Elliot Reynolds (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
meonmyway2stealurgirl) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
sixwordstories2015-03-22 12:19 pm
meonmyway2stealurgirl) wrote in sixwordstories2015-03-22 12:19 pm
Entry tags:
(no subject)
Groans loudly, snuggles deeper into bed.
"I know, sweetheart," Lorraine clucks softly, fingers gently insistent as she drags them through the young man's hair. "It's terrible. But I'm going to be terrible too, mm, and insist you sit up for just-- two minutes."
Just long enough for some water, some aspirin; maybe, if he could manage, a bite of the now slightly cool soup she had brought while he was resting.
Just long enough for some water, some aspirin; maybe, if he could manage, a bite of the now slightly cool soup she had brought while he was resting.
He can burrow as deep into his blankets as he wants. It can't stop the fact Elise is sprawled across the bed with him, nose nuzzled in against his shoulder. Thankfully, it also can't stop the fact that she's got the whole room smelling like soup and tea since she got here.
"C'mon. You're not really dying, Elliot. You can turn over."
"C'mon. You're not really dying, Elliot. You can turn over."
He's made a mistake.
The plan had started out well enough. It was something he could handle, after all. Leonine said that Élie needed soup to feel better; soup was something Edgard actually knew how to do. Soup could be accomplished. Soup could be an acceptable sign of affection and devotion, even in the shakiness of the change between them.
(The change they absolutely weren't speaking about. The change they still didn't address directly particularly often. The change he felt certain the others could sense, even if they couldn't put their fingers on it.)
But now, standing in the crowded little kitchen and listening to Élie groan in the other room, he's certain he's made a mistake. There are nerves tight in his shoulders as he taps lightly against the bedroom door. "...are you-- awake?"
The plan had started out well enough. It was something he could handle, after all. Leonine said that Élie needed soup to feel better; soup was something Edgard actually knew how to do. Soup could be accomplished. Soup could be an acceptable sign of affection and devotion, even in the shakiness of the change between them.
(The change they absolutely weren't speaking about. The change they still didn't address directly particularly often. The change he felt certain the others could sense, even if they couldn't put their fingers on it.)
But now, standing in the crowded little kitchen and listening to Élie groan in the other room, he's certain he's made a mistake. There are nerves tight in his shoulders as he taps lightly against the bedroom door. "...are you-- awake?"
"Nnnn."
It's an upset grumble as he nestles his face even more into the pillow with a rough cough.
"I don' 'nna."
It's an upset grumble as he nestles his face even more into the pillow with a rough cough.
"I don' 'nna."
"Y'don' know that, 'lise," comes the grumpy mumble. Not even her comfortable closeness seems quite capable of breaking him out of the mood sickness puts him in, "Could be actually dyin'. Feel like 'm actually dying."
"Nn-nn."
A lie, clearly, inarticulate as it is. A lie born out of the fact that he's clearly feverish and clearly miserable-- so maybe not entirely awake, in ever sense.
A lie, clearly, inarticulate as it is. A lie born out of the fact that he's clearly feverish and clearly miserable-- so maybe not entirely awake, in ever sense.
Her sigh is just a little bit like a laugh as she continues to smooth affectionately at his hair.
"Come on. Nice and quick. Then no one will bother you for an hour, I promise."
"Come on. Nice and quick. Then no one will bother you for an hour, I promise."
"Really?" She shifts slightly up onto her elbows, fingers moving now to trace affectionately across his shoulders instead. "'s this it? The flu that takes you out?"
Like, admittedly, half the colds she had ever had. Definitely half the actual bugs she'd ever come down with.
Like, admittedly, half the colds she had ever had. Definitely half the actual bugs she'd ever come down with.
Another deep groan, before he tries to push himself up. Flopping back comes immediately afterwards.
"--h'lp?"
"--h'lp?"
"'t is." As, clearly this bout of coughing indicates, "'m no'-- long for this world. Tell your mother I love her, 'nd all that."
