Work Text:
Tuesday, April 11
“Are you sure you’re feeling alright?” asks Allura, shooting Shiro a concerned look as she packs up to head home, “Perhaps you should take tomorrow off to rest.” It’s the third time she’s asked that day.
“Yeah, I’m fine,” Shiro insists, his voice muffled by clogged sinuses, “It’s just allergies.”
Allura doesn’t seem convinced, “This seems like more than just allergies.”
“It’s true,” Coran chimes in, “I don’t think I’ve seen you this miserable since we all came down with the flu two winters ago! Now that was a doozy of a month.” He laughs as if this is a fond memory.
Miserable? He feels fine. Stuffy, but fine. Shiro sighs, “I have a deviated septum. My allergies always sound like death.”
“Oh, I know,” Allura says dryly, “You snore when you’re awake.”
Oh. That’s embarrassing. He didn’t realize other people could hear that.
“But,” she continues, “That is not what I’m referring to. You’ve been sniffling for weeks, as have half our students. But today you can hardly breathe and you look like you haven’t slept in days. I’m worried you might be coming down with something.”
Shiro shakes his head slowly, “I just woke up with a sinus headache. It’s nothing.”
“We ought to check it out, just to be sure!” Coran announces, producing a pen light from god-knows-where and clicking it on and off a few times. He makes his way towards Shiro, apparently ready to personally inspect the inner workings of his nose.
Shiro dodges his coworker’s advance, “Thaaat won’t be necessary, thanks Coran. Seriously, I’m fine. I’ll see you guys tomorrow.”
With that, he excuses himself and makes his way up to the parking lot.
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Lance is over when Shiro arrives home. He groans internally. Lance’s volume control seems to be permanently broken, and this just isn’t the night for that.
Not that Shiro’s sick or anything. He just has a headache and could use a night of peace and quiet, is all.
“Coño! You look like crap, man,” Lance blurts out almost as soon as Shiro enters the room.
“Duly noted,” he responds dryly.
“Seriously, Shiro, you okay?” asks Keith, looking up from him Calculus homework.
“Just a headache,” Shiro insists, “Long day at work. You okay with rice and eggs for dinner?”
“I can cook, if you want!” Lance offers, starting to stand up.
Shiro motions for him to sit down, “You’re a guest. I’ll take care of it. You two work on your homework.”
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By the time he finishes frying eggs, Shiro almost wishes he’d taken Lance up on his offer. Almost.
His head is pounding so hard that his own dinner doesn’t seem very appetizing, so he only takes a few bites before abandoning his bowl and retreating to his room.
“You sure you’re okay?” Keith calls after him.
“I’m fine!” he calls back, an edge of annoyance in his voice.
Wednesday, April 12
Shiro wakes up in several different types of excruciating pain. He’s not sure when he fell asleep the night before, but clearly it was before he intended to: his laptop is still in his lap and he apparently never got around to removing his arm.
Which explains some of the pain, at least. He wrestles the prosthesis off, granting himself at least a little relief. He rubs at his elbow and bicep, trying to coax the circulation back into what remains of his right arm. The stump is raw and sweaty, the way he imagines Keith’s feet must feel when he falls asleep in his boots. Which… happens more often than Shiro cares to think about, honestly.
As the discomfort in his arm starts to subside, though, Shiro becomes increasingly aware of the sharp ache pulsing through his face. Yesterday’s sinus headache is back with a vengeance. It feels like someone is chiseling away at his eye sockets and the bridge of his nose, and some of the pain radiates out into his jaw and right ear.
He groans and takes some Excedrin, then pulls out his phone to text Matt.
Shiro (11:41am): Guess who has one thumb and wore his arm to bed last night.
Matt (11:42am): W H Y
Matt (11:42am): (you took it off when you woke up, right? you gotta give your arm a day to rest, dude. ouch.)
Shiro (11:42am): My allergies have been killing me. I guess the sleep deprivation and Benadryl caught up to me and I conked out before getting ready for bed.
