#is it someones home

They’re so sick

Your poor, sickly fave finishes their violent bout of vomiting and slumps down; exhausted, sore and shaky. You hold up a tissue to their face for them to blow the sick our of their nose. You then gently wipe their nose and around their mouth clean with a fresh tissue You tenderly hold their chin in your hand and inspect their sleepy face; it’s pale, sweaty, and when your eyes meet, you note that they seem to be struggling to keep them open. You continue to look them over, and have to force back a smile at how their cheeks redden slightly at your lingering gaze despite how unwell they’re obviously feeling. Once you release their face, they groan and roll over.

You once again contemplate trying to move them to the bathroom, or a bed- maybe even a couch. You opt out, however, when their tummy let’s out a loud, unhappy grumble and they whimper. If they were stubborn about moving before, they’ll be even more so in their current state.

You think about moving them anyway, since they definitely wouldn’t be able to stop you, but decide against it; not wanting to upset them further. You run your hand through their hair as they lay curled up on the cold, hard floor and sigh.

Water.

They need water.

You get up to go and get them a glass of water, stopping to turn around and poke your head through the doorway to check on them one last time, before leaving the room.

You’re not gone for long, when you hear them weakly calling your name.

You hear them coughing harshly as you approach the doorway. The coughing turns to gagging as you walk in and you see them hunched over the bin. Despite their body’s effort, nothing appears to be coming up yet. You sigh and pad over to them. You rub their back gently as their entire body jerks, and you wipe a bead of sweat from their forehead with your knuckle.

The heaves get closer together, and they barely have time to breath between their powerful retching. They start to whimper, but after several of their complaints are cut off with harsh gags, they go quiet again to focus on enduring the aggressive episode of dry-heaving.

Finally, one of the gags brings something up and you hear the loud splash of their stomach contents hitting the basin. They let out a pathetic groan at the sudden, unpleasant sensation, but their vocalization is once again interrupted by their nausea.

The next wave is chunkier, but much smaller. You peer into the bucket curiously and spot some partially-chewed lettuce and tomatoes from the salad they had asked you to make for them an hour or two ago. They thought that their nausea would go away if they ate something- and salad is healthy, right? You would laugh at the unfortunate irony if your fave didn’t look so poorly. You wonder if things would have been any different had they not insisted upon you dousing it with thick, rich dressing? Probably not.

Though their tummy is still grumbling angrily, they don’t bring anything else up- only dry heaves. The dry-heaving tapers off into coughing, which then subsides into panting.

It’s probably the heavy steak they had eaten earlier in the day that was refusing to come up easily. They ate it nearly 5 hours ago but have been belching non-stop and complaining about feeling bloated ever since. You peer down at your fave and note that their belly is still pretty swollen; the steak nestled in deep and refusing to move.

They whine and whimper quietly and appear to be laying as still as possible. You kneel down, setting the glass onto the floor beside you, and reach for the tissues. You get them to blow their nose before wiping their face clean again.

You slowly bring the glass of water to their lips. At first, they pull their head away, but you remind them that dehydration will make them feel worse. They sigh melancholically and let you bring the glass back to their mouth before obediently tipping their head back slightly.

You have them rinse and spit into the sick-filled bucket three times before ordering them to swallow a small mouthful. They complain and try to refuse, but your persistence overpowers their present lack of will. They end up taking a few sips before curling back up.

You sit down next to them in silence for the next few minutes. All you want to do is evelop them into your arms, but you settle for stroking their arm slowly, as not to jostle them too much. They’re still curled up on the floor; their breathing is slowing down- which you hope is good. You can still hear their tummy; soft sloshing and bubbling could now be heard amongst the constant, unhappy grumbles from before. The noises almost seemed to be tapering off for a while, but now you swore that they were increasing in volume and intensity again. Your fave let’s out a soft moan, increasing your growing concern. You consider asking them to give you a status update, but stop yourself; if they’re falling asleep, then you should let them rest. It’s only when they release a loud, sickly, wet belch that you decide that it’s time to go back into caretaking mode.

