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Tuesday's not sure quite how she pictured her six-month anniversary with Corey- God, when did she become the sort of person to track arbitrary dates like that?- but she knows for sure that this? This wasn't it.
She's in her bed, shivering despite the blankets she's bundled in, curled up in a ball because the moment she moves, her stomach cramps so badly she has to bite her lip not to scream. There's a bowl on her bedside table, and a trash can next to Corey's side, though right now he's not using it. No, instead he's knelt over the toilet in the bathroom because his nausea has been relentless, and it would've been pointless even trying to lay in bed. Maybe Tuesday should go in there and bring him a blanket. Shit , that would require her to get up, and she's really not trying to do that right now.
Thankfully, just as she starts to contemplate leaving her blanket cocoon, the door to the bathroom creaks open, and a pitiful-looking Corey emerges from within. He's sniffing, eyes bloodshot, hair damp with sweat and his cheeks chalky, but he still shoots his girlfriend a weak smile as he finally crawls back into bed next to her.
“A-at least your toilet’s w-working.” he murmurs with a shudder, drawing the blankets back up to his chin and closing his eyes. “Y-your roommate fix th-that?”
Tuesday hums. “She beat it with a wrench a few times and that… that seemed to do the trick.” Her words come out sounding faint, a little breathless, but she feels too rough to care about her image right now.
Corey's clearly too tired to respond properly either, because he looses a small grunt in lieu of words. Seven months ago, she would have been grinning ear to ear about shutting him up, but seven months ago he also wasn't her boyfriend, so…
She sighs heavily, gathering enough energy to roll over and face him. When she does, he turns his head, cheek flush against the pillow, eyes heavy-lidded with exhaustion.
“Y-y’alright, Tues?”
Of course. Even after everything, he's still making sure she's okay above all else.
Tuesday suppresses a grimace and shuffles closer to him. Her clammy hand reaches out for his, and their fingers intertwine, his thumb moving gently backwards and forwards against her knuckles.
“You should be giving me shit right now.” she breathes. “This is my fault.”
Corey shrugs, sniffing. “W-wasn’t on… p-purpose.”
“I know, but I still gave you food poisoning. Just because I didn't mean to give you food poisoning, doesn't take away from the fact that I did.”
And there's the rub, of course. Tuesday was the one that cooked the chicken for their anniversary dinner. Tuesday was the one that got the timings wrong and served it up to the both of them still half-raw. Tuesday is the reason why they now both feel like they're being exorcised violently. Really, her boyfriend should be exchanging only glares with her for what she's done.
Still, Corey lets his eyes fall closed and pulls his girlfriend closer to him, wrapping strong arms around her and pressing a kiss to the crown of her head.
“It was an a-accident, Tues. P-plus, you're s-sick too.”
She sighs. “Y-yeah… I s’pose so.”
Corey gives her a gentle squeeze, and she settles her head against his chest, too sick with salmonella and love to care about the faint scent of sweat and vomit.
“A-anyway…” he continues, his words rumbling against her soothingly. “W-when it comes to me, s’not your f-fault at all.”
Tuesday frowns, lifting her head almost immediately and giving him a quizzical look. “What are you talking about?”
He smirks, eyes heavy-lidded, somehow finding a way to be infuriatingly teasing only five minutes after throwing up a lung. “M talking ‘bout the- the fact that I s-saw the chicken was p-pink, and ate it a-anyway.”
He… what?
His girlfriend laughs incredulously. “I'll repeat: what the hell are you talking about?”
“Said I s-saw the chicken w-wasn't fully done, ‘n I ate it anyway, b’cause you’d already e-eaten like y-your whole portion b-by the time I got back from- from the bathroom. ‘N I thought… screw it, y’know? ‘F Tuesday's getting s-sick, so ‘m I.”
Tuesday laughs again, but this time it's cut short by a strange lump in her throat. “That's… that's the most- the most stupid thing I've ever heard in my entire life. Why?”
Corey closes his eyes, smiling almost contentedly even as his face retains the pallor of a dying man.
“Cos I l-love you, silly.”
For a few moments, Tuesday can only stay where she is, fighting back the odd burning sensation in her eyes, before at last lowering herself back down against her boyfriend and holding him tighter than ever. He rubs her back, and it becomes evident that she's sniffling audibly.
“You’re s-such an idiot.” She murmurs wetly.
Corey hums. “Y-yeah. But I’m your idiot.”
He is.
“ You are… n… n I love you very much. N-nobody else would ever do anything like that for me. Probably because it’s- it’s-” Her lip trembles, but this time the next noise she makes is a small snort of amusement, and she feels Corey shake gently with his own laughter too. “ S-so fucking stupid.”
They giggle to themselves like kids, until at last the shudders of illness kick in again, and Corey holds her tightly, and she holds him.
“It's also strangely romantic.” She whispers against his chest.
Corey’s fingers rake through her hair. “I k-know. ‘M a r-regular Casanova… who’s… who’s a-about to s-see the consequences of his d-devotion again.”
Pressing a kiss her cheek, he reluctantly lets go, and Tuesday listens to the quick thudding of footsteps against her old floorboards, then the slamming of the bathroom door. She falls asleep with a smile on her face, and a vow in her mind to treat him to a brand new Yamaha keyboard when he's well enough to play it.
Her stupid, loveable, hopelessly loyal boyfriend deserves nothing less.