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Riddle is sitting on the edge of his bed, shivering and grasping at the bedsheets below him, and he is warm, so, so warm. He has been like this for the past ten minutes, at least, and he does not know what is wrong or why he feels so horrible. He knows this delay is going to cut into his usual morning routine, but there is nothing he can do about it. There is no way for him to get rid of his pounding headache or the nauseous feeling swirling in his stomach. It hurts, it’s dreadful, but he must try to ignore it, because he cannot be sick. No, Riddle Rosehearts does not get sick, except for when he does, and then everything falls apart.
Riddle is miserable when he’s sick. When he does manage to catch something, it seems to send him into a sort of shocked state, and he ends up bedridden, unable to perform even the simplest of tasks on his own. Deviating from his typical schedule and ignoring his schoolwork during the time, although he knows he must if he wants to get better, also makes him feel quite anxious, and between that, how sick he feels, and other… unmet needs that he is being forced to acknowledge, he ends up becoming rather clingy. This is often the worst part, as most times he has no one to cling to, and even if he did, it would quickly become embarrassing. Normally, he just tries to isolate himself and suffer through it alone, because that’s what’s easiest for everyone—including him.
However, he knows that isn’t an option now. If he can’t push through it and pretend everything is alright—it’s been 15 minutes and he still can’t stand, so that definitely isn’t happening—Trey will notice that something is wrong, and he’ll come to check on Riddle, and he won’t leave until he’s absolutely certain that Riddle is feeling better. He’s been very protective over him ever since his overblot, after which Trey also took care of him, and he constantly checks in on him to ensure that he is alright. Riddle can’t exactly say he dislikes the attention—it’s very soothing and almost relieving after years of not receiving it—but he still thinks it would be better if he dealt with his problems alone.
Even now, with his vision blurring and stomach turning, Riddle wants to be alone. Slowly, reluctantly, he climbs back in bed and pulls the blankets over himself, because he knows he will not possibly be able to go to class in this state. He doubts he could even read anything at this point. Hopefully, a day of rest—a day of rest alone—will help him feel better. It surely can’t be anything too bad; no one else in Heartslabyul is sick, so he knows there isn’t anything spreading. It is something minor and something he really should be able to handle on his own. He finally closes his eyes, his nausea beginning to settle. He wants to be alone. He pulls the blanket a little bit closer. He wants to be alone. He bites his lip, then closes his eyes tighter, because his head still hurts. He wants to be alone. He wants to be alone.
The door opens, and something breaks inside of him.
“Riddle?” Trey’s voice is soft, and Riddle breathes a sigh of relief. “Are you alright?”
Riddle cracks one eye open as he hears footsteps approaching. A hand rests on his shoulder. “Not feeling well?” Riddle manages a small nod, but even that makes him feel worse, and he closes his eyes again and goes still.
“Yeah, you definitely don’t look well enough to go to class…” Momentarily, Riddle begins to worry about this, because he really does not want to miss a day of school, but he is calmed by the gentle touch of Trey’s hand on his forehead. In comparison to the heat flaring through Riddle’s body and especially his head, Trey’s hand is very cold, and he subconsciously leans into the touch. All too soon, though, he’s moving away, and Riddle opens his eyes again.
“You’re very warm, you’re probably running a bit of a fever. Stay right here for a minute, I’ll be right back.” Trey disappears, and Riddle can do nothing more than bury his face in his pillow.
He hates being sick. He hates all the awful sensations in his body, he hates missing class, he hates how it renders him useless. And most of all, he hates how desperate he is for Trey to come back and how much he yearns for his attention.
Fortunately, Trey really is back within a minute, and upon returning he sits on the edge of the bed next to Riddle. “I’m going to stay here with you today, alright? I don’t think it’s a good idea for you to be alone right now.” As he speaks, he lays a cold, damp towel over Riddle’s head, gently turning him so he can rest it across his whole forehead. Afterwards, he moves the pillows around carefully, rearranging them so Riddle can rest more comfortably. “Try to get some sleep, now. It will help you feel better.” For Riddle, who can barely keep his eyes open, that sounds quite nice.
