Chapter Text
“I forgot to tell you,” Gallo began, leaning on the railing and looking out over the water, “I get motion sickness.”
“You do?”
Out of instinct, Darren put his hand on the arch of Blake’s back. He felt the muscles under his palm ease slightly, like Blake had been holding all of his tension there.
“Yeah, like crazy bad.” Blake spoke louder, trying to be heard over the roar of the water underneath them.
Darren just nodded. He couldn’t really think of anything helpful to say, but Blake offered a small smile as a thank you for the company.
The boat dipped to one side and Darren saw Blake clutch the railing tighter, tight enough to turn his knuckles white.
“Fuck,” Blake huffed, voice rough and breath uneven. He swallowed the gag rising up his throat.
“Do you wanna go inside? Maybe it’ll be easier in the cabin.”
Blake just shook his head.
Ritter frowned, and a deep crease formed between his brows. This cruise weekend was his idea. Blake hadn’t seemed hesitant, but maybe he’d just missed the signs? Or maybe Blake was better at masking his emotions than Darren thought.
Blake burped, a wet gurgling belch that almost sounded painful. He spat out a mouthful of saliva, struggling to get the thick strands to fall from his lips.
“What’s your number?” Ritter asked, hoping for a 1-10 on how bad the nausea was. When no answer came, he resigned himself to running circles into Blake's back.
Blake hesitated, smiling momentarily before the water threw the boat around again and he grimaced.
“Fuck,” Blake said it again, throat working against a heave. His chest convulsed like he was hiccuping over and over, but instead of a hitched breath, his lips parted and a slurry of breakfast and dinner hit the taunting waves with a guttural retch. Thankfully, the wind was working to their advantage—Darren didn’t want to think about what would have happened if it wasn’t.
“You’re really not doing too great, are you?” Mirroring the movements of the hand he had on Blake’s spine, he put a hand against Blake’s stomach and started to knead gentle patterns into the flesh. Ritter almost flinched when he felt the next heave pull Blake’s stomach muscles tight.
Another flood of partially digested food sprayed into the ocean, accompanied by a groan and a cough. After that it was a lot of broken curses and choked gags, smaller and smaller amounts of acrid mess mixing with the water each time.
Eventually, Blake was just left panting, strings of puke clinging to his chin. His nose burnt, but his stomach seemed to be calming down.
With a slow, deep breath, Gallo pushed away from the safety rail and used his jacket sleeve to clean his face.
“I think I want to go inside now,” Blake muttered, sounding just as miserable as he looked.
“Yeah?” There was a laugh dripping from the words, and Blake stuck an elbow into Darren’s ribs.
“Yes,” was the indignant reply, and then an all-too-nonchalant, “I should probably take something for this.”
“Oh yeah, for sure. Don’t want to embarrass yourself now, do you?”