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The first time Dream got sick after moving out was hard.
It was a long night spent with lonely, gagging coughs. It hadn’t been too long after a breakup of all things, a good combo for feeling bad. Although a struggle, it had led Dream to an affinity:
Sore and sleepy, left with no energy to clean himself up, he found refuge in the shower. Where the bath was soothing for a well body, the shower was salvation for the ailing. It was the easiest place to get sick in. The drain would gladly swallow what he had to offer and cleaning was a thing of the past. And so it became a Thing. A comfort. Whenever he felt the suspicious pull in his stomach, the swoop in his throat and the knock in his head - he put himself in the shower and convinced himself better out than in .
Being sick alone, however, only lasted so long.
Sapnap had never said anything about it, which Dream didn’t think he would because - well, why would he? A lot of people do things that don’t make sense when they’re sick. And if this got him by, that was fine! Something of a pavlovian response began to develop in the early stages of their cohabitation. Sapnap learned that if the shower was suddenly running for hours, that Dream was more than likely ill and thus must check on him, and bring him water. Dream learned that if he was down for the count, Sapnap had his back and would make sure he was okay.
That didn’t change when they put a little romance in it.
“Awe, homie.” Sapnap coos, his sympathy laced voice muffled through the curtain and water pressure. He doesn’t move from where he lays on his back, sunken into the hollow of the tub, holding his arms flat to his side and trying to aggravate his gravity as little as possible. Sometimes, Dream hates that tone of voice. The concern touches him wrong, a nasty bite, and it makes him want to burn something.
He doesn’t feel like that now, shaky and cold despite the hot pelt of water.
“Hi.” He says lamely.
He watches the way Sapnap’s face melts. His gaze never wavers as Sapnap shucks his clothes, taking his time to set them aside - folded neatly atop the toilet. Dream knew what he wanted, knew that he had to move, but his body was so against the idea that it hurt his being. With their combined effort, Sapnap was able to haul Dream ever so slowly up then scoot behind him. It felt so incredibly hot, with the press of Sapnap’s legs against his own and the line he formed against his back but there was a comfort to it too. He wouldn’t have moved but his back had been beginning to hurt. The position change is welcomed.
“I’m still pukey,” Even his protest sounds tired. Full of ache. And it’s true: as he becomes vertical he can feel the rumble in the waiting. “I’ll puke you on.” He adds pathetically.
“It’s okay.” Sapnap’s voice is so soothing that it’s hard not to believe him, like getting vomit over his legs would be a highlight of his day. “If it happens, it happens.”
Dream wants to argue it more - that Sapnap doesn’t need to curl around his misery to make him feel better. He’d get through it! He’d soak and soak until his skin was prunes and his stomach was soft and empty. He would be okay. But… it was nice to have Sapnap’s arms snaked around his waist, timid fingers running gentle along the lower edge of his stomach. As if with that one, subtle touch he could draw out the pain and the quiver of his muscles. He could stop that agony. Nothing more will bubble up in his throat.
He doesn’t resist the urge to cover Sapnap’s hand with his own weak one. Fingers spread to let his snake through, and just like that, he’s more than held. He’s guided into the sweetness of comfort. The shower quietly rains onto them. Dream fights it but the allure of sleep comes creeping in.
Unfortunately, Sapnap doesn’t grant him that glory.
“Gotta get out if you’re going to fall asleep, Dream.” His other hand cups the top of his head, sweeping back thick, wet locks of his curls. Between that and the drum of the water on his stomach, it’s hard to focus but he gives it his best effort, forcing his hooded eyes into awareness.
“No.” He argues. He doesn’t want to leave. This is his spot. This is safe and secure, and there are no mistakes that could be made here.
He feels Sapnap’s smile against the side of his head where he nuzzles.
“You don’t want to drown, right?” Sapnap asks, sounding very sensible.
Dream hums, alright with the idea of death. It earns him a chuckle and more fingernails scratching over the top of his head, sending tendrils of pleasure down his pulsing head.
