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The first light of dawn crept through the curtains, casting a faint, pinkish glow across the room. Thin bands of sunlight stretched over the tangled bed, brushing against the slumbering Robloxian with a lightness that barely seemed to touch them. Or at least, they would have been slumbering... if not for the cat yowling directly in their face.
Noob blinked themselves awake, vision swimming and warping as the edges of the room refused to settle. They dragged in a long and rough yawn, their chest rising and falling heavily beneath the weight of sleep. For a few seconds, they simply lay there, blinking sluggishly, wrapped in the thick, orange haze of early morning where nothing felt quite real yet.
Tac, thoroughly unimpressed by the slow start, let out another over-the-top cry. She was planted squarely on Noob’s chest, tiny paws pressing into the blanket. Her tail flicked with sharp, impatient twitches, brushing and tickling against their nose and making them flinch.
With a tired groan, they swatted half-heartedly at the cat and missed by a few inches. Tac, of course, did not budge. She never did until she got what she wanted.
Noob swung their legs off the bed with all the momentum they could muster. They barely managed to stay upright, toes dragging against the chilly floor. For a second, it didn’t even feel like they were standing on solid ground. It felt like the floor was farther away than it should have been.
Every step felt wrong. Heavy. Slow. Like they were wading through glue, moving against some invisible weight. But Tac was hungry, and a hungry cat didn’t know the meaning of patience. Noob didn’t have much of a choice.
They sluggishly shuffled toward the kitchen. Even the walls didn’t seem quite right. They leaned inward at strange angles, almost trembling whenever they weren't looking directly at them.
Somehow, they made it to the kitchen without getting too dizzy. Noob fumbled for the bag of food, scooping out more than usual, and listened as the dry kibble clattered into the metal bowl with a sharp sound and hollow in the quiet.
They turned around and—
… Huh?
In the blink of an eye, it was all gone. No bowl, no food, no cat scurrying for substance. Just the empty stretch of tile and the dull, gray light slanting through the window, colder and thinner than it should've been.
A knot of confusion twisted tight in Noob's stomach, thickening into a strange embarrassment they couldn’t explain. Shaking their head hard, they grabbed the bag again, clutching it tighter this time. Their hands trembled quitely awkwardly, like they had forgotten how to do anything properly.
They forced themselves to scoop again, carefully this time. The kibble hit the bowl with a dry, familiar clatter that was real this time, solid. Tac practically launched itself at the food, eating like she hadn’t been fed in days. How dramatic.
Noob leaned heavily against the counter, breathing too fast, watching the edges of the world smear and drag sideways every time they moved.
Eventually, they pushed themself off the counter and turned from the kitchen with the sound of Tac eating echoing faintly in their mind. As they walked, the house seemed to stretch and tilt in strange ways, every step dragging longer than it should. The walls felt closer now, the corners curling inward, and Noob’s head grew heavier with each step.
The hallway was shadowed, the floorboards creaking underfoot with every sluggish movement. Each stride was more of a pull, like the ground itself was reluctant to let them go. It was almost like being trapped in quicksand.
They paused at the bedroom door. The room beyond looked darker than before, the light from the window barely enough to draw a weak outline of the bed. The blankets were piled up in a messy, untouched heap.
Dragging themselves across the room, Noob felt the air grow thicker around them, like it was holding its breath. They crawled under the covers with a quiet whine, pulling them up to their chin as if it could trap the warmth inside. But the chill followed, slipping easily into every gap, clinging stubbornly to their skin.
For some unknown reason, they just couldn’t stop shivering. It started deep in their chest, a rattling tremor that spread outward until it felt like their whole body was coming apart. It wasn't morning chills, they were very sure. The mattress gave a soft groan under them, a quiet protest to the weight of it all.
Somewhere nearby, their phone buzzed against the nightstand. The sound was distant, muffled by the blankets and the thick fog crowding Noob’s head. They barely noticed it at all, their thoughts slipping away like fish darting out of reach. Everything inside them felt as if they were wading through wet cement.
