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Narrator had officially decided, beyond a shadow of a doubt, he hated being human. He hated everything that came with it. The getting cold, the getting too hot, the needing to eat, the needing to sleep and of course the getting sick.
This was the first time Narrator had been sick and when he'd rather loudly declared to Stanley that he regretted this whole human nonsense, Stanley told him he was being overdramatic. Narrator had then cried that he was not being overdramatic and when had Stanley ever seen him be overdramatic? No, Narrator was thinking clearly.
As clearly as one with a blocked nose and pounding headache could think.
"Stanley, why do humans insist on getting sick? It's the worst thing one could possibly do." Narrator was huddled in bed, switching rapidly between needing a blanket around his shoulders to kicking off any and all bedding as he claimed he was overheating.
[No one chooses to be sick. It just happens.] Stanley was sitting next to him. He'd taken the day off work as this was Narrator's first time ever catching a cold and although it was only the common one, he was not handling things well.
"Well I think it's stupid anyway." Narrator groaned, sinking a little further into their bed.
[Yes, it's very stupid.] Stanley placed an affectionate hand on Narrator's. Narrator shuddered, face twisting in pain and Stanley held Narrator's hand a little tighter. [You alright, hon?]
Narrator stuck his tongue out before huffing. "No, I'm not. All of me aches, even parts of me I didn't know existed and my nose is blocked and I have to breath out of my mouth which means my lips are drying out and I feel like doing nothing but sleeping but I can't-" Narrator pauses to take a deep breath before whining. "Ohhh, Stanleyyyy."
Stanley gave him a sort of amused smile. [Whattt?]
"Are you utterly and completely sure this is just a cold?"
[Yes. You're fine. Besides-] Stanley places a hand to Narrator's forehead. [Your fever is clearing up, you're on the mend.]
Narrator mumbled something about how "it sure didn't feel like it." but his worries were somewhat calmed by Stanley's touch. And as much as Stanley would have liked to stay holding Narrator's hand all day, just because he was off work didn't mean there weren't household chores to do. With Narrator out of commission, there was even more to do.
"Wait, where are you going?" Narrator half lidded eyes had shot open as Stanley stood up.
[I'll just be in the next room, I have some chores to do.] Seeing Narrator's less than...pleased expression at this, Stanley tried to make him feel a little better. [Look, I've left you one of your books, you have water and painkillers next to you and if you really need me, just call out. I know how much you like being loud.] Stanley squeezed Narrator's hand.
[You need your rest. Try at least...for me?] Stanley gave him the most imploring look he could muster and Narrator's cheeks turned pink.
"Well...yes, alright. I shall try. For you and you only. Just know I'm not happy about it." Narrator grumbled and Stanley gave him a quick peck on the cheek.
[Thank you dear.]
"But if I perish in our room, all alone because my husband abandoned me in favour of household chores, you're going to feel really bad." Narrator called out as Stanley turned to leave.
[A little common cold never hurt anyone.]
"Famous last words, Stanley! Famous last words!" Was the last thing Narrator yelled before a harsh fit of coughing overtook him and he lay back in bed. Fine, maybe Stanley had been right. He'd try getting some sleep.
*
Narrator managed to sneeze so hard he woke himself up. Well that'd been a lovely cap to what had been a pretty shit nap. He really hadn't rested at all but with his head hurting as much as it was, it wasn't a huge surprise.
Narrator hated this. He hated all of this. He was sneezy and his eyes were running and his vision was blurry and he couldn't stop coughing. And Stanley was gone.
Narrator couldn't really blame him. Narrator wasn't exactly a pretty sight right now, he felt like he'd had all the air let out of him - more akin to a lonely, deflated balloon than anything Stanley had fallen in love with.
Narrator sneezed again. He started to blearily search for a tissue to wipe his nose. This was horrible. And Stanley was still gone. Narrator could hear him humming in the room over, like he always would when he thought Narrator wasn't listening. It was...sweet and Narrator shook his head (before realising how bad an idea that had been because ouch). He was determined to prove to Stanley and himself that he could last a few hours alone.
He wasn't even totally alone, really if he only called out, Stanley would no doubt come running. But no, he wouldn't be too needy. He could do this. He could, he could-
Narrator couldn't. He tried to read, searching for his glasses. Finding them and grabbing his book, he started to scan the pages. Words started to blend together, melding into a giant black mass on the page. It was hopeless. Narrator felt useless, he couldn't do anything but sneeze and cough and complain.
No wonder Stanley had gotten out of there as quick as possible. Stanley had never seen sick Narrator before...
Narrator knew not to spiral. He knew how easy it was for him but....ooohhh. His cold riddled mind didn't have it's usual defences and so he did exactly what he knew not to.
