Work Text:
The first thing you know when you wake up is that you have a splitting headache that definitely wasn’t there yesterday. As the world comes into focus, the light filtering in from the window next to your bed hits you like a truck and you instinctively close your eyes to prevent the pulsing migraine you can already feel coming on.
The second thing you know is that your phone is ringing--a familiar remix of your favourite video game music that you haven’t changed since you set it. You pick it up from your bedside table, regrettably having to roll your body over to reach, and answer it without checking the caller ID (not that you could anyway, with how blurry your vision is in your groggy state). On the other end of the line, your boyfriend, Five, lets out a sigh of relief, and then quickly blurts out, “y/n! Where are you?”
Ah. The third thing you know is that it’s 11:03 am, and you’re late for work.
“I’m at home,” you inform him, “Sorry to worry you, I must’ve-” you let out a hacking cough, and your throat feels very, very raw, “must’ve slept in. I’ll be over in 20, can you let Phil kno-”
Five cuts you off before you can finish, “mi amor, you sound awful, are you sick?”
“No, no! I’ll be fine to come into work!” you say with the put-upon cheerfulness of a seasoned retail worker, not-so-subtly holding back an oncoming coughing fit.
Five is not convinced. “Absolutely not, I’m telling Phil you won’t be in today, you’re in no condition to run the register, let alone fight Glitches!” he tells you firmly.
You attempt to protest, but he has already put down the phone. You can distantly hear him talking to someone, but can’t quite make out any words. He picks up the phone again minutes later.
“Got everything figured out,” he informs you, “please try and get some rest now! Make sure to drink lots of water! A-and don’t overexert yourself- oh! And remember to take cold medicine if you have any in the house, or I could bring some if you don’t ha-”
“Thank you, Five, I’ll remember,” you say with fond exhaustion.
“Right!” he says, “I gotta go… do some things.” Not suspicious at all. “Text me if you need anything, ¡hasta luego!”
He hangs up, and you smile as Five’s ending of the call reveals your lock screen wallpaper: a photo of you and Five on your first day on the job at Hinobi. The photo is a little blurry, but you can still see with clarity that he’s smiling so broadly his eyes are closed. He looks radiant. You giddily wonder, for a moment, how you ended up so lucky to have a boyfriend like him. You turn your phone off and return it to its spot on your bedside table, as not to contribute to the already torturous headache. You decide to heed your boyfriend’s advice and get some much-needed rest.
⊱ ────── {.⋅ 🎮 ⋅.} ────── ⊰
You drift in and out of consciousness for what could have been 10 minutes, or 30 minutes, or an hour (you’re not keeping track).
On one particular wake-up, you can hear distant chatter a few rooms down from yours. Curious, you sit up in bed, and immediately regret it when your vision begins spinning and you feel a now-familiar pain in your head. You quickly lay back down. By now, the chatter has ceased and you can hear footsteps coming toward your room.
To your surprise, Five pops his head in quietly and shoots you a big grin when he notices you’re awake. He shuts the door carefully and puts down a large, heavy-looking plastic bag adorned with Taco Dragon logo next to your feet. He walks over to your bedside table and puts down a bottle of ice water.
“Hey y/n! How’re you feeling?” he says softly. You try to answer him but end up letting out a noncommittal groan in place of words. Your throat is not co-operating at the moment. Seeing your struggle, he puts a comforting hand on your own, and you flip yours over to interlock your fingers. His hands are a pleasantly warm contrast to your freezing room.
Finally able to form weak words, you ask, “What are you doing here? I mean- it’s not that I don’t appreciate you being here!” you correct quickly, “But shouldn’t you be at work right now?”
“Oh! D-don’t worry about me,” he rubs the back of his neck with his free hand, bashfully, “I asked Miko to cover my shift and she was very understanding. Basically pushed me out the door, all like ‘go comfort your partner, Five!!!!!!’” His impression of his best friend is mediocre at best, but it’s endearing nonetheless and it makes you laugh (well, more of an amused exhale, because laughing would not be a good idea given the state your lungs are currently in). Honestly, anything is endearing and funny if Five is the one saying it, you muse.
“Not worried about Mitch surpassing you on the leaderboard?” you tease gently. Five scrunches his face in mock disgust at the mere mention of Mitch Williams.
“I don’t mind, I have more important things to worry about right now,” he says, planting a gentle kiss on your forehead. Sap.
Five moves quickly to where he put down the large bag, and you momentarily mourn the loss of the hand you were holding, before he returns with the treasure. He pulls out a dozen or so take-out boxes, far too many for a single person, or even two people to reasonably eat, and lays them all out in the space beside you. He opens them one by one with dramatic flair, revealing a different treat in each box.
“I-I wasn’t sure what you’d want, so I just made you one of everything!” he explains, gesturing at the feast sprawled out in front of you, “You don’t have to eat everything, of course! I just thought it would be nice to have the option of whatever you want on your sick day. Plus I wanted to keep it a surprise!” He is so sweet you might actually cry.
You select your meal, pulling out a still-warm taquito from the fifth box. Five hands you a little package of napkins which you use to form a makeshift plate to avoid getting any food on your blankets.
“Oh! y/n, did you take any medicine?”
“If you think I was able to get up and walk myself to the medicine cabinet you are sorely mistaken, Mr. Nieves,” you inform him, deadpanning. He laughs.
