, croaking "One minute," to the person waiting their turn.
The toilet is flushed, his hands are washed, and his face is splashed with water, before he feels steady enough to leave the bathroom, murmuring an apology as he passes the man outside.
His face is pale and clammy, and he's becoming more and more convinced that he will puke properly before the train ride is up.
Resigning himself to this fate, he trudges back to his seat, vaguely dizzy. Instead of sitting down, however, he grabs his bag, ignores the sympathetic smile of the woman he was previously sitting beside, and sinks into a seat much closer to the bathroom, just in case a mad dash to the toilet is necessary.
— — —
two days ago
When Rowyn wakes up, not he's not totally sure why his entire body feels like sludge, filled with foreboding. It takes a moment for the memories to catch up again.
Glancing around, he realizes he fell asleep in his clothes last night, and his phone is plugged in on Colin's side of the bed. So Colin was obviously with him when he fell asleep, but he's not here anymore.
His face feels sticky and puffy, so he was definitely crying.
After a shower and a change of clothes, he finds Colin in the living room.
He drops into the seat next to him, not sure where they stand right now, but no longer willing to put the effort in to avoid him.
The day is a series of serious talks.
First is Colin, asking "Are you sure about going back there?" He appreciates that Colin at least respects his decision.
Then is Jamie, asking him, "Why would you go back? They were awful to you…?" and he snaps, "You don't get it; you're an only child." He leaves it at that, walking away.
Charlie wants to talk about his brothers, and what he's going home to, wanting to understand. It hurts though, to talk about the life he could've had if he was straight, and thinking about his brothers is painful in a whole other way, so he walks away from that conversation too.
Max wants to talk about how he feels, but he's barely processed it himself, so he just shrugs. They hug him, and tell him they'll be here when he comes home, and that they're there if he needs to talk.
Everyone else's reactions are exhausted, when he's already worn-down. Having to absorb everyone's sympathy, worry, and understanding was too much.
He throws himself into a few hours of hard-core school work, and goes to bed early.
— — —
The train moves under him, tugging his body with it. He didn't realize at the time, but the new seat he chose is facing backwards, so even staring at the horizon is making him queasy. From the way his stomach is spinning, it almost feels as though he's on a boat - seasick and woozy.
He thought trains were supposed to be smooth? Everyone around him looks unphased. Colin, with famously sensitive carsickness, is fine on trains. So why is it making the world spin around him, and causing his chest to jump with barely-swallowed burps?
Rowyn's thoughts are too jumbled to make sense of it, lost in a swirling of sickness and anxiety.
He manages to hold off the inevitable until the train staggers to it's next stop, the scenery outside the window merging back into an urban concrete landscape. What should be a smooth stop makes his head spin with vertigo as his mouth fills with saliva.
He stands, swaying even though the train has stopped moving, and he stumbles the few steps to the bathroom. Relieved when there's no line, he throws himself into the tiny room, fingers fumbling to latch it behind him, as he's already leaning forward with a gag.
This time it's much more productive, stomach squeezing up sludge that was formerly his breakfast in wave after wave.
The floor under his feet vibrates as the train sets in motion again. His knees feel weak under him, and his shoulder hits the wall as he sways.
He leans against the wall, breathing heavily, then throwing himself forward again with another gag, chunkier vomit forcing its way up his throat. He coughs to clear his throat, staggering halfway to the floor as his knees give out, before crumpling ungracefully when he realizes there's really not enough space.
His abdomen spasms weakly, his whole body tensing with unproductive gags. Even without actively puking, the nausea is unrelenting.
Taking a deep breath, he forces himself back to a standing position, leaning against the wall as he tries to get his bearings.
The change in position has him to closing his eyes to fight the dizziness, stomach spasming once more, and he lurches with a small burp. It turns wet at the end, and, not expecting it, he has half a second to lean forward before a wave of liquidly puke splashes over the toilet, only half of it actually landing in the bowl.
Mouth tasting of bile, and face flushed with embarassment over the mess, his eyes sting with tears. He flushes the toilet, and crouches down again, grabbing a large wad of toilet paper, and mopping up what he can.
The smell is overwhelming, and when his hand accidentally touches some of his vomit, it's still warm, and he can't help the gag that tears up his throat, revulsion fueling another round of vomiting. Weaker now, he spits out the sour spit that accumulated in his mouth, tinged with the yellow-green of stomach acid.