Messages gradually lit up the screen one after another, ignored and unanswered. Noob’s eyes flickered open and shut, caught in the haze of half-sleep that dragged them back and forth between awareness and something murkier. Sweat clung to their skin, tangling with trembles that wouldn’t quite let go, no matter how many blankets they pulled tighter.
Their eyes fluttered closed again. The tension in their muscles eased just enough for them to slip into a restless sleep that was far from peaceful.
…
When they finally woke again at a much more reasonable hour, the world felt wrong. Swaying, like the ground itself had forgotten how to stay still. Everything seemed too soft, too far away, like they were seeing it all through fogged glass. Their skin tingled with a heavy sensation that crawled up their arms, feeling like a hundred invisible hands were weighing them down. Even blinking felt like too much effort.
They hauled themself out of bed with a half-groan, half-sigh, with legs buckling a little under them. The room tilted as they stood, the walls leaning slightly left, as if gravity had decided to bend just for them. Squinting blearily at the clock (which they couldn't even read), then at the weak light spilling through the curtains, Noob found none of it seemed quite real.
Fine, whatever. Breakfast first. Then... probably go back to sleep.
The floor felt strange under their feet— too cold, too distant, it was like walking through syrup. The kitchen loomed like a distant shore, the space between them and the counter seeming to just stretch farther the closer they tried to get.
Noob moved without thinking, yanking open cabinets with hands that barely felt like theirs. The cereal box slipped from their fingers, hitting the counter with a dull thud. They stared at it for a long, blinking moment. It wasn’t the world that was spinning; it was their own head, heavy and full of static. Eventually, they wrestled the box open, but even that felt like lifting weights.
They poured a bowl, then just… stared at it for a few good seconds. Milk. Right. Cereal needs milk. Of course.
The fridge door opened with a soft creak, a wave of cold air slamming into them hard enough to make them shudder. For a second, they just stood there, frozen, the chill sinking deep into their bones.
The milk jug was heavier than it should have been. Noob struggled with it, accidentally pouring too much. The milk sloshed over the sides, splashing down their fingers, running cold along their skin. They barely reacted. The sensation didn't even occur to them. After a beat, they wiped their hand on their pajama pants, but it was a lazy, almost careless motion, the kind you make when it doesn’t seem worth the effort.
They barely made it halfway into any of the kitchen island chairs before their knees gave out. The bowl slipped out of their hands, milk spilling all over the floor beneath them. Noob’s hand shot out, grabbing the chair’s edge with a rough gasp. It was pure luck they were close enough to save their face from planting smack on the floor.
For a moment, they just stayed there, hunched over and trembling, their knuckles whitening against the wood as the kitchen spun in slow, dizzy circles. Their vision wavered, the edges of the room curling inward, warping like melting wax.
Their heart pounded too fast, too loud, hammering against their ribs with a frantic, caged rhythm. It didn’t match their breathing—it didn’t match anything at all. The world moved at its own pace, dragging them helplessly along behind it. It was enough to make them gasp for air just to stay afloat.
Tac weaved anxiously around their legs, meowing sharply. She was not demanding, but worried this time. Noob couldn’t even lift their head. The motions, the words, even the world itself felt like it slipped further away.
With a painful groan, they forced themself upright. The chair creaked under the effort. Every muscle fought against the movement, their body caught between burning heat and a deep, bone-deep chill that made it impossible to settle.
For a while, they just sat there, hands limp at their sides, forehead resting against the cool wood. Their breath was shallow, uneven, like they could never quite catch enough air. The world blurred at the edges, every shape smearing into the next.
And then, finally, it clicked: they weren’t just tired. They were sick.
The realization came too late to be of any use. A shudder tore through them, deep and relentless, rattling their body until the thought of breakfast felt like something that had happened a lifetime ago.
Running on instinct, they abandoned the ruined meal and staggered toward the bedroom, each step dragging harder than the one before. The hallway seemed to stretch and warp ahead of them, the distance bending in strange, impossible ways, like the twisted logic of a bad dream.
Noob collapsed back into bed, dragging the thin blanket over them. Their skin was sticky with sweat, aching from the simple act of moving. No matter how tightly they wrapped themself up, the chill gnawed at their insides.