Shiro (11:43am): (I know, Matt. I know. I took it off. I’m not an idiot.)
Matt (11:43am): did your allergies turn into a sinus infection again?
Okay, even Shiro can’t deny the likelihood of that. But it’s fine. He’s gotten pretty accustomed to sinus infections in the years following the plane crash. This is par for the course.
Shiro (11:43am): Yeah, probably.
Matt (11:43am): gross
Shiro (11:43am): Agreed.
Matt (11:44am): you going in to work today?
Shiro (11:44am): I can’t just take a vacation from my life every time I get a little sinus infection, Matt.
Matt (11:44am): i’m just sayin, i wouldn’t blame you if you decided to stay home
Matt (11:44am): i’m not even there and i can tell you’re feelin lousy
Matt (11:44am): and having to work one-handed isn’t gonna make your day any easier
Shiro (11:45am): It’s not like I can’t make it through an afternoon without my right hand.
Matt (11:45am): i know, shiro
Matt (11:45am): just take it easy, kay?
Matt (11:45am): and let me know if you need… a hand ;)
Shiro(11:46am): Matt, oh my god.
Shiro (11:46am): Why are you like this?
Shiro (11:46am): I’m gonna go take a shower.
Shiro chuckles, sending even more pain shooting through his face. Okay, definitely time for a shower. Maybe the steam will help clear his sinuses up before he has to head to work.
Grabbing a change of clothes, he heads to the bathroom and gets into the shower. The flow of the steam soothes his aching sinuses, but before long, the heat becomes a little dizzying. Spots start to prickle at the edges of his vision, threatening to engulf him, so he lowers himself to the floor of the shower. That’s fine, he can just shower sitting down. The spots dissipate, but his head still feels fuzzy…
He’s in a hospital. His back is pressed against the shower wall, heart beating a lot faster than it should. It’s hard to relax when you’re naked with the door cracked open, but he’s not allowed to close it. Not until he can be “trusted.” Honestly, he’s not sure how the inability to shower in peace is supposed to prevent him from offing himself. Hell, he doesn’t even need to lock the door. He’ll settle for closing it. But no. Not until he can be “trusted.”
Someone is knocking at the door. He jumps, curling in on himself defensively.
“Shiro?” calls out a voice.
Wait, where is he?
“Shiro?” the voice repeats, laced with frustration and worry.
Where does he know that voice from?
Wait.
Keith!
Shiro snaps back to the present. The water is luke-warm and sends a chill through his body, so he scrambles to shut it off. “Sorry, Keith,” he calls back shakily, “I’ll be out in a minute.”
“Okay,” Keith responds, sounding uncertain. Shiro idly hopes his brother wasn’t planning on showering, because he’s in for a very cold surprise if he tries.
With a sigh, he hefts himself up from the shower floor and reaches for a towel.
Once he’s dry and dressed, he checks the time on his phone.
Shit. He only has half an hour to brush his teeth, eat something and get to work. This day is off to a great start.
Thursday, April 13
The next day, Shiro has to practically peel himself out of bed. His head swims the moment he’s vertical, so much so that he can’t entirely tell whether he’s dissociating or just dizzy. Which is… honestly terrifying, but he doesn’t have time to think about that. He slept through his alarm and now he has to make a mad dash to get ready for work.
Everything is pressure, pressure, pressure inside his head. It feels like he’s going to explode as he hurriedly brushes his teeth. It feels like he can’t breathe. He can’t breathe. Everything is too blurry. He takes the toothbrush out of his mouth and he still can’t breathe, so he slowly lowers himself to the ground and slumps against the wall.
Breathe breathe breathe.
His throat clenches and his heart feels like it’s pounding in his ears.
He forces his breath to steady. 1… 2… 3… 4… 5… 6…
The air doesn’t feel like it’s reaching his lungs, but he keeps going. He knows it’ll help. He knows it will. He’s not suffocating. He’s not.
