#thought of this just now with a splitting headache and hurted tummy

[girl-hobbit]

the sorrows of sheol encompassed me.. the snares of death entrapped me.. i feel the closeness of the grave..(tummy hurt once)

[comfortwriting]

A Triwizard Baby Part 2 - F.W

Masterlist, Writing Prompt Masterlist, Requesting Rules, Taglist

This is Part 2 of The Triwizard Baby Series, you can read part 1 here.

Want to be tagged? Let me know!

Fred Weasley x Fem Reader

Warnings: Swearing, Pregnancy, Mention of Abortion, alcohol.

"Oh come on, Y/N." Fred begged again "Please!"

"I said no!" You hissed, slapping Fred's hand away from you, storming past him and hurrying to the bathroom, feeling more nauseous than ever.

Clutching your stomach, you fell down onto your knees and hurled yourself over the toilet, vomiting up your porridge and pumpkin juice. At the moment, mornings were cruel to you - your stomach would churn and you had to endure feeling sick, and most often vomiting up your food. You didn't think anything of it, you told yourself you got food poisoning, or one of your potions had bad side effects, but in reality, as you discovered, food and potions weren't responsible for your morning sickness - Fred's baby was.

"Miss Y/L/N, it appears that you're pregnant." Madame Pomfrey announced, handing you the strange plastic stick, pointing at the tiny circle window with a plus sign inside that stared up at you.

You put your head in your hands and sighed, starting to shake, tears filling your eyes.

"I-I don't know what to do."

"Do you want to keep it?"

"I don't know"

"Do you want to terminate the pregnancy?"

"I-I don't know, just give me time to think."

Wracking your brain and trying to think of how you could explain this to your parents, and thinking about your future, Madame Pomfrey walked across the room, sorting through various potions, you could hear the glass bottles knocking over and clinking against one another. Walking back over to you, she handed you a deep purple potion that was misty and looked sparkly when hit by the light.

"Take this once a day, each morning until you know what you want. This potion will hide any indication of pregnancy as the weeks pass by. You'll still experience the usual side effects, but the most this will do is hide your growing bump."

"The usual side effects?" you scoffed "You're saying this as if this has happened to me before, I-"

Madame Pomfrey shook her head at you "You're in here, in a complete pickle on your own because of Fred Weasley" she said quietly, in case any students were now inside the hospital wing.

You swallowed hard, was your love for him that obvious?

"You're not the first girl of his to end up here" she grumbled "And I doubt you'll be the last!"

Fred knocked other girls up? Who? Did you know them? Did they secretly keep the baby?

Everything started to make your head spin, even more, you pulled the top off the potion and necked a tiny drop down, it tasted bitter yet spicy, you could feel a tingling in your tummy.

"If you run out, you know where to find me," Madame Pomfrey said, ushering around you, fluffing up pillows and making the beds "Now, you better be off!"

You were in shock - not just about being pregnant and hiding it, but the whole night in general from what you could remember. One minute you were snogging your best friend, being cheered on by everyone around you, the next minute you were having sex, then you woke up in the morning with a pounding headache and a hangover from hell - which led you to this moment: you were already one month into your pregnancy, and no one aside from Madame Pomfrey and Dumbledore knew.

You didn't want to terminate the pregnancy, but you didn't want to raise the child either, you felt lost and afraid, and you had no one to talk to - but in the next week or so, you would either have the support of your family or you would be disowned.

"What's up with her?" George asked Fred, looking around after waiting for you to return to the great hall.

"I don't know, Georgie." Fred answered, feeling pissed off "She's been more distant, after the first task she just.. she's changed."

Fred couldn't remember anything from that night, the next morning he woke up and you were already out of his bed, and no one mentioned what happened because they were going through hangovers from hell too - what did they expect? you were the master of drinking games, and no one could ever keep up with you.

You couldn't face Fred after the night you shared together, your brain warned you to stay away from him, to run in the other direction - screaming, whilst your heart cried for him, calling out his name and screaming at you - begging you to run to him with open arms.

You were frightened, alone, and felt ashamed, how could you bring a child up so young during your studies? how could you tell your best friend that you were carrying his child? how could you explain that you were now forever tied to him whether he liked it or not? You decided that you shouldn't and wouldn't tell him, from what you knew of - Fred couldn't remember what happened that night and you were satisfied, the least he could remember the better.

"Probably her time of the month or something, Freddie, don't overthink it."

Fred sighed "Well I’ve been planning to ask Angelina to the ball, I thought she'd get jealous when I took my time to ask her, but she didn't care."

George nodded, trying to think about what could have caused you to be so distant and moody, even George knew your periods and mood swings weren't that bad.

"I'm not giving up on her though" Fred continued, crossing his arms "by the end of the week she'll be on my arm, I can't turn up to watch the Yule Ball without a lass now can I?"

Tomorrow was The Yule Ball, a formal dance held on the evening of Christmas Day. Before realising you were pregnant, you had picked out a dress, you even got excited with the possibility that Fred would ask you - but now you needed to avoid him at all costs, seeing his face and turning him down once more would hurt your heart more than it deserved.

After taking a shower, you stared at your tummy through the mirror, realising that in a couple of weeks time, it would become more obvious that you were pregnant, and remember that you would need to rely on the potion to keep things a secret.

"Okay" you whispered to yourself "Don't forget, don't let the brain fog get you into trouble."

Drying yourself, you pulled on your clothes, constantly repeating the potion, and your plan in your head.

Walking out of the common room and down the stairs, turning around and walking down the hall, a loud whistle made you jump, Fred was following you.

"Don't ignore me, love, you know it's rude."

You glared at Fred, your heart and head both at war just by the sight of him and the sound of his voice.

"The answer is still no Fred, just leave me alone."

Don't look at him, don't get attached to his baby - stop it - just keep walking.

"Is it seriously too much to ask?" Fred hissed "It's just Yule Ball, not a bloody date!"

"I'm aware, Fred!" you raised your voice, feeling stressed, sick, and drained "No, I'm not going with you, just please - leave me alone."

Fred didn't chase after you, he stopped in his tracks and burned holes in the back of your head. He didn't understand, why were you avoiding him? why did you suddenly hate him after being best friends, inseparable for so many years? did he say something wrong? did he look at you funny? he didn't know, and he couldn't put his finger on the strange feeling clawing inside him.

Fred’s heart split in two, and he wouldn’t let you get away with doing this - he would get you back in the cruellest way possible, he had to make you jealous.

“Fine!” he yelled at you “I’ll ask someone else! Someone worth my time!”

The Yule Ball was underway, Fred had managed to ask out Angelina, Hermione with Krum, everyone with a partner - even those who weren’t happy about it, like Ron and Harry. You, however, were sat in the empty Hospital Wing, with Madame Pomfrey and your parents.

The huge lump kept forming in your throat, no matter how many times you kept swallowing it down. You couldn't keep still, your feet were tapping against the floor and you kept picking at the thread on your skirt.

"So what seems to be the issue?" your mum asked politely.

You stared at the thread, avoiding all eye contact.

Madame Pomfrey cleared her throat "Well, Mr and Mrs Y/L/N, you have been called into this meeting today as you need to be made aware of something that involves your daughter, Y/N. This matter will give us all plenty to discuss, and plenty of choices for Y/N to decide."

"What is it, sweetheart?" your dad asked, holding the hand of his wife.

Tears welled in your eyes again, your vision going like Harry's before the Gilliweed would take effect in a few months time.

"Please don't get mad" you croaked, finally looking up at your parents, staring at their concerned, soft faces "I-I'm pregnant."

Your parents went quiet, exchanging looks, appearing to be concerned, and quite shocked, but they understood - and they were going to get you through this.

“I know you’re scared, Y/N,” your mother said softly “You’re so young, raising a baby whilst being a baby - our baby - yourself.”

“We were young parents,” your father added quietly “it wasn’t easy, but we pulled through, we will support you, please don’t be ashamed.”

“The worst thing is” you choked, tears falling onto your skirt “I don’t even have the heart to tell him, he can’t remember what happened.”

Your mum got out of her seat and hurried over to you, pulling you into her arms, stroking your head as you wept, reassuring you.

“Is Fred the father?” Your mum asked under her breath, hoping her husband wouldn’t add him to his hit-list.

You nodded your head “yes” you sniffled “he is.”

“Now,” Madame Pomfrey huffed “I don’t want you going to that ball, you need to keep yourself safe, the baby needs to be safe.”

Well, you can’t join the dance or drink the spiked punch, but that doesn’t mean you can’t watch from a distance, does it?

Sitting down at the table behind Harry and Ron’s, you watched everyone dance with smiles on their faces, falling in love with their date for the night. You felt left out, quite bummed, and worst of all, you now had to watch the love of your life, the father of your child, mess with you on purpose.

Fred’s eyes meet with yours, his pained heart softens for a moment before remembering what you had done to him, and how you would get what you deserved. Dancing with Angelina, Fred gripped her hand, smirking at you before pulling her in for a deep, passionate kiss.

It felt as if time had stood still, your heart - like Fred’s - split in half, tears formed in your eyes and you felt sick, mortified, and betrayed. Pushing your chair out from the table, you got to your feet and ran away, leaving everyone behind as you rushed to the common room.

How could he do this to you? Why would he do this!

You felt stupid, you were getting attached to his child when you wanted nothing more than to be free - but this baby was the only piece of Fred you could ever have, and for all his faults, and mind games, you wanted to be close to him in any way that you could, no matter what.

Bursting into the common room, George gave you a sympathetic look, stopping his conversation with his friend Matt.

“You alright love?” he asked, his ginger hair lighter from the flickering flames.

You wanted to tell him, tell somebody, you couldn’t hide this anymore.

“Are you?” you asked, walking over them, sitting down on the floor by the fire.

“Not really, no” George replied “My twin brother is dancing with the girl I love, bit shit really.”

“Why have you been so distant?” Matt asked, “George and Fred are worried about you.”

This was it, you had to tell them, your words coming up like vomit.

“After the first challenge, when we attended that party when Fred and I kissed - that night went much further - I’m... I’m pregnant with his kid.” You admitted quietly “I don’t know what to do, I’m in love with him, and he can’t remember a thing, and he’s dancing with Angelina - he snogged her infront of me knowing I was watching him!”

You started to cry, hurt and fury ignited inside of George, everything starting to make sense - your absence, your morning sickness, you constantly clutching your tummy in protection when people bumped into you.

“Are you going to tell him?” George asked.

You shook your head “No, and the both of you aren’t going to tell him either, you need to promise me.”

George loved Fred, hell, twins are inseparable for crying out loud, but right now, George didn’t care about his loyalty to Fred, he hated him, he fucked you over and will most likely be fucking his crush tonight.

“I promise” he muttered, “it’s no one else choice, but yours.”

“That goes for who you tell, and for what you decide is best for you and the baby,” Matt added.

Feeling slightly better, you got to your feet and pulled Matt in for a quick hug, and then pulled George in for a close and warm embrace “thank you” you whispered in his ear, nuzzling your face into his neck.

Now three months pregnant, you were heavily reliant on the potion that deflated your bump, the only person to see it was George - who teared up and rested his hand upon it, wishing you were with someone better than his stupid brother.

Fred leaned against the wall with his arms crossed, staring at you and George talking, why was it that you acted as if he didn’t exist yet you were all over his brother? Was he fucking you behind his back? Did you prefer the twin you didn’t know as much over your best friend? Is this why his twin avoided him at all costs?

With the second challenge only a day away, Fred wanted to patch things up with you in time so he wouldn’t have to go to the second challenge alone, although he asked Angelina to the ball - and they had a good time - she wasn’t you, and he missed you more than he would like to admit.

Walking past to go to Divination, Fred stepped out in front of you, stopping you from getting past.

“Quite fond of Georgie now, aren’t you?”

“Let me through, Fred, I don’t want to be late.”

“Only if you go to the second challenge with me” he smirked, getting his hopes up.

You scoffed “Looks like I’ll have to skip this class then.” You turned your back on Fred, walking away from him, leaving him to feel frustrated and pissed off.

Missing out on the challenge, you went through everything you needed to buy for the baby and everything you would need to learn to make sure you were the most amazing mum. You were content with your decision to keep it, that little piece of Fred you could nurture forever.

With Harry succeeding down to moral fibre, you knew there would be endless parties tonight - Fred fucking another girl, probably getting her pregnant as he did you, just to not remember and move on to the next girl.

You loved him so much, but you hated him at the same time.

Feeling yourself finally doze off to sleep, the lights in your doom room flicked on, and heavy feet thundered into the room, startling you and waking you up. Your best friend and her mini group brought the party to you, holding a bottle of fire whiskey with your name on it.

“Get up Y/N!” she yelled, jumping on your bed and bouncing, the other girls cheering and laughing in the back.

You clutched onto your bump, the potion wearing off as it did in the night.

Sitting up in your bed, your best friend got on her knees, opening the bottle and shoving it in your face, the scent of the drink you swallowed down like water making you sick to your stomach - reminding you of the night you had too much.

“DRINK! DRINK! DRINK!” Your friends chanted.

“No!” you hissed “I can’t!”

The rim of the bottle hit your lips, and you couldn’t take it anymore.

“I can’t!” you yelled, silencing them “I’m pregnant!”

The girls stopped and stared at you, fire whiskey spilling out of the bottle and onto your bedsheets. Your heart thumped, your best friend’s eyes were wider than you had ever seen.

“Y/N is having a baby!” Katie squeezed in excitement, jumping on the bed, clapping her hands.

Thanks to Katie, the shock dissipated, and your friends were now supporting you, rubbing your back as you cried, and going through the list of baby things you needed: clothes, nappies, bottles, food, a crib, a pram. They were more excited than you, already arguing over whether it would be a girl or a boy, and who would be the better auntie.

They had a feeling that you didn’t want to tell them everything just yet - and luckily enough, they didn't make you, for now - they just wanted you to know that you weren’t alone, that you were surrounded by help if you ever needed it.

Fred stumbled into his dorm room, fire whiskey on his lips, and red lipstick marks on his neck. His brother George, and friend Matt sat on their beds and glared at him, the two of them looking so angry Fred was convinced they were going to rip his head off.

Fred shrugged his shoulders and got into bed - he had the worst night imaginable - every girl he kissed wasn’t you, his heart didn’t mend - it just broke even more, and from what he gathered - you and George were seeing each other behind his back.

He closed his eyes, drifted off to sleep, and met you in his dreams - holding you close, and swearing that he would never let you go.

taglist: @amourtentiaa @horrorxweasley @alwaysnforeverfangirl @reeophidian @inglourious-imagines @sebby-staan @onlyfreds @pandaxnienke @xmalfoyweasleyx @manuosorioh @cosmiccomicloverqueen @the-romanian-is-bae @fhhsposts

[cuddlepilefics]

10.    Christmas Shopping

@yooniestummy because we all stan Hyunjin’s long hair....

 Fandom: Stray Kids

Sickie: Hyunjin

Caregiver: Chan and Jisung

 Hyunjin‘s POV.:

I woke up hot and sweaty this morning, my sheets stuck to my back and my head started pounding when I sat up. For some reason, I was the last to wake up. We had no official schedule for today so we had planned to go Christmas shopping as a group. I already had most of my presents wrapped and hidden underneath my bed but I still had to find something for Minho and Jeongin. Joining my group for breakfast, I decided to just have some fruit as I didn‘t really have an appetite but knew I couldn‘t just skip breakfast. My members were discussing loudly which stores they wanted to visit but I didn‘t really care because I didn‘t even have an idea what I wanted to buy. I was only planning to look around and wait for something to catch my eye. Watching the others get overly excited for their shopping trip, I put my plate in the sink and went to get ready. Somehow the excitement failed to grasp me as it usually did and I would have preferred to stay home but I couldn‘t let them down in the last minute just because I wasn‘t in the mood. I must have been deep in thought while brushing my teeth because I hit a spot too far back which made me gag, startling me. I tried to bring my focus back to what I was doing but my brain was fuzzy and I kept losing my trains of thought. I walked back to my room and picked out some very thick and warm clothes. In contrast to how I woke up, I felt freezing now and the goosebumps just didn‘t go away. I shivered as I took my pajama off and tried to get my jeans and hoodie on as fast as possible. While I pulled the hoodie over my head, a dizzy spell hit me, forcing me to sit down on my bed as I waited for the ringing in my ears to pass.

Dressed in a few more layers then originally planned, I met my members at the door ready to head out. Chan had called for a driver that‘d take us to the mall and we all piled into the vehicle. The ride seemed to take forever and I rested my aching head against the window. The headache I had woken up with only seemed to be getting worse and I was glad I hadn‘t tied up my hair as the pull of an elastic would only increase the pain. I must have been too quiet because I felt a nudge against my knee, looking up to meet Seungmin‘s smile. Smiling back quietly, I opted for resting my head on his shoulder instead of the window. “Everything ok?“, he whispered, running a hand through my long hair. “Mhm, just not completely awake yet and my head hurts a bit“, I hummed, leaning further into him as he kept petting my hair. I didn‘t remember the route to the mall to be this curvy but I soon needed to pick up my head from Seungmin‘s shoulder to look out of the window in an attempt to keep my stomach in place. Usually I didn‘t get motion sick but I guess combined with the headache, the streets didn‘t do me well. Seungmin watched me confused but I reassured him with a smile that everything was fine.

It wasn‘t, however. I had expected for the nausea to fade after leaving the car and for a while it did. Not fully though, instead it settled into a dull, constant ache. We were walking around together and I really only tagged along, following my members wherever they wanted to go. I was to tired to object and with the pain in my head and stomach, I also didn‘t want to go anywhere but home. Of course, I didn‘t speak up though. We haven‘t even been here that long and everyone had been looking forward to this trip, so who was I to kill the mood. Not being able to agree on which stores to visit, we soon split up into smaller groups, me joining Chan and Jisung. They mostly wanted to visit different music stores and I didn‘t mind. Replying that I didn‘t care every time they asked me where I wanted to go, the two kept exchanging suspicious glances, not commenting though. I was practically asleep on my feet and it took Chan three attempts at calling my name to catch my attention. “Sorry, kinda spaced out“, I replied, scratching my head awkwardly. “You‘re acting weirder than usual and already have all morning“, Jisung frowned, trying to cover his concern with a tease. Chan agreed and seeing the sympathetic look on his face, I couldn‘t keep quiet anymore. “Sorry, I woke up with a bit of a headache and it only got worse. Now my stomach also started hurting and I feel weird“, I mumbled, trying to keep of crying as admitting to my symptoms only made me notice them more. Chan frowned and guided me to sit on a bench nearby. Jisung sat down next to me wrapping his arms around me comfortingly as I broke into tears. “I-I didn‘t w-want to ruin t-this trip because everyone was l-looking forward to it s-so much and n-now I did a-anyways“, I hiccuped, bringing my hands up to my face to wipe the tears that just wouldn‘t stop falling. “You didn‘t ruin anything, you really could‘ve told us you weren‘t feeling alright and you could‘ve stayed home“, Chan sighed as Jisung handed me a tissue. “Wasn‘t s-so bad earlier“, I whimpered almost too quiet to be heard. Crouching in front of me, Chan squeezed my knee and promised he‘d go get some water, while Jisung would sit with me.

 Jisung‘s POV.:

While Chan left, I kept Hyunjin company, trying to calm him down a bit. I knew the tears were not only from guilt and embarrassment. The pain must have been worse than he let on and finally taking in the full sight in front of me, I noticed the dark circles under the dancer‘s eyes, that stood out against his pale complexion which he tried to hide behind a mask. “How about we take this off for a while? Maybe the fresh air will help your head“, I hummed, removing the mask dampened with tears. He had stopped crying and was really quiet now. I figured he had just calmed down and was tired till he wrapped his arms around his stomach whimpering. “I d-don‘t feel so good“, he moaned, scooting closer to the side of the bench where there was a trash can beside it. His face had paled even more and I could only guess what‘d happen next. I just wished Chan would hurry. Scooting closer to the dancer, I rubbed his back soothingly, applying enough pressure so he‘d feel it through his thick coat, and instructing him to take deep breaths through his nose. However, it didn‘t solve the problem and only delayed the inevitable. With barely any warning, the thin boy bend over the trash can, immediately bringing up part of his breakfast. I quickly recovered from my shock and pulled his long, blonde hair out of his face, gathering it at the back of his head. With one hand I kept holding on to his hair, using the other to rub his back, while telling him he‘d be ok and all of this would be over soon.

After a shaky inhale, which triggered a dry gag, his breathing hitched and soon turned into quiet sobs. “You‘re really not feeling well, hm?“, I hummed rhetorically and he shook his head, retching hard afterwards. So hard that a few strands of hair escaped my grip. Luckily nothing came up and I quickly tucked the strands back again. Trying to hold his hair securely yet not tight enough to worsen his headache, I let my hand follow his head as he coughed, triggering another rush of semi-digested food to pass his lips. The guy barely got a breath in before his body convulsed again, sending him to choke on his stomach contents. I panicked a bit, using my free hand to pat him between the shoulderblades rather harshly till he was able to stop coughing and catch his breath again. Not having had much for breakfast, he was soon reduced to dry heaves and I was glad to see Chan rounding the corner. Seeing our position next to the trash can, the leader quickened his pace, jogging over to us.