That earns a questioning sound out of the young man. Has him shifting his head slightly to squint bleary eyes in the direction of Edgard's voice.
"...soup."
It sounds like it might have been a question, had he been able to phrase it. There's definitely an air of curiosity and surprise to him.
"...soup."
It sounds like it might have been a question, had he been able to phrase it. There's definitely an air of curiosity and surprise to him.
"Here we go."
She's helped up feverish, unhappy boys to sit in their beds for years now. There's a certain practiced strength behind the movements to get him upright now.
"Ease does it. I've got you. Just-- lean here, hm?"
She's helped up feverish, unhappy boys to sit in their beds for years now. There's a certain practiced strength behind the movements to get him upright now.
"Ease does it. I've got you. Just-- lean here, hm?"
Hushing is unconscious. She's helped with her brothers for years now, after all, through all kinds of colds and flus and bugs.
"I will. And I'll read a moving poem at your funeral. Throw myself into your grave and tell the world that you've ruined me for all other men."
"I will. And I'll read a moving poem at your funeral. Throw myself into your grave and tell the world that you've ruined me for all other men."
"'kay."
It's a sleepy sort of murmur. He'll be feeling quite warm as he leans against her carefully.
It's a sleepy sort of murmur. He'll be feeling quite warm as he leans against her carefully.
He starts to laugh, but it cuts off in a tired groan.
"Y'mean Drew 'll read a moving poem."
He won't contest the other portion of it, anyways.
"Y'mean Drew 'll read a moving poem."
He won't contest the other portion of it, anyways.
It's clear the other young man needs a little more guidance. Shutting his eyes briefly is needed in order to focus enough to speak.
"--C'mere?"
"--C'mere?"
The fever doesn't seem to have broken. Her hand presses briefly against his forehead with a soft click of her tongue, but only for a moment before she shifts her fingers to instead pull his chin up slightly.
"Ready? Two aspirin and a big gulp of your water, okay?"
"Ready? Two aspirin and a big gulp of your water, okay?"
The beginning of a laugh is a good sign all the same. Her fingers squeeze tightly at is shoulder for a moment until the groan of discomfort passes.
"For you? I'd struggle through some Yeets."
Which Andrew has corrected her to the proper pronunciation a thousand times, but which lives well within the realm of her being stubborn as all get out.
"So if I'm gonna do all that, you have to give me a good last fight to bemoan. C'mon. Up. Tea."
"For you? I'd struggle through some Yeets."
Which Andrew has corrected her to the proper pronunciation a thousand times, but which lives well within the realm of her being stubborn as all get out.
"So if I'm gonna do all that, you have to give me a good last fight to bemoan. C'mon. Up. Tea."
"Mmkay," he murmurs tiredly, settling into her touch, "Mmready."
So he'll hold a hand out obediently for the aspirin.
So he'll hold a hand out obediently for the aspirin.
"Nn. You're sneaky."
But he'll start to shift just slightly under her touch. It's not quite movement, but it's a start.
But he'll start to shift just slightly under her touch. It's not quite movement, but it's a start.
"A little bit."
It's a wearied sort of response, but he tries a smile at the other young man nonetheless.
"'m not-- particularly hungry, but 'll try."
It's a wearied sort of response, but he tries a smile at the other young man nonetheless.
"'m not-- particularly hungry, but 'll try."
especially all of them (okay but lbr especially her reynolds bb ;; )
readytoroar
2015-03-24 07:46 pm (UTC)(link)
"Thank you, my sweet boy."
It's important to be encouraging as she knocks the medicine into his hand. It's important to have a hand rubbing affectionately at the back of his neck. It's important to have the water ready to bring to his lips once he starts to swallow.
"Perfect job."
It's important to be encouraging as she knocks the medicine into his hand. It's important to have a hand rubbing affectionately at the back of his neck. It's important to have the water ready to bring to his lips once he starts to swallow.
"Perfect job."
Page 1 of 4