Once he catches his breath, he sits for a little longer. Closing his eyes, he analyzes the sensation of the bathroom rug under his left hand. Runs his fingers through the strands, taking in their length, their width, their texture. Emptying his mind of everything except the yarn-like fibers and his own steady breathing.
After several minutes, he stands up and splashes water over his face, trying not to think too hard about the fact that he just had a panic attack over a stuffy nose of all things.
Once he’s composed himself, he grabs some cold pizza out of the fridge and eats it on his way out the door.
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The dizziness has mostly faded by the time he gets to work, leaving clogged sinuses, a pounding headache and excruciating ear pain in its wake. Which is annoying, but he’ll deal. It’s not hard to power through pain. Frustrating, but not terribly difficult. Shiro is, after all, no stranger to powering through pain. A sinus infection is nothing compared to the phantom limb pain that still periodically haunts him.
“Good to see you have all your body parts with you, today,” greets Coran as Shiro enters the door.
Shiro waves his right hand with a tired smirk, “All hands on deck.”
Allura snorts and Coran outright cackles in response.
Shiro snuffles his nose and grimaces as he sets his bag down.
“Are you—” Allura begins.
“I’m fine,” Shiro snaps.
“Now now, it was just a simple question,” Coran steps in, “No need to get your britches in a bunch over it!”
“Sorry,” Shiro presses his thumb against his jaw, trying unsuccessfully to soothe the ache, “I apologize. I really have no excuse. This headache is just… sorry. Can we just get ready for the day?”
“I suppose,” says Allura with a frown, “but if you ever decide you’re not fine, don’t hesitate to let us know.”
Shiro doesn’t respond, just strolls over to the shelves and starts pulling out supplies according to Coran’s lesson plan.
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As the afternoon wears on, the dizziness seeps back. Or something like dizziness, at least. More of a vague uneasiness. A nauseating pressure against his right temple. But it’s subtle. Nothing terribly concerning, so he pushes it aside and keeps working.
Then suddenly, it’s overpowering. Before he can fully process what’s happening, his mouth starts to water and panic flashes through him. Instinctively, he grabs for the nearest trash can—or… recycling bin, close enough—and pulls it towards himself just in time to empty his stomach into it.
Fuck.
He self-consciously registers a chorus of “ew” and “are you okay, mister?!” from the dozen-or-so teenagers in the room, but everything is a bit of a blur and his mouth is filling with saliva again and he feels a hand between his shoulder blades as he heaves into the recycling bin again.
“Let’s relocate, shall we?” Allura whispers from behind him, guiding him out of the room and lowering him to the floor once they reach the hallway. She rubs up and down Shiro’s back and murmurs comfortingly as he pants pathetically over his commandeered recycling bin.
He has tears and snot and vomit running down his face and he’s pretty sure he’s never been so mortified in his entire life. Another wave of nausea hits, sending a shiver down his spine, but he manages not to throw up this time.
To his immense relief, Allura offers him several tissues. “Are you ready to admit that you’re not alright?” she asks as he cleans his face off.
“Shouldn’t you be in there keeping the kids under control?” asks Shiro weakly, dodging the question. He realizes with another wave of embarrassment that he’s shaking uncontrollably.
“Coran can handle them for a few minutes,” she assures, “Now, do I have your permission to call Matt and ask him to take you to a doctor? Or am I going to have to fight you over this?”
Shiro gives a defeated sigh, “Fine.”
Allura holds her hand out, “Give me your phone. I don’t have his number.”
Shiro reluctantly pulls up Matt’s contact info and hands his phone over. Allura immediately presses the call button and puts the phone on speaker mode.
After a few rings, Matt’s voice crackles over the phone’s speaker, “Shiro?” He sounds confused. Probably because they never actually call each other, just text.
“Actually, this is Allura. If you’re free, please come retrieve your friend and escort him to the nearest medical facility. He’s in miserable condition and just vomited in the middle of work.”
