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It was a generally unspoken rule developed between Yor and Loid that they didn’t prod too much into each other’s business beyond what was appropriate for their arrangement. She didn’t think much about why there were no family pictures displayed in the apartment beyond the ones they took after her arrival, he didn’t question how she could lift living room furniture with one arm while vacuuming with the other. He didn’t ask why she was always “going on a jog” so late at night, she didn’t wonder why he was so peculiar about others handling his briefcase.
That said, she felt that rule could be bent to a degree depending on the circumstance. His staying up later with a plate ready if she took more time than usual to come home was always appreciated. She felt a little more at ease when she could ask if he got enough sleep and he gave an answer of more than six hours.
Now felt like one of those times when a little flexibility was allowed as she stared across the table to him. “Loid?” she asked aloud. “Do you feel alright today?”
He certainly didn’t look it— reddened eyes, atypical slouched shoulders. A clearly blocked nose and stuffy voice to accompany it. Still, he insisted it wasn’t a problem.
“It’s nothing,” he said, slightly hoarse as he wiped his mouth and nose into his napkin. “Just allergies from seasonal changes.”
She was hardly convinced. “Pretty puffy eyes for allergies…” But she was shrugged off, his stubbornness winning out.
“Pollen sensitivity,” he laid out carefully, wiping at the corners of his eyes.
“And you’re shivering.”
She watched him glance down at his shoulders and chest as he appeared to will the shaking to stop. “Thermostat’s just set lower, I’m sure. We had the hot spell yesterday. Honestly, Yor I’m fine.”
“I can get you more coffee!” Anya offered, eager as ever to help her father as she reached for his mug. He placed an arm in front of her before she could take it, however.
“Don’t Anya, you’ll get si-“ To his credit, he did restrain himself before the sentence could fully leave his lips, but couldn’t prevent Yor from hearing enough of it across the table. She boasted a smug, knowing smile as his realization hit that he’d caught himself in his own words.
“Sick,” he mumbled defeatedly, leaning back in his seat with a stuffy sigh. “I’ll call my office.”
“Would you like tea? Caffeine probably isn’t good for you right now,” Yor offered, but victory still lingered in her chest. It was rare for anyone to get past Loid verbally. Although he was in a weakened state, she’d still like to ride this high for a little while.
“Come on, Anya, let’s wash hands and head for the bus.” She herded the girl from her seat towards the kitchen. As they passed Loid and the phone, she couldn’t help getting one last quip in. “Your papa can’t come with us because he’s sick,” she added, emphasizing the last word with satisfaction.
“Ha ha ha, let’s all laugh at the invalid,” he spouted dryly, squinting to select the right numbers on the rotary.
“It’s funny when the invalid believes himself to be invincible!” she retorted kindly as she lifted Anya up to the basin’s height. “And if he’s compliant now, I’ll make his tea with the loose leaves instead of a teabag.”
——❀——
Yor came back upstairs after dropping Anya off to a whistling kettle and a phone already ringing. Loid must have been really needed today at work if they were calling back so soon. Once the pot was moved to a different burner, she moved briskly across the hall to tend to the phone, being mindful to keep the receiver a little further from her face.
“Hello? Oh, Ms. Frost! …Yes, it’s me. Why not Loid? He’s…” She turned over her shoulder. Loid had already found a place on the couch, pillow sandwiched between his arm and face. “It looks like he’s asleep, actually. But I can try to help you if you’d like! Or pass on a message when he wakes up?”
The high-pitched warble on the other end of the line drew the receiver a little further from her ear. She’s got quite the lung capacity when she wants to be loud, doesn’t she, Yor noted.
“My cooking?” she wondered when the sharpness had concluded. “No, I haven’t made anything in a few weeks, but I did consider that as a possible cause… I really think it’s just a seasonal cold. You- huh? No, I don’t think you need to come over. I can take care of Loid myself.” Another few minutes of insistence followed. “I’ve got it covered. Yes, with the ginger, I know. And the peppermint. No, I don’t serve it to him still boiling, I let it cool.” You, on the other hand…
“I have made tea before, if you can believe it, Fiona,” she tried to keep up the charming wife facade, but even her patience was beginning to wear thin. “We have all the household medicines here… yes, and the stronger stuff. Oh, don’t trouble yourself coming here, this shouldn’t need a prescription. Focus on your work– we have lots of blankets, thank you. Of course I’m writing all this down, these are great tips!” An artificial sweetness was beginning to enter her tone as she leaned her head into the wall, raising an eyebrow at the untouched notepad and pen next to her.
“I’ll do that, alright, thank you. Yes. Yes. You already mentioned that one, but thank you for saying it again. Okay, we can– sure, yes. I– have a nice day, Fiona!” Before the woman could throw another point at her, she slammed the receiver back onto the set with a little more force than intended.
Behind her, Loid woke back up with a start, seemingly confused for a minute as to why he was on the couch. When his eyes eventually found focus on her standing by the phone, he asked, “Who’s that?” Although, in his congested state, it came out in more of a one-word, “hoozat”.
“Fiona,” she answered, moving back to the kitchen to work on the tea. Briefly deliberating on which cup to take from the open cabinet, she finally selected his usual coffee mug to allow for the extra volume, light coffee stains at the bottom peaking through the yellowed tea. “She was quite… insistent on stopping by to check on you. I let her know we had everything covered, though.”
“Ugh. She’s always been that way.” Loid let his arm give way under him, head falling back into the pillow with a tiny bounce against the down. “Fiona’s got some issues.”
