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The whole building had been taken out by the flu, or whatever it was that swept through the residents over the week. Kimi thought he was just overthinking when he felt the strange hot-cold flashes—he didn’t feel great, but the weather had changed pretty drastically, so Kimi figured that his body was just adjusting to the extreme cold—but then he got to work and immediately found a bathroom to go throw up in. So. Not dramatic, then. Actually sick.
Kimi didn’t want to leave, though, because he couldn’t risk this internship. Yes, Lewis and George were very nice and accommodating and would probably yell at him for not going back home after throwing up. Yes, Kimi’s comfortable bed sounded more and more appealing. Yes, he’d get to lounge around with Ollie, who was already off on his winter break.
Okay, maybe he should go back home.
“Good morning, Kimi,” Toto said as he passed Kimi’s desk.
Kimi waved to his boss, and to Doriane, who was walking alongside Toto brandishing a glossy magazine like a shield. “Morning.”
Around midday, Kimi had to go find a bathroom again, but this time, he couldn’t wait until it emptied of people. He lurched over to the trash can and threw up, acutely aware of Fred’s gaze on his back.
“Mate, are you okay?”
Kimi threw up again in response.
“I’m getting George.”
The door opened and closed, and Kimi spat the last bit of bile from his mouth and slid to the ground. He felt gross. He felt way too warm. The sharp stabs of a headache were trying to get his attention, flashes of bright light behind his eyelids that made him feel dizzy despite sitting down.
“Oh, Kimi,” George’s voice roused Kimi. Had he fallen asleep? “You need to go home.”
“You need to go home, too,” Lewis’ voice said sharply.
Kimi opened his eyes and groaned softly. George’s concerned face filled his vision, looking pale and a little sweaty. Lewis loomed over him, a small frown wrinkling his brows, and Fred hovered behind him.
“Okay,” Kimi relented.
Lewis ushered Kimi and George down to the building’s multi-level car park and tucked them into the backseat of his Mercedes. Kimi felt weirder and weirder by the minute—not necessarily sicker, just weirder. He felt like his eyeballs were too big for his head, like his stomach was trying to escape. Even his fingertips tingled oddly.
Valtteri was just leaving the building when Lewis pulled up to the door, and he paused at seeing Lewis’ easily-recognisable car. Kimi opened the door and stumbled out.
“You, too?” Valtteri asked, confusingly.
“Come on, Kimi,” George said, wrapping a hand around Kimi’s waist and leading him to the door. Valtteri opened it to let them in.
They took the lift up, and Kimi’s stomach rebelled with the movement. “George, I don’t—“
George got a plastic bag in front of him in time for Kimi to puke into it. Gross.
Ollie opened the door when George knocked, and Kimi gently pushed past his roommate to head to the bathroom. Maybe if he posted up by the toilet, he could safely puke his guts up and fall asleep without worrying about getting his bed messy. He didn’t have spare bedsheets, yet.
The cool tile of the bathroom floor felt heavenly against his head. He could hear George and Ollie speaking in the hallway, their voices washing over him without making any sense. Then the front door closed—George leaving, probably—and the bathroom door opened and closed.
“Kimi.”
Kimi looked up at Ollie, who also looked a little ill. His hair was visibly sweaty and clumped together, and there was a sheen over his forehead. “You’re sick, too?”
“Yeah, I’ve got a fever. George said you threw up?”
Kimi nodded. He didn’t really feel like he was going to throw up again, not now that he was stationary on the floor, but he didn’t want to risk it. His mama said he’d always been a puker when sick, which was gross, but then she always said “better out than in,” too, so. He’d be fine. Probably.
“Oscar says Lando is sick, too, and so are Nico and Kevin. Kevin got tested and said it’s the flu for him, so we think that everyone probably has it, then.” Ollie settled on the ground, back against the door, and Kimi let his head fall back against the tile. “Oh, Max is texting to say he feels sick as well.”
They stayed like that, until Kimi declared that he wanted to get changed into comfortable clothes, and Ollie went to put the kettle on for tea. The movement didn’t make Kimi any more or less nauseous, which was probably all he could ask for at this point, and he draped a damp cloth around his neck like his mama would do, to help him cool off. Ollie looked more and more feverish, cheeks flushed and the rest of his face pale, so Kimi refilled his uni-branded water bottle with ice water.