Getting up is an event. After a quick parting squeeze, Sapnap adjusts him so he can get up first. He curses under his breath as he tries to balance not stepping on Dream (who cannot help himself and falls into limpness again) and getting out of the tub. Once he’s partially dried himself off with a leftover towel, it’s Dream’s turn and he tries his best to help up. His arms feel like someone’s taken all of the muscle out of them and the world tilts uncomfortably when he locks his knees upright. He closes his eyes to fight the feel, one hand on the wall and the other gripping the top of Sapnap’s shoulder so hard he’s sure he’ll leave his mark on him forever.
“Okay?” Sapnap asks as he braces Dream’s chest with a palm. He tries his best to focus on that feeling, breathing deep to expand his cavity to push into it. He tries to imagine his breathing as a triangle around that point, watching the lines expand and collapse as he tries to fight the tarry nausea that wants to claim him.
He nods but he thinks he’s lying. He doesn’t move and Sapnap doesn’t make him. He just begins to rub little circles into his chest which help until they don’t and Dream stops him with a hand on his wrist.
“Just a second,” He says tightly. “Please.”
“You’re okay.” He’s so nice. So soft-spoken, a different breed of tone like someone’s replaced his vocal cords. It kind of makes Dream want to cry.
With Sapnap’s support, he manages to only burp wetly. It makes them both laugh, full of caution and hesitancy.
Herculean effort gets them dried and to bed where Sapnap begins a bizarre ritual. He lets Dream wiggle under the covers and disappears out into the hall only to return just as fast with another blanket. He makes sure all the exit points are tucked under him and then layers the other on top of him. Instantly, Dream feels as warm as he did in the bath but the sensation is so different. Softer. The scent of their linen and sheets swarms his head, offering a different kind of alleviation than the bath did. It smells like Sapnap here, deep in the threads of their blankets.
It makes him dizzy but for the first time, it’s good. Really good.
He’s overwhelmed and he’s okay with that.
“Will you be okay if I go get some soup started up?” Sapnap pushes back the curling hair from his forehead, letting his hand rest there for a moment before slipping down to cup his cheek. Dream leans into it.
“I’m not hungry.” He insists. His throat aches, his eyes can’t focus, he feels like he’ll be throwing up for a while. He really doesn’t want to eat even if he knows it’s better to bring up remnants than bile.
“It’s ok,” Sapnap says softly. Dream stares up at him, at his almond eyes looking back at him with all the care in the world. His mouth sits in a half-smile, hair tangled from neglect as he had only really focused on Dream. He looks handsome and Dream loves him so much. The thought makes him want to cry, and the urge surprises him. He feels so weak and floppy and he’s already shed a few tears but that was at the expense of being sick. It feels worth it to spend what little energy he has in crying if it’s over Sapnap.
“I can just heat it up later for you.” Sapnap continues. He swipes his thumb under Dream’s eye and then moves to adjust the blankets a final time. “Or I can freeze some into ice cubes and you can suck on them. I saw it on TIktok - apparently it’s like, good for when you’re sick and throwing up.”
Dream’s afraid if he answers out loud he’ll cry. So he smiles, a timid and tired little thing, and nods. Sapnap smiles back and leans forward, making fear jump in Dream’s little heart. At the last minute he turns his head with a short noise of decline, which makes Sapnap retort with his own confused noise.
“What?” He whines.
“I don’t want to get you sick.” Dream mumbles. He hears Sapnap scoff, and his gaze is titled from the wall beside him back to his boyfriend who steals a kiss anyway.
“We sleep in the same bed, I was in the shower with you, I’m probably getting sick no matter what.” Is Dream simply unreasonable and dumb because he’s sick? Is the fog clogging him from functioning? The world won’t end for one kiss and especially if Sapnap gets sick but Dream wants him to always be happy, healthy, in the best condition he can be. It makes him feel a little guilty while he sports this sort of headspace but at the same time he’s thankful. A little bit of affection goes a long way.
