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The music was so goddamn loud in here, and the lights were so bright, and everything was swimming around and melting together and he felt dizzy- fuck. This wasn't drunk Bettel, was it? Drunk Bettel was cool, he was fun and loud and funny and careless but this was something else entirely. This was an ache in his bones and his head and fuck him. He was sick wasn't he.
Play it cool, Bettel. Play it cool. No one noticed, it was fine! He wasn't gonna ruin the vibes by fucking. Whining and needing to go home cause he was sIcK ueee. Pathetic. He was a MAN. He'd dealt with worse! Like that time he'd crashed the carriage and still did the show with a head wound!
Critics said it was his best! He didn't remember much about it though.
Someone asked him something and he smiled and laughed and nodded and apparently that was the right answer cause they laughed back and turned away, and all the energy left him at once. He was gonna die on this fucking couch, wasn't he? At least he'd go out doing what he loved. Sitting.
A cool hand touched his cheek and he didn't even have it in him to startle, blinking his eyes so slowly it felt like an hour to open them up again and staring into melted gold.
"Hey man, you good?"
"Mmhmm, yeah, great." He gasped, his lungs rattling. Magni looked completely unconvinced, a frown pulling the corners of his pretty mouth and his hand slid down to grab his shoulder.
"You're burning up, Bettel my boy, you sure about that?"
"Yeah dude, I'm- its a party, man. Don't kill the vibes." He was slurring a little, christ- was he gonna puke?? The hand on his shoulder tightened and pulled him off the couch, steadying him when he failed to catch himself and just flopped around uselessly.
"Sure man, sure. You're an image of good health- lets get you home, okay?"
The world blurred together and one second, he was complaining about leaving (everyone was staring he could FEEL it) and the next second his cheek was pressed against cool glass and lights were passing by in big balls that made his eyes hurt. Magni was singing along to something, quietly, and the world blurred again.
He was on his own couch, the leather squeeking as Magni lowered him down.
"Wheres your thermometer, Bettel?"
He hummed, his head lolling back against the arm. "Bafroom."
"Cool." Magni never seemed to leave to get it- one second he was asking, and the next a tinny little beep was sounding and it was being pulled out from under his tongue. His mouth felt dry and sticky and he groaned wordlessly, those cool hands holding his face. "Poor Betsy, you've got a fever and everything. I fucking KNEW it."
"Shudduuup..."
"Yeah yeah, alright. Here, can you hold this? No- oh, its okay, don't worry-" He was talking so gently, trying to hand him the glass and immediately taking over when he couldn't get his arms to lift, raising it to his lips and cupping the back of his sticky, sweaty head to help him drink.
He felt like a kid again, tiny and helpless and miserable while an angel- his mom, before, Magni, now- took care of him. There wasn't much coherence to his thoughts, nothing but "ow ow ow ue ue ue" and disconnected nonsense but his eyes focused just long enough on the primest piece of real estate he'd ever seen, and he was falling forward.
His face connected to Magni's chest with a thump and an oof from him that rattled his brain around and he sighed, feeling it. Why was this so nice? Why did he feel so safe like this? Fuck. Magni chuckled and his head swam in the vibrations and cold fingers were running through his hair, lips pressing against the top of his head (did he dream it?) and then they were both blessedly horizontal and, then, he was gone, clutching the front of his shirt like a child and drooling all over his chest.
"Ahhh... Shit." Magni hummed, petting the stupidest clown he'd ever met and wondering when he should finally ask him out. Maybe when he felt better. That made sense. Good job, Magni.