They squeezed their eyes shut, trying to make the world stop spinning. But beneath the exhaustion and fever, a knot of fear twisted tighter. Something was wrong, and it wasn’t something they could just will away.
“It’s fine,” they muttered to themself. “It's just a cold. You can sleep it off. People get sick all the time.”
But even as they thought it, the words slipped away, weightless and useless. They curled tighter under the blanket, desperate to trap some shred of warmth, but it was no use. The cold had sunk deeper than the air around them; it had gotten inside, threading itself through their muscles, coiling tight around their ribs, filling the hollow spaces between each shallow breath. It wasn’t just something they could escape anymore. It lived under their skin now, gnawing slowly from the inside out. How parasitic.
A flicker of thought crossed their mind: they should call someone. Get help. Tell someone. But those ideas withered before it could root, lost in the buzzing pressure that clogged their head. The phone might as well have been a thousand miles away. Their arms felt distant, like they didn't belong, every nerve dulled and slow.
Later, they promised themself. When the room stops tilting. When their body stopped buzzing with fever. Later.
They sank into the mattress, the heat clinging to their skin like a second layer, smearing the edges of the room into a molten blur.
The buzzing of their phone started faintly, one vibration, then another, then… probably more?
But Noob didn’t hear any of it. The world outside their mind faded, muffled, as if it was slipping farther away. They were too far gone, the fever pulling them into a deep, dreamless sleep.
And soon, there was nothing. Just the crushing weight of fever, the stifling dark pressing against their mind, and the slow, dragging pull of dreamless slumber swallowing them whole.
…
Hours slipped by in a fevered haze. The sun drifted lazily across the sky, unseen by Noob, who lay utterly still under the suffocating weight of unconsciousness. Time stretched and blurred, dissolving into an endless smear of heat and discomfort. By the time the afternoon arrived, seeping into the room in a dull, golden haze, it could have been any hour—or none at all. Not that it mattered to the slumbering one.
Meanwhile? Guest 666's phone was unbelievably dry, each unanswered message scraping a little deeper into her chest. At first, she tried to reason with herself: Noob could be distracted, tangled up in something chaotic as usual. They had a way of getting pulled into disasters of any scale. But as the hours dragged on with no response, leaving not even a read receipt, her worry spiraled into gnawing panic.
This wasn’t normal. Noob never ignored her for long. Not without a reason.
A call went straight to voicemail. Empty. Final.
Something was undoubtedly wrong.
So, that's how she ended up standing at their front door, fiddling with the lock with a pounding heart. She slipped inside, closing it carefully behind her. The house was too quiet. Noob’s home was usually active, stuff like music humming low from a speaker or Tac darting around and giving the place life. Today, it felt abandoned. Hollow. Like no one lived here at all.
The living room was empty. So was the kitchen—except for what looked like a splash of crusted milk on the floor. It had left a faint, chalky stain against the tiles, like it had happened hours ago and been forgotten entirely.
Totally not concerning.
Guest 666's throat tightened as she crossed to the bedroom door.
It was there she heard it: the faint, hitched breathing from the other side, muffled by the wood. Fragile, uneven—very wrong in a way that rooted fear deep in her gut. Her hand trembled as she gripped the doorknob, a cold knot pulling tighter in her stomach.
The bedroom was dim, the blinds cutting the sunlight into thin, pale ribbons that slashed across the bed. Noob lay buried under tangled blankets, their face flushed and damp with sweat. Their chest rose and fell, but it was like their body was fighting for every breath.
She froze just inside the doorway, heart hammering painfully against her ribs. Noob looked… wrong. Not just sick, not quite, but frail. Unfamiliar in a way that made her blood run colder.
She crossed the room in two quick, stumbling strides, barely aware of her own movements. Sitting on the edge of the bed, she leaned in close, her breath catching as she searched for any flicker of awareness. The phone lay abandoned on the nightstand, screen dark and silent. Muted, forgotten, and useless now.
Her hand hovered over Noob’s forehead before finally brushing the hair back. The heat that radiated off their skin startled her. It wasn’t just warm: it was searing. She pressed her palm gently to their forehead, her own breath catching as she felt the fever burning through them.
They didn’t even flinch.
