pullmeoutalive | Model Idol Combi: so you had a sick day

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Model Idol Combi: so you had a sick day

[ so the thing was, Makoto didn't get sick. It took a series of unfortunate events, a moment of stress-induced weakness, and doing the idiotically chivalrous thing of trying to make her way home in the pouring rain and likely spending too much time in soaked clothing, despite Kise's best efforts.

But the point was, Makoto didn't usually get sick, and when she did get sick, it had to be sick enough to buckle her knees and keep her under her covers with a fever that could warm cold palms in an instant. She'd tried to go to work, but hadn't made it further than her own doorway before she'd gotten too dizzy to stand without the aid of the frame and had been promptly ushered back to bed.

And of course, she hadn't wanted to worry Kise, but that had backfired and for some inexplicable reason, she felt worse than ever. She'd have to change the compress again, she thinks distantly, as she tries to push herself up on her elbows to give him a properly chastising look. At the very least, her parents were now out for one of her dad's races, but... ]

You... really didn't have to come.

[ what if she's contagious? It's bad enough that she feels awful and she's sweaty and her hair's a mess and her face is all red and this isn't very romantic at all-- ]

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R--

[ it's all she can get out, eyes wide with shock when he suddenly bolts right past her. Thankfully, she's only frozen for a minute, and the sight of him suddenly dropping and vomiting like that spurs her to move at full speed. In no time at all, she's crouched beside him and reaching out to steady him.

Why? Why hadn't he said anything? He had to have been feeling unsteady before, so why had he insisted on eating? Had she somehow pressured him into it?

And that look he'd given her was enough to break her heart. She's not sure what to say, what she is saying, except she's murmuring a stream of something that sounds soothing enough. And then, finally, with the air of someone absolutely guilt-stricken-- ]

Ryouta-kun...

[He has never felt more miserable in his entire life. He's on the floor, staring at his own vomit. Shivering. Trying to breathe. It's disgusting. It might be even worse than losing.

He thought he wanted to die before. He was wrong. He wants to die now and then disappear.

She might hate him for it, but he can't help but lean against her helplessly. His coughing drowns out whatever she's saying to him, so he just hopes she's not telling him to get away from her. There's only her or the wall for support, and the wall doesn't seem as inviting.

This is such a mess, he didn't want this at all... Why couldn't he keep it down...?]

[ if he's worried about Makoto reacting with disgust, she should remedy that fairly fast by wrapping an arm around his waist and coaxing him to lean against her even more. Her free hand cups his cheek while she very stubbornly ignores the smell. First things first, which is why she's braced to stand. He's shivering ... ]

I'll help you back to bed, so just keep leaning.

[At first he pushes her hand away, because he doesn't think he's done.

Except that he is, because there's basically nothing left inside that can come back out. So he ends up looking even more pitiful leaning over like that.

Yeah bed sounds nice. But he can't go back without washing his mouth. And, probably this. Of course it's not easy to try to communicate this.]

[ she's kicking herself a little for not being able to understand exactly what Kise's trying to convey. Except no, before he goes and crumples over again in abject misery. Shouldn't she be better at this by now? She'd even missed the fact that he was feeling that poorly... ]

Ah... should I take you to the bathroom first?

[Somewhere, in the haze of 'oh my god I'm so gross' and 'I threw up in front of my girlfriend I want to die', there's a part of him that can still understand what's going on around him.

So he nods, reaching out for the hand he pushed away unsteadily.]

[ and that hand's still there, to help him up, her arms at the ready to keep him upright (to flat-out carry him if she must). ]

Okay-- it's okay. We'll take it slow.

[Makoto please, he's 189cm and much heavier than you.

But okay. Okay. Take it slow, right? He can do that. He can...

... Sort of do that. He's part way up and leaning into her way too much but he's... up? And taking it slow. Slow like a snail that's actually dead. At least he's not saying anything about being dizzy yet.]

[ Kise please, she's 159cm and very good at picking up people much bigger and heavier than she is.

It's also very hard not to lug him all the way to the bathroom, since at this pace, maybe they'll make it there in a week, but she can be patient. Dragging him anywhere likely isn't going to make him feel better, anyway. For now, Makoto stays put by his side, stolidly upright and keeping him on his feet.

They'll get there eventually. ]

[Eventually is about 10 minutes away.

Everything in the bathroom feels cold and cool, and while he'd like to press his forehead onto the sink completely forgetting about his dignity (it kind of died while he was barfing anyway), he's also shivering so much that just pawing at the tap is a great effort.

He doesn't have enough energy to feel frustrated about this.]

[ Makoto's got enough energy for the both of them, and has no problem reaching over to start the water running. She was about to ask him if he wanted her to stay, but she's actually very very worried that if she leaves him to his own devices, she'll find him shivering on the floor.

