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As soon as Spamton closed your apartment door behind him, you could tell something was off about him.
“HELLO [My Number One Fan], I’M HOME!”
He entered at a sloth’s pace, a stark contrast to his usual haste to see you the second he opened the door. His greeting was quiet as if he could barely force a word out, and his voice was muffled by a layer of congestion. It was truly unusual.
“Glad you’re back, but…” you began once he greeted you, “are you feeling alright?”
“WHAT DO YOU MEAN? I’M [One Hundred Percent Satisfaction Guaranteed]!” he insisted, forcing his grin to go wider as he faced you.
You asked no further questions until he wobbled over to the couch and flopped on it face-first, not even bothering to take his shoes off as he usually did.
“You forgot to take your shoes off…”
He said nothing in response and lifted himself to sit. He kicked his shoes off and let them fall to the floor with a thump before immediately laying back down. As he laid down, you noticed the sheen of perspiration on his forehead.
“Hey, are you sure you’re okay?” you asked him again, and you received a grunt in response as he rolled over to look you in the eye.
“OF COURSE!” he said, “JUST A LITTLE [Worn Out] IS ALL!”
You slowly nodded, not offering much else of a response. You didn’t believe him, but you decided not to pry anymore.
And you wouldn’t have if Spamton hadn’t broken into a coughing fit. He sat up and covered his mouth with his elbow, turning as far away from you as he could. His brows dipped as he sputtered, and even after the wave of coughing had come to pass, they stayed stuck that way when he turned back to you.
“So, you’re just a little tired, huh? That’s it?”. You raised a brow, and the statement caused Spamton to panic.
“YOU DON’T BELIEVE [[Your Ol’ Buddy Spamton]]?!” he questioned, “I JUST NEED SOME [Water], I [Pinky Promise]!”
With that, he stood to retrieve exactly what he claimed. His pace was just as slow and uncoordinated as it was when he first arrived, and he didn’t make it that far.
He stumbled over his feet and gripped a chair at the dining table to keep himself steady. You were at his side in an instant to assist him.
“I’m gonna pick you up, is that okay?” you asked. He didn’t hesitate to nod, and you scooped him up in your arms and headed for his bedroom. His entire body radiated with warmth, but he began to shiver as soon as you picked him up.
You set him on his bed and stared him down as his gaze drifted to you once in a while.
“I know you’re sick,” you stated, “and I’m gonna help you. You have no choice.”. You always tried to factor in giving him what he wanted, but you were determined to help Spamton feel healthy again even if he didn’t want your care.
He offered no answer except a groan as he rolled onto his side, and you took that as compliance.
You first retrieved a set of pajamas from his drawer and placed them on his bed. After all, you didn’t think he’d be too content with wearing a suit to bed.
You then left the room, closing the door behind you to let him change while you grabbed a few more things; a glass of water, a thermometer, and the blanket draped across your couch. It was quite obvious that he had a fever, but you needed to check just how severe it was.
Once you brought everything back to Spamton’s room, he was dressed and his glasses were placed on the nightstand. You set the water down next to them and draped the blanket over his sheets.
You presented the thermometer to him and he gripped it weakly and placed it in his mouth. You both remained still for a few seconds until it beeped, and you took it out of his mouth. Lo and behold, his temperature was higher than it should be.
“Man that’s… that’s bad,” you noted as you stared at the temperature reading. Spamton didn’t seem to care, instead he flipped over onto his stomach and closed his eyes. You sighed as you watched him.
“Hey, don’t fall asleep on me just yet. I’m gonna get you some medicine.”. Spamton answered with another annoyed groan as he flipped back over.
You were gone and back in a flash with a pill in your hands. It wasn’t anything of a “miracle cure”, just some Tylenol. You presented it to Spamton and he took it in between his fingers and stared at it.
“Come on, it’ll make you feel better!” you urged as he continued to sit there.
“NO!” he whined “I CAN’T! IT [[Hurts!]] [[Hurts!]]”
You didn’t want to argue with him, but it seemed you had no choice.
“I know your throat hurts, but bringing down your fever is more important,”
He still refused so you had no choice but to employ force. Spamton was going to feel better whether he wanted to or not, that was your guarantee.
You plucked the pill from in between his fingers and held it close to his mouth.
“Come on, open wide!”. He recoiled as you held the pill and reached his hands out to push yours away.
“IS THIS REALLY NE-”
As he opened his mouth to speak, you shoved the pill inside, and he could do nothing but swallow. He winced as he did so, and you saw tears come to his eyes.