At this point, Hyunjin had slumped over, hugging his stomach and accepting the fact that nothing else would come up. His cries had turned into weak sniffles and I gently pulled him back to lean against me. Chan quickly uncapped the bottle of water he had bought, holding it out to the dancer who mainly just rinsed his mouth, handing it back after one tentative sip. The strain of throwing up had wiped all of his energy and he was dozing off on my shoulder. “Hyung, could you call us a driver to bring us home while I text the others? They can just call a driver later when they are done, while we take the sickie over here home“, I asked, running a hand through Hyunjin‘s hair. “You don‘t have to come home with me. I‘m ok, I can go back alone. I don‘t want you to be forced home early just because I have a tummy ache“, said sickie mumbled pitifully, keeping his eyes closed. “Jinnie, it‘s not just a tummy ache, you threw up, your head hurts and with how you‘re sweating I bet you have a fever too. Besides, I absolutely don‘t mind going back to the dorm with you. I can easily do the rest of my shopping another time“, I assured, watching Chan talk on his phone. “A driver will be here soon. How are you holding up Jinnie?“, the leader asked, pressing the back of his fingers against the younger‘s forehead. “Still don‘t feel too great“, he whined. “Mhm, you have a fever too, so it‘s probably some kind of stomach bug. Let‘s just get you home and to bed“, the leader sighed, earning a defeated nod.

By the time we got into the car, Hyunjin was shivering violently. With chattering teeth he complained how cold he felt and I felt my heart break. Despite worrying about raising his fever, I took off my coat, covering him and tucking it into his seatbelt so it wouldn‘t slip. “Jinnie, if you feel sick during the drive use this, ok?“, Chan instructed, pressing a plastic shopping bag into the dancer‘s hand before buckling himself up. With the chills subsiding in the warmth of the car, the young idol was quickly knocked out, sleeping through the entire ride without incidents. Waking up slowly as I unbuckled his seatbelt, Hyunjin let Chan carry him from the garage to the dorm, I had gone ahead to unlock the door for them. The leader put him to the ground in the hallway so the dancer could kick off his shoes and shrug out of his coat with Chan and me holding him by the shoulders so he wouldn’t fall over. Barely pulling his arms from the coat, he suddenly tore free from our grip, rushing to the bathroom, almost tripping himself on the way there. Quick to remove his shoes, Chan ran after him while I hung up our coats and grabbed a water bottle from the kitchen.

 Chan’s POV.:

I found my dongsaeng kneeling in front of the toilet, head resting on his crossed arms over the empty bowl. Apparently, nothing had come up so far. With his hair falling into his face, I struggled to see whether he was crying. Not liking the way his hair was dangling into the bowl, I quickly pulled an elastic from the bathroom cabinet, tying it up messily as I have no experience with long hair. I was done just in time for the dancer to dip his head down with a harsh retch, only bringing up a thin trickle of stomach acid. I knelt behind him, rubbing his back as he fought to bring something up despite being empty from his session earlier. Soon it was hard to tell sob and gag apart, only interrupted by whimpers of pain. Jisung had joined us at some point. He had brought a water bottle and wet a small towel under the tap which he spread across Hyunjin’s neck, before sitting on the bathtub next to the sick idol.

Getting a break from gagging for a while the dancer collapsed back against me, tears of pain, sickness and physical strain streaming down his face while he clutched his head. “Jinnie, is the hairtie making your headache worse?”, I asked, while Jisung moved the damp towel to dab away the sweat and tears. “If you think you’re done we can remove it”, I hushed, already fiddling with the elastic before getting a shaky reply: “N-Not sure, f-for now m-maybe…” That was enough of an answer for me to fully pull the elastic from his hair, running my fingers trough it to smooth it out.

Uncapping the water bottle, Jisung let the other rinse his mouth a few times before encouraging him to at least have a few sips. “Jinnie, you’ll get dehydrated”, I sighed, resulting in a whimper from my dongsaeng: “Hyung, I-I don’t want to throw up again.” – “Hey, if this is a stomach bug, you most likely will and if you have something in you, it at least won’t hurt as much”, Jisung hushed, adding: “I know it sucks.” When the dancer whined, raising the bottle to his lips again because he knew it was true.

We had been sitting there for a while, waiting for Hyunjin’s stomach to settle enough for him to move. I was just about to offer helping him to bed when the sickie threw himself over the bowl again, expelling the little water he had had before. Cursing inwardly for removing the hairtie, I quickly combed his hair back with my fingers, holding it there while trying to reduce the pull on his scalp. Luckily, the spell passed soon and Jisung left first to set up a bucket next to the dancer’s bed. I helped my exhausted dongsaeng stand before picking him up and carrying him to his room. Covering him with an additional blanket the quell the chills that had started up again, Jisung sat resting his back against the headboard of Hyunjin’s bed, allowing the ailing boy to rest his head on his thigh. Seeing that Jisung had got it handled, I slipped out of the room to start making some plain rice porridge for later, as it was what I considered safest to eat with stomach troubles.

 Noone’s POV.:

Nodding off with his head in Jisung’s lap, Hyunjin fell asleep to the younger playing with his hair. “Rest well, hyung. I don’t want you to hurt anymore”, being the last thing he heard as the exhaustion pulled him under.

[spencers-renaissance]

Pull Me Out of the Glowing Stream

Summary: Spencer develops bacterial meningitis and Hotch sort of forgets how to breathe

Tags: Hurt/Comfort, Protective Hotch, Spencer Reid Whump, Major Illness, Angst, Fluff, Medical Setting, Angst with a Happy Ending

Pairing: Gen, Paternal Hotch

Word Count: 3.8k

Read on AO3

A grotty police department in rural Illinois was really not the time and place for Spencer’s body to decide to have a minor breakdown, but really, what was he expecting at this point? For things to go right for once? 

It’s the kind of headache not even two paracetamol and a cup of coffee can shift and he sort of feels like his head might split in two. Not ideal when he had a complicated geographical profile to work up to help the team locate an enraged killer who was flitting between various small towns in the northwest corner of the state. 

“Spencer?”

He’s shaken out of his depressing thoughts by Derek’s slightly concerned voice, causing him to pull his hands away from his head and force himself from squinting against the light. He’d felt fine this morning and he can’t really put his finger on what exactly is wrong besides the headache he just feels… off.

If he can help it though, Derek will most definitely not find out. His coworkers don’t need to think he’s anymore weak than they already do. 

“Sorry,” Spencer says, feigning a weak smile. “Didn’t get much sleep last night.” 

Derek doesn’t look completely convinced, but he nods anyway. “JJ and I are headed to interview the most recent victim’s family but Rossi and Blake will be back from the ME’s office shortly. Hotch is just in the break room talking to some LEOs, alright?” he says, grabbing his leather jacket from the back of one of the chairs. “See you in a bit, Spencer.”

Spencer has to stop himself from physically falling on the floor and rolling into a protective ball as soon as Derek leaves the room. He’s so exhausted and in so much pain, the last thing he wants to do is gather around the table and have to propose valuable theories about the case to build the profile. He just feels like such an outsider sometimes, and it’s been even worse recently. He’s felt himself withdraw from the group, sheltering himself from the prying glances and teasing comments, but he just can’t help it; he doesn’t even know why, really. 

Honestly, he’s desperate to crawl back to the hotel room and bury himself under the covers and never resurface again, but he can’t. The only time he really feels valuable is when he’s working, when he’s tangibly contributing to solving the case, and he can’t sacrifice that for a little head cold or whatever’s going on. Besides, nobody needs to hear him whinge about his stupid problems. Everyone has enough to deal with without him as an added burden.

Hotch is shooting him concerned looks and it’s only making him feel worse. He really doesn’t need to be berating himself for making his team members worry on top of already feeling at death’s door. The real problem, however, is that it’s only getting worse. He’s struggling to concentrate and feels hot under the collar, and it’s getting harder and harder to ignore the swirling nausea in his tummy. But his health cannot be the priority right now and surely Hotch must realise that: there’s a killer on the loose and he knows that he can be an immensely useful resource, headache be damned. 

Focus. He tries to look back towards the board -- he knows there’s something in one of the pictures that’s not quite right, not that he can remember which one or what it was -- but his neck protests as he tries to move it, stiffening up in response to the pain. Keeping his head down instead, staring at the case file he has open on the desk in front of him, he notices his pen quivering a little in his hand as it shakes. His glance upwards to check if anyone saw is immediately met by Hotch, whose muted concern has clearly morphed into full-blown distress, and he quickly looks away. 

“Spencer?” Hotch says gently, trying not to attract the attention of the other team members who are quietly discussing the case at the other end of the table. 

It’s the jerk of his head to look back up at him that does it. He feels his head loll and his stomach drop out from under him, nausea pouring into his insides as his eyes lose their focus. “I’m sorry,” he mumbles, though it comes out far too slurred to be intelligible, and everything fades to black. 

★

Hotch is pretty sure his heart stops beating for a moment as he watches Spencer slump forward in his chair, falling to the side a little as his muscles give in to what’s clearly been plaguing him all day. The others snap out of their conversation fast, Alex rushing to his side. “Spencer?” she asks, voice insistent and full of anxiety. “Spencer, wake up, come on.” She pauses to press two fingers to his pulse point as her other hand feels his forehead before looking Hotch in the eyes, urgency filling her voice. “His pulse is weak and he has a serious fever.”

“Call an ambulance and explain what’s going on,” Hotch says, feeling the colour leave his face as he takes in the situation. “Dave, I need you, Derek and JJ to carry on working the case, Blake and I will go to the hospital with Spencer.”

The paramedics arrive quickly, by which time everyone in the PD is nosily peering through the windows, eager to watch the macabre theatrics of a medical emergency. Hotch backs away from where he’d crouched to hold Spencer’s hand, as does Blake and Spencer is quickly hooked up to the portable monitor. Hotch didn’t miss the grave glance that was shared between the two of them; he’d given and received enough of them in the course of his career to know they meant not good.

“Blake, you drive behind,” he murmurs softly as he watches an oxygen mask be placed over Spencer’s nose and mouth. “I’m riding with.” 

He hasn’t felt so sick to his stomach since he was driving to his own house to meet his wife’s dead body, and God, did he absolutely not miss the feeling. Spencer’s hand is freezing cold, and he’s still shaking slightly through the deep slumber that has overtaken his body, though luckily he’s stable enough that the paramedics don’t seem to be able to do a lot more for him until he is admitted to the ER. 

Seeing Spencer lie so small and frail under all the wires as he’s jolted about slightly by the ambulance’s fast pace cuts deep into an area of his heart he usually keeps so closely guarded, reserved for moments with his son and the grief that lingers cold and heavy from Haley’s death. Spencer is family: he’s watching the man he considers a son teeter far too close to the edge of death, and all he can do is remind himself how to breathe. 

“Hang in there, Spencer,” he whispers, gently pulling the cold hand he’s holding to his face and holding it there a moment. “You’re going to be okay.” He has to be.

The nearest hospital is thankfully close, and Hotch sends up a prayer of thanks that they were sent to a city and not on a rural, buttfuck nowhere case. The paramedics waste no time wheeling Spencer’s gurney into the ER, reeling off his stats in code Hotch couldn’t hope to understand to the awaiting doctors, admitted immediately for further tests to establish treatment while he’s steered by a patient nurse to a quiet waiting area. 

Alex rushes in less than five minutes later, filling with relief when she clocked Hotch sitting in the corner. “Any news?” she asks, cautiously optimistic. 

Hotch grimaces in response. “No, he was only just admitted,” he sighs, emotion creeping into his face in a way he usually staves off at work. A hurt Spencer Reid warrants that much, at least. “He was stable in the ambulance, though. They’re running tests now for a diagnosis.” He looks down at his clasped hands. “I should have noticed it sooner.”

Alex sits down next to him slowly and sighs. “There’s no use in blaming yourself,” she says gently. “Spencer wouldn’t want that. We all could’ve picked up on the signs sooner or been more persistent in asking what was wrong, you’re not in the wrong here. Hindsight, as they say, is 20/20.”

“I know,” Hotch says eventually. “I just feel so responsible for him. He’s still so young and has so much in front of him, if-- if something happened to him, I’d never forgive myself.” 

“Yeah,” Alex whispers, pressing her lips together. “None of us would.”

“I just couldn’t live in a world where Spencer doesn’t exist.” His voice chokes off as the dam breaks and he cries quietly into his hands, pain blossoming in his chest as the thought of Spencer dying and the crushing agony of muffled sobs collide. 

“Oh, Hotch,” Alex murmurs sympathetically as she watches her boss crumble in front of her. “No-one’s told us to prepare for Spencer dying, okay? You said yourself that he was stable in the ambulance and aside from a thready pulse and a fever we don’t know anything else about his physical state. Don’t torture yourself with a future that frankly looks unlikely as of now, it’s not worth it.” 

Hotch nods, taking a deep if shaky breath in and wiping his eyes one last time, looking back at Alex. “I’m sorry for panicking.”

“Don’t apologise,” she dismisses him gently. “It’s a scary situation, and Spencer is like a son to you.”

“This must be even harder for you,” he says, looking up and meeting her eyes. “I should have stayed stronger for you as well as Spencer.”

“Please,” Alex scoffs. “We all have our ways of coping. Ethan died a long time ago and although the grief I feel for him is like glitter I can’t brush away, I’ve learned how to move forward with my life, carrying that gorgeous shimmer with me.”

They share a small smile over that, and Hotch pats her upper arm with his hand softly before patting his knees and standing up. “I’m going to step outside to call Dave,” he says, a new resolve and determination finding its way into his voice. “I expect that it might be a while, but find me immediately if anything happens, I’ll be just outside the entrance.”

“Aaron?” Dave asks, voice a little tinny and muffled down the phone, swept away slightly by the midwest wind. “How’s Spencer?”

“Not sure yet,” he replies, voice grim. “He was admitted immediately for tests but he was relatively okay the last time I saw him, I think. Alex is here now, and we’ll keep looking over the files while we wait, seeing if we can build on the profile. Ring me with any developments, alright?” 

“Yeah, no problem,” Dave says. “Morgan and I have come to follow a lead we got on a possible associate, and I’ll give you a ring when we leave. Sit tight and give my love to the kid when you see him, Aaron.”

They don’t have to sit in vigil for long before a middle-aged doctor calls Spencer’s name in the waiting room. “Unfortunately, Spencer has bacterial meningitis,” she explains gently as soon as they approach her. “It’s been caught relatively early so his chances are good, but this is a serious disease that needs to be monitored closely so he’s been moved to the ICU. He had a seizure shortly after the lumbar puncture we performed which is a sign of an escalation, but we’ve adjusted his meds accordingly and I can assure you he’s getting the best treatment possible. The ICU is limited to one visitor at a time, but you can see him now; he’s awake though a little drowsy.”

Alex smiles at him and ushers him forward while she goes to sit back down without a word, leaving Hotch to follow the doctor. He wishes desperately to have Spencer walking next to him, rapidly reeling off statistics and fast facts about the disease, because he feels a little in the dark, here. All he remembers is that bacterial is the most serious manifestation of meningitis and it has a high fatality rate. The same heavy sickness from the ambulance sinks deeper into his stomach, weighing him down. Spencer could die. 

He looks small on the hospital bed. It’s such a cliche but it’s true, his already small frame and the spacious bed combined with his pale face and outfit of wires make him look so tiny and all Hotch wants to do is climb into bed with him and wrap him in a protective hug and never let him go. 

“Hotch?” Spencer murmurs as he approaches the bed, smiling gratefully at the doctor before she leaves them to it. 

“Yeah, Spencer, it’s me,” he says gently, sitting down in the chair next to the bed and scooching it as close as possible. “How are you holding up?”

“Hurts,” he says, voice weak. “A lot. Bacteria sucks.”

“It does,” Hotch chuckles. “It definitely sucks. Big time. I’m sorry this is happening, Spencer. And I’m sorry we didn’t catch on to you sooner and get you here faster.”

“Please,” he laughs, wincing a bit as the movement settles an ache deeper into his muscles. “I wouldn’t have let you. I can be a little stubborn.” 

Spencer’s voice is slurred slightly but the relief settling into Hotch’s bones at how lucid he is feels almost euphoric. “You’re definitely stubborn,” he says fondly, caressing Spencer’s hand with his thumb. “Our stubborn little mule.” 

“Not little,” he pouts in response, eyes drooping slowly closed.

“No,” he reassures him. “You’re not little. You’re strong, and you’re going to fight this, Spencer.”

“Yeah,” Spencer mumbles. “Fight it. Hotch… stay with me?”

“I’ll stay as long as they’ll let me stay, Angel.”

“Angel,” Spencer whispers, a happy smile playing on his lips as he finally gives in to the sleep tugging at his body. 

★

It takes Spencer another three and a half days before he’s awake for more than a few minutes at a time and satisfactorily lucid. Thankfully, the anticonvulsants had staved off another seizure and his temperature was slowly but surely dropping as his body fought off the infection, aided by the intravenous antibiotics being steadily dripped into his bloodstream. His oxygen mask had been swapped for a nasal cannula and he was no longer trembling. 

Hotch spends the majority of visiting hours sitting beside his bed, texting or phoning the team while working as many angles as he could with only a laptop and the case files Alex is bringing him, but it seems so trivial everytime he looks up and Spencer is lying there looking small and peaceful as he sleeps, meningitis ravishing his body. He’d been worried for the first day at how much Spencer was sleeping, but a kind nurse explained that it was normal; his body was just fighting off a brutal infection and could do that best when he was asleep. Now it just makes him happy to see him dreaming away, knowing that his body is doing the best to help him get better.

He’d tried to avoid googling ‘bacterial meningitis’, but he gave up on the second day and scrolled through endless sites, torturing himself with statistics and facts and prognoses. It gave him a newfound respect and empathy for Spencer: he knows these about pretty much everything and has to live with them all the time. He knows his own survival chances very well, can probably recite specific cases and studies and has no escape at all. 

Spencer manages to sit up on the third day and Hotch pulls out a portable chess board that Dave had gone out and bought specifically for this moment. 

“You play?” Spencer asks sceptically, raising his eyebrows.

“I’ve dabbled,” Hotch replies lightly, a smile playing over his lips as he takes in Spencer’s doubtful but eager expression.

“I’ll probably win in under twenty moves,” Spencer challenges, matching Hotch’s smile. 

“Oh, I don’t doubt that,” Hotch chuckles. “But I’ll put myself through it anyway.” 

Spencer stays true to his word and wins in 17 moves, making Hotch throw his hands up and lean back in his chair, smiling at the other man before packing the board back away. Spencer looks miles healthier, the antibiotics clearly starting to do the trick, but he’s still seriously fatigued and shuffles down the bed to lean his head back and relax a bit more, sitting up for a few minutes tiring him out. 

Hotch pauses for a moment before deciding to broach the subject. “Spencer,” he starts softly, meeting the man’s hazy gaze, “why didn’t you say anything to us sooner? You clearly had a crashing headache, muscle pain, nausea. You said you felt the fever come on. You could have said something sooner and I would have helped you. Your health should come before a case.”

Spencer closes his eyes in shame for a moment, a blush blooming over his cheeks as he looks back to Hotch. “I’m sorry, I just-- It was a grisly case and I thought that was the most important thing, I guess. I’m no use stuck in a sick bed. I just felt bad making everything about me when in the grand scheme of things, a headache is pretty menial. Felt… isolated, maybe.”

“Oh, Spence,” Hotch says sympathetically, reaching back over to grip Spencer’s hand in both of his. “This is really serious, okay? If we’d left it much later or you hadn’t passed out but continued to suffer in silence, you could have died.” He has to pause for a moment as he chokes on the word. “Missing one case and being better for hundreds more is better than working yourself to the bone on this one and then not being around for anymore, isn’t it? You are so valuable, Spencer. Not just your eidetic memory or IQ, you. Spencer Reid is special and loved and important, and I don’t want you to ever think that a case is more important than you, or that we’ll be annoyed by anything that you need to talk to us about. If you ever feel alone, you come and find me and I’ll do my best to banish that feeling, okay?”

“I’m sorry,” Spencer murmurs again. “I guess I just find it hard to believe that people care about me for more than what I can offer them. I never had anyone value me the way you do, and I still struggle to wrap my head around it. I’m sorry for scaring you, but I promise I already feel better. I’m not going anywhere, I promise, Hotch.”

“You’d better not,” he replies, letting himself smile a bit. “I know it’s hard for you to trust us, Spencer, but we’re your family, okay? Any of us would drop anything for you, stubborn little mule.”

Spencer doesn’t correct him this time, opting instead for a wide smile. “Thank you, Aaron,” he whispers intimately. “For being here, I mean. It’s scary on my own and having you next to me makes me feel safe.”

“Good,” Hotch says, smiling at Spencer’s use of his first name. “You’re always safe with me. You should rest now, you’re tired. I’ll be here when you wake up.”

★

Once Spencer’s moved out of the ICU on day five, the team are finally allowed to come and visit him, bringing Penelope, presents and smiles and noise. And reprimands. Many reprimands. 

“If you ever put a case above your own damn health again, it won’t be meningitis you have to worry about but Penelope’s wrath, alright Spence?” JJ scolds as she gives him a gentle hug, though her smile betrays her. Penelope is stood at the foot of his bed trying her best to look scary, but like JJ her eyes are far too soft and relief colours her body language. Plus it’s hard to look domineering in a bright orange floral dress and flowers in your hair. 

“Sorry, Pen, JJ,” he says sheepishly, looking at each of them apologetically. “Bacterial meningitis will definitely teach you to listen to your body.” 