They settled on the couch, Kimi’s feet in Ollie’s lap, and spent the rest of the day like that.
~
“You are so high maintenance.”
Lando flipped off Oscar, wiggling a hand free from his blankets so his boyfriend could clearly see the gesture. “I’m sick.”
“I’m sick, too, arsehole.”
“Not as sick as me.”
“It’s not a competition.”
“Everything is a competition, Osc.”
Oscar muttered “whatever” as he left Lando’s bedroom, and Lando snuggled further under his blankets, still cold despite the fact that he had both his and Oscar’s bedding on top of him. According to Oscar, it was likely the flu going around, because Kevin got tested for it and came back positive. Lando was up-to-date on his vaccines, so he definitely wasn’t the worst off of the other building residents (Oscar said that Kimi threw up in the lift on Thursday, which, gross), but he still felt like shit, even two days after everyone reported their symptoms.
And his stupid screen was cracked, because he’d dropped his phone down two flights of stairs that morning when trudging up to his flat. Oscar laughed at him for a solid ten minutes after it happened and then took a picture of Lando’s cracked screen. Lando’s ever-changing screensaver was, in that moment, a photo of Charles’ face, making it look like Oscar was putting his finger in Charles’ mouth. They both laughed at that, and then Lando had to go lay down because laughing made him light-headed.
Lando’s phone pinged with a text, from Oscar.
It was the picture of Lando’s phone. @Charles Leclerc Lando’s phone btw.
Bitch.
Alex replied. it’s saturday and therefore it is no longer fingers in his mouth friday. and yet there is a finger in his mouth.
Lando giggled and squinted at his phone keyboard to type out his response. Being sick made his dyslexia that much worse, but he thought he got all the words correctly spelt. fingers in his mouth friday saturday.
it’s still friday for me, Logan texted—he’d gone back to the states for the holidays. fingers in his mouth friday saturday friday
Maybe it was the shared delirium, but the conversation just devolved and devolved and devolved.
~
“Ollie.”
Ollie looked up at his roommate, sitting curled up in the armchair and looking a lot better than he had on Thursday.
“You have to stick your fingers in my mouth.”
“I’m not—no, I’m not sticking my fingers in your mouth!” Ollie had participated in the fihmfsf conversation because it was funny, but he had no interest—
Kimi blinked his big doe eyes at Ollie. “Please?”
God fucking damnit. “You’re gonna throw up again.”
Kimi scrambled out of the armchair and onto the couch. “No, I am feeling fine. And we have the trash can, so.”
And then Kimi opened his mouth, like a baby bird, and waited.
“Well, let me wash my hands first at least, mate. Come on.”
They both went to the kitchen to wash their hands, because they were sick and Ollie would be damned if he got even more germs in Kimi than he already had. They rinsed their hands well, trying to minimise the scent of lemon from the soap, and then Kimi opened his mouth again and stared up at Ollie expectantly.
Jesus fucking Christ.
“Okay, just—hold still.” And Ollie carefully stuck two fingers in his roommates mouth.
“It’s for science,” Kimi said, around Ollie’s fingers so his words sounded like “ith fuh thy-enth.”
“We need more fingers,” Ollie declared, after getting all of his besides the thumbs in Kimi’s mouth.
“I have fingers!” Kimi said—at least, that’s what Ollie thought Kimi said. Again, the whole fingers in his mouth situation.
And Kimi started sticking his own fingers in his mouth alongside Ollie’s. Eight fingers turned into twelve, and then Kimi coughed wetly, and Ollie lurched backwards just in time for Kimi to throw up into the trash can by the island.
“I told you you’d throw up!”
~
Max put down the controller to pick up his phone, which had been buzzing endlessly for the past five minutes. 200+ texts. What the fuck.
Kimi A.
I can fit 12 fingers in my mouth
Ollie
that’s not an estimate btw
that’s exact
Alex
Where did you get 12 fingers??
Kimi
:)
Alex
????
Max put his phone back down. He didn’t want to know, actually.