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George couldn’t remember what it was like living without asthma. It seemed to influence every little thing he did- including hanging out with his friends, which was coincidentally what he was doing.
Well, it wasn’t like he didn’t want to hang out with his friends and film a vlog with them. It was just… hard. It was too much effort to be worth the tiniest increase in dopamine he got out of it. He’d rather lay at home in bed with his humidifier set to the highest setting than go out and risk facing the wrath of his asthma.
But then again, he didn’t usually have a choice. Tommy could be very persistent.
Dream said it would be good for him to get out of the house. Sapnap claimed he needed fresh air (even though he lived in the city, which he was fairly certain was making his asthma worse). Tommy, Jack, and Wilbur claimed he needed to stop being such an antisocial wuss and actually hang out with them for once.
And so, regretfully, George found himself out filming a vlog with his friends.
“George! You’re like a sick Victorian child,” Wilbur laughed. If George wasn’t currently bent in half gasping for air, he would have sent his meanest glare toward his friend.
“I don’t think Gogs has heard of exercise before,” Jack joined in the laughter. Between desperate gasps, George felt a sting of jealousy. Jack and Tommy were panting slightly, and Wilbur didn’t even sound out of breath. They’d barely run a block, and here George was, folded over like a sheet of paper and trying to ignore the sting in his throat signaling that he needed his inhaler quickly, or he was going to regret it.
He fumbled around in the pockets of his jacket, cursing his numb fingers. He tuned out the laughter of his friends while he searched- or maybe he just couldn’t hear them over the gasping, which was quickly progressing into strained, choking wheezes. His vision blurred, which didn’t make searching for his inhaler any easier. He knew it was in his jacket! He’d made sure he had it on him this morning.
He fumbled with the zippers on his pockets, feeling his breathing speed up even more as he found more and more empty pockets. He blinked harshly against the black spots threatening to cloud his vision.
“-alright?”
George looked up, another wheeze catching in his throat. Jack was standing in front of him, brows pinched with what had to be worry. He went to respond, but the tightness in his throat prevented it.
“Jack? What’s going on?”
“Is it asthma?” Wilbur asked, his blurry form pushing around Jack.
“I think so,” Jack said, “c’mon Gogs, over here-” George let Jack take a hold of his arms and guide him to sit down. He leaned back, squeezing his eyes shut.
“He was looking in his jacket,” Wilbur said, his voice sounding like it was buried under a metric ton of water.
“His inhaler’s got to be in there then,” Jack responded, then started rooting through George’s coat.
As he looked, Wilbur guided him to put his head between his legs, rubbing circles on his back. Jack eventually found the medication- much quicker than George would have been able to.
“Can you do it, or do you need help?” he asked, holding the white inhaler up for George to see.
George didn’t bother sitting up. He took the inhaler in a shaky hand and popped the cap off, holding it to his lips and pressing down. His lungs were still burning, but the burn was less intense, and was getting better. He struggled to hold his breath for as long as he was supposed to, letting out a wheezy exhale after only four or five seconds. He waited a moment, then did a second puff.
He slumped against the arm of what he now knew to be a bench. His wheezes tapered off into breathy gasps, and he could feel the heat leaving his face. He looked down at his hands, unsurprised to see scattered red and white patterns on his palms. He clenched his fists in his lap, shivered, and sighed, closing his eyes.
Jack was the first to talk. “You okay now?”
George nodded, not opening his eyes. Wilbur’s hand switched from rubbing circles to moving up and down.
“Here,” Jack said. There was a rustling noise, and then something was draped over his shoulders- another coat? “This should help. Wilbur, you have gloves, right?”
There was some more rustling, and then soft fabric was being pressed into his unoccupied hand.
George opened his eyes to look down at the gloves. His inhaler was still tightly clenched in his hand. Wilbur was holding the cap- he must have picked it up off the ground some time ago. He took the cap and popped it back on his inhaler, placing it into his lap as he pulled on the gloves.
“Thanks,” he managed between shaky breaths. “How’d you know..?”
He trailed off, but they must have understood the meaning.
“My sister has pretty severe asthma,” Jack answered.
Wilbur chuckled. “I wrote a whole album about mine.”
George did a funny sort of half-sigh, half-laugh, leaning onto the back of the bench.
“Tommy? You okay?”
“Uh- yeah, sorry.” Tommy sounded oddly quiet. “George, you should have told us you had asthma. I wouldn’t have laughed, promise. That was… god, that was terrifying. I thought you were dying or some shit.”
George gave a humorless laugh. “Yeah, sorry.”
“Seriously,” Wilbur said, cutting him off, “that could have been dangerous.” His face softened. “We’re your friends. We don’t want to see you hurt.”
He nodded numbly, paying more attention to the uncomfortable itch in his throat than what they were actually saying. He hacked into his hand, bringing up half a lung with the rattling coughs. Eventually, a slimy clump of salty-flavored disgusting-ness came unlodged, and he spat it out on the ground, wrinkling his nose. He coughed a few extra times for good measure and spat out a number of mucus globs.
“Ugh,” he muttered, wiping the side of his mouth with his sleeve, “phlegm’s the worst bit.”
Wilbur dryly chuckled. When George looked up, Jack and Wilbur seemed more or less unphased, while Tommy had gone several shades paler.
“Is that normal? Do you need your, um, inhaler again?”
“Nah,” George said, struggling around his shaky breaths, “but some water would be nice.”
“There’s a Tesco’s somewhere nearby,” Jack said, “I can pick up some tea if you want.”
“That’d be great, thanks.” His throat spasmed, and he hacked up another disgusting glob of phlegm. “Could you try to get it warm? Or at least not iced.”
“Sure,” Jack agreed, “why don’t you put the gloves on, Gogs? That should help warm you up a bit.”
He hummed, pulling on the gloves with shaky hands. He slipped the inhaler back into his pocket while he was at it. He felt good enough about not needing a second dose to put it back.
“Are you okay to keep filming the vlog?” Wilbur took his hand off George’s back. He almost missed the contact.
“Uh.. depends what we’re doing.” He coughed, luckily dry this time.
“Well, what do you wanna do?”
He hesitated. “Well… if I’m being honest, I kind of want to lie down at home for a while.” He looked at Tommy. “Sorry, I know you really wanted to film… I just-”
“No no! I get it,” Tommy reassured, waving his hands around. “Your health’s more important than a stupid vlog.”
George cracked a half-smile.
“We could always keep filming at your place,” Wilbur suggested, “nothing saying we can’t make a ‘we invaded George’s house’ vlog.”
George thought on it for a moment. His apartment was somewhat presentable, save for his bedroom. He kind of wanted to keep filming, and being at home would let him be able to keep going. But did he really feel good enough about letting his friends into his home with no prior preparation?
“...Yeah, that sounds good.”
Wilbur and Tommy grinned at him, and he managed to smile back.
“YEEEAH!” Tommy cheered, flopping down on the bench next to Wilbur, “goin’ to Gogy’s house!”
Wilbur laughed, elbowing him in the side.
“Ow! Bitch! I’ll have your head for that!”
“What are you going to do, child? I took your vlog gun.”
“Joke’s on you, I’ll just steal it back!”
“Oh yeah, I’m sure you will.”
George closed his eyes, listening to the sound of his friends’ playful banter. He was already starting to feel warmer, and his breathing had calmed down to a relatively normal pattern. He was sure to feel even better when Jack came back with his tea, and once he was home again, he’d be able to switch on his humidifier and make some proper tea, and maybe play some video games with his friends.
Maybe Dream and Sapnap were right. It’d done him some good to get out of the house.