“Well if that’s the only good thing that’s come out of this then so be it,” Penelope says with finality, before she melts away her faux stern look and smiles at him. “Now, we bring you gifts and cookies.” 

He opens each of the presents with the wide, open smile he doesn’t let cross his face very often, feeling deeply loved and cherished by his found family. His hospital room is covered in flowers and chocolates and academic books as well as endless gift bags and wrapping paper by the time he’s finished, and although he’s still in a lot of pain and knows he might never fully recover, in this moment he’s the happiest he’s been in a long time. 

The doctor tells Spencer and Hotch a week and a day after his admittance that he’s been lucky enough to escape relatively unscathed. “You need to look out for any of the long term effects of bacterial meningitis such as concentration issues, hearing loss, visual disturbances, chronic pain etcetera but our tests seem to suggest you’re in the lucky c50% of survivors who escape without a permanent disability and we’d most likely have caught it by now. You need to take it easy for two weeks, make sure you’re resting and drinking plenty of fluids, and if you feel any symptoms coming back or becoming more severe you need to get to a hospital as soon as possible,” she says, handing him the discharge paperwork. 

“Spencer, I think you should come and stay with me for those two weeks, okay? I’ll be there to take care of you and keep you company while you finish recovering. How does that sound?” he asks as Spencer signs the sheet of paper and hands it back to the doctor who smiles at them before turning to leave.

“Are you sure you’re okay with that?” he asks. “I don’t want to impose on you and Jack.”

“Don’t be silly, I’m offering. Besides, Jack will love having his own personal encyclopedia in the house. He loves you.”

Spencer grins widely at that. “Then that sounds like a plan.”

He sleeps for the majority of the two hour flight home, leaning against Hotch’s shoulder buried under the blanket JJ always carries with her in case anyone gets cold while the older man fills in some paperwork for the case they’d wrapped up a few days prior. The gentle noise of his family chatting around the plane and the comforting smell and feel of his protector surrounding him lull him into a sense of safety and reassurance, resting in the knowledge that his family loves him unconditionally. No matter what happens next, even if a long term condition was going to hit him like a ton of bricks, they weren’t going to leave him, and he was valued. Not for his brain, but because he was Spencer Reid, loved and cherished member of the BAU. 

[marvelous-writer]

Deadly Mix-Up

Summary: Both Peter and Tony are injured after an Avengers mission, leaving them cooped up at the cabin with Morgan while Pepper is away at work.

(In which Tony and Peter’s pain meds are accidentally mixed-up.)

Whumptober Day 15: Adverse Reactions

Word Count: 3,167

Genre: whump, angst, fluff

Link to read on AO3

A/N: Part 8 of @whumptober2020 , Thank you @whumphoarder for beta reading!!

Peter is sitting on the couch in between Morgan and Tony, watching Lilo and Stitch 2 with half-interest. It’s hard to concentrate with the way his head has been throbbing for the past half-hour. 

He brings a hand up to rub at his eyes, trying to appease growing ache behind them. Dropping his hand, he spares a glance at Tony, who doesn’t look like he’s faring any better, if the pinched expression on his face is anything to go off of. 

“Do you want some more pain meds now? I think our four hours is up,” Peter offers.

Both he and Tony had  gotten a little banged up during yesterday’s mission, raiding a HYDRA base with the team. Tony has a few broken ribs, whereas Peter ended up with a mild concussion, hence the pounding in his skull.  

Tony looks over at him, lifting his wrist to check his watch. “That time already, huh? Sure, I’ll grab it,” he says as he moves to stand, then winces, holding his hand to his side. 

“No, I’ll get it. You stay put,” Peter orders as he pushes himself up from the couch, pausing for a few seconds when a wave of dizziness washes over him. His head pounds from the sudden change in position. 

“You okay?” Tony asks worriedly. 

Peter winces as he lifts a hand to rub at his forehead. “I’m good...” he mumbles, shuffling over to the kitchen medicine cabinet.

As Morgan continues to watch the movie intently, Peter grabs the two orange pill bottles containing their pain medication—Peter’s super-metabolism ones, and Tony’s regular strength version—and pours one of each bottle into two Dixie cups. He grabs two bottles of water from the fridge before heading back to the living room and handing Tony one, but then pauses as he looks at the pills. 

Bruce gave them strict instructions about their pain meds this morning when he stopped in to check-in on them. The light blue pills are Peter’s, and the red ones are Tony’s. 

Easy enough. 

Peter hands Tony the Dixie cup with the red pill, and he accepts it with a grateful smile. “Thanks, Pete.” 

While Tony takes his pill, Peter resumes his position on the couch and throws his own medicine back with a few sips of water. 

They settle down once again and continue watching the movie, but Peter’s head seems to kick the pain up a few notches after a few minutes, making his eyes sensitive to the glowing light of the TV screen. He drops his head back against the couch with a groan, throwing an arm over his eyes. He only hopes his pain meds kick in soon to prevent a full sensory overload. 

“You doing okay over there, Pete?” Tony asks from the other end of the couch. 

“Head still hurts,” Peter mumbles, not having the energy to say much else. 

“FRIDAY, activate the Pacifier Protocol please,” Tony orders in a soft voice as he reaches a hand over, brushing it over the back of Peter’s head. 

Peter lifts his arm and sees the blinds being automatically drawn, shielding them from the sunlight outside, as well as the TV’s brightness lowering a few notches to a level that’s a little more bearable for him. 

“Thanks,” Peter says gratefully as he drops his arm. 

Half of Tony’s face is shadowed from the glow of the TV, but Peter can still make out his soft smile. He motions for Peter to move closer to him, and Peter does, lying down with his head pillowed on his mentor’s lap. Tony’s hand finds its way into Peter’s curls, lightly rubbing his scalp like he always does whenever Peter’s headaches are particularly bad. 

After a few minutes, Peter’s eyes begin to grow heavy, feeling sleep pulling at him. Hopefully his painkillers will have kicked in by the time he wakes up. 

That’s the last thought Peter has before he’s out like a light. 

…

Peter wakes to someone roughly shaking his shoulder. He groans as he opens his eyes, finding Morgan a few inches from his face. After a few confused seconds, the pain hits him, and he has to slam his eyes shut from the splitting headache. 

“M’gn? What’s...What’s wrong?” Peter asks groggily as he slowly sits up, holding his head. 

“Something’s wrong with Daddy.” 

Peter frowns as he turns his head, now noticing the empty spot on the couch. He looks back to her, meeting her worried eyes. “What do you mean something’s wrong with him?” 

“I think his tummy hurts,” Morgan says, holding her Iron Man teddy bear close to her chest. “I heard him throwing up when I went upstairs to get Henry.” 

It takes Peter longer than he’d like to climb the stairs, gripping onto the railing for support as his vision swims dangerously, his head throbbing with each step. 

It doesn’t even feel like his meds kicked in at all, which is strange because one pill has always done the trick for him in the past. It couldn’t have worn off already—he was only asleep for an hour. 

Finally reaching Tony and Pepper’s room, he makes his way to the adjoining bathroom, only to find that the door is closed. 

“Tony?” Peter asks as he raps lightly on the door. He waits in silence for a few seconds before knocking again. “Tony? Are you okay?”

There’s only silence on the other side, adding to Peter’s worry. 

“I’m coming in, okay?” Peter says as he turns the knob. 

Unfortunately, the door is locked. His only option now is to break it down, which will only add to Tony’s to-do list. But something’s wrong—Peter can feel it. His head is pounding so much that he can’t tell if his spider sense is going off or not, but he trusts his gut… and his gut is telling him something isn’t right. 

Peter grips the knob tighter and leans his side against the door, giving it a quick shove. The door is forced open, throwing him slightly off balance as he stumbles into the bathroom. Peter squints against the harsh LED lights. 

The sight he’s met with has him freezing, fear and worry climbing up his throat. Tony is sitting on the floor by the toilet, slumped against the bathtub, breathing rapidly. 

“Tony?” Peter asks as he takes a few steps closer to him, only to receive a wheezy breath in response. Peter kneels down and places a hand on his shoulder, noticing the sheen of sweat on Tony’s forehead. “Tony? Are you okay?” 

It takes Tony far too long to respond before he looks up at Peter with glazed-over, unfocused eyes. Peter’s stomach drops at the alarming sight. 

He swallows around the panic clawing at his throat. “T-Tony? Can you hear me? What’s wrong?”

Tony just blinks sluggishly, his gaze still on Peter. “Y-Y’re b’ck?”

Peter frowns worriedly. “What do you mean I’m back?” 

Tony blinks again, licking his lips. “You...gone...T’tn…” he slurs, shaking his head as he squeezes his eyes shut. “S’ not real…” 

That’s when it clicks with Peter. Tony thinks this is some kind of dream and that the Blip was never reversed—that Peter is still dead. 

This isn’t the first time Peter’s dealt with this; Tony’s had quite a few panic attacks since the battle against Thanos and the whole reversal, and Peter’s had to talk him down from the ledge quite a few times. 

But never like this. 

“This is real Tony—I’m real. I promise you,” Peter reassures, gently squeezing his shoulder.

“S’ not real…” Tony murmurs, words slurring as he leans his head back against the edge of the tub. “S’ not r’l…” 

Peter’s mind is racing with panic, even as his head pounds away in his skull. “Tony this is real, I promise you.”

“No s’ not…” Tony mumbles, shaking his head, blinking lazily up at the ceiling. 

“Tony, please,” Peter begs, trying to keep himself from crying and freaking out because something is clearly and very wrong. “You’re really starting to scare me.” 

Tony doesn’t even seem to notice Peter said anything as he continues staring up at the ceiling with a blank expression on his face. 

“F-FRIDAY, call Bruce,” Peter orders. 

“Right away,” she responds, a hint of urgency in her voice. 

It takes a few moments before Bruce answers, his voice filling the bathroom. “Hello?” 

“Uh– Hi, Bruce. It’s Peter,” he says, trying to keep his voice from shaking. 

“Hey, Peter how’s it going?” Bruce asks in a friendly voice. 

“Uh—not so good. Something’s wrong with Tony.” 

“What’s wrong with him?”

“I’m with him in the bathroom now. He’s just sitting here on the floor and he’s really out of it. I-I don’t know.”

“Did he hit his head?” Bruce asks worriedly. 

Peter looks at Tony, thankfully not seeing any bruises or blood on his face. “I don’t know—I don’t think so.” 

“Did he take anything?” 

“Yeah just his pain medication—the ones you left for us this morning.” 

The line goes silent for a few brief seconds. “Do you know what color pill he took?” 

“Red,” Peter answers, brows pulling together. 

The line goes silent once again and Peter feels his stomach twist with dread. 

“Peter, I need you to try and stay calm and listen very carefully, okay? Is he breathing okay? Is there any blueness to his lips?” 

“W-What? W-Why would they be blue?” Peter asks as panic rises up in his throat. 

“The red pills were yours, Peter. They’re designed for your metabolism, which is at least five times faster than the average person,” Bruce tells him in a calm, yet serious voice. 

Peter’s eyes widen in horror. “What?! B-But I thought you said… oh my, God,” he says as he runs a shaky hand through his hair. “Th-This is all my fault—I-I did this…”

“Peter, this isn’t your fault,” Bruce tells him. 

“Y-Yes it is! I-I wasn’t paying attention. My head just hurt so bad a-and…” Peter stutters out, his eyes filling up with tears. 

Tony might die because of him—because of Peter’s stupidity. 

“Peter, listen to me. This is not your fault. I should have been clearer and put labels on the prescription bottles. This one’s on me,” Bruce tells him, hearing movement on the other end. “Based on his symptoms, his body is in shock from the medicine, so I’m going to have you lie him down on his side in a recovery position to help keep his airway open. Do you think you can do that for me?” 

Peter nods shakily. “Y-Yeah,” he says as he carefully grabs Tony, holding onto his left shoulder and maneuvering him down to the tiled floor on his side. “O-Okay. What now?” 

“You have to make sure that he stays awake. Talk to him and ask him questions. I’m on my way now with a med team—we should be there in twenty-five minutes. I’ll stay on the phone with you until then, okay?” 

“O-Okay.” Peter repeats. 

“He’s going to be alright, Peter. I promise,” Bruce assures. 

…

That’s how Peter finds himself sitting in the waiting room at the compound’s medbay a couple hours later for any news on Tony. It’s been a blur from the time Bruce arrived with the med team up until now. Bruce thankfully thought ahead and called Happy, who picked Peter and Morgan up, bringing them to the compound. 

Now, it feels like time is just dragging by at a torturous pace. 

“He’s going to be alright, Peter,” Happy reassures him for probably the fifth time in the past half-hour, rubbing a hand on his back. 

Peter’s hunched over in his chair, head resting on his arms that are folded over his knees. His head is pounding with a vengeance, but it’s nothing compared to the overwhelming guilt. No matter what anyone’s told him, he still feels responsible for all of this. He messed up. Big time. Now Tony is paying for his mistake—possibly with his life. 

The thought has tears springing to Peter’s eyes as he slowly sits up, slumping down in his seat with his head resting against the wall behind him. The medbay is quiet, the only sound being the game Morgan is playing on Happy’s phone that’s keeping her distracted for the time being. With how badly his own head aches, Peter hasn’t been able to strain his ears enough to listen in on any conversations between the doctors to see how Tony’s doing. 

Peter shuts his eyes tightly, unable to stop the small, pained groan that escapes his lips. 

“What’s wrong?” Happy asks in a concerned voice. 

Peter breathes out a sigh, pinching the bridge of his nose in an attempt to relieve some of the pain. “Head hurts.” 

“Do you want me to get you something?” Happy offers. 

Peter drops his hand, shaking his head. He doesn’t deserve the luxury of being pain-free… not after what he’s done. “No… thanks though.” 

They settle in silence once again. A few nurses in scrubs pass by them without saying anything, only adding to the guilt-ridden knot in the pit of Peter’s stomach. He doesn’t know when his eyelids start to get heavy, sleep pulling at him with a vengeance. Peter’s eyes are almost closed when his head tips forward, lolling to his chest, and he struggles to blink his eyes back open. 

He’s just so exhausted, both physically and mentally. 

Peter’s barely aware of his head rolling to the side onto something soft as darkness creeps at the edges of his mind. That’s the last thing he’s aware of before he passes out.

…

Peter wakes up to his head still throbbing, as well as soft voices filtering in and out of his ears as consciousness slowly creeps back to him. He opens his eyes, blinking groggily a few times as his mind registers that his head is resting on Happy’s shoulder and Bruce is standing in front of them. 

“Hey, Peter,” Bruce greets, offering him a small smile. 

“Hi,” Peter croaks out as he sits up, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes. “How’s Tony?” 

Bruce lets out a sigh, but his smile never fades. “He’s stable now and doing a lot better.” 

The wave of relief that crashes over Peter at hearing those words has him dizzy. “H-He is?” he asks in both joy and disbelief. 

“He is,” Bruce confirms with a nod. “He’s asking for you too.”

“Really?” 

“Yeah, he’s in the first room down the hall on the right,” Bruce tells him. “He’s pretty tired, but he’s going to be okay.” 

Peter smiles as he stands up, pausing for a second to blink away the black dots that dance before his eyes from the sudden change in position. He heads down the hallway and stops in the doorframe of the room, seeing Tony sitting up in bed. 

The sight of him has Peter hesitating to go inside, seeing the nasal cannula in his nose, as well as all of the wires and beeping monitors he’s attached to. 

I did this to him, Peter thinks to himself. 

Guilt twists inside of him and that same tightness in his chest is back again with a vengeance. Peter’s about to turn away before Tony turns his head in his direction, seeing him standing there. 

“Hey, you,” Tony greets with a tired smile. 

“H-Hey,” Peter says as he nervously steps inside. He moves slowly over to the hospital bed, feeling almost like he shouldn’t be in here—that he doesn't deserve to be. “Uh, h-how are you feeling?” 

“Pretty good, all things considered,” Tony says, still smiling up at him. 

Peter’s face falls at that and he has to look away as his eyes grow hot, guilt clawing away at his chest. He swallows thickly before meeting Tony’s eyes once more. “I-I’m so sorry. I-I did this to you.” 

Tony’s smile drops as he frowns. “Kid, what–”

That’s all it takes for the dam to burst. 

“I did this to you. I-I’m s-so stupid! I didn’t l-listen to B-Bruce and-and I gave you the wrong medicine. It almost k-killed you, Tony. I almost killed you,” Peter chokes out as tears freely flow from his eyes. 

Tony reaches a hand out to him and manages to grab Peter’s arm. “Kid. This is not your fault. Do you hear me? It’s not. It was an accident, Peter,” he tells him, his voice coming out a little raspy. 

“No– but I– I should have–” Peter stutters out, stopping as he sucks in a sharp breath to close his eyes again, more tears streaming down his cheeks. 

“Oh, Pete. C’mere, bud,” he hears Tony say softly as Peter is gently tugged forward, feeling his mentor’s arms wrap around him. 

Peter lets out a choked sob as he presses his face against Tony’s chest, his fingers curling into a weak fist around the man’s hospital gown. All the guilt, fear, and self-hatred Peter’s been holding onto for the past couple of hours comes out full force, and Tony holds him through it, offering soft reassurances as Peter continues to sob. 

It feels like forever until the tears stop, dwindling down to wet, congested sniffles. Crying as hard as he has definitely didn’t do Peter’s headache any favors—it feels like his skull might crack from all of the pressure. Peter lets out a pained groan, muffled by Tony’s chest. 

“You okay?” Tony asks in a soft, worried voice. 

“Don’t feel that great… my head hurts,” Peter admits, too exhausted to try and lie to him.

“I’m sorry, bud. How about I ask Bruce to bring you your pain meds so you can get some sleep, hm?” Tony offers, rubbing Peter’s back. 

“D’n’t wanna leave you…” Peter murmurs. 

“I don’t think you’ll have to worry about that, kiddo. You’re two seconds away from falling asleep on me,” Tony says with a small chuckle. “How about you just lie down right here next to me and get some sleep?”

“M’kay,” Peter agrees, pulling away from Tony as he stands up and carefully lies down next to him in the bed, mindful of the medical equipment. 

“Comfy?” Tony asks, looking down at him with an amused smirk as Peter snuggles up beside him, resting his head on his chest. 

“Mhmm…” Peter hums at the back of his throat, closing his eyes.

He feels Tony’s hand start to card through his curls, which is all it takes before Peter feels himself drifting off a few moments later, being lulled to sleep at the soothing feeling. But before he has the chance to fall asleep, Bruce comes into the room and wakes Peter up, having him swallow one of his super-strength pain relievers with a swig of water. 

Peter lies back down, resuming his position with his head resting on Tony’s chest, feeling his mentor’s arm wrap around him as he talks with Bruce, their voices fading as sleep pulls at him as he falls asleep.

[dramaticlester]

safety symptoms

summary: dnp get their vaccines and someone isn’t taking it very well.

also known as i got my vaccine irl and the only way i know how to handle it is to bring dnp into the situation and turn them into me.

genre: fluffy illness pls

warnings: vaccine/needle mentions, side effects of many varieties (pls help irl), swearing

Accepting the vaccine itself was a piece of cake. Dan and Phil both eagerly booked their places, the prospect of licking a stranger not a foreign thought to either of them. They went to the place, pinkie fingers linked between them in the back of the taxi, two masks pulled over each of their mouths (because they were for sure not taking those risks).

Having the vaccine was also a piece of cake. Dan and Phil split ways to go to their separate cubicles, giving each other a reassuring hand touch before going.

Phil was a bit better with needles, though he wouldn’t particularly choose to have one. He sat down, greeting the nurse with a kind smile and a bit of an icebreaker joke about sticking it in his eyeball (she didn’t laugh). Phil was so busy talking to her, he didn’t notice the needle even go into his arm, that’s how painless it was. Not even a prick.

“There you go, darling,” the nurse smiled, placing a little plaster over it. “Drink fluids and you’ll be just fine. Take a seat in the waiting room to make sure you’re okay to leave.”

“Thankyou!” Phil grinned, pulling his jacket on and wandering out into the waiting room where Dan was already sat, phone in hand as he took a picture of his little card to put on, presumably, his instagram story.

“Hey you, how are you feeling?” Phil asked, sitting beside him, rubbing a discrete hand over his back.

“Fine, I accidentally tensed my arm when she put the needle in, but it wasn’t too bad.”

“I’m proud of you, just one more to go...”

Later that night, Phil’s arm started to tingle accompanied by a mind splitting headache.

“Fuck,” Phil muttered, standing up off the couch to find his way to where Dan was working away in the office.

“Hey, bub..” Dan said, concern already etched on his face. Phil didn’t deserve him.

“Dan, I don’t feel well,” Phil pouted, leaning into Dan’s cool touch on his forehead.

“At least we know your immune systems working,” Dan said sadly, linking his fingers with Phil’s. “Let’s get you to bed.”

Phil climbed into bed, accepting the water and paracetamol being passed to him. He then fell asleep to Dan’s fingers threading through his hair.

Phil’s sleep was fitful, whimpering constantly and absolutely scorching dan every time his arm brushed over his bare stomach. Dan sat awake, trying to make sure Phil didn’t accidentally hurt himself, his brow creased in worry. Dan could not stand seeing Phil poorly. Dan decided to read up a bit more about the vaccine side effects on the little sheet they’d been given, thankful to see the things Phil were feeling were common as opposed to drop everything and run to A&E.