“Now, was that so hard?” you chuckled as you grabbed his water and handed it to him. He gulped it down as if he had been stranded in a desert for weeks. So much for a sore throat.
You grabbed his desk chair and set it up next to his bed.
“Is there anything else you think you might need?” you wondered, your usual concern coming back to your voice, “I’ll do anything, you just have to ask.”
Spamton handed his cup to you, and you placed it back down on the nightstand.
“TIRED…”. That was all he said before assuming his original position on his stomach with his eyes closed. You decided that you should leave him be for now, so you stood to leave the room.
“I’ll wake you up when dinner’s ready, just shout if you need something,” you told him, and with that, you walked out, leaving his door half-open.
---
You were delighted to discover how soundly Spamton had slept for the past couple of hours. You didn’t even need to peek into his room to check up on him, for his snore sounded like a janky lawnmower and the noise filled your entire apartment. That’s what you got for not closing his bedroom door.
The sound became a dull lull in the back of your mind as you heated up some chicken soup for the two of you on your stovetop. On the other burner was a kettle, as you also wanted to make tea with honey for Spamton’s sore throat.
As promised, you brought his dinner to his room as well as your own. You had to open his door with your foot as you balanced every dish in your hands. You set them all down on what little space there was on his nightstand before sitting on the chair you had set up.
“Hey Spamton, I brought you dinner if you want any,” you cooed, placing a hand on his back to alert him of your presence. He slowly lifted his head to face you and squinted as he reached for his glasses. After putting them on, he sat up, and you handed him his bowl of soup.
You were almost finished eating, meanwhile, Spamton had barely moved from staring down at his bowl. The sight made you place your now-empty bowl back on the nightstand.
“Are you not hungry?” you questioned, your brows drooping.
Spamton said nothing, instead looking back and forth between you and the bowl. He did this a couple of times, then his face suddenly turned bright red.
“CAN… CAN YOU… WELL…” he stuttered. You sat there with bated breath, anxiously waiting for whatever he wanted to say. He eventually gave up and resorted to shoving his bowl into your hands.
“Is there something wrong?” you asked, “if you need something, don’t be embarrassed about it!”
“WELL THEN…” he began, “COULD YOU [[Feed Me! Feed Me!]]”. He slapped a hand over his mouth as if that would suppress the request he already spewed. You could tell why he was so suddenly embarrassed.
It was an odd request, but you did say you would do anything. To be honest, you really doubted he needed any assistance with eating, he probably just wanted you to hand-feed him because he had the opportunity to ask.
“Of course,” you nodded, cracking a grin at his expression.
You took a spoonful of soup and held it up to him.
“Um… open up, I guess,” you giggled. To be completely honest, you weren’t sure what he was expecting you to do.
He unhinged his jaws so wide you could probably fit your entire fist in there. You slid the spoon in and dumped the soup into his mouth. Once you got another spoonful, he swallowed and opened his mouth for another.
Though you were a little off-put by the snakelike way he could stretch his mouth out, you eventually got into a comfortable rhythm of offering him soup and going for another spoonful after he ate it. It didn’t last long though, and the bowl had been emptied out about halfway when he decided he was finished.
When he didn’t open his mouth for another bite, you put the bowl back where it had been. Even though he didn’t eat much, he looked to be in a significantly better mood as a small smile stretched his face.
You wondered if you should check his temperature again, but your thoughts were interrupted by Spamton hacking out a few coughs. They looked a bit painful as he squeezed his eyes shut with every cough. You gently pat his back until he was finished.
Once he was, he said nothing, instead staring out blankly.
“Is there something wrong?” you asked, as his gaze didn’t seem to point to anything specific.
“THERE’S [One More Left, Get It While Supplies Last!]”. He cleared his throat, “ONE MORE [Favor To Ask] YOU!”. He made a beckoning motion with his hand once he turned to you, and you leaned in, curious.
He pulled you into a hug, and you should’ve guessed that’s what he wanted. You held him close, and you could practically feel his body heat floating off his skin. Despite this, he was shaking, and you realized that his medicine had probably worn off.
“Do you think you need any more Tylenol?” you asked him, stroking his back with your thumb. He settled his chin on your shoulder with a hum.
You heard the beginning of an answer from him, but he couldn’t get a full word out before sneezing right in your ear. You flinched at the sound, your heart racing for a moment, but it calmed itself quickly.
