#i think i'm gonna start calling this soft serve whump

[warmblanketwhump]

A's new job forces them to stay in the cold for hours - an outdoor job in the dead of the coldest winter on record. But they need the money, and jobs are hard to come by these days. Every day they come home to their roommate, B, laughing off their concern at the bluish tint of their lips or the fact that they're still wrapped in blankets hours after coming home.

"C'mon now. You don't need to worry about me," they chuckle dryly. And A is right. They hardly know each other, and they've only been roommates for a couple of months.

But after a few weeks, the job starts to take its toll. B watches A's skin turn to a washed-out pallor, hears their deep, painful coughing in the night and perpetual sniffling during the day, sees how they come home and immediately crawl under their covers without so much as a word, too chilled to speak.

B says nothing, but cares for them in small, wordless gestures - laying out their extra pair of gloves in the morning, preparing something hot for them to drink when they get home, draping an extra blanket over their sleeping form.

One morning, A's eyes are dark shadowed, shoulders hunched under a blanket as they sit at the breakfast table with their fingers wrapped around a steaming mug, stifling a cough every few seconds. B had heard them coughing for nearly half the night. They look absolutely awful, and B tells them that much.

“ ‘m not sick," A protests. “Besides, cold doesn’t make you sick. It’s a myth."

“Well it's certainly not helping you any,” B mutters.

Still, A leaves for work. The whole day, B nervously paces, debating between driving straight to A's work and dragging them home, and leaving them to their own fate. Mid-afternoon, the choice is made for them.

“Hi, is this B?”

They affirm tentatively, and the stranger’s voice lets them know that A had passed out at work. They seemed to be running a fever and were having trouble catching their breath, but they were refusing to go to the hospital.

“They had you listed as their only emergency contact - would you be willing to come take them?”

Their throat squeezes - they were A's only emergency contact?

“I’ll....yes. Just give me 15 minutes. I’ll be there.”

B arrives to the office area in 10 minutes sharp. A is slumped in a chair in the corner wrapped in their coat, shivering. The office worker nods their head, and B rushes to A, whipping off their glove and placing a hand on their forehead. A's forehead is on fire, and they cough deeply, wincing.

"Hey, you," B says softly, kneeling next to them. They're met with fever-bright eyes that plead help me without a single word, and a hand that weakly clings to theirs. The planned remark about not listening to them this morning dies on their lips, and is replaced with soft, comforting reassurances. "I'm here now. I've got you. Let's get you home."

After two hours at urgent care, a diagnosis of pneumonia, and a stop at the pharmacy, they do return home. A is ushered to bed, where B carefully slides a thermometer under their tongue.

"102.4," B says with a click of the tongue, gently smoothing the hair on A's forehead. "Still too high." A moans, huddling deeper under the covers with a shiver and a cough.

B leaves for a moment, and returns with a glass of water, medicine and a damp washcloth. They slip the washcloth under A's neck, and A flinches at the sudden coldness.

"I know, I know, it's cold. Just take your medicine, and you can sleep. I promise. Please." B props up A's head and slips the medicine under their tongue, and slowly tilts their head so they can take a few sips. Still, a sudden chill shakes their body and they choke, which triggers a gasping coughing fit. B hauls them upright, patting their back as A struggles to breathe. The sound of them wheezing breaks B's heart – why, oh why, didn't you ask for help sooner?

As A's breathing slows and hitches, B realizes they're crying softly. They sit like that for a few minutes, A weakly wrapping their arm around B's waist and B holding them tightly, feeling their trembling form and the outline of their frail ribs. How much of a toll had this job taken on them?

"I can't...I can't do this anymore. I'm just...tired," A sobs. "So, so tired." B doesn't know what to say – they're acquaintances, but they've never seen A like this before. So they just rub their back gently, whispering that it's okay, they can let it out. After a while, the sobs slow. A pulls back, and B gently eases them down, adjusting the washcloth beneath their neck once more. An extra pillow lies on the other side of the bed, and they tuck it behind A to prop them up.

Before they can pull up the covers, A grabs B's hand. "Can you....can you stay for a bit?" B nods and grabs a blanket from the foot of the bed, and pull A close to their chest, securing the covers around them both. A intertwines B's fingers with theirs and pulls B's hand over their heart. B can feel the thrumming pace beneath their fingertips, and an ache spreads in their chest at the tenderness of it all.

A falls asleep within minutes, but B lies awake, taking in every detail of the moment. The fever-warmed body next to them, the occasional shiver that causes A to curl closer to B, the feeling of the hot, dry hand in theirs, and the flutter of the heartbeat under their palm.

Perhaps roommate wasn't suitable anymore. Nor was acquaintance.

Yes, maybe friend would do just fine.