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Dream wakes up with a sore throat and a headache.
Some part of him- the rational part of him- knows already what’s happening and curls up with dread as he stumbles to the bathroom and splashes water on his face. He looks at himself in the mirror, taking in his haggard appearance- the bags beneath his eyes, his disheveled hair, his pale skin. In all honestly, he looks less like a human and more like a sleep-deprived ghost. He feels like a sleep-deprived ghost, and he wants nothing more than to go back to bed. Maybe if he does that, he’ll wake up again refreshed, and his headache and sore throat will be gone.
But he has work. So he sighs and reaches for his toothbrush.
After he’s dressed and gotten ready, he heads to the kitchen and makes himself a cup of tea. Part of him is hopeful- maybe his throat just hurts because it’s dry, and after he drinks the tea, it’ll go away. Maybe.
He takes a big gulp and pauses, waiting. The ache doesn’t go away.
The dread in his gut curls tighter, like his insides are twisting into a ball. He doesn’t want to think about what it means if his throat is sore. He doesn’t want to think about the possibilities, because he can’t afford those possibilities- can’t afford to take any days off, not when he’s already struggling with bills and mortgage payment.
Dream downs the rest of his tea and stands, trying to ignore the throbbing in his head. Everything will be fine. He’ll take some Advil and put some cough drops into his bag before going to work. Maybe by this afternoon, his throat will get better, and he won’t have anything to worry about. After all, there’s always a chance that this is just a sore throat- nothing more.
It’s freezing when he steps out the door of his tiny apartment. The wind whips through his hair, biting at his exposed skin, and he shivers, pulling his coat closer to himself. It’s technically Techno’s coat, but the pinkette had never asked for it back, so Dream supposes that it’s his now. Thick and fluffy as it is, though, sometimes it doesn’t feel nearly enough to keep the chill at bay.
He walks, keeping Techno’s coat wrapped tightly around himself, until he reaches the cafe at where he works, located right at the corner of a busy street. Niki’s is scrawled on the front window in neat white cursive, right above a display of little cakes. Flower boxes line the windows, bursting with pansies and geraniums; spruce tables and dangling lights are visible through the tinted glass. It’s a quaint but wildly popular place, run by a kind woman named Niki and her wife. Dream had met all the most important people in his life through working there, and even though it’s stressful sometimes, he wouldn’t trade his job at the cafe for anything.
He slips in through the back entrance, set aside specifically for employees, and makes his way into the kitchens where fresh pastries are made. The Advil has begun to set in by now, but even still, the bright lights and smells and sounds make his head throb. He swallows back a wave of nausea and goes to grab his apron.
“Hurry up, mate,” Phil calls, bustling past with a tray of croissants. “It’s a busy morning today.”
“Sorry,” Dream murmurs, his voice raspy. He fumbles with the strings of his apron, tying it behind his back as fast as he can. “Am I at the counter today?”
“With Illumina, yeah. He’s out there already.”
Dream hurries out of the kitchen and to the area behind the counter, trying to ignore the dull pounding in his head. Illumina is at the cash register, taking an order from a young couple. The brunette glances up, and his eyebrows furrow beneath his messy bangs.
“You look awful,” Illumina whispers once the couple has left to wait for their food.
“Gee, thanks,” Dream mutters, wincing as his throat screams in protest. “What did they order?”
“A vanilla latte, a mocha with extra cream, and two croissants. Did you sleep last night?”
He hadn’t- not nearly enough, at least. He’d stayed up until two in the morning working on a coding project for a little extra money, and then it had taken him until three to fall asleep. If he’d woken up at six thirty, that had been just three and a half hours of sleep. But no way is he going to say that to Illumina- if he did, his queerplatonic partner would spend the rest of the day fussing over him.
“I’m fine,” he says, which isn’t really an answer. Illumina’s eyebrows crunch together even further, his frown practically visible through the black mask, but he drops the subject and starts making the latte.
Dream takes care of the mocha and the two croissants. He rings the two customers up and gives them their food, a smile plastered on his face. “Enjoy!” His voice is far too hoarse and teetering on the edge of giving out, but the customers don’t seem to mind.
The rest of the morning seems to pass in a hazy blur after that. His head feels like it’s stuffed with cotton, and the dull throbbing has gotten slowly worse and worse, but somehow his body keeps going through the proper motions- taking orders, making drinks, punching numbers into the cash register. When he encounters a particularly peppy customer, the words for polite conversation seem to leave his mouth automatically.