“Okay.” He whispers. Acceptance is easier than misery, he supposes. Sapnap pats his chest and leaves him to melt under the covers.
The room has nothing to say other than the hum of the fan he usually keeps running and the drone of his computer. Alone, he begins to hyper-analyze all the things in his body that feels wrong: how the souring of his stomach has reached up heavy hands to pull the brain inside his skull down to sit in his throat and make it burn. Laying on his back with the reassuring weight of his blankets and the tickling sound of his existence against the pillow does make him feel a little drowsy, and soon enough he begins to hear the sound of life in the kitchen.
If he focuses enough, he could begin to imagine the way the pots under the counter shift as Sapnap digs through them. The clank of it being set down. The suction of the fridge opening. The far-off fan over the stove zinging as something begins to boil. In doing this he creates a bubble around him that feels fuzzy and small, heavy with his own breathing. He feels like he could float away. His stomach turns but he has no intention of listening, because in between the vague thought of I wish it would stop , his awareness blinks out.
And then it’s back as Sapnap sits gingerly at his side. Dream hums in greeting, fighting open sticky eyes and swallowing profusely. As sentience returns to him from wherever it left him, he worries about his horrible stomach but it only just kicks in defiance. There’s no urge in his gullet.
“Hey,” Sapnap murmurs. He’s so quiet that Dream’s not even sure he spoke. He struggles for a moment to unearth an arm, only managing to do it because Sapnap realizes what he’s going for and releases him. Instantly he’s latching his hand on Sapnap’s forearm, seeking that solace. Sapnap adjusts so they clasp hands instead. “Did you sleep?”
Dream’s tongue feels too heavy, jaw too tight, so he whines and hopes Sapnap can speak his language.
“Poor guy,” Sapnap laughs. “It’s just not your day.” He covers their hands with his other one. “Do you want soup now, or do you want me to do the ice cube thing?”
He doesn’t really care to eat now and he doesn’t really care about the ice cube method either, sure he wouldn’t like it in any way, but Sapnap’s so sincere in his caretaking. It does smell good wafting from the kitchen. If he were in better shape, he’d be famished for it. For now, he can only shake his head, letting his brow dictate his feelings.
“It’s ready when you need it.” What did he do? How in the world did Dream manage to pull Sapnap in his corner so readily that he would cook for him? Someone who was notoriously bothered by cooking, on record having said to hate it even. A hassle, laziness, easier to order in - so many other excuses had been said in the past in order to do anything but cook and here he is.
Making Dream soup.
Realistically, he doesn’t think Sapnap knows how to make soup. It’s probably a canned product but the fact he went through the effort is everything. He feels that nudge behind his eyes, the one that feels awfully heavy, and fights it back with a sniff.
His boyfriend’s face jumps with alarm.
“Hey, shhh,” He moves quickly, moving to lay beside Dream. He’s not under the covers so it pulls tight over his body but it’s good. It’s okay. It feels like a tight hug on his bones. Sweltering. “You’re okay.” Sapnap’s voice is full of promise, unwavering love, and Dream can’t help it.
“I love you.” He chokes. “I love you so much.” Does he know? He needs Sapnap to know. How much this means. It feels so much better than laying sullen under the spray of his showerhead. He would gladly hang his head in the toilet and vomit for days if at the end he always had the guarantee of Sapnap’s love.
“I know, man,” Sapnap gently turns his head to peck a kiss on his mouth. Dream barely returns it, lips trembling too much to pucker properly. “I love you too. What’s going on?”
It’s hard to describe what he’s feeling. He feels small and he feels big. He feels shaken and tossed but Sapnap is such a stable force, helping him feel surrounded. Grounded.
“Just love you too much.” He whispers. He sniffs and his nose is so congested it’s more of a snort but Sapnap smiles and kisses him again anyways.
“No such thing as too much,” Sapnap tells him quietly.