He started to overthink and with it, he started to spiral.
What if Stanley had really been grossed out by Narrator's condition? What if Narrator looked absolutely ghastly and Stanley had realised all at once that he didn't want to be with someone as wheezy and hopeless as Narrator now was? Oh god what if Stanley didn't love him anymore?
It was ridiculous, Narrator knew it was but all of him felt so sensitive, like his nerves had been rubbed raw and now he just couldn't help but think all sorts of terrible things. Sniffling, tears started to build in his eyes and Narrator sat up a little straighter. He hadn't felt this lonely in a while.
All this over a bloody cold. Something every single person had had but Narrator was working himself into such a state over. How pathetic. He couldn't let Stanley see him like this, no doubt he'd think Narrator very stupid for it all and maybe he'd want to spend even less time around him.
Narrator let out a quiet, hopeless wail. What was he going to do? He could hardly sit here, when the love of his life was on the line but he also didn't feel up to much else than sitting down. Or preferably lying down. Yes, lying down suddenly sounded really nice. Maybe another short nap would be okay...
So, Narrator let himself sink into their mattress once again - head full of ideas and plans on how he'd "win" Stanley back.
To suggest Narrator's thoughts on the whole matter where anything but ridiculous and fueled purely by sickness induced anxiety would be contrary to the truth. It was utterly ridiculous but Narrator was also utterly convinced. And lord help the person who tried to change Narrator's mind.
*
Stanley had made it through about half of the household chores and he hadn't heard a peep out of their room. Which must have been some sort of record, even for not sick Narrator. Even still, as nice as it was to work without interruption, he did wonder about how Narrator was doing. He could just...check on him but Stanley assumed (and hoped) Narrator was sleeping so he didn't want to risk waking him up. He'd leave Narrator alone until he made his presence known.
And Narrator did exactly that. Just not in the way Stanley had expected.
"Stanleyyy." Narrator had called out, shuffling out of their room, a blanket around his shoulders. Stanley turned in an instant, dropping everything to rush to Narrator's side.
[What are you doing up?!] Stanley looked rather panicked, eyebrows knitting in concern as Narrator's movements jittered.
"I- I have something I need to do." Narrator sniffled, trying to hold back a sneeze and failing.
[Whatever you need to do, you can do in bed.] Stanley held onto Narrator's arm, steadying him.
"No, no, no. I need to- ah- I need to be standing."
[You're not well enough to be standing. Come on, sunshine. Don't do this right now.] Stanley was convincing but not quite convincing enough. Narrator just shook his head, stumbling past Stanley to their kitchen.
"I-I'm gonna showw you what you're missing." Narrator's words didn't come out of his mouth easily, they stuck in his throat like tar and he had to force each one out.
[Why do I feel like that involves something you are in no state to be doing right now?] Stanley groaned, rather unceremoniously trying to drag his husband back to bed.
"I'm making youu a romantic dinner." Narrator turned to their kitchen, grabbing at various cooking utensils.
[No, you're not.] Stanley tried to grab at Narrator but Narrator held his hands up high, refusing to let go of the things he'd grabbed.
"Yes I am. N-Not so useless now, am I?" Narrator then waved a finger at Stanley.
[Useless-? What are you on about? You're not useless, you're just sick-]
"I'm fine, picture of perfect health really."
[And you're coming back to bed right now.] Stanley finally got a hold of Narrator's blanket, tugging at it and in turn, pulling Narrator closer.
"Nuh uh. I'm making you dinner. Look." Narrator held up one of the many various cooking utensils he'd raided the kitchen for.
[Dear, what do you think you're holding right now?]
"Dinner."
[That's a wooden spoon.]
Narrator paused, his shoulders slumping a little.
"Could be dinner if you really thought about it." He mumbled, letting Stanley take the utensils from him.
[No, it really couldn't. You're delirious, sweetheart and you need your rest.] Stanley tried to take Narrator's hands but he pulled away. Narrator wouldn't go back to just sitting hopelessly in bed, not when he hadn't been able to prove to Stanley that he was still very much the Narrator he'd fallen in love with.
"I don't n-need rest. I need to show you-" Narrator is interrupted by coughing once again and Stanley pulls him into an embrace. Petting Narrator's hair gently, Stanley feels him relax a little.
[I know, you said before you need to 'show me what I was missing' which I still don't understand what you mean by that but can't you do it later? You're in no state to be doing much of anything right now.] Stanley lets go of Narrator, intent on bringing Narrator back to bed but Narrator stays rooted to the spot.
'You're in no state to be doing much of anything right now.'
Stanley's signs echo in his sick mind and Narrator can't have it. He won't have Stanley thinking he's useless...or...heavens forbid it, unappealing.
