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Four sits at his desk, happily clicking away at the finishing touches of his next video. It’s been a relatively easy one to make, weirdly enough, but that was to be expected when he didn’t have Mario causing havoc throughout the whole process. Not that he minded, but it did feel good to have something go to plan for once. He could get used to this.
On his desk, his phone sits, opened to a singular conversation.
> are u ok?
Four watches the screen in his peripheral vision, waiting for a change in the lighting. He waits and waits and waits, and by the time he’s done stringing together his video, he notices nothing has changed. He’s not disappointed; for lack of a better word, he feels confused. Confused as to why he hasn’t heard anything from him. (And, although he won’t admit it, he feels a bit hurt at the revelation.)
It’s been a few days since Four last heard from Mario. Which wasn’t anything out of the ordinary; Mario’s been known to dip out for a while during the week, usually to go do who knows what. But this time, Four’s been getting this creeping feeling up his gut that something was just wrong. Mario always texted him back, even if things were tense between them. To go three days without a response was just downright eerie.
> please answer me
He wonders if he should go check on him.
Four eventually shrugs it off and heads to the kitchen, opting to give it a little more time. Maybe Mario’s just busy, he says to himself. He reaches the kitchen and opens the doors, beelining towards the fridge. Well, good for him. I’m busy too.
The untouched pot of spaghetti neatly tucked into the corner does not go unnoticed.
“Okay, dude,” A voice calls out from behind him, nearly startling Four out of his chair. “What’s wrong?”
“I don’t know what you mean,” Four spins around and finds himself face-to-chest with Three.
Three is peering down at him with an unreadable expression. If Four had to guess, he’d say he’s close to looking quite smug.
“You’ve been moping around all day.” Three leans down, looking him in the eyes. “Everyone has noticed.”
“Me? Moping?” Four acts shocked. “I would never.”
Three glares at him. The two lock eyes into one swift staring contest, Four eventually giving in when he could tell Three wasn’t going to budge. He sighs and looks down at the floor.
“...Sorry,” he blurts out, feeling the weight on his shoulders drop. “I’m just worried about Mario.”
“I know.” Three nods, seemingly happy with his response, like it was exactly what he expected. Sometimes he forgets Three can read people just like a book. “Why don’t you go check on him?”
“First off, I don’t even know where he is,” Four immediately gets defensive and watches Three’s glare sprawl right back onto his face. “Second, Mario’s a grown man, he doesn’t need someone to check on him.”
“But you obviously want to,” Three rolls his eyes. “You guys are best friends, what’s the problem with making sure he’s okay?”
Four knows Three is right, deep down, but he still feels the need to get stubborn about it. Best friends, Four thinks, yeah right. They’ve been anything but close over the last year. Four feels closer to Three right now than he does to his friend of over a decade.
…And whose fault is that?
“Hey,” Three snaps his fingers right in front of Four’s nose. “Stop that.”
Four groans, moving Three’s hand out of his line of sight. “I wasn’t even doing anything.”
“You were thinking. You shouldn’t be thinking.”
Four’s not sure whether to take that as an insult or a compliment, but he shrugs it off otherwise. The two of them sit in slightly uncomfortable silence for a few moments, before Four stands from his chair and sighs. He looks Three in the eyes and watches as the other blinks at him.
“Fine,” Four admits defeat. “I’ll go check on him.”
Three smiles at him.
Four always felt comfortable at the brother’s residence. It was a nice and cozy little cottage, just enough room to fit the two of them (but, never really enough space for Four.) He approaches their door and knocks not once, twice, but three separate times, and has yet to receive a response. He waits for a few moments, thinking maybe one of the brothers was in the middle of something, before he figures he should try ringing the bell. Nobody comes to that, either. Four starts getting a little impatient and tries to open the door anyways, but finds that, as expected, it’s locked.
Well, Four sighs, it’s a good thing I brought this.
He pulls a little yellow key out of his pocket and jabs it into the keyhole. Mario had given it to him about a year prior, when he had to stay for a little while. Four never really thought to return it.
Four eventually gets the door open and heads inside the cottage, finding the place strangely empty. It was later in the day, so he was expecting at least Luigi to be home, as he usually wasn’t running his flower shop for too long. Luigi is absent, and Four is starting to suspect Mario is too. He starts to feel a little worried.
Maybe they went on a vacation? Four thinks to himself. …without telling anybody, yeah right. Mario would be too ecstatic.
He hears the floor creak a little too loudly under his footsteps as he walks around the kitchen. Everything is neat and tidy; no dishes out, no food out, the countertops were practically spotless - it was like nobody had been in here all day. Usually he’d expect to see at least a dish or two out, knowing Mario’s knack towards eating.
Four starts thinking about turning around, right before he rounds the corner to their bedroom and spots…well, something. It was kind of hard to explain exactly what was there. Whatever it was, it was swaddled in old comforters and layered on top of a few pillows. Four already knows what he’s looking at before his brain catches up to him.
