Work Text:
As soon as you wake up the grim reaper greets you with open arms. Oh wait, no. That’s just a pounding headache. of course, you knew this was coming. You had felt the tingling in your throat yesterday evening but had stupidly decided that it was nothing. Not because you genuinely thought you’d be fine. You just didn’t want to admit that it was happening. Not to you. Not now. You’ve seen many coworkers fall to this sudden flu. They didn’t see it coming. Entirely innocent and unsuspecting…Now you have been taken as its next victim.
The angry sun irritates your fragile eyes through the blinds and you sharply turn your head away, causing your headache to snowball into searing pain.
“fuck.” You croak out feebly, which swiftly triggers a painful, scratchy coughing fit.
How lovely. This is great. Just what you wanted actually. Maybe this is what finally takes you out. You’ve survived evil worms, creepy artefacts, even a particularly angry seagull… but the common cold has officially foiled you.
It takes several attempts to properly will yourself out of bed. The sickness seeps into your bones with a full body ache that you can’t ignore. You drag yourself to the kitchen, pouring yourself water from the tap, which helps you choke down two paracetamol. It’s hard to think through your headache but after a while, when it clears, you realise you should probably tell Jon you won’t be coming into work.
Your voice is much too scratchy to call in, so you settle for an email. It’s short, your screen glaring horrifically as you type it out.
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Cc/bcc, From: [email protected]
Subject: Sick
Won’t be cming in. dyinf. Srry.
Sent from my iPhone
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…yeah. That’s coherent. Probably. You triple check that you’ve hit send, then attempt to make breakfast. Unfortunately, there’s no cereal left and you’re not cooking something in this state. You settle for a slice of bread and go back to bed. This is truly a sad sight. Cowering under the covers, hiding from the light yet baking from your fever. Clutching your bread like it’s going to run away. You feel pathetic, Look pathetic and… Are those footsteps?
You peak out from under your duvet, squinting as your eyes struggle to adjust. There Elias stands. His hair is neatly slicked back as usual and he’s dressed in a distinguished deep green vest that screams enormous prick. He’s carrying a Waitrose bag, because of course he shops at Waitrose.
“Elias?” You croak out with a frown “how did you get in my house?” You question, unnerved and pushing yourself up into a sitting position.
It’s a valid question, as Elias had never set foot in your house and certainly didn’t have a key.
“Don’t you remember? You let me in.” Elias puts on a mask of concern “Oh dear. You must be sicker than I thought.” he coos condescendingly
“What? But I didn’t… I haven’t left my bed.. I…” You trail off, head throbbing as you try to wring out any memory of Elias even being here before now.
“I would remember letting you in.” You say, almost as if you’re trying to convince yourself.
“Are you implying that im a liar?” Elias tuts disapprovingly, setting down the bag on your small desk near the door.
“What’s more likely. Your boss breaking into your flat or the sick person, in a haze, begging me to come over and help?”
Well he’s got you there. Why on earth would Elias randomly break into your flat, you didn’t tell him you were sick. Even if you did, it hadn’t been that long since you sent the email and it takes much longer than 10 minutes or so to get to your flat. Elias ignores your coughing and sniffling, lightly tossing a box of tissues your way.
“Try not to cough up a lung, im going to make you something actually worth eating.” He sighs, like taking care of you is a chore he’d rather not be doing. He quickly picks up his bag and disappears from the bedroom.
You check your phone, trying to figure out if you sent your sick notice to the wrong person. Nope. That’s definitely Jons email. You hadn’t called or texted Elias either, despite him telling you that you’d begged him to come over.
Regardless, it’s probably best not to look a gift horse in the mouth. You have someone making you soup! And he’s only a little bit of an asshole! All you have to do now is wait. Unfortunately, your runny nose is causing you to blow through half the box before Elias even comes back.
Eventually, Elias glides back in with a lap tray and tomato soup. Placing it at the end of the bed and stepping back. You both pause for a moment, then you slide the tray onto your lap.
“You’re acting like I have the plague. Did you come here just to sit in my doorway the entire time?” You half huff-half cough.
“I have actual responsibilities, I can’t afford to be off sick.” Elias shakes his head, coming closer anyways and resting a hand on your forehead to check your temperature. You lean in, soothed by the cool feeling. Then you catch yourself.
“Then shouldn’t you be at work now?”
You croak out, turning your head away. A frown pulls on the corners of Elias’ mouth and he retracts his hand.
“You really shouldn’t be talking this much. It’ll strain your throat.” He counters. “Being quiet will probably do you some good.”
You grumble, spitting out a weak “asshole” before spooning soup into your mouth. You pause. Good god. He’s poisoned you. You don’t know how you didn’t notice before… Inside the soup are croutons. Your worst enemy, only second to illness. You forcefully swallow down your mouthful and glare at the traitorous man before you.
“They’re just croutons.”
Elias says, like he knows what your problem is without a word. He sits on the edge of your bed, picking up the spoon that you had immediately dropped like it attacked you.
“God, I may as well have brought you fish fingers and carrot sticks. That might’ve gone down better with you.” He scoffs.
“Do you have to be such a dick? Just leave if you don’t-“ you’re swiftly cut off by a spoon in your mouth. You make a frustrated noise, swallowing down the soup. When you go to speak again, you’re greeted with more soup.
“What did i say about speaking?” He says, not even hiding his smug tone. Hes clearly getting a kick out of this. It almost seems like he’s maximising how many croutons he can get on the spoon and feed to you. Your nose crinkles as you turn away from the next bite.
“Don’t be difficult,” Elias fusses, “You’re lucky I’m here to take care of you. No one else would.”
You don’t even dignify that with a response, instead chugging the rest of the soup directly from the bowl (leaving the remaining croutons) and pushing the tray away.
“Oh don’t be childish.” Elias says, watching you roll onto your side and hide in your duvet.
“I’m not being childish. I’m sick. I need rest.” you state firmly, eyes closed tightly in protest. You feel a hand gently glide through your hair
“What’re you doing?” You murmur, slightly defensive.
“you like this.” He states factually, doubling down on his affections. He says it like he’d studied you in entirety, like he’d learned every part of you. Exactly how you tick. What you need.
“How would you know?” You sniffle. It’s only natural that you melt. His touch is soothing and cold compared to your baking skin. You’d barely pulled away the first time and you didn’t even really want to now.
“I know everything” Elias hums in response. What an egotistical bastard. Thinking he’s always right. Unfortunately, the physical affection you’re receiving is making your eyelids grow heavy.
“Don’t worry. You’ll see.”
You hear a breath that almost sounds like a laugh as Elias rolls your hair between his fingers. He smirks as you drift off to sleep and ends up staying much longer than he has to.
When you wake up you’re alone but feeling significantly better. That is.. until you find a light green post-it note on your bedside table.
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Ensure you are better before coming in. Do not infect your coworkers.
P.s.
Your email is unprofessional. You should be using a professional email address for institute work.
-E.B.
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