He finishes as quickly as possible, throwing the soiled toilet papers in the trash, and then washing his hand roughly.
Still nauseous, but not wanting to stay in the stuffy puke-smelling bathroom any longer than necessary, he grabs a few paper towels just in case, and collapses back in his seat.
He leans his head against the window, the coolness soothing, and closes his eyes, letting the scenery drift pass.
— — —
many years ago
Growing up, he was immersed in religion, steeped in the specific belief system of right and wrong, and taught that every decision should be made in faith, in search of absolution.
His father is a very opinionated man, but he cloaks it in authority and belief, so a young Rowyn hung onto his every word.
Their community tried to stamp out every morsel of individuality (he remembers the time a teenager died her hair blue - it was the talk of the town for a month, and her hair quickly returned to brown), and for the longest time, he believed their justifications.
Until it came time to find a girlfriend. Because of course, heterosexuality and allosexuality were expected. So his mother set up a meeting, and he went on a "date" with her. And she was lovely, but he felt like crying the whole time.
He found comfort in the idea of religion, and the stories he grew up hearing.
However, as a child who immersed himself in the sciences, he believed in fact, and searching for the truth. It wasn't something he ever voiced, but silently he started wondering how a God could truly exist, in a modernizing world. With an understanding of outer space, it was becoming less plausible that an all-knowing being was up there pulling the strings.
When his parents found out he was gay, they offered a dozen "solutions", none of which were "be yourself". He tried to appease them, to strike a deal, or find a balance.
But being gay wasn't something that could be forgiven, according to them. They used their religion, the God he grew up with, as justification for shaming him, and the world he'd started to question morphed into something uglier, something meant to tear at his seams.
They didn't kick him out, not yet, at least.
First, they set up other dates, trying to convince him he could be happy with a girl. They started restricting his freedom - giving him a curfew, and only allowing approved outings. They supervised him at every given moment, while simultaneously ignoring him whenever possible.
The truth is, he wasn't happy. He knew he wasn't going to be happy with a woman, and he knew his parents were never going to be okay with that.
In the middle of his identity crisis, with his parents watching every move, he retreated in on himself, reading as much as he could, researching, and trying to understand what went wrong.
Their justifications didn't even make sense, he slowly realized, because if God had created him, then he's gay as a direct result, because contrary to his parents' beliefs, it is not a choice, but rather something deeply ingrained in his existence.
When he finally brings this up and addresses the elephant in the room, his parents told him that he was no longer allowed to live in their house if this is what he insists upon. They didn't want "those ideas" around their younger children.
It wasn't dramatic - they wouldn't sacrifice their image like that. It was quiet; mumbled goodbyes to his brothers, wishing he could explain, but not sure when or if he'd see them again. He told the church and his friends that it was for university - that he'd got a can't-turn-it-down opportunity.
His entire departure was a lie, and he decided then that he was going to things differently. He didn't want to be swayed by opinions and emotions. His decisions should always be rooted in information, grounded in reality.
— — —
Rowyn's eyes snap open, the shifting of the train tugging him back to reality. He blinks sleep from his eyes, realizing with a jolt that he missed the announcement: he doesn't know where they are. He scans the station outside for a name, then quickly finds that the name alone is unhelpful.
He pulls out his phone, flicking on his data so he can open the map and find his location. He breathes a sigh of relief when he processes that there's still a few stops before his. That would be just my luck - falling asleep and missing my stop, he thinks wryly, glad that's not the case.
As the train groans into life, creeping back to full speed as it pushes onward, the relief is short-lived, when his stomach flips and he's reminded of his other problem.
His fingers clutch at the thin sheets of paper towel he brought back from his last foray to the bathroom. Goose bumps prickle his skin as his stomach tosses once more.
Being in such a public place, he feels incredibly self-conscious as his stomach whines under his palm. He brings his other, trembling, hand up to his mouth to muffle a small burp, but can't bring himself to retreat to the bathroom yet again, especially considering he's 94% sure he's empty, if the shakiness is anything to go by.
In an effort to distract himself from his body, he turns his thoughts to tonight, and what it will be like to see his brothers again. It's anxiety inducing, and he's honestly a little terrified, but he'd be lying if he said he wasn't at least a bit excited.