Matt makes an exasperated noise, “Is he there? Can I talk to him?”
Allura laughs, a musical chime that feels oddly comforting even when it’s at his expense, “You’re on speaker. I’m sitting with him in the hallway, now.”
“Takashi Shirogane!” Matt scolds, “What did I tell you about—”
Shiro’s ability to listen is interrupted by a violent shiver. It feels like someone is stabbing a screwdriver into his right eardrum. His stomach turns and he can feel saliva pour out of his open mouth and into the recycling bin, but he manages to keep down whatever is left in his stomach.
By the time he returns to reality, Allura is off the phone. When he looks up, she pulls out another tissue and proceeds to wipe the latest round of tears and snot and spit from his face. It feels a little condescending, but he’s not really feeling well enough to protest. “You feel feverish,” she observes, touching her hand to his forehead.
He’s not sure whether to be incensed or relieved that Allura stays in the hallway and holds him until Matt arrives.
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As soon as Shiro gets in the car, Matt shoves a mixing bowl into his lap. Shiro gives him his best scathing look. Which, to be fair, is more pathetic than scathing.
“In case you puke again,” Matt explains matter-of-factly.
“I got that, yeah,” Shiro drawls, punctuating the statement with a sniffle.
“How’re you holdin’ up?” asks Matt.
“Humiliated,” Shiro groans, curling in on himself. He’s still shivering.
“Hey, come on,” Matt says, reaching out a hand to rub his friend’s back, “You’ve puked in front of me plenty of times. Heck, you’ve puked on me.”
“Don’t remind me,” Shiro grimaces, “Also, you aren’t exactly the same as an entire room full of teenagers who I’m supposedly in charge of.”
“Dude, it’s fine,” Matt reassures him, “What happened, anyways? D’you have a panic attack, or are you just sicker than you claimed to be?”
Shiro sighs, “I just got really dizzy and nauseous out of nowhere. I’m probably fine. Just need a nap.”
“Mmhm,” Matt hums skeptically, tapping at his steering wheel, “If you puked and it’s not because of a panic attack, that means it’s time to go to urgent care. Sorry, them’s the rules.”
Shiro shoots his friend a petulant look, but there’s not much heart in it. At this point, it’s getting hard to deny how sick he feels.
------------
Matt ends up accompanying Shiro into the exam room. Allegedly it’s to make the wait less boring, but Shiro suspects his friend is mostly there to make sure he tells the truth about his symptoms. Which… okay, fair.
“What symptoms have you been experiencing?” asks the doctor when she arrives.
Shiro hardly has the energy to object when Matt jumps in to answer for him, “He says he’s got a sinus infection, which he gets a lot of ‘cause of his deviated septum, but then he threw up at work today. Said he got dizzy and nauseous outta nowhere. Uh, what else… am I missing anything, Shiro?”
Shiro thinks for a moment, then adds, “I’ve had an earache the past couple days.”
The doctor hums thoughtfully and proceeds to poke and prod at Shiro’s face for a few minutes before concluding that in addition to the sinus infection, he also has an ear infection. And a nasty fever to top it all off.
“Seriously?” Shiro says, almost offended, “What person over the age of like… five actually throws up from an ear infection?”
“You, apparently,” Matt says without missing a beat, “Probably wouldn’t’ve happened if you knew the meaning of the word ‘relax.’”
Shiro huffs.
“I will prescribe you a three-day course of antibiotics,” the doctor says, scribbling something as she speaks, “Take the full course, even if you start to feel better. And take Tylenol for the fever. Also, I highly recommend you take tomorrow off from work to recover. I can write you a note if need be.” She hands over a scrip, which Shiro reluctantly takes.
“Thanks,” he says, his shoulders slumping in defeat.
“I doubt he needs a note, considering his boss is the one who called me to say ‘hey, your friend just puked at work, come take him to the doctor,’” Matt adds, earning himself a weak glare from Shiro.