“Mario,” He calls out, staring at the top bunk. “What are you doing up there?”
For the first few seconds, Four gets no response. He almost suspects Mario is asleep, right before he hears a small groan come from beneath the covers. Indisputably, it was Mario, draped entirely in blankets, back facing Four.
“...Mario,” Four feels himself fall into the same picky routine. “Come on.”
Four flinches after the comment comes out of his mouth. He didn’t mean to sound annoyed. He really isn’t, he’s just…worried?
Four hears Mario muffle something out that he can’t quite understand. Four sighs and walks over to the bunk, figuring the only way to get answers was approaching Mario. As he puts a hand on the ladder, he watches Mario turn a little under the blankets and speak a little louder.
“‘o awa’,” Is the only thing Four hears come out of his mouth. Mario’s voice was incredibly scratchy and hard to make out. It takes him a hot second before he realizes Mario is trying to fend him off.
“No.” Four replies a bit late. He climbs up the bunk and feels Mario’s hand tap his knee as he settles into the corner of the bed. Four gently pushes his hand back and reaches for the top of the blankets. As he peels the comforters away bit-by-bit, he sees Mario’s face peek out and oh boy, it’s flushed solid red.
Four doesn’t even have to put his hand on Mario’s forehead to know he was feverish. He does it anyways, and sure enough, it’s hot enough to warm his hand through his glove. Four pulls his hand back and stares down at Mario, the plumber not bothering to move an inch of his body this time.
“Yeesh, Mario,” Four comments, cringing at him. A few moments of silence pass before Four settles his hand on Mario’s leg. “...is this where you’ve been?”
Four watches Mario for a few seconds before Mario slowly nods at him. He notices his friend was still draped in his overalls, wearing a turtleneck underneath in spite of his usual shirt. Four would think he was weird for wearing such warm clothing in the summer, but knowing he was feverish, the choice of warm attire does not surprise him in the slightest.
He stares at Mario’s face for a moment, and although Mario’s not displaying any signs of life right now, Four knows he’s listening. “...Why didn’t you tell me you were sick?”
Four is a little perturbed. Of course, Mario was a grown adult, he technically didn’t have to tell him anything. But, Four would think, after everything they’ve been through, Mario would still consider asking him for help. After all, in the past, before that happened, Four was always at his side when he was sick. It was something precious for Four, being trusted to take care of Mario when he was feeling down. It felt like something personal between the two of them.
It hurts Four to know he lost some of Mario’s trust.
It seems that Mario doesn’t really know the answer to that question either. Four watches as he hesitates to give an answer, and although he could blame it on the fever, Four knows better.
“...didn’ think you’d come,” Mario slurs out, seemingly sinking deeper into the bedsheets. He pulls a little bit of the blanket Four pulled down back over his shoulders.
Of course I’d come, Four wants to say. You’re my best friend.
…Were. You were my best friend.
Four chooses not to say anything. Mario doesn’t either.
After what seemed like an eternity, Four decides to climb back down the bunk and fetch Mario a glass of water. As he moves to descale the bed, Mario reaches a hand out and gently grabs his right arm, to which Four responds with a quick I’ll be back. Mario retracts his grip when he seems thoroughly confident Four wasn’t going to leave.
Four heads to the kitchen and grabs a glass from the cabinet. He walks over to the fridge and quietly opens it, grabbing the pitcher of water and noting the lack of practically any food on the shelves. He wonders if Mario’s been eating anything. He wonders if he should be worried, knowing it’s been a few days. Mario never really wanted to eat much when he was sick.
When Four returns with the water, Mario has sat up and shoveled himself against the wall behind the bed. He’s still wrapped in blankets, but he seems a little bit more awake now. He’s staring down at Four, eyes tracking his every move.
Four gently ascends the bed, careful not to tip the cup over. He settles down next to Mario, a little squished as the bed was too small for the two of them, but Four still finds some room. He lifts the glass towards Mario and beckons him to take it.
A few seconds pass and Mario makes no move to take the water. He just blinks at Four and stares at him blankly, a little crease outlined in his brows. Mario’s hair is sprawled out everywhere, just slightly covering the corners of his eyes, sticking to his forehead. He looks very disheveled, to say the least.
Four starts to feel like he knows what Mario’s playing at. “...Mario,” Four looks at him. “Take the water. Please.”
Mario does not take the water.
In the end, Four sighs and gives up. He lifts the cup towards Mario’s face, gently pressing it against his lips, to which Mario opens his mouth and shakily drinks from it. There wasn’t a whole lot of water in the glass. Four figured Mario wouldn’t hold down a lot of water, but he does manage to drink the entire cup. Well, almost the entire cup. Mario twitches for a split second and manages to spill a little bit of water down his shirt.