“Bless you,”
You heard him breathe in abruptly, and you knew another one was coming. When he sneezed again, you couldn’t help but laugh.
“Bless you,”
He sneezed again.
You sighed and gave him one last squeeze before pulling away from his embrace. You missed his warmth, but you also didn’t want to break your eardrums from his booming sneeze.
You grabbed him a tissue and he wiped at his nose, the skin growing red where he rubbed at it. Once he was finished, he flopped into his pillow and attempted to throw the tissue into his trash can. He missed.
You stood and picked it up, holding it in between your thumb and pointer finger as you flicked it into the trash.
“AS I WAS SAYING…” Spamton picked up, “I NEED [Your Miracle Cure]!”
“Coming right up!”. You laughed and walked out of the room to retrieve the bottle of Tylenol.
You flipped it upside-down on your palm, and when you retracted it, your hand was empty. Your brows furrowed, and you hovered your eye over the top of the bottle to realize it was completely empty.
You groaned and walked back to Spamton’s room.
“Hey, so, um…” you began, “we’re kinda out of medicine…”
His lip quivered a bit, and suddenly, Spamton burst into tears.
Why he did, you had no idea. You knew his fever was probably making it a bit harder to control himself, but even then, what was there to cry about? He didn’t even want to take medicine before!
Instead of sitting in the chair, you sat on his bed, and he immediately moved to cry into your side. His sobs were muffled by your shirt and you heard him muster up airy coughs from time to time.
“Hey, what’s the matter?”
“EVERYTHING!”
Through his crying and sputtering, you saw no point in trying to talk to him, so you sat there until he was finished. You ran your fingers through his hair in an attempt to calm him down. When he pulled away, a wet stain was left on your shirt.
You turned to pull another tissue from the box and Spamton used it to wipe his eyes. He blew his nose and attempted to throw the tissue into the trash again. And he missed again.
“Do you feel better now?”
Spamton didn’t give a verbal answer, but he nodded. He then took off his glasses and placed them on his nightstand. You took this as a sign that he wanted to go back to sleep, so you stood and laid his blankets over him.
“I’ll be on the couch if you need something,” you told him, and you picked up both soup bowls and half-closed his bedroom door.
---
About an hour passed when you heard footsteps and a sudden thump behind you. The sound pried your eyes away from your TV to Spamton on the floor on his hands and knees.
“What’re you doing?” you questioned, at his side in an instant.
“WELL, I WAS GOING TO YOUR [Luxury Bathroom], BUT…”
“Are you gonna throw up?”. You cringed just thinking about it, but you had to make sure just in case it was a possibility.
“NO!”. You felt instant relief wash over you. “BUT I MIGHT [$!$$] MYSELF IN [T-Minus Five Seconds!]”
“Here, I’ll carry you over then,” you offered, and you didn’t give him a chance to respond as you picked him up. You were certain he was being a bit dramatic about whatever he needed to be in the bathroom for, but you did a little jog over just in case.
You set him down in the bathroom and closed the door.
Five minutes later, he emerged, and you observed from the couch as he gripped the doorknob to keep himself on his feet. Eventually, he gave up and let himself sit on the ground, which quickly resulted in him laying on the tile of the bathroom floor.
“Having fun there?” you laughed, and though he didn’t give any words in response, he laughed with you. You couldn’t tell if he was laughing because he thought your comment was funny or just because you were.
It made sense that he would like the feeling of the cold tile against his fever-ridden body, so you couldn’t blame him.
“I COULD [[Drift Into A Deep, Deep Sleep]] RIGHT HERE, HONEST!” he sighed, shuffling around a little bit to get comfortable and closing his eyes.
Of course, you didn’t fancy him falling asleep on your bathroom floor. You doubted it was comfortable, nor was it exactly sanitary.
“If you’re hot, I can get you some water or something,” you suggested, “just… don’t sleep on the floor…”
You patted the space beside you on the couch, inviting Spamton to join. It took him a couple of minutes to get on his feet, but he eventually stood and flopped on the couch face-first, as he had earlier that day. Once he sat, you stood to get his cup from his room and dumped the water out in the sink to refill it.
With a now-full cup of fresh water, you placed it on the coffee table and resumed your spot on the couch. As soon as you sat down, Spamton crawled into your lap and rested his head on your chest.
“You look like you’re feeling better,” you observed. Somewhat, you wanted to add but refrained.
“BETTER!? YES!” he confirmed, “STILL JUST AS [[EXHAUSTED]]!”