“No worries, I’ve got you,” he says, rummaging through the bag once more. He pulls out a small bottle of cough syrup and begins to open it. He struggles for a moment with the plastic wrapped around the lid-- whoever packaged this bottle was apparently determined to make it impossible to open. It finally opens and he makes an adorable victory gesture, punching his fist forward twice. Once he’s dealt with the lid, he pours you the recommended amount into the cup and hands it to you. You take it, grimacing at the bitter taste, and put the cup on the bedside table. You notice your boyfriend once again digging into the seemingly infinite bag of sick day treasures.
“Close your eyes!” he says excitedly, and you comply. You feel a small, fluffy weight placed in your hands. You reopen your eyes and are greeted with the sight of a familiar sharp-toothed plush cat in your arms. The stuffed Chomp Kitty is obviously handmade; the stitching is a little uneven in a few places and there are a few places where the stuffing is falling out, but it is obvious a lot of love was put into the construction of the creature.
“Fiiiiveeee, did you make this?” you ask, touched, “You didn’t have to!”
He rubs the back of his neck again, “Well, it was supposed to be for your birthday but I just thought you might like the comfort since you’re not feeling well. I-I had to rush the stitching a bit at the end,” he points out the fraying end of the cat’s tail as he tells you this, “but I can always fix it if it starts coming apart.”
You’re utterly speechless, so instead of trying to form words, you wrap your arms around his waist for a hug. It’s uncomfortable to begin with, given that you are lying down and he is standing with the bag in hand, but he quickly kneels down to correct it. You mumble a heartfelt “thank you” into his shoulder and just sit there, absolutely lost in affection. Eventually, you break the hug to cough away from Five, and he offers you the water bottle.
“Do you wanna watch a movie or something?” Five asks. You shake your head. “I don’t think I could get out of bed and over to the TV without collapsing,” you say, letting out a wheezy laugh.
“No problem!” he says, pulling out his phone and sitting down on the bed next to you. The twin mattress doesn’t fit both of you well at all, but the closeness is so comforting that it doesn’t really matter to either of you.
“I’ve got a ton of movies loaded onto this bad boy, we could be here for WEEKS!” he explains eagerly as he hands the phone to you. You scroll for a few moments before you stop on a film that you’ve been excited to watch for a while now.
“Hey, I thought this only came out a couple weeks ago, how’d you get it already?” you prod him, smirking mischievously.
“Oh you know,” he says nonchalantly, “I have my methods. Completely legal methods,” he adds with an equally devious smirk.
“You can always steal from megacorporations. It is always morally correct,” you recite, earning a laugh from Five.
Starting the movie, Five lays next to you and snuggles close to make sure you are both able to see the small phone screen. One of his hands is holding the phone to prevent it from falling, but the other hand is free. You take the opportunity to interlock your fingers like before and you both settle into place, pleasantly warm and comfortable. Perhaps too warm and comfortable, as you make it about fifteen minutes into the film before exhaustion takes you once again.
⊱ ────── {.⋅ 🎮 ⋅.} ────── ⊰
When you wake, Five is in the same position he was when you drifted off, including his hand, whose fingers are still interlaced with yours. His phone is nowhere to be seen; the movie must be over, then. The room is significantly darker than you remember it last. You stir, causing him to look over at you and meet your eyes.
“Buenos días,” he says softly.
“What time is it?” you ask, blinking your eyes a few times..
Five leans over to his other side to check his phone. “About 4:30,” he answers.
“4:30!?” you repeat, “I’ve been asleep for nearly four hours and you never woke me? You’re still in the same spot, didn’t you get uncomfortable?”
“A little,” he admits, “but I didn’t want to wake you when I knew you needed your rest. A-and a little discomfort is worth it when I’m beside you.”
You’ve been dating him for months now, and your face still can’t help but darken a few shades when he says something adorable like that.
“How are you feeling?” he asks after a beat.
You notice for the first time in the day that your head is not threatening to implode on itself. Your throat feels clear again, and you take a careful deep breath that does not result in a coughing fit. “I feel… okay, actually,” you tell him.
“That’s awesome!!” he replies excitedly, flapping the hand that is not holding yours a few times. He sits up and beckons you to join him. He returns to the bag for a final time to pull out the item at the very bottom: a portable Hinobi console, two controllers, and a stack of games you both love playing together. The bag is finally completely empty.
“Now that you’re feeling better, wanna play a few matches? You pick the game?”
“Was this your plan all along? Get me all healed up and then beat me to a pulp at my favourite games?” you tease.
He gasps dramatically, clutching his chest, “I can’t believe you figured out my devious plan so easily! How did you know?”
You laugh and punch his arm affectionately, before grabbing the copy of Smashozaurs on the top of the game pile. It was the first game you both played together, and you’re both really good at it.
“Alright!” he pumps his fists, “I love this one!”
“I know,” you tell him, with a small kiss to the cheek.
While it was probably the medication or the four hours of rest that did the trick, you like to think, a tad embarrassingly, that it was Five’s presence-- his gifts, his cuddles, his caring words-- that helped you through your sick day.
The fourth thing you know today is that you’ll be spending the rest of your evening playing Smashozaurs with your awesome boyfriend.
And destroying him at it.