Chapter Text
Rafael is in absolute misery, yet again, when he hears the deadbolt click and Rita humming to herself as she enters their apartment. Afternoon light streams through his thin navy curtains and he groans, pulling a pillow over his face to shut it out.
“Raf, you home? You missed Professor Dunkopf ripping one of the jocks a new one over custodial rights,” Rita yells out, and Rafael muffles a sob into his pillow. His head is throbbing.
The floorboards creak as Rita makes her way down the hall. She lightly raps her knuckles on his door. The noise pierces at his brain. Rafael doesn’t think he can get up, let alone have any sort of coherent conversation right now.
“‘M here,” he slurs.
Rita opens his door to what Rafael’s sure is a sorry sight: the bathroom trash can next to his bed reeking of stomach acid, his pillow clutched over his face, sweaty sheets twisted up in a knot around him.
“Oh Raf, not again,” she whispers. He moves the pillow and squints up at her. Rita’s frowning. She comes to sit next to him on the bed.
“This is your second migraine this week. You need to see a doctor,” she says, and runs her fingers through his hair. He whines and leans into her touch. Their friendship is only soft like this at home. They’re both sharks at school; it was what made them fast friends when they met. She was cold and calculating, he was acerbic and three steps ahead of everyone else all the time. Then, Rita’s sister died last year. He held her as she fell apart, and things had become much more real. God, his head hurt. Her touch felt good.
“It’s just a headache, I can manage,” he mumbles. She smoothes his hair back and lays the back of her hand on his forehead. He lets her be gentle with him and closes his eyes.
“You’re not managing though,” she says after a few minutes. “You’re missing class, and your grades will drop if this keeps up.” Rafael winces. He knows she isn’t being unkind, but it’s a sharp cut. It terrifies him - the very real possibility that he could lose his scholarship and everything that he’s worked for if he can’t pull himself together. Everything was on track until these stupid headaches started, and if he was just less of a wimp it’d be fine.
“No one cares about a headache. Jus’ need to stop being a baby,” he says. Lord knows he really did try, he swears he tried to tough it out this time, but he couldn’t make himself ride the T more than a stop before he had to run out to throw up at the next station.
“Raf, you’re really sick. You’re not being a baby, but these migraines are getting worse. You really need to see someone about it,” she says gently. “Plus, class is no fun without you to compete with.” Then her cool, gentle hand is gone from his forehead and he feels her stand up. He bites back the whine that wants to escape at the loss. He knows he’s being pathetic, but he feels like shit and his defenses are down.
“Stay?”
“I’ll be right back, I’m going to take care of this,” she gestures at the trash can in disgust, “It’s making me sick too.” He hears her walk down the hall to their tiny bathroom, listens to the shower start and the thud of water hitting the tub as she rinses his sick out of the can. She’s really too nice to him.
Rita comes back with a clean bag in the trash can, a glass of water, and a handful of aspirin.
“Can you sit up?” He tries to squirm out of the mess of sheets, but his limbs don’t seem to be working completely right. Rita snorts and presumably takes pity on him, because she grabs him under the shoulders and drags him into a sitting position against the headboard. The motion makes his stomach turn and he frantically gestures for the trash. Rita gets the message and shoves the can under his chin as he heaves. He hates this. Throwing up just makes the icepick behind his eye swing with extra violence.
“Yeah, you’re managing this perfectly well, Raf,” she says in between his gagging. He should have some sort of comeback, but his brain is too broken and he’s too nauseous to come up with anything. He just groans instead.
When he finally feels like he’s out of danger of throwing up anything else, he leans back against his pillows with a shuddering breath.
“You done?”
He nods, and she hands him the pills. He swallows them down and begs them to stay there while she goes to rinse the can out again. She’s gone for a bit, and Rafael dozes. When she comes back, she’s wearing soft shorts and a tee, carrying a textbook in one hand and a steaming mug of something in the other. He can smell the coffee and gives her a questioning look.
“Caffeine is supposed to help, here.” Rita hands him the mug. It’s a tiny amount and he frowns at it. She laughs a little at his expression.
“I promise I’m not depriving you, but do you really think you can keep more than that down right now?”
She’s probably right. He takes a careful sip.
“Do you still want me to stay?”
“Yes please,” he mumbles. She crawls into bed next to him, and he leans into her shoulder. She presses a kiss to the top of his head. He finishes his tiny cup of coffee and she cracks open her textbook.
“Sleep, Raf. I’m right here.”
She’s really, really too good to him.