It takes some time for him to fully relax between the discomfort of his nausea and fever and the anxiety pooling in his stomach. But once he feels a hand lightly stroking his hair, he finally lets himself fall asleep.
Riddle wakes no more than a few hours later to an empty room. He sits up and blinks a few times, looking around again just to make sure, but Trey is nowhere to be found. For some reason, it makes Riddle feel very nervous. He knows he’ll be okay alone; he always has been. He’s even starting to feel better than he felt earlier. His headache is going away, he isn’t feeling so warm anymore, and he can finally think clearly. He doesn’t need Trey now. But for some reason, his absence is filling Riddle with anxiety, exacerbating his nausea (because apparently he’s prone to anxiety stomachaches now, ever since his overblot, isn’t that fun). He moves to stand, but thinks better of it as the room begins to spin and settles back down on the edge of the bed. He’ll just have to wait for Trey to come back. And until then, he will be fine.
Riddle spends a decent amount of time staring at the door, waiting for Trey and taking deep breaths. He does not need him, but Trey promised to stay with him, and he knows Trey will not go back on his word. Riddle stays on the edge of the bed, gripping the bed sheets until finally, finally, Trey returns. He’s holding a tea cup in one hand and another towel in the other, and when he sees Riddle, he gives him a small smile. “Hello, Riddle. Sorry about that; I wasn’t expecting you to wake up so soon. Are you feeling any better?” Without waiting for a response, he places the new towel on Riddle’s forehead—the old one seems to have fallen off, but Riddle doesn’t know where—then brushes his fingers against Riddle’s cheeks. Trey hands him the teacup after, only moving away once Riddle has a firm grip on it. “It’s mint tea. It should help with your nausea—and don’t worry, I made sure it was an appropriate type of tea for this time of day.”
Riddle looks at him with wide eyes, feeling a flutter in his heart. Not only had Trey made sure to double check the rules, but he knew Riddle was nauseous without him having to say anything. “How did you…?”
“You were squirming in your sleep. You tend to do that when your stomach is bothering you.” Riddle feels heat rise to his face, and he tells himself that he should be embarrassed by the fact that Trey has noticed this, let alone that it happens at all, but he finds himself somewhat grateful that he cares enough to remember something like that. “Now drink your tea, before it gets cold.”
Riddle takes a sip of the tea, allowing the taste to wash over his tongue. The menthol is cooling enough to settle his stomach a bit, and the warmth of the liquid helps to relax his body. Looking over at Trey, Riddle lets out a sigh and leans back into the pillows. He doesn’t feel as anxious about it all anymore; it feels… nice, to finally have a chance to rest. Having time to himself, especially when he isn’t feeling well, is rather enjoyable. He knows he only has this time to himself until he gets better, because after that, he’ll have no excuse to ignore his responsibilities, but it’s nice nonetheless.
“Riddle.” Riddle looks back to Trey, who puts a hand on his shoulder. “Just relax, okay? I can tell you’re feeling anxious. Don’t make yourself feel worse, alright?”
And Riddle suddenly feels terrible. Because he feels like he’s being scolded, and he feels like he’s disappointing Trey, and he feels like a failure for not being able to just calm down, and he already wasn’t feeling well before. And now he’s upset, and there’s definitely no way he can relax now. Riddle bites his lip, then forces down another sip of tea, but it only makes him more nauseous.
“Oh, Riddle…” He vaguely notices Trey walking towards the door, and then he really gets upset, because of course he was too much for him again, and of course he would finally leave. Riddle barely even feels the tears rolling down his cheeks until a hand wipes them away.
“Shh, Riddle, you’re alright, everything’s alright.” He feels a hand in his hair and another on his back, and it takes all his strength not to bury himself into the warmth pressed against him. Fortunately, he doesn’t have to worry about that for long, as the figure pulls him into an embrace. “I’m here, it’s alright. Just let everything out, I’ve got you.” And Riddle has no choice, since the embrace is so comforting that he finally feels safe enough to feel everything he’s been repressing, not just today, but for days, weeks.