He doesn’t even realize that it’s lunchtime until a hand comes to rest on his. Dream jolts, blinking, and all of a sudden the pain in his throat comes rushing back. It burns like a fire, scorching the back of his throat. When he swallows, the feeling seems to increase tenfold.
“Drizzle?” Illumina is looking at him, concern obvious. “You good?”
“I’m fine,” Dream tries to say, only it comes out as a raspy wheeze. He tries again. This time, he only manages the “I’m” before the flames rise and he has to stop. His voice sounds foreign to his own ears- frail and whispery, like an old man on his last legs.
Panic suddenly clutches at his chest, gripping his heart in an iron fist. He can’t have lost his voice- he can’t . How will he do his job if he can’t speak to the customers? He’s supposed to go back to the counter for another shift in the late afternoon, and oh, god-
“Drizzle? Drizzle! Oh, no,” Illumina mutters. He grabs Dream by the hand and starts pulling him towards the kitchens, calling, “Tina! Take care of the counter!”
Dream hears Tina reply- at least, he thinks he does. His head has gone all fuzzy again, like his thoughts are swimming through a sea of sticky cotton candy. There’s something pounding against his temple, and bile rises to the back of his throat. He forces it down, tries to breathe through the throbbing headache and the panic.
Someone gently pushes on his shoulders, and he automatically sits down. A hand brushes against his cheek. He grabs blindly at it, leaning into the touch as every breath starts to feel like it’s being punched out of him. His thoughts are a jumbled mess of no, no, this can’t be happening, I can’t have lost my voice , and he feels like he’s drowning- drowning in a sea of fuzz as the panic grips at his ankles, trying to drag him down.
His head spins. He wants to throw up, wants to pass out and never wake up again. What is he going to do if his voice is gone? He won’t be able to work, but he needs it, needs the money. But how is he going to do anything without his voice? What if Niki fires him- oh, god, what if he loses his job because of this?
“Hey, hey, it’s okay,” a familiar voice whispers, breaking through the fog like a great ship. He clings onto it like a lifeline thrown at him, trying to place it in his hazy mind. “Can you hear me? I need you to breathe with me, okay? In, out. In, out.”
Dream squeezes his eyes shut and does his best to breathe along with the instructions- in and out, in and out. His hands tremble as he tries to focus on the person’s voice, still talking softly to him. In, out. In, out .
The panic starts to twist together into a tangible monster, looming in his head. He grabs it by the throat and, with each breath in and out, slowly squeezes until it retreats back into the depths of his mind.
Dream sucks in one last painful breath, feeling it finally fill his lungs properly. His head pounds, like someone is hammering against the inside of his skull, and he pitches forward with a whimper, resting his forehead against the chest of whoever is in front of him.
“Drizzle?” How had he not realized that it was Illumina? His partner sounds frantic, hands ghosting up his arms as if afraid to touch him- like he’ll shatter with one touch. And if he’s honest, he feels like he might do exactly that. Everything is fuzzy still, and the world feels like it’s lilting, swaying back and forth like a boat on stormy waters.
“Drizzle, please, talk to me,” Illumina begs, and panic catches in Dream’s throat again. I can’t , he wants to scream. I can’t talk to you . He wants to claw his own throat out. He wants to curl up and cry.
He does none of that. Instead, he lifts a weak hand and signs, I’m okay . They’d all learned sign language for Callahan, their mute coworker, and Dream knows his signing is probably near incomprehensible right now, but hopefully Illumina will understand.
The brunette makes a frustrated noise that Dream would laugh at if he weren’t feeling so ready to just die. “You are very clearly not okay, Dream. You just had a panic attack, and I don’t know how to help unless you talk to me.”
His throat burns as he swallows and signs, Can’t. My throat .
“Your throat? Are you sick? Why did you come to work today?”
He wants to scream. You think I can afford to take any days off ? He’d used up all his paid time off a few months ago, when he’d come down with a stomach bug so severe that he just couldn’t go to work. Niki and Puffy are kind and lenient bosses, but not that lenient. They aren’t going to give him paid sick leave for free, and he needs to work every day that he can if he doesn’t want to get evicted from his apartment.
Somedays, sitting at the small kitchen table with all his monthly payments and bills spread out in front of him, he feels jealous. Jealous of Phil, who is married and has his wife’s job as well as his own to support himself. Jealous of Techno, who’d made a lot from selling his first novel and is working on a second. Jealous of Illumina, who has a much better support system- parents and an older brother.