You ask them how the water is settling; their stomach seems to squelch in response.

“It feels cold and heavy,” they whine, “it hurts.” You had suspected that this would be the case, but the taps in the building don’t have temperature control so there wasn’t anything you could do.

“I’m gonna leave this out by the window, okay? The sun will warm it up so that you can have more later without it hurting your tummy,” you say placatingly, before setting down the glass on the windowsill behind the curtains. They show their enthusiasm by not responding or even turning to look at you. Instead, they let out a loud moan.

“Oh, y/n. My stomach really hurrrrts,” they whimper.

“Do you want me to rub it for you?” You ask. They have to stop and think about it for a moment, before nodding and slowly turning onto their back with a grunt. They hazily look up at you.

“Not too hard,” they practically whisper. You nod and place your hand on their belly; taking in how little your hand sinks in before it’s met with whatever food they’d eaten that day- at least compared to their tummy when it’s in a healthier state. It audibly grumbles around your hand.

“Gentler, please,” they rasp, and you decrease the pressure a bit, “even gentler.” You obey and very lightly, smooth your whole hand around the expanse of their slightly bloated tummy. They close their eyes and sigh.

Though most of the roundness is gathered in their upper belly, you can’t help but notice that their mid and lower tummy are a little bit bigger than normal, too. You smooth your hand up the bump of the stomach itself, and down over the slight tautness around their navel- which burbles lazily as the contact shifts whatever was sitting around there- down to their fleshier underbelly and back up the way you came. After a while of that, you start to rub in circles again but are startled by your fave trying to speak.

“Keep going up and down,” they rasp without opening their eyes. You chuckle softly and oblige, enjoying the feeling of their belly under your hand.

Their breathing slows down further and you got pause in your rubbing once you’re sure they’re asleep. You get up to empty their sick basin and give it a quick rinse; your nose wrinkling at the foul smell.

You return to the room and slump back down next to them. Your heart melts with pity whenever they groan in their sleep, or their gut let’s out a particularly cacophonous gurgle.

You are about to drift off yourself when they suddenly jolt up, and you all but throw the bucket at them.

They let out a long, miserable moan before dry-heaving a few times. Wanting to get ahead, you quickly get up to grab the tissue box and the water from the windowsill. Your fave makes an unpleasant noise that sounds like a cross between a gag and a gutteral belch, and a mouthful of browned liquid and small, undiscernable bits spatters into the basin. They sit there leant over for a few more seconds, before falling back into a lying position.

“That’s it?” You ask. You are certain that they have much more food still festering in their belly. They don’t react as you lean over to pull their top away, and are further convinced by how swollen their abdomen still is.

“Idonknow,” they slur. You watch them for a moment, but they don’t start retching again.

You figure they’re done.

“Water time,” you announce with sarcastic zeal. They groan, but sit back up and you hold the glass to their lips.

“Ugh. ‘Ts all warm,” they wrinkle their nose and squint their eyes.

“It was too cold for you, so I put it in the window to warm it up earlier, remember?”

“Oh, yeah,” they say softly. You get behind them and help them lower themselves carefully onto their back again.

“My tummy is still super upset, but I don’t feel nauseous anymore,” they softly inform you. Their brows have unknit and they close their eyes again. You don’t have the heart to inform them that there was no way they’re actually better.

Their belly still looks distended, and it’s angry growls are only growing louder. You also take note of how some of the unhappy gurgles are gaining a higher pitch, indicating that a reasonable amount of the mess in their stomach was making its way further down into their gut.

You run a hand through your hair before beginning to gently rub their belly up and down, like you were earlier. They release a soft, contented sign when you lean over to kiss their cheek.

While you gently rub their stomach, you begin to strategize in your head how you’ll get out of all of your plans- at least for the next day or two. Your poor fave will definitely be needing you around.

Tbc… someday. In the meantime I may come back and edit this one a bit.