“You’re welcome,” the doctor responds with a chuckle, “Go take care of yourself.”
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Keith is already home by the time Shiro arrives with Matt. Shiro realizes with a pang of guilt that he hadn’t texted his brother to let him know what was going on. Thankfully, Keith doesn’t seem too phased.
“Keith! Heeey, can I enlist your help with something?” Matt asks the moment he spots the younger boy.
Keith squints up at him, “Uh, sure?”
“I need a lift so I can retrieve Shiro’s car,” Matt explains, “I know you’ve got room for a passenger on your motorcycle, so uh…”
Keith looks like the only thing going through his head is a long row of question marks, so Matt clarifies.
“Your brother got sick at work, so I had to take him to urgent care. Now his car is stranded.”
Keith glances at Shiro like he’s ready to fight his illness with his own two fists if need be, then looks back to Matt, “Oh. Sure.” He immediately dumps his in-progress homework onto the coffee table and stands up, as if this is an urgent matter.
Shiro groans. The last thing he needs is his younger brother taking care of him. It’s supposed to be the other way around! A wave of helpless frustration washes over him.
“You alright without us for a few minutes?” asks Matt, looking over at Shiro.
“Yeah, course I am,” he defends, “It’s an ear infection. What could possibly go wrong in the half hour it takes you to retrieve my car?”
“Okay…” Matt says, his tone suspicious.
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By the time Matt and Keith return, Shiro is halfway through cooking dinner.
“Seriously?!” Matt exclaims the second he walks through the door, “I can’t leave you alone for two seconds, I swear.”
“I’m fine,” insists Shiro, though the way he’s swaying in place indicates otherwise, “The steam is helping with the congestion.” He gives a watery sniffle to demonstrate his point. It hurts his jaw.
“Then sit down and I’ll make you some tea! While Keith finishes cooking the uh… mac and cheese?” Matt says, “That way you can inhale steam without the imminent risk of passing out onto a hot stove.” He shakes his head, muttering, “God, I cannot believe…”
Shiro raises an eyebrow, “You really want Keith to cook?”
“Hey, I can cook!” Keith defends, “I don’t like to, but I can.”
“Uh-huh,” Shiro drawls.
“Watch me!” Keith storms over and grabs the stirring spoon out of Shiro’s hand.
Shiro shrugs and steps back, “Suit yourself.”
“Go sit down!” Matt shoos his sick friend over to the living room, “I’m making you tea. What kind do you want?”
“Jasmine tea sounds nice,” Shiro says before reluctantly retreating to the living room.
He watches with a mix of horror and amusement as Matt microwaves the tea (with the bag in) and Keith somehow manages to boil all the water out of the macaroni and then replace it with milk.
The tea turns out surprisingly acceptable, all things considered. Disappointing, but acceptable. But the mac and cheese is crunchy and tastes more like scalded milk than anything else. Everyone but Keith (who insists his cooking is fine, thank you very much) ends up eating cereal for dinner.
Friday, April 14
Honestly, the only reason Shiro doesn’t go in to work is because Allura threatened to fire him if he showed up. He feels useless just sitting around the house, though, so he pulls out his laptop to catch up on paperwork. It’s slow going because his head is foggy and his face hurts like hell, but he feels better knowing that he’s getting something done.
About an hour into Shiro’s pajama-clad paperwork party, Keith pokes his head into his room, “How’s the sinus-slash-ear infection?”
Shiro huffs, “It’s great. Getting stronger every day.”
Keith looks unimpressed by his attempt at humor.
“You have class today, right?” Shiro asks.
“Yeah, just for a couple hours. I’m on my way out, but I got a couple minutes to spare. You need anything before I go?” Keith asks.
Shiro wants to be irritated that his little brother is trying to take care of him, but honestly he’s kind of impressed with the amount of maturity Keith is currently displaying, so he just rolls with it. “Would you mind grabbing me a water bottle?”