Much better . As if Dream even has a support system in the first place. His parents had divorced when he was ten, and his mom had immediately abandoned him while his dad had become an alcoholic. Dream had escaped as soon as he turned eighteen, and then he was all alone. Sometimes it still feels like he’s alone, even with his coworkers to support him- emotionally, if not financially.
He squeezes his eyes even more tightly shut, sucks in deep breaths to fight against the nausea before he throws up. Illumina’s hands rub up and down his arms, and Dream can practically feel the worry emanating from the brunette.
“Maybe I should take you home-” Illumina starts, but Dream shakes his head fiercely. He sticks his hand up again and signs, No. Staying here.
“Drizzle-”
“What’s goin’ on?” a deep, baritone voice rings out. “Isn’t it you two’s lunch break? Why are you over here cuddlin’?”
Illumina pulls away, and Dream leans back against the chair, letting his head loll to the side. He tries to breathe through the dull throb of his headache and the fire in his throat- in, out. In, out . Some part of him registers that he should probably go eat lunch before he has to get working again, but he doesn’t want to get up. If he does, he thinks he might collapse.
He can hear Illumina talking to Techno in low tones, words fading in and out of the fog. Dream pulls his knees up and tucks his face into them, wincing as he swallows and the saliva burns his throat. Gods, he doesn’t think he’s ever felt so close to death, and it’s just a sore throat.
A large, warm hand lands on his shoulders. “Hey, nerd,” Techno murmurs. “Ya got cough drops anywhere?”
“Check his bag,” Illumina says quietly. “I have Advil in mine as well.”
“If he took one this mornin’, he’s not goin’ to be able to take another until the afternoon. Just get the cough drops.”
Dream hears Illumina leave, footsteps clicking away. Techno’s hand remains on his shoulder, grounding, and he clings to the feeling of warmth soaking through his shirt. In, out . Everything is fuzzy still. Why can’t he just curl up and go to sleep for a few days?
“So, you’re sick? That’s kinda cringe of you,” Techno jokes, obviously trying to lighten the mood. “Imagine gettin’ sick, couldn’t be me.”
Dream flips him the middle finger, and Techno snorts. “Eloquent.”
Not like I can talk , he signs.
“Yeah, about that- oh, look who’s back with your cough drops.”
“Drizzle,” Illumina calls softly, and Dream forces his head to lift. He squints against the light that floods his eyes- has that overhead lamp always been so bright?- and snatches up the cough drop that Illumina offers him. He pops it into his mouth, then buries his face back into Illumina’s shoulder before the too-bright light can make his head hurt any more.
Techno’s hand rubs up and down his shoulder. “Okay, nerd, now I’m gettin’ worried. Ya sure you don’t want to go home? I can take you.”
Dream lifts his head just enough to glare at Techno. I will bite you .
“No offense, but you look like you’d fall over if I so much as touched you.”
“You really should let us take you home,” Illumina tells him softly. “I’m worried, Drizzle. If your throat hurts to the point where you can’t even talk, then how are you going to work? Not to mention your headache- I’m assuming it’s a headache.”
A strangled gasp claws its way out of his mouth. How are you going to work ? How is he going to work? He can’t- not with this pounding headache and the pain in his throat. He can’t work, which means he’s not going to be able to get his full hours worked for today, and sh*t, what if he doesn’t get his paycheck in time?
He knows, in the back of his mind, that he’s overreacting- that the rest of the day off probably isn’t going to hurt. But all he can think about is his tiny apartment, all the payments due. Patches has a vet appointment coming up, and Sapnap’s birthday is in a week, and he needs the money-
“I can’t, I can’t, I can’t.” He’s saying it aloud, he realizes, except it’s coming out more as a raspy wheeze than actual coherent words. He pitches forward, his hands clinging to Illumina’s black hoodie, and sobs. The panic monster is back, rearing its ugly head. He tries to push it down again, but it slips easily through his fingers, slippery as a shadow.
“Hey, hey.” Techno’s deep voice cuts through the haze like a burning sword, lighting up the darkness. “I need ya to breathe with me, nerd. In, out. In, out.”
Dream closes his eyes again and tries to breathe- in, out. In, out . This time, the monster recedes more easily. He breathes in time with Techno’s words and slowly wraps his hands around his own thoughts once more.
God, how pathetic is he? Having two panic attacks in front of his partners, clinging to them like a little kid when all he has is a sore throat and a headache. Why is he overreacting so much? Why can’t he just calm down ? Why can’t he be strong and just ignore the pain in his throat, the nausea bubbling in his chest still, the dull throb behind his temple? Why is he so pathetic?