He knows it is all too much. He’s always known, always felt it deep in his bones. He suspected this wasn’t just some virus he’d caught, and now that he’s sobbing in Trey’s arms, he’s almost certain that the illness is more of a product of stress than anything else. He’s supposed to just push through it, he doesn’t know what’s making this time different—yet he can’t help but feel that maybe this is more right, maybe resting isn’t so bad, especially when he’s this unwell, and maybe he can take a break every once and a while. Perhaps that will be another change he’ll have to get used to.
Riddle isn’t sure how long he spends sitting there, held up only by Trey’s gentle yet strong grasp, but it’s enough to exhaust him. He feels a little better now and less sick, but he is still tired. At some point, he stops crying because he simply doesn’t have the energy to do so anymore, and Trey starts to move away. Riddle’s heart sinks, and without thinking, he reaches to latch onto Trey’s arm. “Don’t leave.”
Trey looks down at him, then leans closer to allow Riddle to fall against him again. “Alright, don’t worry. I’m right here, Riddle, I’m not going anywhere.” He holds him like that for a moment more before moving away slightly and lifting Riddle’s head so the two can make eye contact. “Why don’t you go back to sleep, hmm? You must be exhausted.” All Riddle can manage in response is a small nod. Trey smiled at him. “I’m going to move to the other side of the bed so you can rest. I’ll still be right there with you, don’t worry.” As he speaks, Trey walks to the other side of the bed and climbs in, Riddle immediately snuggling up to him. Trey wraps an arm around him, gently pulling him closer. “It’s going to be alright, just relax for now.”
He still feels upset. He still feels pathetic. But it’s a little better than before, so he decides it’s okay for now.
The next time he wakes up, it feels much easier. His head is no longer heavy, he doesn’t have a tightness in his throat, and he’s surrounded by a warm embrace. Slowly, Riddle lifts his head up to look at Trey. He’s on his phone, but when he feels Riddle move, he turns to face him instead and smiles. “Hey, how are you feeling? You’re looking a little better.”
Riddle highly doubts this; he knows his hair is a mess, and he can still feel the tears dried on his face. He fully sits up now, momentarily disappointed by the new lack of touch. He probably shouldn’t grow accustomed to that. “I’m feeling much better.” He pauses for a moment. “I’m… sorry about everything that happened earlier.”
“Oh, Riddle, you don’t need to be sorry. You didn’t do anything wrong, okay? I’m proud of you for taking care of yourself and letting me help you.”
Riddle wants to cry again. It isn’t painful like before, though. He is relieved. He is safe and comfortable. “…Thank you.”
Trey smiles again. “Of course. You know I’m always here for you.”
Riddle tries to return the smile, but it comes out forced. He is safe and comfortable, but it is still too much. Feeling is still hard and exhausting. He’s trying, though.
Trey’s expression falters just a bit, but he’s quick to correct it. “Is there anything else you need? I can stay if you still want me to, but we should probably get you cleaned up first.”
He does not need anything. He is not sick anymore. But maybe he is, because he still isn’t feeling very well. Maybe he has been sick and hurting for a very long time. He should do something about that, but he does not know how to. He wraps his arms around himself, still feeling overwhelmed by feeling in general. He knows what it is that would help him feel better, but he cannot say it.
Trey puts a hand on his shoulder. “Anything you want?”
That is easier to respond to. Even if it still makes him feel needy and anxious, it is easier than admitting to having such a need. “A hug…?” He looks up, still refusing to make eye contact as he blushes.
He is met with a wide smile. “There we go.” Trey gives him another hug, and Riddle melts into the embrace, letting out a sigh.
He isn’t perfect, but he’s trying his best. He’s trying to get better. And maybe that means resting and accepting help from others sometimes. He’s sure it’s still going to be overwhelming and nearly impossible at times, but he will try. It’s progress, at least, and for now, he can accept that.