Panic flared higher now, rising like a tide barely kept at bay. She checked their pulse: fast, way too fast to be normal. But it was at least there. They were alive. Unconscious, but alive.
Sixer swallowed against the lump in her throat and carefully adjusted the blanket, tucking it closer around Noob’s curled-up body, trying to shield them from the creeping chill of the room. She adjusted the pillows with cautious movements, her hands trembling slightly.
For a long moment, she stayed there, hand resting lightly against their forehead, grounding herself in the thudding beat of their fevered pulse. Her mind whirled with possibilities, none of them good. They were just laughing and healthy yesterday, what happened for them to get this sick? What if they got worse while she sat here doing nothing?
She forced herself to move.
The dresser nearby was cluttered with junk, but her fingers found a washcloth quickly enough. Not sure why one was even there, but it was definitely useful now.
Without delay, she rushed down the hallway, her footsteps barely making a sound on the hardwood. In the bathroom, she didn't bother turning on the lights as she yanked the faucet to the side, the icy water splashing against her trembling fingers. She plunged the cloth under the stream, soaking it until it dripped heavily, then wrung it out with frantic, jerky movements that sent cold droplets scattering across the sink. She almost forgot to turn off the sink before running back out.
Back in the bedroom, she moved swiftly, pressing the damp cloth to their forehead with a touch that was both desperate and unbearably gentle. The coolness sank in slowly, pitifully, like a whisper against the furnace of Noob’s skin. It wasn’t enough.
They didn’t even flinch. Not a twitch of an eyelid, not a grimace. Nothing.
Sixer leaned in closer, her breath catching as she stared, willing them to stir. To blink, to shift, to let out one of their usual half-conscious mumbles. But they only breathed, faint and shallow, each breath dragging from their lungs like it cost them the world.
The silence in the room grew heavier, oppressive, filling her ears until it was all she could hear. Every second stretched thin, drawn out unbearably. She smoothed the blanket again with shaking hands, bundling Noob tighter, tucking the fabric in, as if it would keep them together. As if she could build a shield strong enough to ward off the fever, the helplessness, the terrifying realization that she couldn’t fix this.
The world outside moved on, the afternoon light deepening into amber, but Sixer didn’t notice. Her whole world had shrunk to the faint rise and fall of their chest, the burning heat of their skin, and the stubborn thrum of their heartbeat under her fingertips.
Maybe she could brew something, maybe something for when Noob wakes up, to keep herself busy while they rested. The thought clung to her like a lifeline. She needed to move, to do something. Sitting still only made the fear worse.
Carefully, almost reluctantly, she peeled herself away from the bedside. Noob didn’t stir. Their breathing was still faint, fragile. The damp cloth stayed on their forehead, barely cooling the raging heat that clung to them.
Guest 666 hesitated for one more heartbeat, then forced herself to slip out of the room. The hallway stretched ahead of her, feeling longer, emptier than it had any right to be. Every step echoed faintly in the hush.
In the kitchen, she fumbled through the cabinets with clumsy, restless hands, shoving aside half-empty boxes and forgotten tins. She wasn’t even sure what he was looking for. Just anything that could make her move; anything to keep the fear at bay.
She settled on soup.
The pot clattered lightly onto the stove, the sound sharp in the heavy quiet. She filled it with water, twisting the tap off with more force than necessary. When the burner ignited with a hollow click, it felt like the first real sound the house had made in hours.
Steam began to rise, thinly curling in the air. She gripped the edge of the counter, knuckles pale, staring blankly at nothing while the water heated.
It wasn’t much. But it was something. Something to fill the minutes while Noob was passed out.
…
By the time Noob finally stirred, the sun had already begun its slow descent, bleeding faint streaks of gold and red across the sky. The day had slipped far past noon, but they were unaware of the world moving on without them.
Their body twitched faintly at first: a small, sluggish movement of their fingers, a slow rustling of tangled blankets. They didn’t register the shift in the light, didn’t notice the heavy hush in the air. Their vision blurred and doubled as they blinked groggily, colors bleeding into one another. Everything was wrong. The weight of the sheets was suffocating, pinning them down. Their muscles ached fiercely, joints stiff and uncooperative, while the fever inside them simmered hot enough to leave their skin clammy and burning.