“I’m sorry,” he whimpers, forcing the words out even as his throat screams in protest. The cough drop is helping a little, but speaking still hurts as much as if he’d plunged a knife into his neck. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry-”
“Shh, don’t apologize.” Illumina hugs him tighly, and he melts into it like a pathetic little kid, trying to bury himself in the comforting warmth. “It’s not your fault.”
“Don’t try speakin’ if it hurts your throat,” Techno adds, hand still gently rubbing his shoulder. “We don’t mind signin’.”
“We need to figure this out,” Illumina murmurs. “You’re absolutely sure you don’t want to go home?”
Dream shakes his head. He wants to go home, wants to just collapse in his bed and sleep forever, but he can’t go home. He needs to work for the whole nine hours of his shift. He can’t afford to take any time off, not if he wants to be able to afford the bills for Patches’s upcoming appointment and everything else and still have enough spare cash to buy Sapnap a proper birthday present.
Illumina blows out a frustrated breath but lets it go. “Okay. Then I’ll ask Niki to have someone else up front with me, and you can just help Techno and the others back here, baking more stuff.”
“We can send Tommy,” Techno mutters. “Kid’s got enough energy for all three of us.”
Dream giggles tiredly, more of a raspy puff of air than anything. He sucks on the cough drop, wanting nothing more than to just lie down and rest. Instead, he allows Illumina to help him stand on wobbly legs.
“Come on, let’s go eat,” his partner tells him, pressing a brief kiss to his temple. “Techno, can you talk to Niki?”
“Yeah. Go make sure this idiot eats.” Techno squeezes Dream’s shoulder one last time before striding away, his braid swishing gently behind him. Dream watches him go and pulls Techno’s fluffy coat tighter around his body.
Illumina leads him into the small but cozy breakroom, set aside for lunch. Sylvee is there, eating; she scoots aside to make room for Dream and Illumina without question.
Dream manages to finish all of his food, though his stomach feels queasy when he stands up again. Nausea plagues him for the rest of the day, making him feel perpetually on the edge of hurling, but he pushes through it. He ignores the pounding of his head and the burn in his throat and focuses on the tasks at hand.
The afternoon goes by in hazy blur, and only the buzzing of his phone in his pocket makes him realize that his shift is over. He pulls it out and blinks at the screen. 4 PM already. How had time gone by that fast?
“I’m drivin’ you home,” Techno tells him as he stumbles out of the kitchens. He doesn’t protest- just follows his queerplatonic partner out of the cafe and to the parking lot. He clambers into the car, rests his head against the seat and closes his eyes, trying to breathe through everything. God, he can’t wait to get home and just fall asleep- and maybe when he wakes up in the morning, everything will have gone away, and he can go about his routine like normal.
(If only that would actually happen. He knows, deep within himself, that he’s definitely not going to wake up tomorrow feeling normal. But that’s a problem for future him.)
Techno drops him off with a stern “Get rest”. He stumbles up to his apartment, half-falling through the door and barely remembering to lock it behind him. Patches winds through his legs, meowing in greeting; he crouches down to stroke her fur as it hits him again- her appointment. He should have enough to afford the bills, but worry gnaws at his insides all the same.
Normally he would shower after getting home, but today he’s far too exhausted, so he simply changes into a comfortable outfit and falls onto his bed. For a moment, he debates getting up again and making himself some tea for his throat, but he doesn’t think he could make it out of bed right now if he tried.
He falls asleep with his head still throbbing dully, Patches pressed up against him as if trying to offer him what little comfort she can.
---
His alarm wakes him up the next morning. He opens his eyes and squints through the darkness, seeing but not really registering the room around him. Everything is fuzzy in a way that makes him want to just curl up and go back to sleep. He’s always in a bit of a fog after waking up, but this- this is different. It’s much worse.
Dream tries to lift his head, but his bones feel like lead. Every part of him is weighed down with pure, unbridled exhaustion- not the kind of exhaustion he gets after a long day of work, but the exhaustion that always comes with a fever, the exhaustion that makes him feel like he will physically die if he tries to get up at all.
God dammit. So he is sick again.
Panic sinks its claws into his chest. No way is he going to be able to work like this, but didn’t he promise himself that he wouldn’t take any more days off after he’d used up all his paid time off? Maybe he can just- take some medication and go anyways.