It's a disturbingly real possibility and she'd like to get him back in bed as soon as she can. ]

[He stares at the running water, like he forgot why he wanted to come here.

But slowly and surely, he starts wiping at his mouth. Slowly. But surely. He fumbles a bit after a while, trying to grab the cup at the side so that he can rinse it out too. He'd try for the toothbrush but he can still tell at this point that it won't end well. Worst case scenario being choking on it.

He's just about done when he winces, nearly elbowing Makoto as he tries to grab his head. Of all the times for it to get from bad to terrible.]

Ah--

[ why did she ever think this was going to be something straight out of shoujo manga? There was no way it could have accurately covered how much it hurt to watch your boyfriend suffering so much and knowing you could only try to make it a little bit better.

... Besides, it's her soup that made him sick, and she bites her lip as guilt floods her once again, doing her best to shake it off as she steadies him again. ]

What's wrong?? Do you need to sit down?

[It's not the coughing that finally destroys his voice, but the vomiting.]

No, it's cold--

[Here, he means to say. He'd like to get back in bed, now that he's a tenth less gross than before. After he finds a rag to wipe down the hallway. His body however, says that maybe he should sink down in the bathroom instead before he goes anywhere.]

[ thank god Makoto is vastly stronger than she looks, because she's not about to let him curl on the floor. He'd only get colder. ]

Hang in there-- let's get you back to bed and I'll see if I can find some extra blankets.

[ and a rag, because for once, she is going to argue him to death if he tries to clean anything right now. He's going to get better. He is. ]

[Arguing him to death might not be far off given how he feels right now. He releases his grip on the sink, to let her support him completely as he tries to stand.]

Makocchi, clean first...

[Well, let's see how dying works out.]

Leave the cleaning to me!

[ and that cheeriness is punctuated by steel. He feels lighter than usual, but if he can't keep much down, that's hardly any surprise. Now to walk him back.

Slowly. ]

I'm pretty sure I know where the rags are, and it shouldn't take me long, so don't worry about it, okay?

[If he wasn't already looking exceptionally sad, the look he gives her now should drive it home.]

But it's... [Ugh coughing, please go away.] ... gross.

[Yes that is his main worry here.]

[ if she wasn't in the process of relocating him to a comfier spot, Makoto would have hugged him fiercely.

... But that would probably hurt him, anyway. She has to settle for giving him her strongest smile as she holds him up. ]

There's nothing gross about helping you. You just need to let me.

[And if he wasn't currently inching closer to collapsing on the spot, he'd tell her that no, actually it's very gross. Even he doesn't want to touch it, so she shouldn't either.

But this also means he has to face the facts: he probably can't clean anything up in the state he's in now even if he can find a rag.

The only thing he can do now is obvious.]

... Sorry.

[For making her do this. For throwing up the soup she made.]

[ "For what?" she wants to ask, but doesn't. He doesn't need to scrape his throat for words any more than he already has. And she didn't need his explanation; she didn't blame him for anything. He'd only gotten sick after taking care of her. He'd only thrown up after eating her soup. He was sicker than a dog and she still didn't know what she was doing.

But she wasn't about to give up, either. And she finally manages to get him back in his room and over to his bed. Only then does she answer him; she'd shaken her head earlier. ]

I'm sorry. I should have realized sooner... but I'm really going to try to make it up to you! I promise.

[He's all about planting himself on his bed, too grateful to answer her properly. As far as he's concerned, if she wanted to make up for anything then she's already done it by dumping him back in bed.

But, it's still cold. His head feels hot but he's shivering--]

Your soup-- [That doesn't get much projection when he's talking into his pillow so he tries to be louder.]

I'm sorry about the soup...

[ she tugs the blanket higher over him, then reaches out to touch his head, lightly. ]

It's okay. You really didn't have to force yourself.

[ and with a quick smile, she's reaching for the tray, leaving the water and making her way to the kitchen. She'll try and pick up a rag on the way back to tackle the hallway. ]

[Which means that he'll probably be talking to himself by the time he manages to answer.]

But you made it--

[Oh god his throat. But yeah, award for dumbest decision made while sick goes to Kise. No, it doesn't help that he kind of wants to cry.]

[ hopefully he'll have improved by the slightest incremental amount by the time she's done. Cleaning up bile has never been fun, and her own stomach recoils a bit at the smell, but if she holds her breath and scrubs, it's not that hard to manage. He didn't have a whole lot in his stomach, anyway.

When she returns, it's with another blanket she's borrowed from a closet and a compress to put on his forehead. ]

Hey... [ she starts off, softly, because if he's sleeping, she really doesn't want to disturb him. ]

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