As slowly as he could, Dan removed the covers off Phil’s boiling body, next attempting to take off the jumper and two t-shirts he had on, too. That was less successful, with Phil waking up in a full blown shiver, his eyes wide and frightful.

“What are you doing?” he demanded, scowling as he bounded himself back up in clothes and blankets. “It’s fucking freezing.”

“Phil, you have a temperature, love,” Dan replied calmly, wracking his brain for ways he could cool him down. “Your body is too hot.”

“Nuh uh,” Phil refused, pushing his socked foot against Dan’s leg. “You’re warm.”

“I’ll let you keep the blankets now, but in the morning we’re sitting out on the balcony, I don’t care if it’s freezing and/or raining,” Dan warned, settling back down, allowing Phil to crowd into his arms, nose tucked under Dan’s chin.

“Whatever you say.”

Luckily, it wasn’t raining outside as Dan insisted on pushing Phil out onto the balcony under the strict rule that he needed to cool down. Phil felt like literal death. The pain in his arm had made it hard for him to even move to get up, his head hurt so bad he swears he could see double, his stomach hurt, and he felt like he could sleep for 50 days without waking up. Dan, the little shit, only had a sore arm, that he managed to get rid of with one dose of painkiller.

“Just think of how much worse it would be if you got actual corona, if this is how you’re reacting to the vaccine,” Dan whispered (he’d taken the courtesy to whisper as Phil flinched at the low sound of the microwave beeping.)

Dan and Phil were sat on one of the loungers on the balcony, the same one, mind you, as Phil was set on cuddling the fuck out of Dan at the moment. Dan was at the back of the lounge chair, with Phil in between his legs, back to chest. Their hands were joined against Phil’s stomach, Dan pretending to not be alarmed at the sheer heat radiating from it.

“I know,” Phil grumbled, pushing further back against Dan. “It’ll pass, but I wish it would pass faster.”

They sat in silence for a long time, Phil snoozing and Dan pressing kisses to his head and resting his cheek gently against it. He felt so bad, bad that he came out with a sore arm whilst Phil was so sick. He looked peaky and disheveled, his hair sticking up in all directions from the way his body had been turning all night long, not that he didn’t still look beautiful (he did). Dan knew he’d feel so much better when they were both fully vaccinated, his greatest fear of losing Phil being a bit less prominent in the face of coronavirus. Seeing the way Phil was reacting, he had never been so thankful they were taking the social distancing so seriously, lest he lost him.

After around an hour, Phil stirred, his groan hitting Dan straight in his heart, it jumping in his chest. The only times he really saw Phil so vulnerable was when he had a migraine, it was usually Dan moping about the place due to a cold or a small cut or bruise.

“Hi, darling,” Dan whispered as Phil sat up, turning to look at him. Phil leaned forward to kiss him, cupping Dan’s jaw with strong hands. Dan was surprised, but pulled Phil impossibly closer with two large hands on his waist.

“I can’t lift my arms high enough to go round your neck,” Phil pouted, whispering it against Dan’s lips.

Dan giggled, hoisting Phil up slightly by raising his legs, “there, you’re a bit closer now so you can do it.”

Phil smiled, kissing Dan again, this time his arms wrapped around his neck, hands clasped together behind his head. Dan felt Phil begin to move around in his lap, his excitement becoming clearer. Dan pulled away, almost lead back in again by the desperate groan Phil let out.

“Not today, darling,” Dan shook his head, giving him one last peck. “You’re not well enough and you have a fever, I don’t want to take advantage of that.”

“You’re too good for me,” Phil voiced aloud this time, wrapping his legs round Dan’s waist and giving him a cuddle. It was a bit of an awkward position considering they were both freakishly tall, but it was comfortable and familiar.

“I think the same thing about you every day.”

Later on, when the paracetamol had set in and Phil’s fever had been reduced enough to not be worrying Dan constantly, they moved back inside, though the heating stayed off and every blanket hidden from Phil’s sight. He was trembling like a leaf on the sofa, out of Dan’s embrace for the grand total of five minutes whilst Dan got him some soup because “have you ever seen a nurse just sit there cuddling the patients?” though it did get the response of “maybe if they looked like you,” with a pout in Dan’s direction.

Phil was grateful after eating the soup though, his tummy full, satisfied, and warmed (though he wouldn’t tell Dan that last one otherwise he’d chuck some ice in the next lot.)

Phil started feeling better over the next few days, his symptoms dwindling down to just a minor headache and pain in his arm, but he knew it was all so so worth it. and he also wasn’t one to say no to boatloads of cuddles and warming (don’t tell Dan) soup. He felt one step closer to normality and five steps closer to his Dan.

End

hello everyone! i had my vaccine three days ago and my arm hurts and my head burns. the day after was kind of like being a lead in the walking dead though (and i did a 9 hour shift and just cried the whole way through) so i’m glad about the dwindling pain. it’ll be so so worth it though, when we can do things again! remember to get your vaccine if you receive your invite and save some lives, woo! also, this hasn’t been proofread as of yet, i just wanted to make myself feel better.

[beautifulletdownfics]

‘someday, someday’ :: tumblr edition, #22

Nina POV (Text messages - Harry Bold / Nina Italics)

++

Well.

Well?

That was truly wonderful. You stole the show. You have a beautiful voice. Your dance moves will get there x

Why thank you, Nina Mae. Are you offering dance lessons?

I mean it, Harry. It was amazing. You radiated joy. You should be proud.

❤️

++

“Nina, Nina, the whole day though ...”

I grinned at the deep, familiar singing voice, snuggling my cheek further into my pillow and bringing the blankets up to my eyes that I kept shut.

“… Just an old sweet song, keeps Nina on my mind …”

The bed sagged at my feet and I brought my legs up to my chest, trying to somehow root myself to the mattress. I wasn’t ready to be woken up yet.

“… I said a Nina, Nina, a song of you comes sweet and clear as moonlight through the pines …”

A hand grabbed for my calf and another started tugging at my sheets playfully. I groaned and held them tightly, hearing a deep breath pass through his nose.

“… Oh! Nina, Nina!”

I huffed dramatically and kicked my legs and the blankets to the end of the bed, sitting up and trying to muster up a harsh glare but failing miserably.

“Hello, my sweet,” my Dad greeted, smiling broadly at me, “Happy Christmas.”

“What’s up, Dad,” I greeted casually, stretching my arms above my head before rocking forward onto my knees to give him a kiss as I threw my legs around to put my feet on the carpet of my childhood bedroom.

“Sorry I wasn’t around yesterday or last night,” he said, leaning forward again to kiss my forehead, he turned so we were sitting side by side on the edge of the creaky twin bed.

“Ah,” I dismissed him, “My Dad’s a hotshot, I’m used to it.”

“You’re my hotshot, sweetheart.”

He’d been in France all week, rehearsing with and then conducting an orchestra in Paris for a Christmas Eve performance at the Palace of Versailles. He’d done the same performance the last few years, which is why this year not even my mum joined him, she opted to stay and be terrorised by all the cousins who were home for the holidays.

“How did it go?” I asked him, he must have only just gotten in.

“Excellent,” He said, “I ate at least two croissants a day, it was bliss.”

I laughed, “Is Laykn up yet?”

Dad shook his head and gave me wink, “I thought you might—

But before he had even finished his sentence I had jumped up and was clapping my hands together happily as I crossed the room, “Oh goodie.”

I skipped down the small hallway the connected the rooms of the upstairs of our house, pausing only for a second at my little brother’s door to look back at our dad who was laughing at me fondly from the top of the stairs. He gave me a nod and I threw open the door.

“MERRY CHRISTMAS, MY DEAREST BROTHER!”

Laykn’s bedroom was dark but I knew it almost as well as I knew my own, I took a few large steps and just as he had yelled at me to fuck off, I launched myself onto his backside.

“I swear to god, Nina!”

He blindly swung his limbs around to get at me, but he was sleeping on his tummy and my sitting atop him firmly anchored him in the position. Eventually he gave up with a huff, keeping his eyes closed as if eventually I would think he had fallen back to sleep and then leave him alone.

“It’s Christmas morning,” I whispered, making him jump when I was uncomfortably close to his ear, Laykn squirmed away, “Let’s go see if Santa finally got us that puppy.”

“Get off me,” Laykn grunted. “You have a bony arse.”

“Thank you,” I popped back, leaning from one side to the other to really dig into him.

“You can either get off yourself or I’m going to throw you off,” He said, trying to sound threatening, “It’s not my fault if you concuss yourself on the wall.”

“What a grouch,” I singsonged, jumping off him and leaving his bedroom door open as I left the room.

“Shut the door!” He yelled, echoing all our arguments from when we were younger. I grinned, loving that I still had that effect on him despite the fact we weren’t kids anymore.

He was too easy.

++

Merry Christmas! Have a wonderful day. Pass on my love to your wonderful family x

Ho ho ho! Merry Christmas, Harry. Don’t eat all the pudding x

I’m offended by the insinuation without your instruction I would.

Your sweet tooth is your blind spot :)

Lucky you’re sweet then x

++

Christmas blended that perfect feeling of being on holiday and being removed from normal life but also allowed me the comfort of reverting back to feeling like a kid. Everything about its familiarity breathed calm into me and I felt the stress and anxieties I was used to living with dull. I let myself be doted on and loved by my family, I got my fill of cuddles and life encouragement and good food.

Still, this wasn’t how I saw the afternoon playing out.

“Laykn!” My father’s voice boomed through the sterile room.

“Sorry Dad,” He mumbled earnestly from the seat next to the examination table I was propped up on, “I’m seventeen, my brain hasn’t finished developing,” He tried weakly.

“I don’t care about your bloody undeveloped brain!” Dad continued, “I care about your sister’s head!”

“Dad, I’m fine,” I tried, opening one eye but the light hurt so I clamped it shut again.

“I know you are, sweetheart,” Our father’s tone became more pleasant when aimed my way, he turned back to Laykn, “That’s why I get to be mad at you.”

“She ducked into it,” Laykn offered like maybe Dad didn’t already know.

“You threw the blasted thing to begin with! You’re daft, boy.” Dad shook his head. But his anger wasn’t menacing or threatening; it was parental.

“I didn’t mean for it to hit her!” Laykn defended himself, I leant my head back, wishing the splitting headache cracking open my skull away, “I was throwing it at Martin and Nina got in the way!”

“Where’s Mum?” I asked softly, “I want drugs.”

We were at the local doctor’s office. This was the place I had come my whole life any time I was sick or unwell. Our family had a regular doctor, Dr. Richard Andrews, who had looked after all of us for as long as I could remember. We had been here close to an hour and I just wanted to go home.

“Nina,” Dr. Andrews came into the examination room from the small hallway. “How’s your head feeling?”

His coming back told me that thirty minutes has passed since he had finished stitching me up. I was instructed to stay put so they could keep an eye in case any allergy or sign of concussion appeared.

“She’s got a headache,” Laykn answered for me, looking worried. “And there’s a bit of blood coming out of the stitch.”

“Come on, son,” My father clamped a hand on Laykn’s shoulder and pointed to the door, his demeanour softening somewhat, “Let’s leave your sister for a bit, yeah? She’s okay. Come on.”

Laykn’s look of distress momentarily heightened but I smiled at him and he soon complied. He scurried out of the room with one final check back on me at the door, he raised his hand in a wave and then was gone.

“That’s one mighty guilty looking younger brother you’ve got there,” Dr. Andrews said when they had left the room, he was putting on a fresh pair of surgical gloves and then leaned in to gently investigate my left cheek and eyebrow, “I’d say you’ll be able to milk him of anything you want for a month at least, two if you play your cards right.”

I chuckled as his hand carefully pressed against the back of my head and he tilted my face up so he could investigate the cut above my left eyebrow where my four newly acquired stitches sat. The top of my cheek under it felt the size of the apple that Laykn had thrown, the skin felt tight, hot and throbbing.  

“He didn’t mean it,” I sighed, wincing when Dr. Andrews pressed his fingers around the wound. He looked away to grab some swabs off the table and dipped it in some yellow disinfectant, then brought it up and dabbing it on my head.

“Little brother’s rarely do,” he agreed, “You shouldn’t have a very big scar. At most a centimetre, but it won’t be very thick.”

“That’s fine,” I clamped my eyes shut when the swab got caught on one of the stitches in my head and tugged uncomfortably. “Ouch.”

“Sorry,” Dr. Andrews said quickly, “These will fall out in a few weeks and the wound will get itchy, try not to scratch, that will help with the scarring. Your Mum’s gone to fill the prescription for the painkillers downstairs in the chemist.”

“Thanks,” I smiled at the familiar older man. My head would hurt for a few more days, he had told me earlier. But I was lucky that I didn’t have a concussion and it looked like I wasn’t going to get a black eye either.  

He sat back and took off his gloves, “Everything else going okay, Nina? How is London?”

“I’ve been really good,” I offered slowly, “This year has been really good.”

“Your dad says you’re the star of the London Philanthropic,” Dr Andrews smiled. “I’ll need to get down for a performance.”

I smiled, “Please do.”

“Did you have anything you wanted to talk to me about?”

I swallowed thickly. He noticed. Why do doctor’s always ask that question?

“How are you going in terms of your depression and anxiety?” Dr. Andrews was never one to delay getting to the crux of things. He had been the one who first diagnosed me, and I knew that he cared how I was doing.  

“I’m okay,” I started, “I mean … It’s life … Sometimes it’s fine and somethings it’s not.”

“Are you having regular bad spells?”

I thought about my answer for a second, “Not regular, no. Every couple of months maybe, if that.”

“That’s good,” He nodded, eyebrows raised, “Your medication is all feeling okay?’

I nodded.

“Okay,” He said, “Well, the painkillers shouldn’t interfere with them at all. But please call me if you have any concerns. Anytime, you know that.”

“I do,” I provided, “Thanks for patching me up.”

“Make that brother of yours pay, Nina,” Dr. Andrews grinned knowingly.

“Oh, I will,” I chirped back.

++

Your performance is on BBC4 right now. It’s beautiful background music to my slow death by Christmas roast leftovers.

I’m at the pub! You have to leave the house to escape it :)

The food coma or the music!?

🎺

++

“Are you a fuckboy pretending to be a nice guy … Or actually a nice guy?”

“Ah,” I watched as the guy who had been talking to Georgie all day at the pub opened and closed his mouth like a guppy. His eyes darted over at us as though we might be able to rescue him. No such help emerged.

Bel was typing furiously on her phone and Sam was talking to a guy we went to high school with.

“It’s a simple question, really,” Georgie continued, turning to me, “Right Nina? Are you a fuckboy?”

Her question had been aimed at me the second time, “Um, no … I’m not a fuckboy,” I replied obediently.

“See?" Georgie gestured to me with a wide arm, "It’s an easy enough question to answer.”

I was saved from the conversation by my phone buzzing in my pocket. My heart started racing at seeing Harry's name and the smile that came over my face was automatic. Whatever feeling of concern I had for leaving the fumbling guy with Georgie was only fleeting.

"Hiya," I chirped down the phone line. As I waited for Harry to speak, I slipped down off the stool I was perched on and started towards the small beer garden where it would be quieter.

"Hi!" Harry hurried, his voice low and hushed, "I don't have long, but I need your help, do you have a second?"

I was frowning as I pushed open the door to outside and found a spare table I could lean against.

"I do, what's going on?"

"Which composer wrote 'The Erl King?'" He said quietly, as though reciting the question from memory.

I was momentarily confused, not having expected to have heard from Harry and also not understanding the context of his question. I took a second to run through things in my mind, recalling the few text conversations we'd had over the last few days.

I grinned, "Are you cheating at some kind of game right now, Harry?"

I remembered him saying his family spent the days following Christmas bunkered down together playing board games and eating leftovers.

He drew out a pause, "Yes ... You know the answer though right?"

"That depends," I decided to play with him a little, "Did you mean the poem or the song?"

"The poem or the ..." Harry trailed off, then let out a little sigh, "What?"

I scoffed in mock horror, "I can't believe you're a cheater."

"I'm not!" He insisted, "But Gemma's boyfriend is practically a genius and they're kicking my arse right now! I'm in the bathroom so you've got to hurry and tell me the answer ... They'll think I'm having some horrific bowel movement if I take much longer!"

I was laughing at him now, it was clear he was lost in the competitiveness of whatever game they were playing, "You realise in the time it took you to call me you could have just Googled this from the bathroom?"

"Yes, but it was an excuse to speak to you. What a mistake that was," He said sarcastically.

I tutted at Harry disapprovingly but then put him out of his misery, "'The Erl King' is a German poem by some guy ... But Franz Schubert famously composed a musical accompaniment to it in 1815."

"Schubert!" Harry exclaimed happily, "Brilliant. Thank you."

"Mhhm, super interesting guy actually, Schubert," I was tracing the nail of my thumb around the corner of the table, "It's likely he died from complications to treatment for syphilis so ... Take from that what you will."

"Modern medicine is a marvel."

"He was also very short," I recalled further, "And he was buried next to his musical hero, Beethoven but they were friends so it's kind of sweet too ..."

"You're my favourite nerd," Harry said fondly.

"Composers are my special subject."

"You're much cuter than Google."

"You're much taller than Schubert," I countered quickly.

Harry laughed finally, and I heard him let out a long breath, "Okay, I've gotta go. You're an angel, thank you!"

"Anytime," I returned quietly, fawning over being called an angel,  "Happy to help. Be nice to your sister."

"As soon as the game is over," He hurried, "Okay, bye! Bye, bye!"

++

Just get the train to Wharton tomorrow. I'll pick you up there

You sure?

Absolutely. Wear something warm.

It's 4C outside, what else would I be wearing?!

Alriiiight be nice. Text me the train you get on x

++

I had been sleeping terribly.

I couldn’t put any pressure on the left side of my face and every time I rolled over in my sleep,  I woke myself up with the pain. I was wide awake and restless most of the night, running over what it was going to be like seeing Harry the following morning.

I was filled with some kind of smile ­inducing, yet sickening dread at the thought of spending time with his family. I was excited and nervous to see Harry as well; I had missed him over Christmas and it was both reassuring and terrifying to see how much my feelings for him had grown. I wanted to be around him more and it felt strange to have not seen him in nearly a week.

Eventually I gave up on trying to sleep and dragged myself downstairs to share a final breakfast with my parents.

“You look like a wreck,” My dad said as soon as he saw me.

"Thank you," I parroted back, slipping into the seat next to my mum at the kitchen table. I have her a kiss and nodded when dad held a mug up at me from the sink, confirming I wanted coffee.

"You look beautiful, as always," Mum said, not looking up from the newspaper she was buried in.

"My bruise has changed colour overnight," I announced, pointing to my head, "How long is Laykn grounded for again?"

My mum tutted beside me, "Nina, he's upset enough ... Go easy on him."

"Let me see," My dad said, delivery a tea in front of my mum and my coffee in front of where I sat.

I obediently tilted my head up so he could peer over and inspect the left-hand side of my face. He narrowed his eyes slightly to see better, "You're getting old," I said.

"It's healing nicely," He ignored my comment, "You need to have a pillow next to you while you sleep so you can't roll over onto it though."

"Or a man."

"Mum!" I cried, feeling myself burn up as I glared at the side of her face. She seemed to have caught the teasing me about Harry bug from everyone else. She had been my ally over Christmas, but it seemed that now she was joining them.

Her poker face was excellent, "The pillow would help avoiding the man is what I meant."

My dad chuckled, enjoying his wife's sense of humour and my embarrassment. He saved me by telling me about a performance he had in London in a month which would be the next time I would see him. It would mean having him four days in a row as they rehearsed and then performed. I couldn’t wait.

“Are you going to come and stay too, Mum?” “No,” She shook her head easily, “I thought I’d give you some dad time. You should invite Harry to go to the performance with you though.”

“I’ve just emailed you the info,” Dad added, “You could bring more than just Harry if you wanted, just text me how many seats you want.”

“Thanks,” I said, taking a triangle of toast from his plate, “Will you drive me to the station soon?”

The next hour was spent taking a slow breakfast with my parents, and Laykn when he joined us eventually. I noticed his eyes continuously lingering on my forehead, and I ended up having to give him an extra-long hug to assure him that I wasn’t actually mad at him anymore.

The best option for covering the painful gash on my head was to wear my hair down with a beanie, which suited the chilly weather outside perfectly. Although there was no hiding the bruise on top of my cheekbone, and I was dreading Harry or any of his family making a fuss. At least the story could be framed as being somewhat funny.

At the train station my parents both lingered as they always did when I was heading back to London. They hated me leaving, and I was sure that a new wave of worry came over them both every time I left the safety of home where they could both be daily reassured that I was doing well.

Eventually the train pulled in and Dad let out a long breath, “Take it easy with that head of yours for the next few days. Tell Harry we said hello.”

“I’ll try not to bust a stitch when I’m back on the horn!” I prattled playfully, taking a step back and giving my mum one last kiss before waving at them both as I walked to get on the train.

The train to Harry.

++

Fair warning: I have an injury. Please don’t laugh when you see it.

++

“What in God’s name happened!”

I watched Harry get out of his car when I came into view, waiting for me as I walked down the ramp from the train station and into the car park. He was dressed casually in jeans and a knitted jumper, missing a vital outer layer that he’d obviously not been wearing while driving in the warmth of the car. I could see his breath as I walked towards him, I couldn’t help the smile and buzzing happiness I felt at seeing him.

