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Being well-acquainted with the toilet bowl was not in Jay Merrick’s life plans, yet he found himself on the bathroom floor quite frequently. But he also hadn’t planned on motel hopping and running from some weird cryptid either, so really life was full of surprises.
“Jay?” God, he was going to throw up again.
There’s a knock and shoes shuffling against carpet, “Jay?”
The cameraman hangs his head over the toilet bowl, hands on the rim despite how gross it makes his skin feel. He feels it in the back of his throat, like he’s swallowed a bunch of cotton and it’s choking him.
Jay makes a disgruntled noise, acknowledging Tim who’s still standing awkwardly outside the door. He can see him now, hands in pocket playing with a pack of smokes, growing impatient.
“I’m heading to the store real quick.” Tim announces, idling outside the door a moment longer before walking away. Jay hears the motel door close, and sighs. He stares with blurry eyes down into the bowl of water, blood and petals. He hadn’t even realized he’d started crying, the pain blossoming in his throat and jaw distracting him.
But with Tim’s departure, he felt the sickness settling, his lungs greedily sucking in air like he’d been without it for years. His head feels foggy, and he realizes his stomach is grumbling unhappily. He must’ve thrown up whatever he ate yesterday with the flowers.
So clearing his sore throat with a wince, he flushes the toilet and hoists himself up off the grimey bathroom floor. His stance is wobbly from having kneeled on the hard ground too long, his knee cracking painfully as he turns toward the sink. His reflection in the mirror shows just how he felt, like he was dying.
His hair is a mess, mouth covered in blood and drool, and his under eye bags are darker than normal. He’d somehow been sleeping less than usual which seemed impossible, since he practically didn’t sleep at all already. Even Tim had noticed, making a comment about it but Jay just brushes it off. ‘I’ve just been busy with the tapes.’ He fibs.
He runs the faucet, cupping water in his hands and washing his face off. Red runs down the sink as he stares into it, just watching the running water until he’s snapped out of it by the sound of the motel door. Did Tim change his mind about the store or had Jay been standing at the sink for that long? He wasn’t sure.
He shuts the faucet off, drying his hands and opening the door. Tim is standing by the desk in their room, sorting through a plastic bag. He glances over his shoulder at Jay, “You were in there the whole time? You okay?” He asks with a raised brow.
“Ah, yeah. Just feel unwell.” The cameraman replies. It wasn’t a lie, but there was no need to bother his companion with his new-found issues. It wasn’t crazy compared to their current situation, but how do you explain to someone you started throwing up flower petals? Like, hey, I’ve been throwing up blood and flowers since I realized I have feelings for you.
Resigning, Jay shuffles over to his small bed on the other side of the room, flopping down with as much grace as a baby horse. He buries his face in the questionably clean sheets, wiping at the sweat beading on his forehead.
“I got food.” Tim points out, taking a seat on his own bed across from Jay’s with a gas station sandwich in hand. He holds a free hand out with the other half toward the brunet, taking a bite of his. “Ham and cheese.” He mumbles over the food in his mouth.
Jay rolls over, stretching a lanky arm out to take the sandwich half, too lazy to get up fully. He doesn’t necessarily like ham and cheese but can’t really be picky on a budget, so he takes a bite and ignores the slimy texture of the meat.
Tim finishes his slice by the time Jay’s nibbled down half of his sandwich, dusting his hands off and laying back in the bed. He has his phone, scrolling through whatever he’s looking at and Jay just watches. He’s sure the black haired man can feel his eyes on him, but neither of them say anything or make any kind of move. Jay had weird habits, and Tim had accepted that.
“Can you look at the tapes today so I can sleep?” Jay asks after a while of silence, and Tim grunts in response. The cameraman assumes that means ‘yes’, and rolls over to curl in on himself. But his eyes don’t close, he stares at the wall, noticing every yellow stain on the off-white paint. He doesn’t even wonder what the stains are, he definitely didn’t want to know.
But trying to sleep goes about as well as he figured, he’s restless, tossing and turning for a few hours, his eyes barely staying closed for minutes at a time. But he does try.
Tim makes a grunting noise every time Jay shifts in the bed from where he sits at the desk, eyes glued to the laptop screen. “You aren’t sleeping.”
Jay sighs, sitting up to look toward the other man, “Can’t shut my brain off.”
Tim clicks on the keyboard, pausing the tape he’s watching through and his body turns toward where Jay’s laying. He looks at the brunet with tired eyes, “Tell it to shut up. Or get sleeping pills.”
Thanks, Tim, he thinks sarcastically. “I’ll just go through the tapes til I pass out.” He gets up with an overdramatic sound, leaning over the desk to grab a bottle of water he’d forgotten about earlier. As he reaches for the plastic bottle, his hand brushes against the exposed skin of Tim’s arm and he feels that familiar cotton texture in his mouth.
Abandoning the water, Jay slaps a hand over his mouth and books it for the bathroom. Tim startles at his sudden movement, eyes wide as the brunet disappears in a matter of seconds.
The yellow fluorescent in the bathroom rings in Jay’s ears, and it’s almost blinding from how quickly he flicks it on. But he doesn’t have time to think about it as he flings himself to the floor, face in the toilet bowl. It’s like he’s throwing up syrup, coughing to try and get the ball of soaked petals out of his mouth. It’s hard to focus on breathing through his nose, and he feels like he might actually be choking for real.
There’s a knock on the door like earlier, and Tim’s voice is laced with concern, “Jay, are you okay?”