Then he thinks of how horrible yesterday was, even with just a sore throat and headache. He thinks about what Niki and Puffy would say if he showed up sick ( “Dream, go home now and rest. That’s an order.”) . He imagines Techno grabbing him by the collar and dragging him outside to take him back to his apartment.
With a groan, he forces himself to roll over and reaches sluggishly for his phone. He opens his texts with Niki and types out a quick message, saying that he won’t be coming in today and that he’s so, so sorry. Then he throws his phone onto the pillow next to him and closes his eyes again.
His head pounds (why the f*ck does he still have this headache?), and his throat still burns, though not as badly as yesterday. His limbs ache as if he’d run a marathon yesterday. He presses his face into the pillow and grits his teeth, wanting to scream in frustration. Why did he have to get sick? Now he won’t be able to finish his coding project until a couple more days, and f*ck, he needs to get better in time to take Patches to her appointment- not to mention that he refuses to miss more than one day of work.
He feels pathetic. Maybe he really should just force some medicine down and power through it. But he’s just so tired , and he doubts he’ll be able to do anything at all right now except lay here and suffer.
Sleep tugs at him again, beckoning. He grabs on and lets it drag him under, falling into a fitful rest.
---
When Dream wakes up again, he’s shivering, his whole body racked with chills and an ache that settles deep in his bones. His head feels stuffed with cotton again; he realizes, dimly, that his nose is stuffed. Just great.
He feels on the brink of death, like at any moment now he could just tip over and fall down to hell. Everything hurts- why does it hurt so much? He swears it wasn’t this bad last time he was sick. Or maybe he’s just gotten weaker. He wouldn’t be surprised, with how little he’s been sleeping these days.
As he reaches weakly for the blankets to pull them more tightly over himself, he realizes, with a jolt, that there’s something warm and heavy draped over his waist. He blinks down at it through half-opened eyes and realizes that it’s an arm . There’s someone in his bed with him, their chest pressed against his back, their arm resting on his waist as they scroll on their phone.
For a moment, he panics. Then he realizes that the phone case is awfully familiar, and the panic recedes, curling back up in the depths of his mind. Oh. It’s just Illumina. Which still raises the question of why, exactly, his queerplatonic partner is in bed with him, but at least it’s not a stranger.
“Lumi?” Dream whispers, only it comes out as a hiss. He coughs, wincing as his throat burns with pain, and tries again. “Lumi?” His voice sounds awful- quiet, raspy, and fragile, but at least this time the words actually come out.
“Hey, Drizzle,” Illumina hums, pausing on a Reddit post about cats and turning his phone off. Dream feels a pair of lips press a kiss to the top of his head. “How do you feel?”
“Horrible.” He presses his face into the pillow, wanting to both turn around and stay here forever at the same time. He doubts he’d have the energy to flip over anyways. God, he’s so f*cking exhausted, and he’d been sleeping pretty much since getting home yesterday. Why does being sick suck so bad?
The ache in his body seems heavier now, like a one-ton weight pressing him into the mattress. He squeezes his eyes shut again, hating the way his saliva burns his throat and his head has begun to hurt again and his nose is as clogged as New York City traffic. What he wouldn’t give to just sink into the ground and not reemerge for another hundred years.
“Why are you here?” he demands as Illumina’s hand begins to stroke his hair. It’s not that he isn’t grateful for the brunette’s presence, but at the same time, he doesn’t really feel like interacting with people right now. He doesn’t feel like doing anything except passing out for another twelve hours.
“Niki told us that you texted her, saying you were going to take the day off,” Illumina replies. “I knew how much you despise taking time off, so I thought something must be really wrong if you’re calling out for a whole day. Pretty much everyone at work agreed, so I called out as well to come take care of you. Techno’s here too; he had the day off so he came with me. He made you some tea.”
Dream notices the steaming mug on his bedside table. It smells heavenly, even through his blocked nose, but he can’t muster the energy to reach for it. Instead, he forces himself to roll over so he can face Illumina and starts to fiddle with the brunette’s hoodie drawstrings. “You didn’t have to come,” he mumbles. “I’m fine.”
Illumina gives him an exasperated look. “You are not fine. Your temperature was 101 degrees last I checked. No way was I or Techno gonna leave you alone like that.”
“You still shouldn’t’ve taken time off for me. It’s just a fever.” A fever that is making him feel like he’s halfway to death already, but he doesn’t say that part.
“What do you mean? Drizzle, you’re my queerplatonic partner. Taking care of you is far more important than not missing one day of work.”