“Is that the kind of thing you should be saying about your coworkers? In a... psychiatric ward?” She, of course, had her own misgivings about Fiona’s strange demeanor whenever she spoke with her. But there was still some decorum to be maintained, no matter how much you disliked a person.
“Why does it matter, she isn’t here,” he said, the pillow muffling his unusually blunt response. He turned his head as she brought his brewed drink to the table. Instead of sitting up, he looked between the cup and her once, twice.
“What’s wrong?” she asked, frowning at his hesitation. “It’s cool enough to drink. And I mixed the honey in already, I think it’s the amount you like. Tasteful but not overly sweet?”
He pursed his lips slightly as he watched the rim of the cup, looking up to her again. “Can I have a straw…” he asked meekly.
Yor leaned back a little at the man’s strange request. “Like… like the straws Anya uses? For juices and sodas?”
He nodded.
The question was beyond absurd coming from a usually austere, stiff, grown man such as Loid. However, not wanting to deny a sick man’s request if she could help it, Yor went quickly back to the kitchen to retrieve a plastic straw.
——❀——
Sharon had once complained at work about her husband’s behavior while he was sick. How the man had quickly recessed from a capable adult into a miserable child the moment he got a little stuffed up.
“He’s acting like a baby!” she had fussed, mussing her neatly pinned hair with an agitated hand. “One tiny cold, not even the flu or food poisoning, a cold, and he’s suddenly on his deathbed requesting every single thing be brought to him on a velvet pillow. I can’t tell whether I’m taking care of a grown man or our six-year-old!”
Camilla had mentioned Dominic being the same way, how the most minor illnesses had him splayed out on the couch as if these were his final days. He was grateful for the help, of course, but she said the whining nearly drove her to the brink.
Yor thought they were exaggerating until she had Loid under her care.
Although he had refused at first, once on the couch, he fully embraced his state of sickness. She had done as much proactive set-up as possible, snatching a pillow and the comforter off of his bed when he had begun to break out in small shivers on the couch. Relevant medicines and a thermometer were set out on the coffee table alongside frequent refills of honeyed tea.
As much as she wanted to make him proper meals, Yor didn’t want to risk a kitchen fire trying to make a simple soup. Thus, a small plate of crackers and sandwiches had to suffice for food, but it wasn’t as if he was much for eating, anyway. It took some serious convincing on her part to get him to have some of the snacks, her only leverage being he wouldn’t be able to have the headache medication unless it was taken with food. He still hunched up into himself– it nearly got to the point of her crouching next to the couch spoon-feeding him.
When the tissues began to accumulate, she had to bring the waste bin from her bedroom to clean them up because “the light hurts my eyes Yor, I don’t want to move the blanket.”
The rest of the morning was the strangest rotation of getting him to take a few bites of food, his begging for a glass of water– then complaining that drinking the water made his stomach hurt– and Yor gently reminding him to wipe his nose or stop pulling the blanket over his face because it would only insulate the fever.
At some point, she had given up on trying to maintain a decent appearance, as it didn’t seem she would be going out or they were going to receive any guests, tying her frizzy hair back with a ribbon and swapping out her dress and boots for an old sweatshirt.
She gazed through the kitchen window to study the snoozing bundle on the couch under the blanket, taking the brief moment of quiet to get some dishes cleaned up. The entire day had maybe been the strangest she had encountered in a while. She had only been a Forger for less than a year, but Loid’s behavior was so contradictory to everything she knew about him. The man she always perceived to be prepared, strong-willed, protective, now laid on the couch surrounded by medicine bottles and tissues, grumpy, vulnerable, and fussy.
As he settled down and now dozed quietly, chest rising and falling with a gentle cadence, the image did remind Yor a little bit of Yuri. Rather clingy in sickness until he got to sleep, in which he looked quite boyish and innocent. Now that she thought back on it, Yuri was also very whiny whenever a fever caught him, but she had never drawn the correlation that it was because he was a boy. He was just… a child.
What excuse did a twenty-something man have?
She padded back to the living room, idly wringing a dish towel over her hands. Loid’s lower lip pouted out slightly in his slumber, one of his fists tucked under his neck. She smiled; childlike and vulnerable were definitely uncommon adjectives for him, but not necessarily unwelcome ones.
Gently, she slid down to sit on the floor and lean back against the arm of the couch with a sigh, drawing her knees loosely up to her chest. It hadn’t occurred to her how much she was on her feet until she had a moment to sit, another wave of exhaustion racking her whole body. One hand rubbed at her soles as the other reached back blindly until her palm made contact with Loid’s forehead. Still warmer than it ought to be, but dropping gradually.
“Yor…” He had stirred at her touch, shifting slightly under the blanket.
She glanced back to check on him. “Yes?”
“My head hurts.”
“I know.” She turned her body around to face him better, shelving an arm on the couch cushion. “Do you want a damp cloth for it?”
“I want pills.”
Her smile broadened a little in sympathy. “You already took three painkillers this morning. And the cough syrup. I think you should wait a little.”
“But it hurts…” he whined softly.
She laid her head against her arm, curling her fingers in and running her hand lightly back and forth through his hair in an attempt to ease the pain for him. “You’re such a big baby.”
His breathing had dropped to a deep and steady rate again; she’d put him back to sleep as quickly as she’d woken him up. Her hand slowed but kept rubbing a gentle rhythm between his bangs as she watched him with affectionate eyes. For a moment, as spent as she was, she wasn’t sure what Sharon and Camilla were complaining about.
“My big baby,” she murmured.