When he last saw them, they were identical, and he was able to tell them apart only by their voices and demeanor (he took great pride in being correct). Have they changed, become more individualized? Or are they still attached at the hip, dressing almost identically?
They're proper teenagers now, he thinks, imagining the shenanigans that come with that age, and wondering if they've had their growth spurt, or if their voices have dropped yet.
Underneath it all is the question of his parents' influence. He hopes they're easier on Finn and Liam than they were on him, and he's so scared of how the environment might have corrupted the sweet boys he knew.
Soon, I'll get answers soon, he tells himself, dragging his feet up onto his seat, so he can curl up. He rests his head against the window, muffling another burp in his fist, willing his stomach to settle.
— — —
many years ago
Rowyn remembers the day they were born. His parents weren't expecting or trying for a pregnancy, but Rowyn remembers the talks about how it was meant to be, and it's a miracle. They were born on a regular Tuesday, and he got home from school to find his neighbour sitting on his front porch. She drove him to the hospital, and he sat with her and a handful of other townspeople, waiting for the news.
He understood enough of the biology to know it would be painful, and that it could be dangerous, especially when his mother was a little on the older side of childbirth. But his father was there, and it was God's plan, everyone kept reminding him.
And then his father was kneeling in front of him, smiling, and leading him back to see his mother. She looked tired, but beatiful, and she was beaming down at a little bundle.
He crept to her side and found a tiny little face blinking up at him. Father pushed him into a chair that he hadn't even noticed, and placed the second little twin in his arms, nudging his hands until he was holding him properly.
Glancing back at the other twin, still nestled in Mother's arms, he snuggled the baby closer.
"They're perfect," Mother murmurs, and Father perches next to her, stroking the baby's cheek.
Mother and Father leaned into the whole twin vibe. For the longest time, they dressed similarly (never entirely identical, so you could always tell them apart if you knew what to look for), and they went all the same places, and were hardly ever seen without the other.
When they started school, things started to change. They would argue a little more, starting to have different opinions, even if they could usually agree in the end.
Liam was always talking about his friends at school, and the games they played at recess, while Finn was always sharing about the books he was reading, or the things they did in class. They balanced each other, and Rowyn always admired how clearly they care for one another.
He often wondered what the bond must be like, to be able to feel 100% comfortable with someone, and to look out for each other no matter what.
As their big brother, he was often helping them with homework (when they would let him), or listening to their rambles about friends and school, or being pulled into their make-believe games that he barely understood.
Loving them was as easy as breathing. He promised himself the day they were born that he would do everything he could to be a good older brother.
— — —
The disombodied voice floating through the train car announces that they are arriving at Millcross station.
Rowyn twitches at the name of his hometown, unable to stop the reaction. He takes a deep breath, finding the strap of his bag, and preparing to disembark. He stays seated until the train finishes its torturously slow stop, but his stomach stays relatively calm this time.
He stumbles from the train, the bustle of people around him propelling him forward until he's off the platform and has emerged into the town.
Standing outside the station, he takes in the familiar sight of red brick buildings lining the main street, the church's steeple visible down the road. He knows that three roads over is the high school, and his house was a few blocks to the right.
If he were to continue past his house, he would reach the seemingly endless patchwork of farmer's fields, livestock, and barns.
For now, he takes one more deep breath to settle himself, and walks towards a cafe he frequented in his high school years.
Before he walks in, his fingers find the rainbow pride button pinned to the front of his jacket. He has half a mind to take it off, but he realized suddenly that he doesn't want to hide or pretend to be something he's not. So he leaves it there, pulling the door open and slipping inside.
Later tonight, he will see his Mother, his Father, and his brothers again, but for right now, he's going to eat something, rehydrate, then probably get a coffee. After, he'll check into his hotel room, maybe have a nap, and finally get ready to go.
author's note
So. I touched on religion more here than I usually do, since I grew up in a fairly non-religious household, so I don't have much personal experience with it and I'm always worried about doing it justice. Many of my favourite people are Christian, or otherwise religious, and I have an appreciation for the values, community, and connection that come from religion. However, I have also seen religion (specifically Christianity, in my experience) used as justification for hate and prejudice. My point being, I recognize that there are a wide variety of experiences attached to religion, and this is one particular experience that I hope I'm doing justice.