He looked so good and I felt everything in me flip and the attention he was giving me.

“It’s worse than it looks,” I said as I approached, feeling a little awkward for having him just watch me walk.

“It looks sore,” Harry commented when I was still a good metre or two away, his eyes sympathetic and kind, “How did it happen … When did it happen?”

“Christmas Day. Laykn threw an apple and my face was in the way.”

His eyebrows raised, “You didn’t tell me! Are you in pain?”

"It's fine, I promise," I said, dropping my bag on the road next to the wheel of his car and walking straight into his chest where his arms had opened for a hug. I was careful to keep my forehead away from touching him, his arms wrapped around me tightly and squeezed. I stayed pressed against him for longer than I might normally have, but it felt wonderful to be seeing him again

“Hi there,” He said, moving his chin down so he could press a kiss to my head, “That’s one gnarly bruise you’ve got there.”

“Yeah,” I puffed out, pulling back and letting my fingers linger on the material of his jumper at his chest for a moment before I looked up at him, “My face is proving to be quite the colour palette.”

“Let me see,” He said quietly, his hands coming up to hold my jaw for a second. He frowned and I saw him notice the cut at my eyebrow and that it wasn’t just the bruise, “Can I move your beanie back?”

“Hmm,” I confirmed, trying not to flinch away as he gently pulled the material back to my hairline.

I watched as he winced at what he saw, "Nina, you've properly got stitches."

"I was brave, it's okay," I said slowly, smiling up at him and loving when his eyes left my injury and returned to meet mine, "And Laykn's guilt has meant he's been a real cherub.”

Harry laughed, and bent down to pick my bag off the ground. He clicked the button for the back of his car and grabbed my hand to drag me along with him. I used my free hand to pull the beanie from my head.

“Wait a minute,” I reached for the bag just as Harry ducking under the automatically opening boot, “I need to get something out.”

As I rummaged through my things, I felt Harry’s palm rest heavily on the crown of my head, “Cute hat hair.”

I stopped what I was doing to turn around and scowl at him, “Hey.”

Harry’s eyes lit up, “You look beautiful, I promise,” His eyes strayed to my bruise, “Even injured with hat hair.”

I turned around, having found what I was looking for, my eyes narrowed at him, “Took you no time at all to go from sympathy to being mean, did it?”

I snapped the hair elastic I had found around my wrist and started tying a headband around my head, watching Harry watch my movements looking a little bewildered by how quickly my hands were working. Once the headband was tied, I pulled up all my hair and was about to secure it all in a ponytail when Harry took the chance to step forward, plant his hands low on my cheeks and kiss me.

My hands stayed caught in my hair for a few seconds and it wasn’t until Harry shuffled forward even further, his lips smiling as I struggled to work out what to do, that I finally let my hair go and wrapped my arms around his neck to welcome him deepening it.

It was brief but quietly intimate, my tummy bubbling with the way it still felt novel and new to be kissing him. When we pulled apart and his hands found their perfect place on my hips, holding me close.

“I’m really excited to have you at home with me,” He said thickly, “I wasn’t going to kiss you here,” Harry’s eyes darted around the carpark like he was remembering himself, “But … fuck … I’d forgotten how far we’ve come. You’re you around me now and it’s the best thing ever.”

I gave him a confused look but ended it by smiling, “I’m terrified of meeting your family, but I want to.”

Harry beamed at that, “Good. We’re not going home yet though … I’ve planned the morning; we’ll go home for lunch. Sound okay?”

I nodded and then gave him a wary glance, “Am I safe to put my hair up now or will I be interrupted again?”

“I can’t say if I’ll be overcome with affection again but …” Harry held up both his hands and stepped back from me, “I’ll try.”

"That's big of you, thank you," I snarked back, screwing up my nose at him when he reached for my shoulders and gently nudged me in the direction of the passenger side.

I investigated the map on the train down and knew that where I got off was still about twenty minutes' drive from Harry's hometown. Getting off where I had saved me going much further south to then change trains and go back up to Holmes Chapel. At first, I thought Harry's instruction to get off where I did was for my benefit, but when we turned off the main road it became evident he'd planned the day that way.

Once we were in the car things were quiet as Harry drove back through the streets, his phone had automatically connected to the Bluetooth of his car and a playlist played at a low volume. Still, there were moments where he couldn’t stop himself from humming along or singing just a phrase.

"I used to think about this," I said aloud, referring back to when I first met Harry.

"Think about what?" He asked, briefly looking my way with a questioning look on his face because he wasn't sure what I was talking about.

The song ended and I smiled at the new one that replaced it, "What music you sing along to when you're not getting paid to.”

I watched Harry's reaction to what I had said, his eyebrows raised slightly and then his features settled into a whimsical smile of sorts, "I'll sing basically anything. It's sort of obnoxious really. Everything I first sang as a kid was from my mum and sister ..." He ran his hand along his jaw as he spoke, "I had a slight rebellion in my teen years, I got quite into the brit pop thing and was sure I was the next Alex Turner or Caleb Followill."

I laughed, "Oh really?"

"Yep," He nodded, laughing at himself too.

"What an undersell," I mused, throwing a compliment his way, "You could out sing Alex Turner any day of the week."

Harry scoffed, "He's a proper rockstar. I don't think you can really put us in the same category."

"Sure I can," I replied easily, "Technically speaking your voice would have a much better range and tone, your control is great. You've got beautiful resonance in your upper register. Vocally I know you're different, but if we're measuring by how far your voices would get you on technicality ... You win."

“You’re very good for my ego,” He replied simply but I noticed there was a blush of pink at the top of his cheekbones.

“I like the Cranberries,” I said, acknowledging the song playing.

Harry took a deep breath and jumped in with the lyrics at the exact place I had said it. I grinned and sat back to let him go for it. His face flushed but he sang beautifully.

“So why were you holding her hand? Is that the way we stand? Were you lying all the time? Was it just a game to you? But I'm in so deep!”

Harry had put all the power in his voice behind the last line and I sucked in a breath myself because he was really really good. He was looking a little too proud of himself for me to go straight to compliments though.

“Alright, alright,” I faked nonchalance, “The whole world knows you can sing.”

“But it’s you I want to impress,” He returned sweetly.

“Your voice is achingly lovely.”

“Alright Little Miss Voice Expert, when were you going to divulge your own singing, hmm?” He’d been switching his attention between watching the narrow country lane we were driving down and my face. It seemed he got the reaction he was expecting, and he laughed at whatever horrified expression was on my face. “Grade 6 ABRSM for Voice …” He quoted my bio from the London Phil’s Christmas program.

“What have you memorised that or something?” I tried dismissing.

“Yes, I have,” Harry confirmed without an inch of playfulness. “But I already had my suspicions.”

“You did?” “When you played piano that first time months ago in the studio and fixed my song … You were humming along, and it was pretty.”

“That was a weird moment,” I provided.

“I want to hear you properly sing.”

“I’m not a singer, Harry,” I started diplomatically, “I can carry a tune maybe—

Harry laughed, “—That’s exactly what someone who can sing would say.”

“I mean it!” I cried, “It’s like learning the piano, doing voice, in composition it’s just as helpful. I learnt voice so I could get into the composition stream at Cambridge, being able to sing parts in tune and at pitch is useful and a tool you use all the time. It wasn’t because I wanted to be a singer.”

Harry seemed to think about that for a moment, “I get that … But I bet you’re still good. Really, I just need you to sit me down and tell me very matter-of-factly everything stupidly impressive about you … Because finding out about them little by little is slowly killing me.”

“Oh, shut up.”

“I mean it! When are you going to stop blowing me away?”

“A girl has to have her tricks,” I tried playfully back. My tummy churning at the compliment.

The road before us opened out into a car park, and Harry slowed down to navigate where his car fit. I wanted to ask where we were, but I was also enjoying the fact that Harry was in control. I had no doubt that whatever we were about to see or do would be lovely. The English countryside around us was picturesque and as I popped open my door once we had come to a stop the cool, wet smell filled my body and made me grin.

“I love the smell of England,” I said through a deep breath, meeting Harry around the back of the car where he was pulling a coat through his arms.

“It is great, isn’t it,” He agreed as he slammed the car closed and held out a hand to me, “C’mon.”

We spent the next two hours hand in hand walking through a huge estate that was open for public access. The private laneways were so narrow in some places I walked behind him, and then they would open out to huge expanses of fields and garden. It was amazing, and every time we crossed paths with somebody Harry chirped out a hello like the custom was his favourite thing ever.

The whole time we chatted through and around dozens of topics, from family Christmas traditions, childhood birthday parties, first kisses and our favourite cities abroad. Harry opened up about his job, detailing the way it had changed and evolved over the last decade. There were moments I felt sad for him, but he was an expert at countering something he admitted he found difficult with all the ways his life had turned into a dream come true in other ways.

Something that he had briefly touched on though I found was a bitter pill to swallow. Harry hurried through the idea, which only made me hold onto it more. I wasn’t used to him being uncomfortable talking to me, but it seemed the idea of 'before' and 'after' people in relation to his life before and after fame was something he struggled with. He spoke of it for barely a minute or two, but I got the idea that Harry had had to become guarded around the 'after' people and terrified the 'before' people wouldn't be loyal. I just couldn’t fathom it, how he could possibly be able to go out and build new friendships and meet people with that kind of fear in his head. I was sure if I was Harry, I would have shut myself away from people completely.

He seamlessly linked it with dating though which had me fighting the overwhelming urge to avoid the conversation. I hated the thought of my being someone Harry had or could potentially doubt the intentions of.

“My family are going to love you, don’t worry,” He calmed the biggest fear whirling around my head without me having to voice it, “I promise you. But I was a real idiot when I was younger. I didn’t trust anyone, so I decided it was easier to just let things be surface level where it didn’t matter if it went to shit. When it went to shit,” He corrected sourly.

“Harry,” I squeezed his hand, we stopped walking and were standing at a farm gate looking down across a paddock of lush, greenery.

“I haven’t brought anyone home in … years and years,” He shared slowly, turning to watch my reaction, “I dated in the US mainly, away from my family. It made it easier to keep things casual. A few times I thought I might have found something with potential but generally I was trying too hard because I was lonely or craved the intimacy.”

“What changed?” I asked carefully, trying to gauge how much more he was going to share.

“Lots of small things … I think I grew up mainly,” Harry starts, “I also came to realise that what I actually wanted was a partner and fucking around was never going to be the way to get that. And then I met you.”

He added the last five works with an apprehensive smile towards me.

“Me?”

He nodded, “I met you at exactly the point where I’d decided not to run back to LA when I was craving attention and affection. And I was trying to man up about it and own the fact that I needed to behave differently to get a different outcome … Then along comes Miss Nina Lawrence.”

“You made me sound like a disease or hurricane.”

Harry smiled at my comment but didn’t divert from the topic of conversation, “After that dinner with everyone where I lied about how we met … I went to LA for work and it was so much more obvious to me that it wasn’t the place for me. I was so angry though because you’d challenged how I run my life and forced me to defend the fact that maybe my attitude had changed but really how I dealt with people hadn’t. I liked you so much, but it was tough being called out like that. You hit my pride hard and you’re the first person in a long time I’ve had to work for the trust and affection of. I needed challenging though, and I’m so thankful for that now.”

The whole concept made my skin crawl, I wasn’t comfortable at all with being the catalyst to all that.

“I saw my ex while I was there,” He kept going and the sick feeling inside me only grew but it came from a different place this time, I wasn’t used to it but I knew immediately it was jealousy. Harry hadn’t looked back at me though, so I kept watching the side of his face as he spoke, hating that I might have driven him back to her, “It was sad, really. I saw her and was reminded that I used to be such a romantic. I love the idea of big gestures and spoiling someone, but she never saw that side of me.” “I think you’ve still got it,” I said quietly.

“She was angry at me,” Harry frowned as he looked off over the field, “I can understand why, I had ended it by saying if I was based in LA maybe we’d have had a shot which was never true … ” “She thought you were back for her.”

He looked at me then, his features red from the chill but still utterly captivating, “I think she assumed I was back, and we’d start things again, yeah. By that point I’d done so much internal thinking and already decided that kind of relationship wasn’t going to be me anymore, but I didn’t know how to articulate it without offending her. So, I let her just be angry with me. It’ll mean I won’t see a lot of that group of friends again, but that’s probably a good thing.”

It was tough to hear what had been going on in Harry’s life since we had met that I wasn’t aware of. He had always struck me as grown up and mature, so it was a surprise to hear how much growth he had gone through in the time we had known each other. It showed a strength of character that I adored though, that Harry had humility and awareness enough to realise where he could better himself.

I latched my arm around his waist and ducked under his arm, “I think you’re wonderful.”

“I think you’re wonderful too,” He said, still obviously caught up in his own thoughts. “I feel calm and happy with you … Well, until you’re making out with me against my car, that wasn't very calm.”

I barked out a laugh I hadn’t realised was coming and pushed Harry away from me playfully, “Don’t be crude.”

“It’s not crude, it’s hot,” He argued, snatching my arms and tugging me firmly against his chest. His hands dropped to tuck neatly at my hips and hold me in place. “Neens,” Harry said under his breath, “Where the hell did you come from?”

Harry leant forward slightly, also pulling me closer with his palms and he kissed me calm and unhurried, like we had all the time in the world. Our mouths moved together, and it left a warm feeling in my chest because I’d never felt so adored and valued as I did with Harry this close to me. His thumbs pushed under my shirt and rubbed the skin of my hips in slow, heart-warming movements that had me tingling all over. Harry’s lips pulled into a soft smile against mine as soon as we parted, but he kept himself close enough to kiss my forehead slowly before completely pulling away.

“How is your face feeling?”

I was a little dazed from the kiss and didn’t immediately know what he was talking about, “Huh?”

He grinned happily and then looked at my bruise as he rose his eyebrows, “Your black eye.”

“I don’t have a black eye!”

++

The house Harry’s mum lived in was a few minutes' drive from the small township.

Harry explained that the house he had grown up in was in the township, but his mum had moved a little further out for more space and privacy. I didn’t ask Harry to elaborate but I got the sense there was a story there.

At the first sign that read ‘Welcome to the Village of Holmes Chapel’ I had leant forward and turned the music down. As we turned into a long driveway, Harry slowed the car to walking pace and put down the windows to let the fresh, cool air hit us both.

The large expanse of garden leading up to the house was beautiful and largely unkempt, giving the property a quintessential English feel. Two rows of large trees lined the driveway and I found myself trying not to think about the situation we were driving into.

"Hey," Harry's hand found my shoulder, I was facing the window and trying to be consumed by nature instead of watching the lovely house we were approaching, "You look like you're about to climb out the window."

I turned back around and let out a long breath, "This is terrifying ... Did you feel like this meeting my family? You seemed so cool."

"I was moderately afraid," He admitted easily, slowly coming to a stop in front of a garage door and turning off the ignition but not moving anywhere, "I knew you were a lovely human though, and it was likely you came from a family of lovely people."  

"Your circumstances means it's entirely reasonable for your family to be suspicious of me," I voiced my concern, hating the ugly ball it was in my gut but knowing it was better to tell him.

"Maybe," Harry agreed, not making me feel any better, "But I promise nobody is suspicious of you. My mum is overjoyed I'm finally showing signs of being serious about someone. She's not going to interrogate you, Nina. She just wants to get to know you. Talk about uni, and your family ... Music if you want to. Tell her what a pain I am, you’ll have a lot in common there."

I looked over at him and his hand came over the console to take mine, "You're not a pain." "I'm pleased to hear that."

"I do look like I've been in a street fight though," I pointed to my head. "Not the best first impression."

Harry pushed himself up over the console to hover his head right in front of my face, "You look beautiful. You always look beautiful ... And your head will be a good ice breaker."

"My head looks like it's already broken the ice," I deadpanned.

"C'mon," Harry rolled his eyes at me and cracked open his door, nodding to mine for me to do the same, "In five minutes time you'll have met everyone and be feeling a thousand times better."

I followed Harry's instruction and slid out of the front seat, my sneakers landing on the pebbled drive and I found myself finally taking in the house. It was a beautiful red brick double story home with lots of windows with white finishings. The gardens were simple and just as I was about to head towards the front door Harry called my name.

"This way," He held out a palm to me, my overnight bag in his other hand. "That ice breaker comment was very funny, by the way," Harry said slowly, pressing a kiss to my cheek just before we started walking.

"Thank you," I swallowed, well into panicking about the upcoming introductions.

Harry led me around the side of the house close to the garage which opened up onto a lovely courtyard area with a table and wicker lounges. There were newspapers and some tea settings on the table telling me it was obviously an outdoor space that was used frequently, even in this bitter weather, the sun had the family outside.  

"It's not the house I grew up in, but it's home," Harry said, watching me take it all in as he led me to a glass door that connected to a long wall of windows that went down the length of the back of the house. The view from all the downstairs room would have been the long garden going back onto the fields in the distance. It felt like a little haven.

“Mum?” Harry said loudly as he dropped my hand to could open the door, guiding me in and pointing at a wire basket behind the door toppled full of shoes. "Make yourself comfortable," He instructed me, slipping off his boots and tossing them into the basket as I did the same a little slower. I was wearing stripy, purple socks and I glued my eyes to them, feeling completely stupid of wearing them today.

“Kitchen,” A lovely, melodic voice rang out.

We were in a small laundry room and Harry reached out to gently pinch my elbow, and gave me a wonderful smile when I met his gaze, "You good?"

I just nodded and followed behind him as he walked out of the room down a short hallway that opened out onto a large kitchen with all the charm of a country house.

"Hey, Mum," Harry said, nearly getting knocked over when another body quickly emerged from another doorway and collided with him clumsily, "Shit."

"Language!" Two voices mimicked at once, and I had no idea where to look because it was all happening at once.

The guy who had walked into Harry wasn't quite as tall as Harry, he looked to be a few years older though and I assumed he was Gemma's boyfriend, Ned. He had a tea towel draped over his shoulder and was dressed comfortably in sweats. I could see Harry's sister sitting at a long breakfast counter, taking up the stool closest to the wall where she was working on a laptop plugged into the wall. Harry's mother was beaming from the middle of the kitchen, drying her hands on a towel and straightening out her shirt as she came towards Harry and I.

I squeezed my fingers together and pressed them at my sides, not sure who to watch.

“Hello, you two! I was elbow deep in potato peels, sorry for the cold hands," She said, her smile focused on me, "Nina, it's wonderful to have you in our home! Welcome, lunch isn't far off."

"Thank you for having me," I said politely as she approached, "It's beautiful here."

I was surprised by how she immediately radiated warm and stepped right up to give me a friendly hug. When she stepped away from me she looked to Harry and I knew exactly where he got his bright smile from.

"Mum, this is Nina," Harry told her, grinning back at his Mum in what I hoped was boyish charm. "Nina, this is my Mum, Anne ... And this is Ned and you've met Gem before," he waved his hand at Ned who was leaning against the counter patiently, and then Harry pointed to his sister.

"Hello," I said to them both.

Ned stepped forward and extended a friendly hand to me after wiping it on the tea towel over his shoulder. “Lovely to meet you, Nina."

“You too,” I took a deep breath after shaking his hand, still feeling as though all eyes were on me.

"Come and sit," Gemma said to me from her spot, she shut the laptop and moved a few seats to the middle of the counter. "Harry, make Nina a tea, will you?"

I instantly felt more comfortable as I felt all the attention in the room suddenly shift off me and onto other things. Harry whined at his sister and insisted he was just about to offer me a drink, Ned made his way over to the sink where he took over from whatever Anne had been doing and Anne told Harry she'd love a brew if he was offering which had him again defending the fact he was just about to offer to make for everyone. Anne disappeared into a walk-in pantry and emerged with a loaf of bread and I moved around to where Gemma was sitting.

I smiled at her, feeling as though our first introduction at Harry's house months ago really hadn't been sufficient but I was thankful for her not making a fuss out of me.

"Train okay?" She asked, putting her phone face down in front of her and giving me her full attention.

"Yeah," I kept up the smile, "Staring out the window ends up being quite soothing."

Gemma nodded, "My arse always goes numb though. That's quite a bruise you've got there," Her eyes went to my cheek and to the stitches above my eyebrow.

"Oh," I blushed, having forgotten about it despite having just voiced to Harry in the car how ridiculous I must have looked. "Yeah, my brother threw an apple and my face got in the way."

Gemma winced, "Brothers suck sometimes."

"Hey!" Harry called from the kettle, halting whatever he had been talking to Ned about, "Don't sully my name, please."

"I'm sure you've got the pain under control, love," Anne interrupted the siblings before they could start squabbling, she was arranging the slices of bread in a basket, "But let me know if I can get you anything to help."

"I will, thank you."

"We've got a roast for lunch, Nina, and croissant bread and butter pudding," Ned said from the sink, seeming very comfortable in Anne's kitchen. “I hope you're hungry.”

“We’ve bagsied the leftovers,” Gemma declared just as Harry was opening his mouth.

“Damn it,” He muttered, placing a tea in front of me and coming around to sit on my other side, “Maybe we could make—”

“I’m going to do some gingerbread this afternoon for you and Nina to take,” Anne soothed.

“Brilliant,” Harry nodded seriously, frowning at something on Gemma’s phone that she had just passed his way.