“We don’t own any water bottles, Shiro,” Keith responds dryly.
Shiro rolls his eyes, “A travel mug full of water. Close enough.”
“’Kay,” Keith disappears for a moment, then returns with a Star Wars mug for Shiro. “Anything else?”
“No, that’s it,” Shiro smiles proudly, “Get yourself to class. Don’t wanna be late.”
Keith hovers for a moment longer, once again scowling like he wants to punch Shiro’s illness right in the face. Then he turns and leaves without another word.
Shiro chuckles and pulls out his phone.
Shiro (11:33am): Keith just came in and asked if I need anything before he goes to class.
Shiro (11:33am): It was kind of surreal.
Shiro (11:33am): Who is this and what did they do with my brother?
Matt (11:34am): that’s actually the most adorable thing i’ve ever heard???
Matt (11:34am): keith kogane: mother hen edition
Shiro (11:34am): He keeps looking at me like he wants to get into a literal fist fight with my infection.
Matt (11:34am): bahaha
Matt (11:35am): by the way, I’m on my way over and I’m bringing ramen
Matt (11:35am): because I checked and you didn’t have any in your cabinets
Matt (11:35am): what kind of nutritionally stunted household are you running over there, anyways?! no ramen… unbelievable
Shiro (11:36am): Matt, you really don’t have to.
Matt (11:36am): okay, but this ramen will have ~fresh scallions~
Shiro (11:37am): …fine.
Shiro (11:37am): The door is probably unlocked, considering Keith is the last person who used it.
About fifteen minutes later, Matt strolls into Shiro’s room, waving scallion stalks out in front of him with both hands. He’s wearing a rust-orange hoodie with several ramen packets shoved in the pocket.
“What are you, a praying mantis?” Shiro snorts.
“Yes.”
Shiro cocks an eyebrow, “Are you going to eat my head?”
“Don’t we have to be a couple for that?” Matt asks.
Shiro pauses, then says, “I mean, we’re basically an old married couple anyways. We’re those friends.”
Matt ponders this for all of about five seconds before saying, “Oh. Well then, yes.”
“You’re the worst… the worst…” Shiro searches for words.
“Husband?” Matt suggests, “Or wife, I guess, since it’s female praying mantises that eat their partners. Or I could be a trans boy mantis, maybe…”
“The worst,” Shiro says conclusively, “Just… the worst. Period.”
“Yeah well, you won’t be around to complain about it,” replies Matt with a shrug.
They both dissolve into laughter, which ends in Shiro hacking up a bunch of sinus drainage.
“Gross,” Matt says.
“You’re the one going around eating heads,” Shiro says with a final cough.
“Head, singular,” Matt corrects, “Just your head.”
“I stand corrected,” Shiro rasps.
“Speaking of food!” Matt says, “It’s ramen time. You stay here while I work my magic.”
Shiro raises both eyebrows, “Says the man who sincerely enjoys boil-in-bag rice?”
“Are you never gonna let me live that down?” Matt pouts dramatically.
“You served me boil-in-bag rice just last month!” Shiro retorts, his voice cracking with the change in volume.
“…fair,” Matt concedes, then wiggles the scallions in Shiro’s face one last time before disappearing off to the kitchen.
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The ramen actually turns out pretty decent. Shiro is pleasantly surprised. He’s not quite sure why Matt put the scallion stalks in whole instead of chopping them up, but… y’know, to each their own.
Of course, his sinuses are so congested that he can barely taste anything, so he’s hardly a reliable food critic. But the steam from the soup eases the pressure in his head, and he can’t help but smile at the fact that Matt came all the way over just to cook him lunch.
After they finish eating, Matt takes Shiro’s bowl, “Welp, I’ve got a seminar to attend, so I can’t stick around. But I’ll be back tonight!”
“Okay,” Shiro says, “Have a good seminar.”
