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You knew you shouldn’t have left your bed this morning when you felt something was a little off about you. The room was unusually hot, to say the least. Your night clothes stuck uncomfortably to your skin and the breeze from opened windows did not help quell the warmth at all. There was a slight ache that remained in your muscles even after groggily stretching your limbs.
It was a miracle how you managed to stumble into class. A little unkempt compared to the pristine image expected of a Pomefiore student, sure, but can you really do anything about it now?
All you could do now was regret dragging yourself to class. You’ve sat a lengthy potionology lecture from Crewel this morning, and are truly unsure if you’ve managed to retain anything from it… you can only remember how much you struggled pretending to look like you’re focused. Crewel does not go gentle on those who don’t listen - thank god he didn’t pick on you to answer anything this time.
Now you’ve just got to pray one of your friends took notes - good notes, preferably. Well, Deuce might have some notes you can work with. Might.
Sitting in the cafeteria now, the hamburger steak platter before you was left almost untouched. Not that it wasn’t appetizing, but you can’t stomach eating anything. The singular bite you took tasted like nothing - just mush. You take a deep breath in, feeling one nostril clogged completely while the other is uncomfortably dry.
Epel, who sat at your side eyes you worriedly. He tried to stop you from leaving the dorms this morning, but you insisted on coming.
-
( “You’re awfully pale,” Epel had deadpanned on your way from the dorms. You cleared the phlegm from your throat, adjusting your bag strap to shift the weight from your already aching shoulder.
“Astute observation, Epel,” You quip, but your voice came out nasally and raspy.
“And you sound terrible” He continues. “You haven’t told Vil, have you?”
Epel was bound to bring Vil into this conversation. Not so subtly, Vil was always more inclined to indulge in you - the show of affection manifesting as more of a persistent nagging than anything. This made you much closer to him than other Pomefiore students-- but you didn’t think much about it. He does the same with Epel too, doesn’t he?
You couldn’t lie, though, sometimes it’s a little flustering.
You shake your head in response to Epel’s question. “No, and I’m not going to let him know. He already has enough on his plate to chase up the other students. He doesn’t need to look out for me, too.”
Epel sighs. “If you collapse during class I’ll make sure to drag you back to our dorms,” he jokingly offers, although you could tell he was serious. “Before Vil sees you like this, that is.”
He’s right. What would your dorm leader do, seeing you like this? A lecture at the very least, no doubt… You really should stay back - but all those assessments that are upcoming in the next few weeks do scare you away from missing classes. Between toughing out a few sick days or screwing up your exams-- you’d rather tough it out.
“I don’t know what I’d do without you, Epel” you muttered. You lunge out to pull him into an overly affectionate hug but he pushes you away, scrunching up his face in disgust.
“I’ll help you, but don’t try to get me sick too!” He protests, planting his hands firmly on your shoulders to make distance from you. You laugh (although it’s cut off by a wet cough) and leave it at that. You both need to get to class, after all.
To you, he’s both a close friend and a fellow Pomefiore student. What would you do without him?)
-
“…You sure you can take Vargas’s athletics class after this?”
Epel’s voice breaks you from the daze your uncomfortable body has sent you into. Was the room getting hotter, or did a fever finally set in?
You groan, really considering his question. At the start of the day, you thought you might be able to, but now you can’t even fathom getting up from your seat anymore. It was as if your body was completely working against you -- a throbbing headache that is only getting worse, flashes of hot and cold chills that come and go as you seem eternally suspended in a groggy, disoriented state.
You take a deep breath in and answer.
“I’ll… I’ll go. It’s the last class of the day, and I’ll rest afterward,” you mumble, shooting Epel a smile, a hopeful attempt to dispel any worries he might have.
He gives you a look of concern in return and gets up, picking up both his and your lunch plates.
“Lunch is almost up,” he mutters both to you and himself, “Take your time, though we need to get moving soon… I’ll put your plate away.” Once again, you thank him. Ah… you wish you can take back your words but you also know you’ve already committed to your choice. If you get today over with, you’ll get some rest, and will all be better by tomorrow, right? Vil won’t have to scold you for missing any classes and you won’t fall behind…
You just have to tough out one more subject… right?
-
…Wrong.
Turns out, when your nose is blocked, trying to catch out your breath is a much harder task. A few warm-up laps in and you’re already gasping for air, trying to satisfy your physical needs. Each harsh inhale reminds you how raw your throat is becoming as air passes through. Your nose has become runny, yet it’s still somehow stuffed and the aches… the aches have somehow gotten worse.
Vargas had called for a short break, and you take the opportunity to crumble to the ground, gasping for air.
It was sweltering hot, too hot…
Darkness dances along the edges of your peripheral as you gulp down water, praying it will go away eventually. It felt disgusting, basking in the warmth of your own body and a scorching sun above.
“Oi…”
Some nudges you. You look over-- Deuce meets your eyes with a worried glance. His hair was sweaty and stuck to his forehead. If he looked that tired, you wondered how you looked-- rocking both a fever and sweat from running around.
“You look like you're about to pass out,” Deuce says, “your lips are the same color as your skin.”
You wave him off as a whistle sounds at the end of the break, and you ready yourself to get up. Deuce places a hand on your shoulder.
“You need to get to the nurse,” he demands. You shake your head, regretting the action immediately after as it brings upon a dizzy spell.
“I’m fine,” you respond, when in fact, you weren’t fine at all.