They tried to sit up, but a violent wave of dizziness slammed into them, sending the room pitching sideways. A broken sound, somewhere between a groan and a whimper, escaped their lips as they collapsed back against the pillows. The air felt too thin, too sharp in their lungs, every breath scraping.
Footsteps. A creak of the door, just loud enough to cut through the fevered haze.
Through the swim of their vision, they saw someone standing frozen in the doorway, a rigid silhouette framed by the dimming light. Her expression was a tangle of fear and determination, body taut with barely contained motion. She hesitated for only a second before moving toward them, the energy radiating off. Unmistakably, frantic and dire.
She raised her hands, signing quickly—sharp, staccato movements. 'How do you feel?' Her fingers trembled slightly, her worry bleeding into the hurried, almost frantic way she asked it.
Noob squinted, trying to piece together the signs, but it was like trying to catch smoke. Their head was too heavy, thoughts slipping through their fingers. They managed a rasp, voice cracked and raw: "... What time is it?”
Sixer’s face tightened, something deep and painful pulling at the corners of her mouth. She signed again, slower this time: 'Six.' She pointed toward them, her motions pressing but careful. 'You’ve been asleep all day.'
The words weighed heavily on Noob’s chest. They tried to push themselves upright again, but their arms gave out halfway, a wave of weakness washing through them so strongly it made their vision gray at the edges. They needed a second to recollect themself after that.
“I… I don’t…” Their voice faltered, thin as a needle. “Six, When did you get here?”
Sixer’s lips pressed into a tight line. Her hands moved sharply, almost biting in their speed. 'I messaged you over ten times. You always answer by the third.' There was an upset tone to her signs, but the concern underneath it was unmistakable.
Noob’s heart stumbled in their chest. Ten times? They didn't pick up their phone once.
Sixer’s brow furrowed deeper, an unspoken urgency sharpening her expression. She signed, slower now, deliberate: 'I'm sure you haven't eaten. You need to.'
Without another word, she turned and retrieved something from the dresser by the door: a bowl, full of hot, fragrant soup. The scent drifted through the room, warm and grounding in the sickening smog.
She moved carefully toward the bed, cradling the bowl like it was made of the most precious glass. Before she offered it, she reached out, her fingertips brushing gently against Noob’s forehead. Her touch was feather-light, but they could feel the tremor running through her hand. There was tension she couldn’t quite hide.
They flinched slightly under the touch, the temperature radiating off their own skin unbearable, but Sixer didn’t pull away. Her hand lingered for a beat longer before she carefully pressed the bowl into their hands.
They stared at it, dazed, until the intensity of her gaze snapped them back. She wasn’t going to let this go.
“Alright…” Noob muttered, their voice barely more than a hoarse breath. They closed their eyes for a moment, shielding themselves from the intensity of her stare.
They lifted the spoon with clumsy fingers, each movement heavier than it should’ve been. The first sip of soup scalded their tongue slightly but slid down in a rush of warmth, easing the rawness in their throat. Their consciousness sharpened, just a fraction.
They ate slowly, spoonful by spoonful, fighting the weight dragging at their limbs. Guest 666 stayed close, never looking away, her hands twitching occasionally like she wanted to help but didn’t exactly know how.
As Noob finished the last mouthful, their arms sagged uselessly back onto the blanket. They barely had the strength to keep their eyes open. The room blurred again, edges softening, the bed pulling them down safely like an angel’s hand coaxing them.
Sixer leaned forward, signing with a slow tenderness now: ‘Water?’
Her brow creased again, her fingers pausing midair as if second-guessing herself before she signed again, slower, careful not to overwhelm: ‘Medicine? Do you need it? Do you have any?’
Noob struggled to keep up. The signs blurred together, fragments slipping past their battered mind.
“Uh, I dunno…” they rasped out, voice almost inaudible. Their hand drifted weakly toward the edge of the bed. “P-Probably? Check the sink cabinet…”
Sixer nodded tightly, no frustration in her face now, only a grim calm in its wake. She signed, steady and clear: ‘Okay. Just rest. I’ll find it.’