Mario calls him an ass and Four giggles at him. Tells him, you can drink water yourself, Mario, but there is no bite behind his words. Four moves the cup away when Mario is done, discarding it onto the bed frame. He hears Mario adjust his throat next to him and Four turns to face him.
Mario is looking at him with a warm expression. There’s a small smile on his face. Behind all that, though, Four notices the telltale signs of pain flicker through his eyes. But it’s nice. It’s really nice. Four doesn’t think Mario has looked at him like that in a while. He wonders what he’s thinking.
Four decides to ask him about Luigi, to which Mario replies with a very mumbled equivalent of he’s busy. Figuring that was all he was going to get out of him, Four goes on to ask him, have you eaten?
Mario doesn’t immediately respond, which gives Four all he needs to know. He sighs and looks concerningly at Mario, hoping to help convey the importance of it.
“Mario,” Mario looks away from Four. “You need to eat.”
“I did,” Mario grumbles.
“When?”
“...yesterday.”
Four gives him the look and goes to hop off the bed to fetch whatever he could find, but Mario stops him once again. Four motions to tell him to back off, but Mario manages to interrupt him before he can get a single word off.
“Glitchy-” Four’s eyes widen a bit at the use of his old nickname. “-stop. M’fine. Can’t hold it down…” Mario trails off, staring at Four, hoping he convinced him enough.
Four groans and sits back down. “Fine,” he corresponds, “But you need to eat at some point today.”
Mario nods, slipping his arm back into the blanket. “Okay.”
“Promise?”
“I promise.”
Four dutifully notes the lack of third person speech. Mario really must not be feeling it today. He wonders what even got him sick in the first place. He then remembers Mario is running a fever, a high one at that, and makes a move to dismantle his blanket stash.
Of course, Mario fights against him, not willing to part with his warm pile so quickly. He whines at Four, to which Four narrows his eyes at him and says, “Mario. You need to cool down-”
“Don’t wanna,” Mario grips onto a blanket. “Too cold.”
“Stop acting like that,” He notices Mario’s eyes narrow at his phrasing. Oops. Sorry, Mario.
The two of them tug at the blankets for a bit, although it’s not a very long fight as Four quickly gains strength over Mario in his weakened state. Mario seems very upset once his blanket fort has been dissected, and Four feels so bad that he just tugs Mario over to his side and holds him close.
“I know it’s cold,” Four tells him. “It’s just the fever. If you cool down, you’ll feel better.”
Mario snuggles deep into his embrace, shivering as he does so. Four feels guilty for taking away his source of warmth, but doesn’t dwell on it too much. He reaches down and tugs at the pins on Mario’s overalls, attempting to loosen them, to which Mario squeaks at him and grabs his hand.
“Calm down.” Four chides, freeing his hand and returning to the task at hand. “You need to take that shirt off.”
“Hey,” Despite how sick he is, Mario is quick to respond. “At least take m’out to dinner.”
Four feels his face instantly heat up, realizing what he was implying. He struggles to regain himself in an attempt to cover up his mistakes. “No- It’s not,” Four stutters, looking away. “Not like that. I mean-”
Mario is looking at him with a gleam in his eyes, face just as red as Four’s, although for a different reason.
“I mean…” Four clears his throat. “That shirt won’t help at all. Just- take the damn thing off, Mario.”
Mario eventually complies, seeming pleased with his choice of words. Four watches as he strips his top off. Of course, it’s nothing Four hasn’t seen before, but he still finds himself drawn to look down at Mario’s chest. Four finds himself staring at the curves of his stomach, dark brown hair trailing down the underside of it. He feels the heat rush to his cheeks again and opts not to look any further.
Mario chucks the sweater off the edge of the bed and lets his overalls fall down to his hips. He leans back against Four, who gently nudges Mario to lay down. It would be good for him to get some rest.
As Four goes to ease him into the blankets, Mario tugs at his arm, attempting to bring him down as well. “C’mon,” Mario wheezes out. “You…you made me cold. Stay.”
Four seems hesitant for a moment, but he eventually succumbs to temptation. Mario tells him to take his gloves off, to which he obliges, and tosses them down the bed onto where Mario’s sweater lies. Four wraps his arms around Mario, running his hand lightly down his back. He’s sticky with sweat and his whole body is too warm to be normal, but Four finds he doesn’t care. Four’s hands eventually rest towards the center of Mario’s back, a little bit under his shoulder blades. The two of them settle into the sheets, and Four pulls Mario closer to his chest, to which Mario happily snuggles into. Four rests his chins in the curls of Mario’s hair, and feels his friend’s arm snake around his side.
As soon as the two are settled and comfortable, Mario decides it’s the best time to cough violently onto Four’s shirt. Four yelps and tugs on him to stop, to which Mario raspily chuckles at after his fit is over.
“You better not get me sick,” Four mumbles into Mario’s hair.
“I prob’bly will,” Mario slurs into his chest, eyes falling into slumber with a small smile on his face.
My best friend.
Four gets sick within a week. Mario stays by his side.