So, the next thing he did - which he'd like to remind everyone was out of pure desperation and he really wasn't thinking clearly - was rather...out of the blue.
Looking Stanley in the eyes, he pulls the blanket off himself in one, almost impressively quick motion. Stanley watches it drop to the floor, eyes then following Narrator's hands.
"Stanleyyy." If Narrator's tone had intended to sound romantic, it had failed. His throat was much too hoarse for that and Stanley watched in slight amusement as Narrator's fingers fiddled with his pyjama's top buttons.
Ah. That's what Narrator was trying to do.
Narrator has barely gotten his top button undone before Stanley closes a hand around his.
[Narrator-]
"H-Hold on, these are more difficult than they look."
[Narrator, you're not taking off your shirt.]
"Yes I am."
[No you're not.]
"Just give me a minute- you're going to r-ruin the moment we would have been having-" Narrator sneezes again, this time all over Stanley's hand.
[If you're trying to seduce me, it's not going to happen.] Narrator wilts a little at this and he whines.
"Why not?"
[Because you are barely able to stand, let alone have a moment with me. You very lovely sunshine but you are also very sick.]
Narrator stomps his foot, much like a child having a tantrum and he doesn't understand. So what if he was sick? Did Stanley not like him anymore? Through sickness and health, that's what their vows had said, why wouldn't Stanley let him do this?
[Hey, look at me.] Stanley lifts Narrator's face towards his, hand underneath his chin. [Why are you doing all this? You have nothing to prove to me.]
"B-Because-" Narrator's lip wobbles and Stanley can see the dam is so close to breaking. Stanley kisses Narrator's hand and just like that, a sob bubbles out of Narrator and he starts to cry.
"-Because I feel so gross and horrible and I'm wheezy and itchy and sore and sneezing everywhere and my nose is dripping and eyes are constantly tearing up and I'm so utterly hopeless like this, and, and-" Narrator continues to cry, hiccups interrupting his already shaky breathing. "I hurt all over, Stanley! I feel- oooooh- s-so terrible, I can't do anything and I c-can't stop thinking that this isn't the me you fell in love with me. I'm just a big gross, sneezy m-mess." Tears roll down Narrator's now red cheeks and he sniffles.
Stanley holds him close.
[Oh, Narry.] Stanley wraps an arm around his waist, pressing a gentle kiss to Narrator's forehead. [You're none of those things. You're my prince, even when you're sick....especially when you're sick.]
Narrator sniffles again, tears slowing a little and he reaches for Stanley.
"C-Carry me like one?" He musters the most pathetic expression he can and Stanley sighs.
[Of course.] He scoops Narrator up, a firm arm underneath his legs and the other supporting his back, carrying him bridal style to their room. It's a slow carry, Stanley making sure not to bump Narrator too much as his hiccups slow and he nestles into Stanley's arms.
Stanley lets him down on the bed, watching as Narrator curls up into the sheet - clearly exhausted.
[My poor sweet prince. Perhaps I never should have left you alone, hm?] Stanley is mostly joking but Narrator nods his head aggressively.
"Y-Yes. Never ever again." He curls further into the bed, a few more tears escaping him. Stanley lets out a gentle sigh, moving to lie down next to him.
Stanley pulls Narrator into an embrace from behind, hearing the older man's breathing settle a little.
"I hate being human." Narrator finally says, sniffling.
Stanley sits up a little at this, looking down at Narrator and Narrator whines at their embrace breaking.
[How come?]
"I hate hurting all over. I hate how anxious I get, I h-hate how much I overthink. I hate how I turn good into bad. I hate how I no doubt e-embarrassed myself in front of you because I have stupid human feelings. I hate feeling, I hate it all." Tears start to fall down Narrator's face again and Stanley hums.
[Is that so?] Narrator nods.
[What about this feeling?] Stanley kisses Narrator's face, pressing one to his cheek before trailing a few more down his jaw and his hands find purchase on Narrator's body. [Do you hate hearing how much I love you? How much I love your feelings, how much I love you, human or not? Do you hate knowing I'm grateful that you are so I can hold you in my arms and kiss every part of you that you think is gross? Or am I being terribly selfish when I say all these things?]
Narrator shakes a little in Stanley's hold but he leans into his touch.
"N-No, I suppose I don't."
[See? You've just come to the most human realisation of all. That sometimes one's existence is unpleasant and gross and messy and you can feel quite unlovable in those moments but that doesn't mean everything is bad. This is good, we're good.] Stanley holds Narrator a little closer, sinking into his husband's warmth and Narrator cries again, nodding. Happy tears this time.
Maybe he didn't hate everything about being human after all.