As fast as you stood up, you feel the world spin. Your vision blurs and you stumble backward, losing all coordination like a ragdoll, abandoned by its puppeteer. The world tilts and your heart feels as though it has dropped to your feet.
A strangled yell was heard, and you hear Deuce calling your name. As soon as it started, it ended. There was darkness, then nothing more.
-
The bed was strangely hard, and that was enough for you to know you weren’t at the dorms. Mind in a stupor, you stare at the musty ceiling of the infirmary. It was getting late-- the light which filtered through the dirty window took on a warm, orange glow.
Ah… even if the bed was far from uncomfortable, you were content just laying here for a while. Your muscles were just slightly sore, and your throat was dry. You wonder just how long have you been sleeping.
…
Wait, sleeping?
Why were you sleeping at this time? Weren’t you just in athletics?
As your mind caught up with the facts you’ve come to grasp, you push yourself up, your tired body protesting every move you made. The blanket (that you have been tucked under?) drops to the floor ungracefully. Swinging off the bed, your feet hit the floor and a shaky, black haze once again encompasses your vision. Your legs give out just as fast. Stumbling forward, your hands leave your side- and you can only pray they find support before you hit the floor unceremoniously.
And in fact, they do.
There’s someone who had caught you in an embrace, their arms laced under your shoulders, holding onto you tightly. Slowly, they lead you back to the bed. You find yourself sitting, legs dangling off the edge as your vision clears ever so slowly.
The person lets out a sigh. They were still nearby, probably standing over you. Maybe you should thank them? They did just save you from getting bruised forehead. You clear your throat -- the dryness now more familiar than not.
Vision clearing, you look up… and the familiar, sharp gaze staring back stole the words straight from you. What you said instead of a ‘thank you’ was in fact--
“V-Vil!?”
You manage to sputter out before breaking into a coughing fit.
How did you not hear his heels clicking, or recognize his voice from the sigh? This cold was messing with you more than you thought.
“You don’t need to tell me who I am,” Vil remarks sarcastically, shushing you. “And don’t use your voice. Save the arguments after drinking something.”
You shut up, instead opting to watch as he moves around the bed, retrieving a mug of water which he hands to you as he crouches down... Your hand overlaps his in the exchange, and you relish the feeling of his cooler skin against your burning and clammy hands. You wish he could maybe pull you into a hug and dispel your fever once and forever.
His hand doesn’t linger long. As soon as he is sure you have a tight grasp on the mug, he pulls away, his hand now finding your forehead. You avoid his gaze, opting to take a sip of the water instead. It was lukewarm and felt unpalatable, but you force it down. His hand falls.
“Why are you in school today?”
Vil’s question cuts through the tension, your eyes meeting his again. He looked… distressed. You curse yourself for making him feel that way.
“I… didn’t want to miss my classes?”
Your voice betrays the certainty of your answer. It felt as if you were asking a question back to him. It was a stupid reason, really, and you were beginning to realize that.
“While you were running a fever? And you even partook in Athletics?” He continues to scold.
You go quiet. The silence was loud.
You wanted to say something, give some sort of excuse -- I didn’t think it’d be this bad, I didn’t want to fail my class-- - but it all sounded stupid, and you know that without having to voice it.
Vil takes the mug from you, setting it on the ground with a clink. You feel his hands against your own, and he squeezes them softly to get your attention. When you look up, he brushes some stray hairs out of your eyes.
“Don’t do this again. Don’t hurt yourself like this.” His voice was firm, but there was a softness to it. His hand stays lingering near your face and it makes you want to lean into his cool touch.
And deliriously, you do. When he doesn’t pull away, you let out the breath you’ve been holding.
“You can catch up on lessons when you feel better, but if you don’t let yourself rest, you’ll never recover, dear.”
You nod. His reaction was surprisingly soft, but nonetheless welcoming. You let your eyes flutter close for a second, finding comfort in the quiet of the room. You let time pass, the orange glow of the evening getting richer as slowly changes into deeper purples of twilight.
His hand moves and you open your eyes. You catch the tail end of his soft smile as his expression returns neutral.
“No falling asleep yet. We’re going back to the dorms and you’re showering instantly-- no more wallowing in that sweaty uniform.” Vil demands, getting up from his position. He picks up the discarded blanket, folding it promptly and throwing it aside. Turning to you, he holds his hand out as an offer for support. You grab his hand and he pulls you up.
‘ Slowly now ,’ you hear him mutter, ‘ take your time ’. His hold remains even when you're up on your feet. He lets you go only when you’ve managed to take a few steps away from the bed. Turned towards the door, he waits, making sure you can catch up.
When you do you fall into step, and you feel his arm wrap around your waist. Chuckling, you turn to him.
“How’d did you know I was here anyways?”
“Epel came and told me as soon as the school day ended. I came to check on you when time allowed.”
“I’d never thought me being sick would make you cling to me like this,” you quip in your raspy voice. “Epel wouldn’t even get close to me.”
Vil huffs. “I’d rather stay close to you to make sure you’re taking care of yourself. I’m completely capable of handling a cold if it means you won’t drop dead anytime soon.” His speech was blunt but he was smiling ever so slightly.
You laugh and lean into him. “Maybe I should stay sick if it means you’ll treat me like this,” you jokingly offer whilst leaning into him.
“I’d rather you not do that. If you want me to pamper you like this, I’ll happily do so anytime.”
Your fever is still there-- you can feel the chills as the sudden change in temperature hits you walking into the empty hallways. The ache lingers, still uncomfortable and at times painful-- but with Vil next to you, it feels a little easier to handle.