She stood with a fluid, quiet urgency, her shadow stretching across the bed as she turned to leave, yet still tethered to Noob by the invisible string of her worry, until she finally left the room.
Their eyes flickered over to the empty space where Sixer had just been. The weight of the question they’d been trying to push away crept back in, heavier now that they were alone. It sat low in their chest, a tight, uncomfortable knot, impossible to ignore.
Noob stared at the doorway a moment longer for a reason they’re not certain of. They closed their eyes again, letting out a slow, shaky breath, and tried not to think too much.
When Sixer returned, she moved with quiet intent, the glass of water and a liquid medicine bottle now in her hands. Noob, still struggling to stay focused, found the question pressing itself to the forefront of their mind, too heavy to leave unspoken.
“Hey, Six,” they rasped, their voice weak and cracked. “Why did you come over? I mean, I get that you were worried, but… why did it matter so much? I can handle myself.”
She paused for a beat, her fingers suspended in the air, as if the question caught her off guard. Her face softened, her expression slipping into something quieter, something vulnerable. Her gaze locked with Noob’s. She set the glass of water down on the table with care, her hands moving to sign slowly, each gesture purposeful.
‘You sure?’ she signed, her brow furrowing. ‘You were burning up, unconscious. You can’t take care of yourself when you’re like that. Trust me, I’d know.’
“Well, I… I didn’t think it was that bad,” Noob muttered, their voice weak and scratchy. “I thought it’d be something that would pass by, ya' know?” They paused, biting their lip as their chest tightened. “Nothing to worry about much.”
Sixer’s expression blanked. Her hands moved again, the gestures fluid as she signed, ‘This is why I worry about you. You burn up with a ridiculously high fever and you just assume it’d be something to pass by with no care?’
Noob blinked at her, squinting hard at her hands. There was absolutely no way they caught all of that. Having blurred vision, slow processing, and mediocre sign language skills were a terrible combination. Plus, Sixer’s signs always picked up speed when she was annoyed. That’s something they’ve learned over the years.
“Uh…” Noob croaked, scratching the side of their face awkwardly, coughing weakly. “Gonna be super honest with you, Six… I caught maybe half of that. Something about me burning up with high fever?” They offered a small, weak grin.
Sixer furrowed her eyebrows followed by a glare, then signed again, slower this time, each word punctuated like she was explaining something to a particularly dense toddler. ‘You. Need. Help. When. Sick.’
Noob let out a breathy laugh, though it quickly dissolved into another rough cough. “Yeah, okay. I get it.” They leaned their head back against the pillows, their eyelids fluttering tiredly as they yawned.
Sixer arched an eyebrow at their exhaustion, then pointed directly at Noob’s flushed face, her fingers spelling out with slow, exaggerated clarity: ‘102.8.’
Noob squinted. “Did you take my temperature?”
She gave a small nod, nothing dramatic. Just a quiet confirmation.
They stared at her, a little baffled. “You took my temperature?” they rasped again, voice scratchy.
She hesitated while spotting them a confused look at their bewilderment, then signed cautiously, ‘You weren’t waking up. I needed to know if it was serious.’ Her hands moved slower than usual, deliberate, almost apologetic.
Noob let out a breath, slumping back against the pillows. “Guess that’s fair,” they muttered, the fight draining from them almost immediately. They were too tired to argue anyway... and honestly, why would they? They didn’t really want to. No point in that.
She watched them for a moment longer, then gently nudged the glass of water closer to their hands. She didn’t push, didn’t rush them, just set it there like a quiet offer.
Noob raised the cup to their lips and managed a few more sips, their hand trembling a little, before setting the glass down with a soft clink on the nightstand.
Almost instantly after, Sixer offered the small medicine bottle with a soft, steady motion. Though the way she stared at them while offering it made it feel a lot less like a suggestion and a lot more like a silent "you will be taking this."
Noob hesitated, shifting weakly under the covers. “Uh, I’m fine,” they muttered, their voice uncertain and rough. Even they didn’t sound convinced. Noob just wasn’t a fan of medicine… never really had been. Pills were difficult to swallow, and liquid medicine just always tasted bitter.
