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It was an average Tuesday night. Conjectural Technologies was up to their...usual business. Billy was reading the latest issue of Scientific America in his room while White was...up to equally important business, playing String Warriors with a focus on getting a perfect score playing "Fat Lip" by Sum41 on hard mode.
"Billy!" Pete called out as Billy frustratingly had to go back to the top of the page again. So distracting... "Billy! You have to come watch this! I'm awesome!"
But Billy was busy reading. He'd check in a minute he told himself. But...then he heard something strange. The sound of that Sum41 song finally being paused. He thought White was going to come in and physically drag him out as his audience, but when he heard the thunk of Pete's plastic guitar and a tense whine...Billy set aside his reading material.
"White...'You okay?" Billy asked.
"...Billy--!" Pete called out. This time it was different though. It wasn't eager or smug. His voice hitched with a noticeable whine intertwining his voice.
"Pete!" Billy replied, getting up from his seat and rushing to his friend. He could tell from the pitch of Pete's voice that something was wrong.
He ran in to find White sitting in the floor next to his String Warriors guitar, hugging the front of the couch or--at least resting the side of his face against the cushion. His eyes were closed and he seemed okay but...Pete didn't feel okay. He'd had a seizure--a small focal, but a seizure nonetheless. It came out of nowhere like an overload of information in his brain but, ah, electricity. He felt like his entire head was spinning. In reality though he was sitting mostly still with only the slightest wobble when he tried lifting his head.
"Billy, the lead guitarist for Sum41 is having some technical difficulties."
"Oh shit! White, what can I do?" Billy asked.
Pete frowned.
"Meds." He murmured. It was probably past time to take 'em--he was never good at remembering when he got in the zone with a game.
Billy nodded and darted over to the medicine cabinet, which held both of their prescriptions: Pete's on the top shelf, and Billy's on the bottom. After pulling over a stool and getting on it, he swung the cabinet door open, grabbed the exact bottle, hopped off and ran back to Pete.
Billy scrambled to get it open, handing a single pill to Pete before giving a glance to their clock.
"Shit, it'sh ten? White, you were shupposed to take thish, like, two hoursh ago!"
"Oh sure, yell at the guy who just had a seizure before he could..." He rubbed circles into his forehead, pouting. "Shush." He said instead before dry-swallowing his medication.
Billy grabbed a throw pillow from the couch and placed it beside Pete's head--he wouldn't raise up. "I whant you to lay down! Ish that undershtood?" Noticing Pete's groan--No doubt at the idea of lying down--Billy rolled his eye. "Fine, you can shtill schit there, but sheriously, lift your head up sho I can get thish pillow under your head."
"Billy?" Pete asked quietly, lifting his head up just barely to rest his head against the lumpy throw pillow.
"Yeah, White?"
"Can you...please lay down with me?"
The soft way in which Pete asked was enough to diffuse the quiz boy's worry-induced irritation, dwindling down to pure comfort. He was only frustrated because Pete failed to take care of himself was all...he missed his meds for christ's sake!
"Of courshe," Billy said as he walked to Pete. "But let me help you onto the couch. It'll be better for you."
Pete let out a minor groan in response, but slowly rose to his feet, letting Billy stabilize him as his body initially wanted him to teeter backwards. Stupid post-ictal brain...
But Pete laid down on the couch, limbs feeling heavy and his head feeling like soup. As he rested, Billy went for the Playstation's power button, but Pete was quick to sputter out an objection.
"Hey, hey, hey! I'm still playing that later! Keep it on, Billy. Just...change it." He said, referring to the input on their T.V.
"Hush up. You need to lie down and relaxsh."
Pete didn't argue with that, surprisingly. But he was just...too tired to. 'Sides, doctor's orders, right? Instead, he shut his eyes, listening to Billy tidy up his gaming space in front of the T.V. for a minute before he felt him climb to sit beside him--albeit on the very edge of the couch. Pete did sort of take up all of it when lying down.
"Hey. Billy?"
"Yeah?"
"Can we spoon?"
"Sure, Pete, I'd like that."
But as Billy went to move to lie in front of Pete--as was the obvious conclusion--Pete groaned in protest.
"No."
"No?"
"Mm, I wanna be tha li'l spoon. I'm not feelin' good."
"Oh okay. Are ya shure? I may not be the mosht comfortable."
"Billy."
Pete gave him a tired, half-lidded stare that told him it didn't matter. He just wanted to lay with his boyfriend and relax.
"Alright, alright." Billy said without further protest.
He moved his body about to find a comfortable position to spoon his beloved. His small body didn't cover much of Pete; it really was more jet-packing than spooning, but it dissolved further anyways. The light from the T.V. was bugging Pete a bit. So, he rolled over, nuzzling his face against Billy's soft midsection. Like the comfiest pillow in the world.
"Mm, thank you, pally. 'Appreciate it..."
"Anytime. I love you, Pete!"
Pete pursed his lips, holding his tired arms around Billy as he pulled him closer.
"I love you too, Billy..."
From Pete's slow, rhythmic breathing, Billy soon found himself with heavy eyelids. As hard as he tried, slumber was inevitable and soon the good doctor was off to the land of nod. Pete followed none-too-soon afterwards, the steady beating of his doctor's--his boyfriend's--heart, combined with his general exhaustion, lulling him into a much needed sleep.