When he sat Harry perched right on the edge of the bar stool, hooking his left foot on the step of it and balancing the other on the ground as only his height would allow. He swivelled though, his legs wide enough that when he lent his elbow on the counter near my body it felt like he was surrounding me. His fingers tapped on my arm lightly as he read to himself.

I took a sip of my tea and watched Ned and Anne wordlessly work together in the kitchen. It was surprisingly comforting to see, he had obviously managed to assimilate into the Styles trio. They were putting everything together and getting ready to serve lunch. I wanted to offer to help but Harry had me trapped and I didn’t know how to insert myself into the situation.

“I say it’s bullshit,” He said easily, handing the phone back to his sister.

"Language," Anne said lowly, completely ignored by her children. I was endeared by the fact she told them off for swearing at home.

“Send a text!” Gemma declared, “Find out!”

“Gem, I don’t know anyone there,” Harry groaned, shaking his hair out and then rearranging it roughly with his fingers.

“I bet you could find someone,” She fought back.

“Love, let the Love Island thing go,” Ned called gently, meeting my eye and rolling his eyes, “They’ve been going back and forth all week, Gemma’s addicted to the stupid show and not happy with next season’s casting decisions.”

I appreciated that Ned had twice now made an effort to include me when it was clear to him I wasn’t yet.

“Why would they bring back someone from season one? It’s ludicrous!”

“Because they get this reaction out of people,” Harry replied, settling his palm on my hip and taking a long drag of his tea. I hoped nobody could see where he was touching me, “What are we going to do for dinner, Mum?” He changed the subject.

“We haven’t even had lunch yet,” Anne tutted.

“I’ll get in trouble if I ask how long until lunch though,” He returned cheekily, all the evidence of him having regularly been scolded for that particular enquiry in the past.

“Nina, how was your Christmas, sweetheart?” Anne asked me, ignoring her son, “Does your family do something big?”

I picked ran my fingers up and down the side of my mug, knowing this was the point where Harry’s family all got to know me and worrying I wouldn’t live up to whatever they had told them, “A little … My family does a lot together generally. Well, my mum’s family anyway. She’s a twin so … So I’m pretty close with my cousins. We had family lunch and dinner, normal for us really. But lovely because everyone’s on their best behaviour. Except my brother obviously,” I added.

“We did that when these two were smaller,” Anne provided, “Now the cousins have children but on Christmas day it’s still this one all the adults are telling not to eat too much,” She nodded her head towards Harry who beamed at his alleged crime.

“And he’s still the one you’ve got to watch like a hawk during games,” Gemma added, “He always finds a way to cheat.”

Harry pinched my side at that, smirking and holding his eyebrows up but not looking directly down at me, trying to look inconspicuous. No doubt he was sending me secret brain messages not to give away the fact he’d called me for the answer to a question.

“Somehow,” I said to his sister, “I’d believe that.”

++

“How can I help?” I asked Anne later, standing in the middle of her kitchen as she collected items from the pantry and gathered them all on the bench.

Gemma and Ned had left a short while ago to return to London for work, so it was just Harry and I with his mum. He had disappeared after helping clear up after lunch, he kissed my head as he left the kitchen citing the need for a shower and a nap.

“Go relax with Harry, love,” Anne insisted. “He’ll sleep through until Easter if you don’t get him up to do something with you now.”

“He needs to rest,” I replied softly, “Are you making gingerbread?”

“Yes,” I could hear the smile in his mother’s voice, “I wouldn’t normally make it, but it’s Harry and Gemma’s favourite at Christmas time and I’m a sucker when they’re both about to leave me for the big city again.”

“My mum gets a little teary every time I leave.”

“Trust me, it only gets harder as your children grow up,” Anne started handing things to me, and I relaxed into the knowledge she was going to let me help, “You think once they’re adults you won’t miss them so much but really it’s worse because they’ve turned into wonderful adults you want to spend time with!”

She was pointing out where a few bits were in the kitchen were and passed over a recipe book cracked open on the 'Christmas Cookies' page.

“Harry told me you’re the only girl in your family,” she said, cutting up butter and keeping an eye on what I was doing measuring out flour.

“That’s right,” I confirmed, “I learnt early if you can’t win crying usually gets you at least most of the attention when things go pear shaped.”

Anne’s laughter floated around the kitchen, “I think the opposite was true for Harry. He’s relented to the tears of two women for most of his life.”

“I think he’s better for it,” I said pleasantly, I smiled at her, “How long have you lived in this house?”

“Coming up on six years,” Anne answered.

“It’s beautiful,” I mumbled, struggling with the ginger jar, “I can see why Harry loves it so much.”

"If I ever tried to leave I'm sure Harry would refuse to let sell it,” She started creaming the butter and sugar together looking like an expert, “He loved this house from the minute he found it for me.”

“He found it for you? Sorry,” I added quickly, suddenly remembering my manners, “I don’t ... It sounds like I’m fishing. I’m not ... Sorry,” I took in a deep breath, “How would you like this sliced?”

My confidence with Harry’s mother completely disintegrate into thin air, as I cursed myself more for what I had asked, how it might have been misconstrued. Lunch with Gemma and Ned had ended up being completely lovely, and by the end of it I felt my insides relax and I was genuinely enjoying the company. Harry came alive in front of his family in a way I hadn’t seen before and I loved it. But it was still a similar Harry that I found myself getting when we were alone, and I found it only made me trust him more.

“Crushed please,” Anne instructed, nodding at the fresh ginger in front of me, “And yes, Harry found this house for me. And bought it for me ... He’s a very generous young man. He works very hard as well, I’m proud of him.”

“You should be!” I said quickly.

"Recently he's been spending more time in London, which is nice. I'd hazard you've been a factor in that," She added carefully as an afterthought.

My head snapped up to her, not seeing any of the displeasure or iciness I had expected, in fact, she was looking at me with a soft, kind look on her face as though she knew exactly what I was thinking to myself. As thought she could see exactly where I thought I had stumbled and she was trying to reassure me.

I cleared my throat and tried to push down the embarrassment at having overstepped, "Harry's told me a little about how he's not ... Dated at home for a while."

"At times over the last few years the negative aspects of Harry's job and the fame have been more pronounced and he’s maybe struggled to ..." Anne thought better of whatever she was going to say, "His coping mechanism has been to get on a plane and leave. I don't think he like us to see when he's struggling ... He goes away to blow off a bit of steam. A mother alway knows though," She gave me a knowing smile.

"He always strikes me as someone very thoughtful and put together," I furrowed my brows, thinking back over the time I had known Harry and now marrying together what he had told me himself and what his mother was adding from her point of view.

It all seemed to come together and make sense. When he was overwhelmed Harry used his resources to do a very millennial thing; he'd run away to a different country for a change of pace.

"My son is both of those things, Nina," Anne pulled me from my thoughts, she was watching me with a thoughtful expression of her own, "And he's very fond of you, I'm so happy you're here. When he first mentioned you months ago Harry said you were kind-hearted and smart, and he was completely blow away by you. Mind you, I gave him a bit of an earful because by that point he'd only just asked for your phone number and despite all he'd said about you and how he'd said it my son still hadn't asked you on a date,” She rolled her eyes fondly, “I’d like to think I gave him a little push in the right direction."

His mother thought I was the right direction. I felt my shoulders relax somewhat.

“I really like him,” I said lamely, not knowing how to further express it.

“I’m just glad to be spending time with the reason for Harry being happy in London again. You make him happy and from an outsider's point of view—an outsider who knows what genuine happiness looks like on Harry—he truly is with you. And I’m not sure he would admit this,” She continued, “But I think he forgot about the joy his job used to bring him. It can all became a burden, and rightfully so in most cases. But you’ve reminded him that real life can be an adventure worth the pain as well. Just not the same pain as his career. So, don’t you worry about asking me questions about my son, I’ll tell you whatever you’d like to know.”

I smiled, seeing Harry got his raw honesty and fearlessness when it came to speaking his mind from his mother, “Does he ever stop trying to make the people around him happy?”

“No,” She laughed, “And I’m sorry for any and all of the horrible jokes he’s tried on you. Thank you for not holding them against him.”

“They’re charming,” I said sweetly, “His silliness is captivating. Especially when … That’s something I need.”

It was overwhelming to think after half a day I could be having a conversation like this with his mother, but the thought then occurred to me that knowing Harry’s kindness and tact with people I really shouldn’t have been surprised at all.

We worked in pleasant conversation for another little while, Anne telling me about the young boy Harry used to be, telling me more about what it was like for her as a mother when his career first started taking off. Parts of it made me understand how my own parents must have felt at different points of my life, being so incredibly proud and excited for your child but also worrying the wrong people would be coming into their life and offer alternate guidance to what you had raised them on. She seemed to understand Harry’s story might have parallels to my own, and when I looked a little taken aback by her having such background on me she simple said Harry had brought home the program from my performance to show her.

“I should have done more to prevent him from getting his hands on that,” I cried.

“He’s proud,” She excused, “I like seeing him like this. It’s nice seeing him fawn over someone else for a change.”

Her comment was pointed, but not at me. I wondered who Anne might have seen come and go in her son’s life in the last ten years, and all the times she might have questioned how genuine some of the relationships were.

“When you’re next in London you’ll have to come to a performance,” I said without thinking, “And Gemma and Ned.”

Anne beamed at that, “Oh sweetheart, I’d love to.”

"It's not everyone's cup of tea," I offered diplomatically, knowing classical music wasn't something a lot of the population was interested in.

"Oh, no," Anne shook her head, "Gemma will love it and I'll go to anything with live music, it's all wonderful. Harry raved about it all Christmas."

Just as she spoke his name Harry appeared from the doorway that opened to the staircase to the upper floor. He had changed into a pair of tracksuit pants but kept his knitted jumper, his hair stood out in all directions and his face was puffy from sleep.

"Well, good morning," Anne sang is way as Harry approached her and hung his arm over her shoulder.

"These look good," He eyed the counter that was covered in cooling cookies, he seemed to consider his options before reaching for one and getting it to his mouth as quickly as he could. Probably before he could be told off for helping himself. "Oh yum," He mumbled through chewing, "Neens, come taste," Harry held the cookie out in front of him and stepped away from Anne who was watching him with a happy look on her face.

"I've already—

"—No," He shook his head at me and reached out for my arm as soon as he was close enough, "This specific one, I'm telling you. This one is the best."

Before I could argue he'd pressed the biscuit right up to my mouth and was looking down at me in delight as I struggled through avoiding taking a bite. Eventually I relented, the delicious gingerbread melting over my tongue.

"It's good," I said, becoming more comfortable with Harry being affectionate in front of Anne. "Too bad you didn't help make them so have no claim in taking them home."

"Ha," He laughed, “That’s not the rules at all.”

‘It’s an amendment I’m willing to consider,” Anne hummed conspiratorially.

“I’m ending this evil alliance right now,” Harry took my hand and started tugging me across the room, “I’ve got something to show Nina …. Away from you, Mum!”

I was laughing as Harry kept pulling me with him, out of the kitchen and then up the stairs. His mother’s laugh carried with us most of the way. I started taking in the upstairs rooms he was leading me passed. The bedrooms were all upstairs, except the master which made up the second half of the bottom floor with the kitchen and living areas.

Harry reached a door at the end of the hallway and turned around to face me, pushing it open with his backside, “I’ve got something for you.”

He was looking unsure and bashful, my focus was split between trying to figure out what he was nervous about and investigating the room that was opening up behind him.

Harry’s room at his mother’s house wasn’t like his bedroom in London. The London room was sparsely decorated and felt grown up and clean. This room had smatterings of his childhood and it was obvious the awards absent from his own home were all displayed here. My eyes ran along the shelf on the wall, trophies lining the length of the wall with photo frames and smaller plaques sitting up also. I could see BRITs and MTV awards and then a whole bunch of others I didn’t recognise.

“Holy shit, Harry …”

“Over here,” He called, when I turned he was sitting on the end of the haphazardly made bed. He’d clearly had quite the nap. “Merry Christmas.”

He was holding out a small red box and an envelope. My heart started beating in my ears at the thought of Harry buying something for me.

“Wait,” I looked around the room, “Where’s my bag? I’ve got something for you as well.”

Harry nodded to an armchair by the window, my bag sitting untouched atop a decorative pillow, when I pulled out the wrapped gift he frowned at it in my hards, “That doesn’t look like an M&S voucher.”

I stood between his legs, as close as I could without making it impractical, “Merry Christmas,” I said, putting the present on his thigh as I carefully took the small parcel he was still holding out for me.  I waited for Harry to move, not feeling comfortable opening his gift if he wasn’t going to do the same. “Open it,” I urged,  watching as he picked it up and put it next to himself on the bed.

“I want to watch you open yours first,” He said quietly, his eyes flicking down to my hands for a moment before he smiled at me. “I’ll open mine in a minute, you go first.”

“Alright,” I started quietly, finally looking down at what he had given me properly. My eyebrows drew together immediately at the cursive across the small red jewellery box I was holding, “Cartier … Harry!”

“Please, open it, Nina.”

I watched him silently for a moment, my thoughts flying with the realisation that Harry was about to gift me some very expensive jewellery. His face was impossible to read, and the only thing I could gather was that he wasn’t going to back down, so I carefully cracked the case open and bit my lip at the gorgeous necklace cradled within.

There was a fine white gold chain set with a small, but perfectly cut diamond set delicately on a small loop. It was simple, and understated, and I adored it immediately. It was definitely something I would wear, but I swallowed thickly thinking about what the cost for something so beautiful would be.

“Harry—

“—Please, Nina,” He anticipated my protesting, “Accept it, I loved getting it for you.”

“It’s … It’s beautiful, I … I don’t know what to say. Nobody’s every given me something like this before, ” I said quietly, watching it as if it was about to disappear. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” Harry let out a long breath, his fingers interrupting my view to carefully take the box from me, “Let’s put it on you, mmm?”

“No,” I stopped his hands with my own, “I want to look at it a bit more …”

His laugh momentarily made the tips of my hair dance, then his lips came forward to press against my forehead, “Open the envelope as well please.”

I let him take the box from me and I turned my focus to the envelope I had tucked between my knees. Out came a small square card, a reindeer with a fluffy nose was on the front and it very simply said ‘Seasons Greetings’. I opened it and a hand drawn picture sat loosely enclosed.

‘Inaugural New York City Trip - This voucher entitles Nina Lawrence to a trip to New York with Harry. This voucher is valid for six months from the issuing date and cannot be exchanged for cash.’

“What on earth …”

“I want to make you cry of happiness on another continent,” Harry cleared his throat like he was unsure of his next words, “Come with me to New York and we can go crazy on Broadway shows and carbs.”

I looked up at him and the expression on Harry’s face was so sincere with an underlying happiness that I felt tears come to my eyes immediately, “Are you insane? I got you a fucking coffee table book and a literal M&S voucher!”

He must have seen what I was about to do because before I could reach down to snatch back my gift to him, Harry’s hand had shot out to keep it where it was, “No,” He said, “This is mine now.” “It’s bloody not!” “Nina,” Harry said calmly, threading his arm around my waste and holding me against his chest, “Look at me.”

I took a breath and did as he said, a few tears leaking as I struggled to come to terms with what was happening, “You’re insane,” I told him quietly.

“You keep saying that,” He smiled up at me, my chin right at his eye line from him sitting in front of me, “Let me dote, please?”

I moved my hands up to his hairline and pushed his head back slowly, I could see trying to explain everything to me was hard for him. My fingers stilled and I took in his features without the distraction of his hair, my stomach tightened with attraction.

“Your mum told me you were generous,” I mused, “New York sounds amazing. I haven’t been since I was a kid.”

Harry’s smile lit up his face straight away, “I can’t wait to show it to you.”

I eased myself forward to kiss him then, feeling Harry lock his arms in around my back to hold me close. Being momentarily taller than him meant I could lead although I didn’t have it in me to tease him. I opened my mouth to him almost straight away, feeling his tongue deliciously run along my bottom lip before he drew open further. Our noses bumped once, then twice and on the third time Harry’s laugh broke the kiss.

“Hey,” I whined.

“You’re bad at leading,” He breathed out a laugh, taking my face between his hands and pressing a chase kiss to my lips.

“No, I’m not! It’s a weird angle! Your nose is too big.” Harry laughed louder, slipping his linked arms down over my arse to loop just at the top go my thighs, “No need to be rude about my nose. You’re just not used to being on top.” “Excuse me.” I cried, “I don’t think you can say you’re privy to that kind of information on me.”

He cackled even more and his joy radiated through me, “I can’t wait to be enlightened.”

[travellvogue]

The Gaffers Daughter

CHAPTER 17- Endgame

Four days had passed by, still no decision confirmed in your head. Trent had told you he loved you at least 50 times- you’d reply “I love you too” something so sickening and guilty about those words. It’s not that you didn’t love him, it’s just... maybe, maybe it was a way of masking your feelings for someone else. It was like a constant battle in your mind, you hadn’t really spoken to either of them as much as you’d wanted to, not wanting to hurt one of them, it was like your heart had been split in two and you didn’t know what part to follow. You’d began to pack your stuff up gradually despite having 3 days left here, it gave you something to do, worked as a distraction. You could tell everyone was confused when you weren’t sat with Ruben or Trent as meal times, instead sat on the same table as Dele and Eric, two people who had pushed you to actually acknowledge your emotions instead of ignoring them and praying either T or Rub would fall out of love with you so your decision was easier. But nothing became easier. Only harder. Every day you had to see both of them, to convince yourself that you weren’t more in love with one over the other. And it hurt you to have to force a smile when he made eye contact with you, because you knew his feelings for you, the ones he’d been so honest and open about.

“I think you know who you want, you just don’t want to admit it” Dele’s speaking as him and Eric laze on your bed as you pace around the room. It killed them to see you so caught up in broken emotions, they knew the pressure you were putting yourself under and they hate to see you so stressed. “But I don’t want to hurt him” your sighing as they nod, fully understanding who your talking about, “as much as it’s gonna suck you gotta do it” Eric is mumbling desperately not wanting to pressure you but he couldn’t bare to see you in this state anymore, and after all the boy deserved to know how you feel about him. “Ignore what everyone’s telling you, what your dad says, what we say... go with ya gut” Dele speaks, you’d never known him to be so serious. Running your hands over your head as a release of tension, trying to sooth your headache as you thought about the two boys, neither of them deserved to be in this situation. “You wanna go tell him?” Eric’s asking softly as you let out a deep sigh, nodding, knowing now was the right time, you couldn’t lead them one anymore. “We’re right by your side ok... we love you” they’re leading you down the stairs as you walk in the middle of the two of them, hands shaking with nerves as you overthink what your going to say to him, what if he didn’t love you, that everything you’ve been told was just a lie.

“Hi” he’s greeting you with a little smile as you make your way over to him, the only time you’ve fully acknowledged him over the past few days, you try to force a smile back but god you feel so bad, his innocent brown eyes looking up at you waiting for you to say something. “Do you really love me?” your asking as his eyebrows furrow, not expecting that question at all, and he’s clearing his throat with a little cough as he sits up on the chair, Ipad screen with solitaire opened on it now a muted black as it began to turn off. And he’s looking up and you, his gut instinct telling him where this conversation is going. A nod, just a simple nod. “Yeah” he’s sighing, of course he loved you, more then anything but he knew you didn’t truly feel the same way despite saying it back to him. He knew about the kiss on the football pitch outside, just after he’d told you he loved you, the huge glass windows looking out onto the grass kind of blew your cover, and lord did he try to pull himself together and pretend he didn’t just whitness you pulling in for a second kiss, but he saw it. All of it. “I-“ your voice is broken as you start, “You don’t love me” he’s doing the talking for you as your face drops, and he knows you want to cry, desperately fighting back the tears until one small droplet cascades down your face. “Trent” you sigh and his tummy flips, even the sound of your voice saying his name gives him butterflies. “I didn’t wanna break your heart Trent” you plea with him. “Well...” he giggles a little to hide his true emotions, knowing if he didn’t smile he’d cry. He’s always been a sore loser, and it’s not like your love was a game or a competition but he felt like he’d lost an element of himself whilst you tried to explain yourself. He wasn’t annoyed at you, he couldn’t be, your heart was made of pure gold, a soul as beautiful as yours would never hurt someone intentionally but god he ached inside. “Promise me one thing?” he’s speaking after a moment of silence, meeting your eyes as you look up at him, cheeks still a little damp and he just wants to kiss away the tear streaks but he can’t do that, not anymore, not ever. And your eyes are telling him to carry on, voice not strong enough to create any words. “You’ll still be my friend?” his voice is so weak you want to cry all over again, simply sticking to a nod as you try to force the lump down your throat. “Of course” another tear joins with your words, he looks so sad, so vulnerable as you take his hand and kiss the back of it, as he watches your movements intently wishing those lips were on his. “Love you” your whispering against his hand, a final closing statement, not the ‘I love you’ like he was looking for, but it’s better then nothing.

He’s having to excuse himself as he gets up, not even bothering to take his Ipad with him as his shoulders hunch as, legs dragging him up to his room to cry in private, not wanting anyone’s comfort or company right now. And he knows exactly who your going to talk to next, officially breaking his heart into the one-hundredth piece. The thought of you being happy with someone other then him making his lip quiver and tears stream down his cheeks, eyes stinging as they become increasingly red from the flow of salty tears.