Jay doesn’t reply, hacking violently and he can just barely hear the doorknob turning from over his labored breathing and coughing. He throws up another wad of petals, hot bile rising up in his throat behind it. So much for that sandwich earlier, it was down the toilet now.
“Jay-” Tim’s voice is louder, and the brunet can see him standing in the open doorway now. His face is blurry past the tears in Jay’s eyes but he’s sure his companion is sporting a worried expression.
But he can’t think about that, there’s more blood spewing out of his mouth. There’s a hand on his back, rubbing in soothing circles. It really isn’t helping.
Tim’s speaking somewhere behind him, but he can’t make out the words. Really, this was quite ironic actually. Being comforted by the person this was caused by, albeit he didn’t even know.
The hand rubbing his back slowly finds its way toward his neck, and the skin is red hot. “Jesus,” Tim gasps, withdrawing his hand to go wet a washcloth.
Jay’s still heaving over the toilet, but nothing comes out. His throat is raw, and he sort of just wishes he never had to have feelings for anyone ever again if this was the price. Tim returns with the cool washcloth, sliding his arms underneath the brunet’s armpits. He lifts, pulling Jay against him and helping him out of the bathroom.
Jay’s legs wobble, and he’s more so being dragged by Tim than carried but he goes boneless in the man’s arms. With a bit of effort, he’s rolled into bed and situated onto his back. All he can do is groan, letting the black haired man do as he pleases, the wet cloth pressed to his sweltering forehead.
“Fuck, Jay, you have blood all over your mouth.” Tim says under his breath, wiping a thumb through the blood and smearing it against his friend’s skin. “Why didn’t you say something, this is bad, dude.”
Jay would roll his eyes if he had the energy, but they’re actually closed for once. He doesn’t feel Tim to his side anymore and he wonders where he went but he isn’t left alone for long. Tim returns with another wet washcloth, gingerly wiping at the brunet’s face.
“Will you be okay if I go get medicine at the store?” He asks gently, fingers trailing over the flushed skin of Jay’s cheek. His sick companion gives a curt nod, the best he’s probably going to get right now.
There’s shuffling and keys jingling somewhere to his side, Tim telling him he’ll be real quick and then the motel door shuts. The room is stuffy, the sheets feel like they’re sticking to his skin but he knows it’s just because he’s feverish. They’ll never be able to do anything if he’s constantly in this state, yet another thing for Jay to worry over.
He must’ve fallen asleep while Tim was gone, because he wakes to a much darker room. The lamp on his bedside table is on, only illuminating his small corner of the room. That’s when he notices Tim, slouched over in a chair he pulled up beside the bed. He must’ve stayed by Jay’s side the whole time.
The brunet’s heart skips a beat at the thought, butterflies manifesting in his stomach. But with the nice, warm fluttery feelings, there’s that rawness in his throat. The flowers infesting his lungs are festering, taking up every nook and cranny. Tears fall silently down his face as he sits up in the bed, glossy eyes staring down at the sleeping form of his friend.
He gingerly reaches out to touch black hair, fingers running through the strands. He isn’t really thinking about it, just seeking some kind of comfort. Tim stirs under the touch, mumbling and Jay drags his fingernails over the man’s scalp. He’s rewarded with a quiet groan, “Jay..”
The brunet snaps out of his haze, blinking. Dark eyes are staring at him through thick lashes, and he withdrawals his hand with an apologetic look. “Sorry, didn’t mean to wake you.”
“It’s fine. Why are you crying?” Tim rubs a thumb over his face, wiping away a stray tear. He still has a concerned look etched on his face, like it’s drawn on with permanent marker. Jay just shakes his head, he doesn’t really know.
Tim pulls his chair closer, leaning over the side of the bed so he can touch Jay’s face closer and the brunet’s heart feels like it stops. He leans into the touch, they’re so close now. He can feel hot breath against his face, and his blue eyes find brown ones.
“I’m in love with you.”
He says it so suddenly, neither of them process it immediately. Tim blinks slowly, “What?”
Jay’s face is a bright red, mouth opening and then shutting. Why’d he say that out loud?
Tim cups his face in both hands, pressing his lips to Jay’s. It’s gentle and chaste and he tastes like cigarettes, and ham and cheese. His thumb gingerly brushes against Jay’s cheek and the kiss grows needy, Tim standing from his seat in favor of crawling into bed with him.
He leans over Jay, gently guiding him to lay back against the pillow and he drapes his body over the brunet. They reluctantly pull apart, looking into each other's eyes. Jay is the first one to break the silence, “Tim-”
But he’s quickly cut off, lips pressed back to his and he smiles. His hands reach for black hair, nails scratching over the man’s scalp. Tim sighs contently and presses his body closer, deepening the kiss.
Tim’s the one to pull away and speak after a moment, grinning slyly, “So about what you said earlier.”
Jay blushes, “Oh, you heard that?” Tim just kisses him again. And they keep kissing, until they’re out of breath. Then they breathe in each other’s air, and kiss again. Jay feels on top of the world.
“Tim- Tim,” The cameraman whines, grabbing the black haired man’s face and pushing him back despite not wanting to stop himself. Dark eyes look down at him with that puppy-love look and he nearly melts, but damn it, he has more resolve than that.
“I was serious earlier, y’know…”
“I know.” Tim grins, his cheeks dusted a light pink and Jay thinks he could get used to that look. He was handsome.
“Thanks, you’re pretty hot yourself.” Oh, did he say that out loud?
The grin never leaves Tim’s face as he leans back down to capture Jay’s lips again, a hand combing through soft brown hair. Yeah, they could both get used to this.
“I love you too, Jay.”