Matt rolls his eyes, “I’ll try. It’s a bunch of stuff I already know taught by people with no public speaking skills, but… I’ll try.”
Shiro makes a sympathetic sound and waves drowsily.
After Matt leaves, Shiro sets aside his laptop and detaches his arm before huddling down in his blankets. He might as well get some rest while Keith is otherwise occupied, in case his brother needs him in the evening.
He wakes up several hours later with Keith pressed calmly against his side, quietly browsing the internet on his phone.
“How long’ve you been here?” Shiro croaks out.
Keith shrugs, “Since I got home.”
“Why?” Shiro asks, tone somewhere between fond and incredulous.
“Being sick gives people weird dreams,” he explains simply, “Didn’t want you to wake up all alone if you had a nightmare.”
A rush of emotions hits Shiro like a train. He wants to cry and give his little brother a hug, because at that very moment he knows for certain that he has the best brother in the whole universe. But he’s not quite sure how to get from point A to point B, so he settles for grabbing the nearest pillow and slapping it over Keith’s face.
It has the desired effect, starting a lazy pillow fight that ends with Keith draped horizontally across Shiro’s torso.
Close enough to a hug. Shiro ruffles his brother’s hair.
“This okay? Can you breathe?” asks Keith.
“Eh, I’m a little winded, but we can stay like this for a while,” Shiro says. It’s probably the most honest statement he’s made about his own physical wellbeing all week.
“Cool,” Keith pulls his phone back out.
They stay like that until someone knocks on the door about ten minutes later. Keith shoots upright with a smirk, eliciting a suspicious look from Shiro.
“Who’s that?” Shiro asks, assuming his brother must know.
“You’ll see,” Keith’s smirk just grows more smug. He leaves the room to greet their apparent guests.
The secret is out as soon as Keith opens the door, because three familiar voices immediately fill the house. A moment later, Keith returns with Lance, Pidge and Hunk in tow.
“A little birdie told us you needed a little extra TLC today,” say Hunk, setting down a large crockpot on an open corner of Shiro’s desk.
“So me and Hunk made some fire soup!” Lance grins, then pulls something out of Hunk’s cargo pocket and leans forward to hand it to Shiro, “Also Keith tells me you guys don’t have any vaporú in your house, so uh… I’m remedying that. Immediately.”
Shiro looks down at the jar. Vick’s VapoRub. “What does it do?”
Lance looks gravely offended, “Everything! It does everything! Here, put some on your lip…” He kneels on the bed and grabs the jar back, unscrewing the lid and spreading a potent ointment just below Shiro’s nostrils. It smells like menthol and burns a bit. “It’ll clear your sinuses right up! You got any aches and pains?”
“Uh… my right jaw’s been bugging me, I guess? Really the whole right side of my face has,” Shiro says cautiously, wondering what he’s just implicitly agreed to.
Lance just flashes a toothy grin and smears ointment down the side of Shiro’s face, starting at his temple and then tracing his jawline.
Shiro makes a face, but then he takes a burning breath in through his nose and realizes the congestion has already noticeably decreased. His eyes widen.
Lance just shrugs and hands the jar back, smiling serenely, “My mom uses the stuff like it’s some kinda miracle-cure. It works on headaches, sore muscles, acne, burns, chapped lips…”
Shiro contemplates for a moment, then plunges his fingers into the jar and smears a hefty amount of ointment between his eyes, where his sinuses ache the most. He immediately regrets his decision, because his eyes start to burn and water. He squeezes them shut and sets aside the jar.
Lance cackles, “But don’t put it near your eyes! Novice mistake.”
“Nice forewarning,” Keith snipes on Shiro’s behalf.
“Okay,” declares Hunk, “I think it’s time for soup!”
Shiro isn’t very hungry, and he suspects everything is going to taste like menthol at the moment, but he appreciates the sentiment and agrees that it’s time to eat.
Before long, everyone is piled onto Shiro’s bed, eating spicy chicken noodle soup out of paper bowls.