You pressed the back of your hand to his forehead for a few seconds and it seemed that his temperature had gone down. You couldn’t tell if it was gone completely, but it was progress.
“Oh, well, before you fall asleep again, is there anything you need?”
Spamton thought long and hard about your question, and he curled into himself a bit as he sat there. You were content with silently waiting for an answer.
“WHY DO YOU [[Sacrifice Yourself]] FOR ME?! WON’T YOU GET [Sick and Tired]?!” he asked, gaze on you, unwavering.
“Well, I just want you to feel better,” you answered, not even taking a second to think of a response. It was that simple, and wanting Spamton to no longer feel ill was like common sense to you. Nobody would want to watch their friend be in poor health without doing anything about it.
He went back to thinking for a moment, staring in the distance.
“REALLY!?”. He looked back up at you, sounding skeptical.
“Yes,” you grinned, watching as heat crept upon Spamton’s face.
“SO YOU DON’T MIND [If You Have Cold Or Flu-Like Symptoms]!?”
“No…”. You raised an eyebrow, wondering what was going on in Spamton’s brain.
He didn’t say anything more but he sat straight up in your lap. His face drifted closer to yours, and by then, you figured out what he really wanted.
He was inches away from your cheek when he paused, sharply inhaled, and sneezed.
You flinched at the sound in your ear, and Spamton quickly recoiled as your lip curled. When you wiped your cheek with the back of your hand, you felt nothing on it but decided it would probably be best to wash your hands anyway. Even though you would probably get sick no matter what, at that point.
Spamton stayed on the couch as you washed your hands, and when you sat back down, he stayed in his spot next to you.
“SORRY! I’M SORRY!” he profusely apologized much more than he needed to. You just smiled and shook your head.
“It’s okay,” you assured him, “I’d still get sick even if you didn’t do that.”
He thought about it for a bit before nodding.
“I GUESS YOU’RE [[That Is Correct!]]”
He assumed his position in your lap and planted a kiss on your cheek. He added another one a couple of seconds later, seemingly as an afterthought.
You breathed out a chuckle once he was finished. Classic Spamton, you thought, what a sweet guy.
Once he settled back into a comfortable position, you leaned down and kissed the top of his head. He stared up at you for a while, his entire face slowly fading from white to red. It reminded you of a rebooting computer, and you could picture a loading icon turning in his brain as he froze.
He squeaked and ducked his face into your chest once he processed what had just occurred, and you erupted in laughter.
“You’re such a dork,” you chuckled.
When Spamton didn’t move from his spot for a few minutes, you eventually realized he was asleep. If his lack of movement didn’t give it away, his rumbling snore sure did.
Eventually, the call of sleep claimed you as well, and your eyes grew heavy.
---
You woke the next morning laying on the couch by yourself. You shot straight up once you were aware enough to realize Spamton was nowhere to be found. Your head spun as you lifted it, and you gripped the arm of the couch.
As if cued by your thoughts, Spamton walked out of the bathroom. He seemed completely healthy, and for a moment, you wondered if Spamton’s sickness was all just a dream.
“GOOD MORNING, [Little Sponge]!” he grinned, walking right up to the couch to greet you. It honestly astounded you just how fast he recovered from being sick, but then again, he probably had a tough immune system if he lived on the streets as long as he did.
You couldn’t muster an answer, instead flopping back onto the couch when another dizzy spell twisted around in your brain. His smile dropped as he watched.
“I think I’m sick…” you mumbled, and the feeling of congestion in your nose as you spoke further confirmed this.
“WELL THEN,” Spamton started, “IT’S [[My Turn!]] TO [Play Nurse]!”
He stared at you for a bit as he tapped his chin. You were too tired to think of a response.
“I PRESCRIBE [The Smooth Taste Of Spring Water], A BIT OF [Mom’s Homemade Soup], AND [Your Miracle Cure]!” he said with a grin, “WHICH WE STILL [[Had Ran Out]]!”
That’s right, you completely forgot you were out of Tylenol, and now you had to suffer through without it. You let out a frustrated sigh.
“NOT TO WORRY,” he assured you, “[[Nine out of Ten Doctors Reccomend]] DOCTOR SPAMTON!”
You let out a small laugh as Spamton pat you on the head in reassurance. You were a little suspicious of what he would try to do to cure you, but just as his sickly body had been left in your hands, yours was now in his.
You just hoped you were in good hands.