***

“Ruben... can we talk?”, yet another conversation that wasn’t going to be easy, you knew he could tell you had been crying, a sympathetic expression on his face as soon as he saw you, reaching for your hand and taking you to the main reception, knowing no one will be there. “Why are you crying little one?” he’s asking, voice so smooth as you look up at him, desperate for him, so your flinging yourself into his arms, sobs shaking your body as you dampen his Nike t-shirt as he strokes your back, “shhh, I got you” he’s the comfort you need, the person you need. “Ruben?” you whimper, almost inaudible as you grip at his shirt, “yeah darling?” he’s edging you to tell him what’s wrong, but it’s not forceful. “I love you” the three words finally leave your mouth, and your almost certain you feel his heart stop as his grip on you tightens a little, breathing becoming more ragged and now he’s the one fighting back the tears aswell, those three words he’s been praying to god every night to hear, and finally there coming out of your mouth as he looks into your eyes, the eyes he fell so deeply in love. Leaning into a kiss, and it feels like the first time all over again, those same butterflies that have never disappeared since he laid eyes on you, since he introduced himself that day, since he fell asleep with you in his arms his heart beating rapidly fast when he woke up to your beautiful face, the kiss on the pitch the other day. Every inch of your being laced with his as you lips mould with his, they fit like puzzle pieces as he whimpers into the kiss, and he can feel the pieces falling into place. “I didn’t believe love at first sight was a thing; until I met you” he’s whispering against your lips as he feels you smile, “I love you” god it’s the best feeling to finally tell you, no longer needing to hide his emotions, to kiss you as many times as he wishes, to tell you he loves you everyday, to make your smile the widest in the room, to make you happy, “come back to London with me, meet my family, marry me” he jokes with the last bit but part of him is fully serious, so deeply in love with you, to share his life with you, beyond excited to start a new chapter...

whew, what a journey! a stressful yet such a rewarding one, thank you to everyone who’s read, sent their love and support, i love you all so much xx

[heavensigh]

Today was the first day of my 12 week program. What can I say? The whole thing was Hell.

I typically go to the gym at 5:30 am, 5x a week, for an hour. The new workout plan has added another half an hour to that. So that extra hour or so to myself in the morning before work? Gone. Chu thinks I should be less strict with the time limit but I feel like I have to fly through the workout to make it out on time to get home to shower, eat and change.

The workout itself was okay. I did 35 mins of cardio, some of it running! I hate running. Not only do my legs look like jumbled mess from behind (I saw a video of them back when I was in track) but my shin splits, endurance and stamina were all SHOT. 

I did upper body today, which is in line for my normal workout and it was good. I did more reps but kept my weight very close to what I’ve been working with. I just didn’t want to strive for something heavy until my body gets use to all the new stuff I’ve been doing to it.

The only thing that has been giving me issues is the damn meal plan! And its not because I have cravings or the food is bland but the timing of when I eat and how much. I’m suppose to have 6 meals a day, and I don’t have the timing down at all. After work I’m suppose to have an early dinner (supper?) and then dinner...again. I’m so damn tired and my body hurts and I have a headache and my tummy is achy and honestly I could crawl into bed and just...sleep...for days. I don’t even have enough energy to play games.

Tomorrow is check in and I work from home. I got a good chunk of billable hours today so if I slack tomorrow I can be covered a bit. I will take my check in pictures at home this time. I think I will have better lighting. I looked like a gosh damn prisoner in my starting pics and the lighting was awful in the gym.

See that neck folds under the mask? The lifeless eyes that make it seem that I should be holding a newspaper in a hostage photo? Even my butt looks flat!

But despite it all I’m still in love with my body and I’m excited to see the changes the next few weeks have brought on. I understand and accept that this is a process and I have to embrace it all, including my current state. I’m just amazed how much my body can do already and I’m very pleased with my dedication and healing.

I thought my IBS would be more of a problem and yeah I’m kinda feeling it now with all the changes I added to my diet. Protein powder doesn’t seem like its working out for me so far, but I’m going to experiment a little more because I know the meal plan they put me on isn’t 100% for my condition.

Day 1 of 12 weeks...complete.

[thinkingoutlouddblog]

Don’t Want to Lose You

Pairing: Harry Styles x reader

Request:  Y/n having really bad cramps with nausea and fever but pushing harry away and saying it's probably nothing. However it goes on for a long time and eventually harry calls an ambo against her wishes but it turns out to be something serious/other than cramps

A/N: I slightly changed the symptoms but the idea is still the same. Also, there are medical inaccuracies but how much do you really care?

“You weren’t supposed to be home yet!” your boyfriend Harry yelled in surprise as you walked into your shared apartment.

Despite the stabbing pain in your side, a grin spread across your face at the sight before you. Harry was in the middle of the kitchen, a spoon covered in bolognese sauce in one hand and an apron tied on over his clothes. When you took a step closer to the kitchen, you saw the mess he had made around the stove where the pasta sauce was simmering.

“I wanted to surprise yeh,” his shoulders slumped. “I was going to have a really nice dinner set up and have all this mess cleaned up,” he mumbled.

“You did surprise me! I’m sure it’s going to be amazing,” you took another step towards him and wrapped your arms around him, your nausea almost was forgotten for the moment.

“I just knew how stressed you’ve been with work lately and with my tour starting, I’m not going to be around much for ages. I just wanted to do something special for you,” he mumbled into your hair as he held you tight.

You felt a pang in your chest at the expression in his voice. Harry had so much going on all the time, you didn’t want him to be worrying about you. Especially when he was away on tour. He always tended to stress over whether or not you were okay when he was away from you, to the point where it would take a toll on him.

“Well, thank you but I don’t want you to stress over me. Not this time, okay? I’m okay, I always have been. And if anything happens while you’re on tour, you’ll be the first person I call,” you give him a smile to try and cover your lie. If you let him know that one thing is wrong with you, he will never stop thinking that you’re not okay. You don’t want him to be stressing over you when he’s supposed to be having the time of his life on tour.

“Okay, I won’t freak out this time,” he gives your hand a squeeze. “Why are you home from work early anyway?” his brow furrowed.

“Oh, I just felt a bit sick but I’m sure it’s nothing,” you give him your best reassuring smile, not wanting to make him start worrying all over again.

“Sick how?” he held you at arm's length so he could look you over for any signs of unwellness.

“It was just some cramps and nausea, but it’s not as bad now,” you lied yet again. The smell of the sauce cooking behind you made you feel sick to your stomach, you felt as though someone was smashing you in the head with a hammer and you wouldn’t be surprised to look down and find a knife in your right side, your cramps were that bad.

“Are you sure? You don’t look too great,” he placed a hand on your forehead but you shrugged it off.

“Gee thanks, Styles,” you joked.

“You know what I mean,” he replied, not appreciating your attempt at humour.

“Babe, it’s fine. I’ll just go have a quick lie down and when I get up again for dinner, I’m sure I’ll be fine. And, that way you can still set up dinner like you wanted to.”

He contemplated your offer for a moment before sighing. “Fine. But be prepared for my spaghetti bolognese to knock your socks off,” he grinned at you.

You gave him a quick peck on the lips before turning around and making for your bed. You held your hand over the spot in your side where your cramps were sharpest as you climbed into bed, wearing one of Harry’s shirts as pyjamas.

You winced as the pain became nothing but sharper. You tossed and turned for a few minutes before finding a position that caused you the least pain. You were just starting to drift off to sleep when you noticed yourself shivering under the sheets.

“Harry,” you called without moving. A moment later Harry was in your room. “What is it, love? Are you okay?” he asked worriedly.

“I’m fine, can you please just get me some panadol? I just have a headache is all,” you turned your head from your place in bed to look at him in the doorway. You instantly regretted saying anything as you saw those emerald eyes you adored fill with worry. “Sure thing love.”

A minute later he returned with a couple of tablets and a glass of water. You sat up in bed, trying not to make it obvious how much pain it was causing you to do so. You took the water and the painkillers with a soft thank you. “Love, don’t worry about dinner tonight. You just stay in bed and I’ll put the food away for another night,” he spoke as he tucked a strand of your hair behind your ear.

“Haz, don’t. It’s nothing, it’s just a-” you stopped short as you covered your mouth with your hand. You quickly threw the covers off and ran to the bathroom, Harry following as you went. You fell to your knees in front of the toilet before emptying the contents of your stomach into the toilet bowl.

Tears leaked from your eyes as a cold sweat broke out across your forehead. As your vomiting finally stopped, you sunk all the way to the floor, the cold tiles of the bathroom floor stinging your cheek.

“It’s nothing, eh?” Harry said, his face dead serious as he stroked your cheek. “I think you’ve got a fever as well, you’re absolutely burning up.” Tears continued flowing out of your eyes as he spoke. You hated this. This wasn’t what was supposed to be happening. You were supposed to be making the most of the time you had left with Harry before he went on tour. Not lying on your bathroom floor, crying in pain and making Harry worry.

“You stay here, I’m going to go get you a glass of water and call a doctor,” he said as he began to stand up from the bathroom floor.

“Harry, don’t. I’m sure this is just a 24-hour bug, you’re overreacting. It’s just a tummy bug,” you croaked from your position on the floor. “Are you sure? You seem really sick, love,” Harry’s forehead creased, showing his concern for you all over his face.

“I’m sure,” you whispered, as you wiped some of your tears away.

“Okay, let me just go get you some water.”

Despite your attempts to wipe them away, the tears just kept on coming as the pain in your right side became sharper and sharper. You stayed incredibly still, scared that any sudden movements would just make it worse. Even though you had no control over this, you couldn’t help being angry with yourself over this. The last thing Harry needed before you left for his tour was for you to be sick like this.

Just as Harry walked back in with a glass of water, the urge to throw up hit you all over again and you sat up as fast as you could so you could aim for the toilet bowl. “Oh, love,” he sighed as he quickly went to crouch behind you and rub your back. However, a moment later his hand went completely still as his blood went cold. “Y/N, I’m taking you to a hospital right now.”

“What, why?” you managed to say between vomiting.

His hand shook as he dialled the number of a doctor. “There’s blood,” his voice trembled as he stared at the contents of the toilet bowl.

Harry was rocked to his core at the sight of you hunched over the toilet bowl, sobbing in pain. He hated that you were hurting and he hated even more that you had tried so hard to hide it and act like it was nothing. But he couldn’t think about that now. Right now, he needed to focus on what the on-call nurse was telling him to do.

He got you the largest bucket he could find, a towel and a bottle of water before grabbing his car keys and wallet. When he returned to the bathroom, you were lying on the floor, sobs wracking your body.

He quietly shushed you and rubbed your shoulder comfortingly. “I’m so sorry, Harry,” you cried.

“Hey, you have nothing to apologise for, okay?” You nodded silently, but your crying continued. “Now I’m going to pick you up really carefully and carry you down to the car, okay? And you’re going to hold onto this bucket in case you need it, alright beautiful?” You nodded again.

He kissed your damp forehead as he lifted you up from the bathroom floor and you quickly grabbed the bucket from the bathroom sink. You were completely delirious by the time Harry set you down in the car, as you continued to mumble apologies over and over again in the car. He tried to tell you to stop apologising but you just kept repeating ‘I’m sorry’ mindlessly.

You only stopped when you were a few minutes away from the hospital to vomit into the bucket uncontrollably. “Make it stop,” you sobbed to Harry. “Please, please, just make it stop,” Harry winced as you continued to repeat yourself.

“I wish I could, but the doctors will make it better soon. I promise,” he tried to keep his eyes on the road as he drove like a madman.

The car had barely stopped when Harry opened his door and ran to your side of the car. He ripped your door open and lifted you into his arms once more before taking off at a sprint into the hospital. At this point, you thought your right side was just about to split open of its own accord.

“My girlfriend needs a doctor, right now. I called ahead,” Harry called to the receptionist as he ran towards her desk. Within moments, a nurse and doctor had arrived with a gurney. As gently as possible, Harry set you down.

“Symptoms?” the doctor asked, already inspecting you.

“Uh, fever, throwing up, blood in her vomit. I think she said she had cramps during the day but she didn’t say too much about how she was feeling, it just got really bad really fast,” Harry tried to speak as quickly as possible, desperate for the doctor to find out what was wrong with you as soon as possible and just make it stop.

“What’s her name?” the doctor asked.

“Y/N, Y/N Y/LN.” Though Harry was talking to the doctor, he couldn’t tear his eyes away from your face. The pain was so overwhelming now, you weren’t even trying to mask your anguish any longer.

“Y/N, where does it hurt most?” the doctor spoke to you for the first time.

“My right side. It feels like someone is stabbing me,” your voice was thick as you spoke.

“Most likely her appendix,” he spoke to Harry and the nurse as though you weren’t there. “I’ll go give her a specific diagnosis and then we’ll take action.” That was all the detail he gave Harry before attempting to wheel you away, but you quickly grabbed Harry’s arm. “Harry, please,” you sobbed.

The doctor gave Harry a warning look. Harry knew if he kicked up a stink about wanting to go with you he would not only be wasting precious time but he could also be thrown out of the hospital. He put his other hand over yours. “Don’t you worry, okay love? I’m not going to leave this hospital until you do. I’ll be right here and this nice doctor is going to go fix you up,” he reassured you.

You nodded your head at his words and managed to give him a small smile. “I love you,” he called after you as the doctor wheeled you away. “I love you too,” you whispered, unable to speak at a higher volume.

He stayed true to his word, not daring to leave even the room for hours. It wasn’t until Gemma, not only Harry’s sister but also your best friend, arrived that he was given any information on your condition.

“How is she?” Gemma had asked Harry as she hugged him.

“I don’t know, no one’s told me anything since I brought her here,” he projected his voice more than necessary, hoping to get one of the nurse’s attention. Right at that moment, a nurse spoke up from behind him. “Are you here for Y/N Y/L/N?” the nurse inquired.

“Yes that’s us,” Harry stepped forward eagerly.

“She had a pretty bad case of appendicitis, but luckily she got here before her appendix burst. The appendectomy went well and she should make a full recovery but we still want to keep her here overnight. She just has to take it easy for the next four to six weeks,” the nurse gave the pair a tired smile as he spoke.

“When I can I see her?” Harry asked persistently.

“Maybe in 20 minutes or so. She’s in room 202.”

“Thank you so much,” Harry said. The nurse gave him one last smile before leaving for his next task or next patient.

Gemma and Harry stood there for a moment in silence before Harry broke the silence. “I have to postpone the tour,” his gaze was fixed on the floor, his eyes unseeing.

“What?” Gemma asked in shock.

“You heard him. Four to six weeks. The tour starts in a week and a half, I can’t just leave her here alone. She needs me,” he snapped. He ran his hand through his hair and sat back down on the horribly uncomfortable hospital chair.

“Harry, don’t be such an idiot. She will never forgive you if you postpone this tour because of her,” Gemma sat down in the chair next to him. “You’ll be here to help her get through the worst of this. After that, she’ll just need to be relaxing and taking it easy. You don’t have to be here for her to do that. I’ll be here to make sure she’s taking care of herself and getting better. I’ll stay in the apartment with her if I have to. She won’t be alone, Harry. You don’t have to worry so much about her.”

“I don’t know, Gem. It’s just-” he paused, trying to collect his thoughts. “What if this had happened while I was on tour? How would she have gotten to the hospital? Who would have taken care of her?”

“She would’ve called an ambulance, Harry. You know, everything you do for her is amazing and you both really take care of each other when you’re together. But she still knows how to take care of herself when you aren’t there. And if she ever needs anything she has friends and family that love her so much they would drop everything for that girl. You. Don’t. Have. To. Worry.” She drew the sentence out to emphasise her point.

“You’re right,” he spoke softly.

“God, there’s two words I never hear come out of your mouth,” Gemma joked, earning a smile from Harry. He shook his head as he stood from his seat. “I’m going to go grab a tea and go see Y/N. Can you please do me a favour and call her family to tell them she’s going to be okay?” he asked.

“Of course,” she replied, already grabbing her phone from her back pocket.

Five minutes later he was sitting in the chair next to your hospital bed, blowing on his tea as he watched you sleep. He was so happy to see you looking so peaceful and calm after seeing you in so much pain just hours earlier.

He tucked a strand of your hair behind your ear, his hand lingering on your forehead. Suddenly, you scrunched your eyes up, the sudden movement causing Harry to pull his hand back. Slowly, your eyes fluttered open. You took a second to adjust to the harsh bright light of the room before you started to take in your surroundings. It wasn’t long before your gaze was fixed on your favourite set of green eyes.

“Hi,” you whispered with a smile.

“Hi,” he whispered back, returning your smile. “You really gave me a scare there,” he still spoke softly, but his tone had suddenly turned serious.

“I’m really sorry, Haz. The last thing I wanted was for you to have to worry about me so much, especially so close to the tour,” you fretted.

“Clearly, because you let me believe you were okay and then you ended up in the hospital,” you could hear the hurt in his voice clear as day.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered, throat raw from being sick.

“It’s okay, love. It’s just, it’s my job to worry about you, ya know? I’m never going to not worry about you. But I know I always get too worried and too worked up when I’m away, and I’m going to really work on that, I promise. You’re a big girl and I should trust that you’re able to look after yourself,” you gave his hand a squeeze. “But, if there’s really something wrong like there was tonight, you can’t just pretend like there isn’t because you don’t want me to worry. You have to tell me. If you don’t, it’ll only get worse and I’ll only worry a hundred times more like I did tonight. I don’t want to lose you because of something like this. If I know with absolute certainty you’ll always let me know when something is wrong, I’ll never have to stress as much.”

“I promise I’ll always let you know when something’s up,” you said, and this time, you meant it. “As long as you promise you really will try not to get so worried about me. I want you to be out there having the time of your life around the world. You can’t do that if you’re always stressing about whether or not I’m okay,” you peered into his eyes, gauging his reaction.

“I promise,” he whispered.

“Now can you please hurry up and get into this bed? I need cuddles.”

When Gemma walked into your hospital room with a tea of her own, the two of you were snuggled into the hospital bed, noses lightly touching as you lied facing each other. You were both fast asleep, your breaths mingling and legs intertwined.

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[braindamageforbeginners]

Day... Something

First off; this isn’t the final descent into Charlie Gordon territory; it’s just that my radiation treatments, chemotherapy, and experimental treatments have been desynchronized thanks to those slackasses in the radiation lab selfishly taking days off for Christmas and New Year’s (as I griped to the receptionist, “It’s just cancer, it can wait”). Although this is annoying, the current worst-case outcome of this situation is spending time arguing with pharmacies and insurance companies to coordinate things and get me more chemotherapy doses (or, as I call it nowadays, “Thursday”). I think it’s radiation day #13 (of 30) and chemo day #20 (of 42)(maybe; I might be looking at an extra week of chemo)(dreams do come true). But I’ll discuss that more later.

Big news; I think I have a solution - sort of - to the hair-loss problem. First of all, even though I always thought I wouldn’t be vain enough to be bothered by hair loss; but this one is definitely different - it’s not a sort-of natural bald look; it’s like a not-insignificant patch of scalp has been completely denuded by some deranged barber (which, come to think of it, isn’t totally inaccurate). And only on the right side of my head. In other words, if you saw me, you would undoubtedly know that there was something seriously wrong with me. I like to at least have a conversation with people before alerting them to that fact, so, like everything else, I figured it out. I took a multi-hat approach, which I’d recommend everyone else take. First off; you’re going to want a general-use, emergency-back-up hat that you can do most major activities in, because there’s a chance that becomes one of your primary hats (as, indeed, happened with me). You want a hat for the gym/errands/informal day-wear; in my case, this is the emergency back-up hat, because no one warned me the exact date when my hair would start falling out, and that was what I had. Fortunately, the emergency cap had the qualities I would recommend for the informal hat; it’s a baseball cap, so I don’t have a big brim that can snag when I’m doing shoulder presses; it’s leather and cloth, so I can sweat in it without fear; and if I completely destroy it, I’ll be out $10. And, even though it’s nothing I’d wear to a formal event, I don’t look too bad in it. However, for more formal activities (and “formal” here means “anything more important than going to the gym or corner store”), you’ll probably want something else. Feel free to do whatever you want; maybe your durable, sweaty cap will do double-duty for you (and, if so, kudos to you); I consulted with those sacred texts that always give me strength during the darkest hours - Wodehouse’s “Jeeves” stories, of course; and Wodehouse delivered the goods: ‘If I might suggest, sir – it is, of course, merely a palliative – but it has often been found in times of despondency that the assumption of formal evening dress has a stimulating effect on the morale.’ ‘You think I ought to put on a white tie? Spode told me black.’‘ “I consider that the emergency justifies the departure, sir.’” So, something with a little more pizzazz than the average cap. Not one of those awful trilbies every moron wears with their crocs - which, as an intriguing side-note, led me to a delightful primer on hat choices for the well-dressed gentleman (https://goodmenproject.com/featured-content/brand-thats-not-a-fedora-and-stop-wearing-it/). Something with enough brim to protect me from the ravages of the sun. You can probably see where I’m going with this; by the time I walked into Ye Olde Hattery, I had a pretty good idea what I wanted. As far as I can tell, the only downside to Stetson ownership is that you have to fight the urge to kill Gene Hackman with a Peacemaker. And it goes really well with long-sleeve button-up shirts, which I’m wearing more of, these days, thanks to those kidney-destroying antibiotics that make me sunshine-averse.