“Y’know, I wasn’t sure what to expect when you said you made spicy chicken noodle soup,” says Shiro, blowing into his soup and inhaling the steam, “but this is actually pretty good.” Having abandoned his right arm for the night, he’s simply drinking his soup out of the bowl.
“We figured the spice would help clear out your sinuses,” Hunk explains.
“Also, Keith insisted,” Pidge adds.
“That too,” Hunk agrees with a hearty laugh.
“It’s better this way,” Keith says, a bit defensively.
“Yeah yeah, we know. Everything is better spicy,” Lance playfully shoves Keith with a foot, almost causing him to spill his soup.
“Lance,” Shiro says, as sternly as he can manage in his current condition, “are you wearing shoes in my bed?”
“Uhhhh…” Lance grins sheepishly and removes his shoes, dropping them over the edge of the bed, “Nope!”
“That’s very disrespectful,” Hunk scolds gently, grabbing the shoes and taking them to the front entrance where they belong.
Taking advantage of the momentary quiet, Pidge turns to Shiro, “By the way, I brought you something too.” She rummages through her pocket and pulls out a flash drive, “This has a bunch of games on it, so you don’t get too bored while you’re lying around the next few days. It has a couple visual novels, laptop-friendly versions of some of you and Matt’s favorite console games, a few puzzle games… relaxing stuff. I know Matt gets pretty jumpy when he’s sick, nowadays, so I figured you might be the same.”
“Oh!” Shiro smiles, “Thank you. That’s very thoughtful of you.” He glances between the flash drive and his currently-occupied hand, “Could you set it over by my computer?” He gestures with his head. The motion leaves him slightly dizzy.
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Just as Keith’s friends are about to head out for the night, the front door swings open and Matt comes prancing into Shiro’s room. He nearly jumps through the ceiling when he sees his sister and her roommates.
“Hi Matt,” Pidge smirks.
“When did,” Matt gestures wildly, “this happen??”
“We stopped by to deliver some soup,” Hunk explains, “There’s plenty left over, if you want some! We just moved it to the fridge.”
“Ooh, sign me up!” Matt says, “As long as Hunk cooked it, not Pidge.”
“I helped!” Lance announces.
Pidge shrugs, “I had more important things to do.”
With that, Matt scampers off to grab a bowl of soup. By the time he returns, everyone has started saying their goodbyes for the night. He sets aside his soup and dives into the group hug happening on the bed, planting a kiss on the top of his sister’s head and waving them off cheerily.
Once Keith’s friends are gone, Matt retrieves his soup and settles down next to Shiro, “So, guess it’s just the three of us, huh?”
“Seems so,” says Shiro, honestly a little relieved that things have quieted down. He’s getting tired again.
Matt takes a gulp of his soup, “Movie night, anyone?”
Shiro smiles, “That sounds kind of nice, actually. Long as you guys don’t mind watching on a laptop screen.”
Keith shrugs, “Fine by me.”
“Sooo… what movie?” asks Matt, “I vote Attack of the Killer Tomatoes.”
Shiro groans, “Why would you subject me to that while I have an ear infection?”
“I vote Alien,” says Keith.
“What about Rubber?” suggests Matt.
“Or we could watch Jurassic Park,” says Keith.
“Jurrassic Park is good, but what if instead…” Matt pauses for dramatic effect, “Sharknado!”
“Tremors is way better than Sharknado,” argues Keith.
Shiro groans, “You two have the absolute worst taste in movies. Can we just watch Star Wars again or something?”
“Or we could watch Mulan,” Matt says with a wide grin.
“Or we could watch Mulan,” Shiro agrees, “Keith?”
Keith shrugs, “Yeah, sure.”
“Great, we’re all in agreement, then,” says Shiro, leaning across the bed to grab his laptop.
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They fall asleep about halfway through the movie, the sound of Shiro’s snoring downing out the movie audio as Matt and Keith snuggle up on either side of him.