Sixer’s eyes narrowed slightly, her hand pushing the bottle a few inches closer to Noob’s chest in a way that made it very clear she wasn’t buying the excuse. She didn’t sign anything. She didn’t need to. The look said everything: Take it. Now.
Noob gave a pitiful little huff and reached out, fumbling clumsily for the bottle. Their fingers barely had the strength to grip it properly, and after a few shaky attempts at twisting the cap off, they slumped back against the pillow in defeat and glared at their best friend.
Sixer immediately swooped in, plucking the bottle from their hands with a sigh. She cracked the cap open in one easy motion, poured out the proper dose, and handed it right back to Noob with a pointed raise of her eyebrows.
Mumbling under their breath, Noob accepted it, screwing their face up like a kid who was forced to eat vegetables. They swallowed the medicine down in one go, wincing hard as the bitter taste spread through their mouth.
“Happy?” Noob rasped, their voice scratchy and miserable.
Sixer just raised an eyebrow again, before nodding her head and putting the cap and bottle to the nightstand.
They flopped deeper into the bed with a helpless whine, the world canting sideways, everything slipping out of reach as exhaustion swallowed them whole.
Somewhere in their haze, they felt the bed dip slightly beside them, a quiet shift of weight. She leaned in without saying anything, moving slow like she didn’t want to startle them. Her presence was steady, careful. Noob barely registered the hesitation, just the faint brush of her breath against their skin—before she pressed a kiss to their forehead. Something small and timid, but it left a weight behind, something warm that lingered even after she pulled away.
The warmth of the affection sank down through the fever and the fog, threading into the hollow spaces exhaustion had carved out inside them. It stayed even after she pulled away.
Noob’s eyes fluttered shut in answer, a soft, worn-out sigh slipping from their lips as their body melted deeper into the mattress. They didn’t want to let go of that feeling ever. In a clumsy, half-conscious motion, they reached out, their fingers brushing blindly along the sheets until they found her sleeve. And once they had a hold, they didn’t let go. They tugged at it, not hard, but enough.
She stiffened, glancing down at them. Noob stared back, their half-lidded eyes glassy and desperate, clinging onto her sleeve like a lifeline. Typical. Even sick out of their mind, Noob still knew how to pull the puppy-dog eyes trick… and as always, it worked a little too well.
“Please?” They whispered, their voice cracked and barely there.
She hesitated for a second, glancing from their hand still clutching her sleeve back to the bed. A small, tired smile tugged at the corner of her mouth. So clingy, she thought to herself, not feeling like signing it out. Noob probably knew they were thinking it, anyway.
With a quiet huff of breath, she carefully climbed into the bed, slipping under the covers without jostling Noob too much. She moved with a kind of ease that said she had done this before, like some quiet part of her had always known how to fit into the spaces they left open. She curled in behind them, slipping an arm around their waist, drawing them in until their bodies fit together with a natural kind of gravity. Her touch was comforting, grounding, her hand splaying lightly against Noob’s stomach.
They let out a soft, shaky breath, their fingers relaxing where they were still tangled in the fabric of her sleeve. Some of the tension that had been wound so tight inside them finally, finally gave way into the space between them. They leaned back instinctively, letting themselves sink into the stable warmth of her chest against their back, into the quiet rhythm of her breathing that rose and fell like an anchor against their affliction.
Without another thought, Noob shifted closer, nestling deeper into her hold, like if they got close enough, that maybe the fever would not be so bad. The world, the fever, the confusion, the ache, blurred and softened, fading a little more with every second Sixer stayed close to them.
Their breathing slowed. Their muscles went slack. Within minutes, they were asleep, tucked safely in the curve of her arms, their body finally surrendering to the exhaustion it had fought for so long.
Sixer did not move. She only tightened her hold slightly, a subtle pull that gathered Noob closer, like she could shield them from the worst of it if she just held on tight enough. She let her forehead rest lightly against the back of Noob’s shoulder, breathing in the faint, fever-hot scent of them, feeling the rise and fall of their chest under her palm. There wasn’t anything else she needed to say. This was enough.
Hopefully, it’d keep Noob warm, even if for a little bit longer.