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It isn’t always clear right off the bat when something is wrong with Hunter. He hides himself away well, and is very adept at keeping up whatever persona he’s chosen at the time. It takes something big to break him open enough to be properly read.
They’ve been living at Luz’s house for a few days now, so preoccupied with settling down and looking into a way home that they haven’t been putting much attention towards the only member of their group who seems fine.
Luz had been the second to break, after Gus, crying into her mother’s arms over nothing but pure exhaustion with a touch of grief. Then Willow, then Amity, but never Hunter.
Because Hunter doesn’t break. Hunter just sort of- takes it. Yes, he’s broken before, but only a couple of times, and only when he was really in trouble. He’s not in trouble now. Or, at least, he doesn’t think he is. Honestly, it’s been very hard to tell with Mrs. Noceda. She offers praise so freely, and she too is hard to read.
It also helps that he is so needed. Someone is depending on him, so he must hold himself together, for their sake.
It’s been getting harder everyday, though.
For a while, he spends his time watching Mrs. Noceda doing chores, learning where things are kept and how to use them to clean. Once he decides he’s sufficiently informed, he takes matters into his own hands. No one seems to notice, so busy trying to sort out their own complicated emotions, that he cleans the entire house almost every day.
They also don’t notice his declining physical state. To their credit, though, neither does he, so they can’t exactly be blamed.
It starts with the cold. Hunter finds, inexplicably, that he’s shaking all the time, now. Try as he might, he can’t warm himself up. He buries himself in hoodies and keeps himself active throughout the day to get his blood pumping faster. What’s funny about it, is how despite the shivering, he’s sweating near constantly.
Next is the tickle in his throat, making him cough and causing him a little bit of pain. He does his best to ignore it, as it’s not a new feeling, but swallowing quickly becomes difficult and painful.
He doesn’t let up on the cleaning, even when the cough travels from his throat to his lungs and he’s forced to breathe through his mouth. His friends drop like flies as despair and fear overwhelm them all, breaking them down.
No one seems to realize he’s the one doing the cleaning, or at least they don’t put together that he’s doing it all by himself. He’s alright with that. He likes the praise, basks in Mrs. Noceda’s pride in him, but he can do without it. As long as he’s being helpful, he’s happy.
It’s late one night, about a week and a half into their stay, when Hunter wakes up suddenly. There’s no apparent cause, at first, and he thinks it’s just his internal clock waking him up, like normal. Then his stomach suddenly rolls, and before he even has time to realize what’s happening, there’s vomit all over him.
“Mm,” Hunter squeaks, curling his arms around his stomach. It aches and twists, like it’s angry with him. He feels freezing hot and confused. There are tears welling in his eyes and he can’t tell if they’re from pain, fear, or something else. “I didn’t mean to.” He says to no one, dragging himself away from his makeshift floor-bed and sitting up on his knees. There’s vomit on his shirt, as well as the blankets. “I didn’t mean to.”
He strips the blankets away with lightning speed, (very slowly, actually, his fever is making him sluggish,) and throws them into the washing machine. He sits with his back to it and his knees hugged loosely against his chest. He really doesn’t feel good.
He sleeps without blankets for the night, uncomfortable and cold on the floor of the basement. He still manages to wake before Gus, thankfully, and switch his laundry before going upstairs to start his routine. He makes coffee, but doesn’t drink it as even the smell makes his stomach turn. Normally he would make a small breakfast for Mrs. Noceda and himself, but he doesn’t trust himself not to throw up again if he does.
She comes downstairs precisely at five-thirty, drinks her coffee while quietly reading the news on her phone, then leaves, like normal.
Somehow, between starting on the dishes and Luz coming downstairs, Hunter ends up on the kitchen floor, spread out like a star. He stares dizzily up at the spinning ceiling, a fuzzy figure that may or may not be Luz crowding her way into his vision.
“Hunter?” she asks, anxiously tapping her hand against his face. “Willow!” He thinks that if his head were not so full of cotton, her shrill yell might have hurt his ears. “Willow, Hunter collapsed!”
Is that what happened? Good to know.
“‘s ok,” Hunter slurs, trying very hard to get his still wet hands under him to push himself up. “I can still- work.”
“No, no, Hunter, you can stay down,” Luz says, distractedly, pushing him back by his shoulders. “It’s ok, we’ve got you. You’re ok.” Her hand is cool against his forehead, and he tilts his head into it. She huffs, smiling through her worry. “We should get him on the couch.” She says to someone he cannot see. “He’s definitely got a fever.”
“No, I can- I can still clean,” he murmurs, halfheartedly. “‘m ok, really, ‘s jus’ a lil’ thing.” He’s unsure, even, what he’s rambling about. What’s just a little thing? The fever? Throwing up? Passing out?
“No, Hunter, it’s a big thing,” Willow smooths his hair back from his head, also leaning into his vision. “But it’s ok, we can help you.”
“But I- I did good? I was good?” He doesn’t know why he asks. “Cleanin’ and stuff? ‘m sorry I threw up, but, I clean-ned it.”
“When did you throw up?” Luz asks, sounding mildly more panicked than she did. Willow’s vines are wrapping around Hunter and lifting him off the floor and starting him towards the living room.
“Night,” he croaks. “But i’s ok, I washed it.” His head rolls as he’s placed on the couch. It hardly feels attached to his body, at this point.
“Ok, Hunter,” Willow praises, running her fingers through his hair. “Very good job.” He preens, turning into her hand, desperate for more of that kind touch on his burning cold skin. “Why don’t you just take a nice little nap, and we’ll handle everything else.
Hunter is too tired to object, too tired to try and work anymore, so his eyes slip closed. It feels better to sleep. He just hopes no one will be mad when he wakes up again.