For some stupid reason, Dream feels his eyes starting to water a little. He clears his throat- a poor idea, because it just makes the pain worse, but he ignores it- and blinks, trying to push the tears back. Why the f*ck is he crying? Over a few kind words?
(Kind words that spark something warm in his chest. Kind words that make him feel loved, far more loved than a pathetic mess like him deserves. Kind words that make him feel not alone.)
The tears push against his eyelids, and this time he lets them spill over. “Thank you,” he rasps.
Illumina hums, one hand still combing lazily through his hair. He relaxes into the touch, trying to snuggle closer and absorb more of Illumina’s body heat. F*ck, why is it so cold? He tries to wiggle deeper under the blankets, but it barely helps.
“When Techno comes back I’ll tell him to turn up the heat,” Illumina says, adjusting the blankets.
“Where is he?”
“Uh, picking up soup from Phil for lunch.”
Dream frowns sleepily. “Phil made soup?”
“Yeah. He has the morning off today, I think, so we called and asked him to make soup for you.” Illumina shifts a little, his other hand starting to rub small circles into Dream’s hip. “Hannah dropped off some flowers from her shop earlier as well, and Bad came by with muffins.”
“Really?” Dream complains, coughing. “Why does everyone know I’m sick?”
Illumina laughs. “Well, I think Niki probably told people at work, and those people told people.”
“That’s rude,” Dream mutters, burying his face into Illumina’s shoulder. “They should just let me suffer in peace.”
“Sorry, nerd, but no one’s goin’ to let you suffer in peace,” Techno says as he strides into the room. “It took me, Phil, and Wilbur to convince Tommy not to break into your apartment and yell at you to get better.”
Dream giggles. It rasps in his lungs and makes his throat hurt even more, but he doesn’t care- it just feels good to laugh again. “Aww. Tell him I miss him too.”
There’s the sound of Techno typing, and after a moment, the pinkette announces, “He says, ‘Get better soon or I’m goin’ to kick your ass’.”
“Ew, never do a British accent again,” Illumina says. “That is terrifying.”
“Okay, Canadian,” Techno replies wryly.
Flipping over again, Dream makes a weak beckoning gesture at Techno. “Come here, bacon.”
Techno huffs. “I do not cuddle.”
“See, Drizzle, this is why you need me here,” Illumina says. “I’m the cuddler. Techno’s just here to do all the errands.”
“I’m not your errand boy,” Techno snaps. “Now scoot over.”
Dream wiggles back, making space for Techno to get in the bed as well. The mattress is barely big enough for all three of them, but Dream doesn’t care. He throws an arm over Techno and closes his eyes, soaking in the newfound warmth. For the first time since waking up, he’s not cold anymore.
“You don’t wanna drink your tea?” Techno asks. “It’s honey ginger- for your throat.”
He shakes his head, tucking his face into the crook of Techno’s neck. The pinkette’s hand settles on his hip, warm; Illumina’s fingers are still combing through his hair, and he sighs, feeling warm and comfortable and much less close to death than he had before. If it weren’t for the fact that his throat still hurts and his body still aches and his nose is still stuffy, he might even be enjoying himself.
“Just go to sleep, then,” Illumina murmurs. “We’ll wake you up in a few hours to eat.”
“Alright,” Dream whispers, and he closes his eyes, allowing sleep to tug at him once more.
He dozes for a while, waking up again to Techno gently shaking his shoulder. “Hey, nerd. Time to eat.”
Dream blinks, awareness slowly returning to him. He feels… not better, exactly, but maybe not as bad as before. His headache is gone, at least, though his throat still aches painfully.
Techno helps him sit up, and when Illumina arrives with the soup, he manages to eat half of a bowl before his stomach starts to roil. He sets it aside and curls up next to Techno, clutching a fresh cup of tea in his hands and listening as the pinkette rambles on and on about some random Greek myth. Illumina’s fingers are combing through his hair again, and it’s just… comfortable. He’s sick still and it’s awful, but he definitely doesn’t mind this. It’s far better than being sick alone.
The afternoon passes in a haze, but not the bad kind- the kind that makes him feel a bit like he’s floating on clouds. He stays curled up under the blankets, drifting in and out of awareness as Techno reads from a book in his soothing monotone. It feels safe and warm, and he thinks, dazedly, that he would quite like to stay here forever, even if he does still feel like a zombie.
When he falls asleep again, it’s to a warm hand in his hair and Techno’s deep voice sending him off- a ship that carries him away from the shores of wakefullness and into the realm of sleep.
Perhaps taking the day off wasn’t such a bad idea after all.