Good news, the radiation folks think my hair will grow back (which may or may not mean anything, since they also thought my hair loss would be minimal). They also reassured me that my weird, lop-sided look was somewhat trendy. The exact phrasing was, “You’re probably not into the tattoo or body-modification scene, but a lot of our patients in those circles have hair like that.” I think I get a gold star for not freaking out about how old that implication seems (not to mention I’ve had my skull pierced many times, and had to rebuild my neural pathways, which seems like a pretty dramatic modification). She (the radiation tech) wasn’t too happy when I pointed out that people who voluntarily choose to get haircuts like mine tend to terrorize college towns whilst besmirching the reputation of tiki torches.

I’m feeling probably worse than I ever have in my life. The good thing is, whenever I wake up, I know that’s probably about as horrible as I’ll feel all day, so at least that’s out of the way. The bad news is that the hangovers might kill me well before the cancer can. We’ve all had days where we woke up and quickly realized that was a mistake (waking up, I mean); we rarely get to wake up and felt - in every cell of our being - that it was a mistake. Thankfully, for those moments, there’s zofran, which gets my vote for greatest discovery of the 20th century. And not only does it take care of the nastiest chemo/radiation side effects, it so effectively destroys any tummy trouble that I can drink lots of coffee in a relatively short time - which is what it takes to get me moving, since, even with zofran and Tylenol, everything hurts, and I feel like I need a nap.

Good news; this week will mark the end of week 3, by the radiation calendar, and that’s when the worstest side effects are supposed to develop. Which doesn’t mean new symptoms or side effects can’t develop, or that current side effects can’t get worse (OH GOD, THE HAIR LOSS)(ALSO, OH GOD, THE SKULL-SPLITTING SUTURE-ACHES!); but, hopefully, if I can avoid the lethal tumor/inflammation headaches, seizures, and nausea this week, it’ll mean it’s less-likely to show up again in the coming year. I also used the word “hopefully,” which is usually an indication I’ve said something completely moronic and God is preparing to send an asteroid down on me. I might already have gotten a preview of that with the radiation calendar vs the chemo calendar discrepancy. For those of you at home; standard of care for GBM patients is thirty days of radiation treatment, spread over six weeks, and at-home chemo drugs every night for all six weeks. Followed by a rotation of 3-4 weeks without any treatment, and a week of chemo. Because I’m signed up for a miracle cure, my physicians want me in pretty much every single week for the next year for an infusion, or a blood sample, or a check-in, or more chemo, or maybe just to poke at me with a cattle prod (of course; that’s a best-case scenario; if everything goes horribly awry, they cut me loose after six weeks because the treatment’s not working). Unfortunately, because the radiation techs took off about a week for the holidays, I’ll burn through my temodar a week before my last radiation appointment. Right now, one of the nurses (and/or Research Coordinator) is working to reconcile these things. So, I can look forward to bureaucratic snags in the near future.

Anyway... WEIGHT: 217 lb. CONCENTRATION: Bad, but when you’re only getting a few hours of sleep a night and relying on assorted chemicals to prop you up. At this point, I’m really impressed by those people who can maintain a serious cocaine/heroin/alcohol addictions for years, because I’m completely burnt out after three weeks. Except for the zofran; I’m going to be completely reliant on that for years (that’s a somewhat tasteless joke, but I honestly have no idea how long all of this on-again, off-again treatment could go). MEMORY: Good. I think. I’m not sure; I haven’t really had a day requiring much recall. APPETITE: Good. ACTIVITY LEVEL: Excellent, considering that I start each day praying for death. I went to the gym today for several hours.  SLEEP QUALITY: What sleep? COORDINATION/DEXTERITY: Pretty good. I haven’t had any accidents or major missteps in the last few days, which is excellent, for me.  PHYSICAL: I am slowly becoming Bilious, the oh God of Hangovers (look it up). BUT, I haven’t puked (knock on wood), I haven’t missed any treatments. And I’m still going to the gym, so, ironically, from the neck down, I look better than I did ten years ago. SIDE EFFECTS: Far too many to count, but I’m still here and sort-of functioning. So, uh, hooray for that.

[3one3]

The Sequel - 878

In Sickness

André Schürrle, Juan Mata, other Chelsea/BVB players, and random awesome OC’s (okay they’re less random now but they’re still pretty awesome)

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all chapters of The Sequel

“Ready for some soup?

“I need to pee. I hate getting out of the blanket though. It’s so cold, and my legs don’t work.”

“We’re not doing a bed pan, Prinzessin.”

“Ew.”

“As long as you’re getting up, do you want a clean shirt or something? Can I air out the bed?”

“No! Then it won’t be warm when I get back in. You can get me a shirt though.”

André helped Christina out of her bed-nest and literally turned her body in the direction of the bathroom. She was wobbly, her thighs were bright red, and he could feel the fever radiating from her skin. I should make her take more acetaminophen, he thought on his way to find a fresh tee for her. He flicked on the light in her dressing room and paused in surprise. It was kind of a mess. She hadn’t unpacked her things from the Spain trip, but had ripped some items out of the bags and left laundry all over. The footballer shrugged and stepped around a rolling suitcase to get to the drawer with her around-the-house shirts. I think she’d rather maybe have some hives from too much acetaminophen than have the fever, he continued, acknowledging his wife’s occasional allergic reaction to excessive amounts of the over the counter drug. How about one of these super soft James Perse ones? That should feel nice. Or is she going to be afraid of barfing on it or something? Ehh, she probably isn’t thinking that far ahead. I’ll bring this one. André selected a light gray tee on the basis that light colors feel cleaner than dark ones, and then turned around to look through the drawers on the small island in the middle of the room to find a clean pair of underwear for her too.

Her fancy all black and a little bit white closet was designed to accommodate more clothes, shoes, and accessories than she had when she moved in, so she took advantage of all the extra drawers by spreading things out. She had a drawer full of “sexy” panties- the lacey ones, pairs with little bows, the tiniest thongs, etc. There was a drawer just for the nude thongs and bikini-cut panties she wore under her white breeches, the boyshorts that she preferred for working out, and high-cut styles she liked for riding in when she wore other breeches. Then there was one for all the other underwear, like her cute prints, the vast Calvin Klein cotton collection, stretchy hip-huggers, barely-there mesh, etc. She had three drawers of bras too, split by largely the same criteria. André was aware of the sorting because he once tried to put her laundry away as a nice gesture and quickly found himself overwhelmed. He went for the “everyday” underwear drawer to find some Calvins for her to be sick in, on the basis that he believed those to be her favorite for most things.

“Oops,” he muttered when he heard a picture frame topple over. There was a long, narrow white marble tray in the middle of the island, with a glass cube of fresh cut white flowers, desk-sized photo frames, and a dish of black “galaxy” eads that made the room smell nice. He accidentally hit one of the pictures when he reached up there to put the panties with the shirt while he squatted down to the drawer to try to put everything back where it belonged after he rifled through it carelessly to find what he wanted. I’ll bring her this too, he decided when he stood up to right the shiny chrome frame. A violent and painful sounding coughing fit was starting up in the next room. Maybe she’ll pay more attention to the drugs and food on her nightstand if Dirk is there as well. He took Christina’s selfie with Dirk free-jumping in the background with him. It was the picture Juan gave her as a gift the previous Christmas.

“I’m so cold,” she rasped through all-over shivers as she hurried to get back into bed.

“Hang on. Time to change.” André tossed the photo on the comforter and sat on the edge of the mattress near her spot so she couldn’t just retreat into her nest again. Poor Prinzessin, he thought, noticing how violent the shivering was. When did the doctor say the fever should break? I wonder if we shouldn’t go back to him in the morning if she’s still like this... “You do these; I’ll help with the shirt.”

Christina pushed her black Calvins down and pulled on the proffered red pair, and then reluctantly let her partner lift her clammy shirt off and quickly replace it with the fresh one, shaking all the while. All of her joints felt so tired. Holding her arms up felt like lifting a hay bale onto a stack after unloading 50 of them. André slid down and opened up the sweatshirt-like comforter for her to get back into her spot, and then rubbed vigorously at her arms and legs to help accelerate the warming process.

“The soup is warm. Ready to try?” he asked. The flu victim nodded and folded the blanket down from her chin a little. He stirred the broth and rice around in the oversized mug and then offered her some on the spoon. He knew she could have managed feeding herself, but she just looked so miserable and helpless. Christina slurped from the spoon a handful of times and then quit when he tried to get more rice in her system than the clear, mild broth. The cringe that accompanied each swallow was no put-on. “Where should I put Dirk?”

“Wha?”

“I brought Dirk for you,” the footballer explained while she turned over to get more comfortable and he put the cup of soup on the table. He then showed her the photo and began clearing a space for it where she could look at it whenever she wanted. “Every time you think “Oh it’s time for my medicine but I don’t want to take it because it hurts,” you’ll see him and realize the sooner you take it and get better, the sooner you can go get kisses from him, yeah?”

“You’re sweet,” his girl smiled on her pillow. She already had Lukas the baby zebra tucked up under her chin.

“Not really. I’m about to make you sit up again to take the pills and the cough syrup.”

“It’s not time yet. Another hour.”

“Fine.”

“Stay?”

“I told you I will.”

“Pants off.”

“Obviously.” André smiled back and then kissed two fingers to touch to her forehead. She wasn’t getting any real kisses. There was no room in his recovery program to get sick. He was even keeping his own pillows on the couch by the window so that the invalid in his bed couldn’t drool or sneeze on them, so he brought those over to use after discarding his jeans. It surprised him and threatened his hope to remain germ-free when his girl rolled over and snuggled into him as soon as he lay down. Christina put her head on his shoulder and arm, and wedged her ice cold feet between his legs.

“I don’t feel good,” she mumbled as she clung on and nuzzled her cheek on his shirt.

“You should have told me sooner that you wanted some company, pretty girl.” I thought she wanted to be left alone to suffer in peace. “What are we watching?”

“Murder She Wrote, season 39.”

“Are you warm now?”

“No.”

“Are you gonna be sweating again soon?”

“Yes.”

“Do you think you’ll make it? Or should we start digging a hole for you in Dirk’s field?”

“I dunno.”

“Marco sends his best. He was disappointed about cancelling Marco and Chris time, and wants a rain check. He’s like really obsessed with getting you eccentric shoes.”

“Tell me everything about your training, ‘til I fall asleep.”

“’Til what? I can’t hear you, pretty girl. You sound like a very quiet forest troll right now.”

Christina wanted to ask how he knew what a forest troll sounds like, but talking hurt. And the whole point of asking him to talk to her was so that she could keep quiet and reap the benefits of having him near and having his familiar voice to distract her from the runny and stuffy nose, the headache, the periodic coughing fits, the upset tummy, and the inability to find a comfortable body temperature. Being sick was lonely, and boring, and a self-feeding problem. Her symptoms were stressing her out and making it impossible to rest and get better. It had been a long time since the rider had a nasty flu, so it was extra hard on her. Being really sick seemed almost fun when she was a kid, and it meant staying home from school, watching The Price Is Right, having her mom around to bring or make her anything she wanted, cats to nap with her, and a youthful immune system ready to fight back against the bug while she just enjoyed days off. Being sick as a grown up with responsibilities just sucked. There was no novelty factor whatsoever. Getting her favorite blonde pillow to stay with her was the first non-terrible thing about it.

His very presence was supposed to help. All the sweet and caring texts from Juan in the world weren’t going to make her feel physically better, and that was the primary problem for him with their long-distance/double-life arrangement. That was the first time she fully got to experience the thing he complained about all the time- about his partner not being right there. But she knew she had André, and that he’d be home from training eventually, and then he’d come back from the grocery store, and he’d be back again after dinner. He’d always be around when she needed him, and on top of all the crummy side effects of the flu, Christina was stressed about how crummy the Spaniard had it all the time when he knew she wasn’t going to be around. Being sick and desperately wanting someone to make her feel better, and only having his texts, was one of the most elaborate illustrations of his problem that she’d experienced to date.

“’Til I fall asleep,” she repeated with as much oomph as she could get from her raw throat and expired vocal chords.

“You have to stay up long enough to have your medicine, but okay.”

André rubbed her back and her butt and gave the full tick-tock of every single thing he was doing each day at Brackel to try to improve his strength and fitness and be ready to train with the team after the international break. He thought the details were mostly boring, but explaining them was actually kind of satisfying. It gave him a chance to reiterate the arguments for and against certain things made by the coaches and doctors and physios, and that in turn fortified his belief in what he was doing. It was also a nice experience to be able to tell Christina all about something without having her backchat. She didn’t butt in to question anything, to play devil’s advocate, or to drag him off on tangents. She didn’t even really care what he said, and she fell asleep sometime before the hour passed. The BVB man was watching the time on his phone so that he’d know when to stop talking and get her to take the medications she was due for, but then the time came and he realized the sniffly, boiling little creature hanging on him was making a rhythmic hissing sound because she was sleeping and her mouth was open so that she could still breathe. He didn’t have the heart to wake her.

Espen tiptoed in a while later to say that Lukas was tucked in and she was headed home. She also delivered Lukas’ get well card. It was a picture of a gray blob with a trunk and tusks, and a red blob with a bunch of little legs. André decided they were an elephant and a crab, respectively. The second blob also could have been a spider, but the color pushed him toward crab. There was also a red heart with “Mom” inside spelled out in letter stickers. He decided to wake Christina to show her the drawing and get her to take the pills and cough syrup.

She adored the card, but not the drugs or the cold soup he persuaded her to eat. Both the drugs and the soup came back up not too long after going down. She had rice coming out of her nose along with rivers of greenish-yellow snot. She was crying because it was so unpleasant, and because her throat hurt so much. There was a good 10 minutes of dry heaving even after the meager contents of her stomach were ejected, and that just worsened the cold sweat. Her body was covered in it. André tried to wipe her of with a damp washcloth after she cleaned up her face, and got her another shirt to wear. The patient was furious with him for making her eat in the first place, but then still curled up on him to continue her progress toward death once she was clean and dry again. He texted his personal trainer to ask if they could bump his first session at Brackel back a couple of hours so that he could take her back to the doctor in the morning, convinced that there must have been some kind of prescription-strength remedies for her symptoms, or some more tests to do that would change the diagnosis, because he was sure she should have been getting better by then.

Christina obviously didn’t want to go see her new doctor again come morning, and she protested a little while her husband called the office to see if she could be seen. Her misery was overwhelming enough that she agreed to go though. Her temperature wasn’t going down and that concerned her. She wanted to feel better, even if it meant a terrible car ride. André put her in head to toe adidas sweats, gave her a blanket, a barf bag, and a box of tissues for the car, and sprayed some bathroom air freshener at her to try to cover up the unpleasant odors of her dirty hair and un-brushed teeth.

“My tummy is sooooooo barren,” the stricken rider moaned to him while they waited in the office to see her physician. She had her blanket with her, and bunched it up on his shoulder to use like a pillow. Her nose was red and peeling. Her neck was sweaty inside her hoodie, her hands were inside her sleeves to keep them warm, and her lips were slightly stained from the cherry flavored throat lozenge she took from a bowl on the receptionist’s desk. The Dortmund forward flipped through a magazine and tried not to think about how gross she was. “It’s gone from sunken in like a starving child to bloated and ballooning like...a starving child.”

“You’re bloated from the salt in the sports drink, probably. That’s all you’ve had for two and a half days,” he replied absently.

“Oh.”

“Are you warm enough right now?”

“Yes.”

“Okay.”

“Thanks for being nice to me while I’m dying,” Christina sighed.

“In sickness and in health, pretty girl. In sickness and health.” I still want another R8, he thought, attention on an Audi ad in the magazine. We should sell hers now that she has the Ferrari. It’s old and things keep needing replacing anyway.

“Yeah but you’re not always nice to me when I’m sick in other ways, so...thank you for being nice. And taking care of me. And risking my plague.”

“I’m always nice to you and I always take care of you when you let me see that you’re sick. I can’t do it if you don’t show me. I don’t know the difference between sick and angry when I don’t see you.”

“Mhm.”

“Thank you for letting me take care of you.”

“Welcome.”

[jvsuguitan]

Janis Joplin

“This was well written and entertaining.” -Esmeraldo Gorecho III

“Holy shit that was an amazingly written read!” -Francisco Gervacio

“...an epic way to tell your story...” -Shayna Kingon Cox

The following is a story I wrote March Second Two Thousand Seventeen...

Enjoy...

Come one! Come all! Tis a story guaranteed to to make you laugh, cry, and explore the furthest depths of the human condition!

Yes, yes. Take a seat, mon amie. However I pray you haven't started eating breakfast on this fine morning. This tale is not for the faint of heart.

But where to begin? Does it start last Thursday, when our... protagonist earned a headache by drinking whiskey and margaritas? No. Perhaps on Saturday when he toured brewery, and payed a brief visit to his recovering mère. No no...

Our story starts on a Sunday night. This night was different from our usual nights for on this night Jon, our protagonist, did not drink... much. A beer on his lunch break but we wont hold that against him. Also different on this night Jon went home, and was in bed by eleven thirty. Unlike most nights, spent on mobile gaming until 4 Am with Adult Swim playing in the background, Jon went to bed.

Come Monday twas an afternoon most beautiful. Ideal for his weekend from from work. Skies were blue, birds were singing, and a screwdriver was being jammed into Jons ear. A splitting headache he woke up to, while from his bowels he heard the rumble of a thousand earthquakes, and an arctic chill engulfed his very soul!

"A hangover" he thought. But he hadn't drank? "What sorcery is this!?" To remedy his ailments he resorted to the tried and true methods of (1) carbonation for the tummy and (2) more sleep for the headache.

After taking his time with the cream soda Jon gathered his extra blankets, slowly made his way back to bed, and having just closed his eyes he vomited in his hands. Too much to hold onto while getting out of bed, the spew burst through his fingers and on the floor!

To the nearest drain! Too weak to stand Jon knelt at the sink voilently spewing carbonated puke.

BLAAAAAAH went one round "This isn't a hangover!"

BLAAAAAAH went another "I should have had juice. It would have came up easier."

BLAAAAAAH "I almost Janis Joplin'd myself."

BLAAAAAAH "kill me."

Defeated... Jon crawled to bed. Laying, considering his options. One thing was for certain he had to clean his girlfriends sink...

"Hi honey!" She called to him having just come back from work.

"Cleaned your sink."

"Why?"

"Violent. Puke. Hurt. Sick."

Michelle understood and they left to pick up soup. Upon returning home Jon did not eat his soup. He hadn't the appetite to eat. But that didn't stop him from pissing out of his asshole!

That's right ladies and gentlemen! Diarrhea! This beautiful Monday night was spent in turn between the couch with a face stabbing headache and on the toilet producing what can be only described as the sinister murky water that fills the lakes of hell!

Oh what fun.

At some point the cycle ended. Instead of the couch Jon retreated back to bed. And there he slept.

Now let me ask you dear reader: what do 11:30pm, 12:30am, 1:30am, 2am, 2:20am, 2:50am and intervals from twenty minutes to thirty minutes after above times have in common?

Answer: Out of sheer discomfort from freezing cold chills Jon was compelled to get out of bed, walk to the kitchen, check the time and try to sleep.

If there were security cameras you would think there were some paranormal activity going on... which there may be. Thats another story.

Now Tuesday, having slept in and not eaten for nearly two days Jon worked up an appetite and managed to eat his soup. He managed to get his shift covered for Wednesday. Michelle came home from work, he stayed in bed. She had guessed he has the stomach flu. So he did as she said and drank lots of water and slept as much as he could. The worst was over.

Some restlessness at night, but come Wednesday Jon was feeling nearly perfectly fine. He watched a movie, ate some food, took out the trash. Even walked with Michelle to Taco Bell for nachos that they shared.

Night time came... Jon laid down... the world had gone topsy-turvy! Those who know Michell, know its usually she who suffers sleep deprivation, getting mad at Jon as he peacefully rests next to her.

He looked at her serene silhouette gently sleeping. The cold washed over Jon. He was itching to wake her up in anger and jealousy as she had done to him in the past. The itch spread to his hands. The itch grew as if just underneath his palms beady eyed insects were pinching and biting their way out. It was torture!

He concocted a plan. Jon was to find his sharpest knife and chop off his hands! Wait... were his knives sharp enough to cut through bone? And if they were, how would he chop off the other hand?

Perhaps after cutting one hand off he could hold the knife in his mouth, place his remaining hand on the counter and chop away at it... but then he would just be bashing his head into the counter.

Voila! After cutting his left hand off, he would steady the knife vertically on the counter with his right, then bash his head into the knife. No... if he were to kill himself why cut off his left hand first. Thats silly.

Off to the kitchen to figure it out! With full intent on literally stabbing himself in the face, he remembered... lotion alieviates itching.

That did not work, but those who know Jon know he has terrible eczema. That doctor prescribed ointment did the trick. Back to bed he go!

Until the rumbles came!!! Not 20 minutes later as silently as possible, as not to wake Michelle, he rushed to the toilet opening that portal dam from hell. Easy enough.

Now for nightmares. Paul Rudd and Jons coworkers were being assholes. Thats all. But it got him out of bed and with that came the coughs.

The same unsuspecting coughs that led him to vomiting unmeasurable pains. On this night he took his own advice and drank guava juice. Expelling it was a pleasurable experience.

And now he sits. In his living room. Hoping to grow tired, if only the knives would stop poking a polite little "fuck you" into his brain. If only clearing his throat, didn't lead to after shocks at either end.

He will continue to sit. And he will continue to suffer. And he hopes for nothing more than for you to have a better weekend than he is having.

Au revoir.