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“Let's try that one again,” Ben calls from the space opposite the recording room. Joe's just about ready to throw in the towel on this one, he's thoroughly frustrated. He's sicker than a dog, and his voice keeps cracking when he tries to go any higher than an E-flat.
“I'm not sure repetition will help,” Joe calls back hoarsely, but it's clear Ben is just as frustrated as he is and only wants to get this over with. Against Joe's wishes, he sings the part again.
And again, and again, and again.
“We don't have all day, Joe. I need to get Rob and Zubin in here for their-”
Joe rips the headphones off of his head, lets them clatter to the floor, and storms off. He pushes the door to the recording room open, and heavy footfalls echo throughout the hallways as he approaches the front door of the studio and leaves. He doesn't acknowledge Andrew calling his name as he brews coffee with a bewildered expression on his face.
The late summer humidity causes Joe's skin to perspire, despite the breeze whipping his face. He coughs into his elbow, a low, painful rattle in his chest, to soothe the itch in his throat. It's blissfully quiet out here, he's free of the backing track to Hidden in the Sand playing for the tenth time in a row. However, he's not exactly feeling any better. His throat hurts, he's congested, and a bit mortified after trying and failing to sing a rather simple vocal part.
Joe's silence is interrupted by Rob's car pulling up into the gravel lot outside of the studio building. When did Rob leave? Joe's not entirely sure, and he thinks it may be a fever clouding his mind. Rob hops out of the driver's side, and immediately beelines over to where Joe's sitting beneath a tree. Rob's holding what looks like a CVS bag, which he drops in front of Joe before sitting down next to him. Rob's limbs fold awkwardly to make up for the lack of space he'd given himself next to Joe, and ultimately he scoots away.
“The guys told me you were coming down with something bad, so I brought cough medicine,” Rob explains, gesturing to the bag. Joe inspects it, pulling apart the plastic handles and reaching inside to pull out the bottle of dark liquid. Joe frowns.
“That's considerate of you, but this is NyQuil…” Joe says, the plastic bottle sloshing in his hand as he puts it back in the bag. He glances at Rob, whose cheeks have flushed pink upon realizing his mistake. “That's alright though, I won't be of much help today anyways. My voice is done for,” Joe assures, punctuating his sentence with a well-timed voice crack.
“I could drive you home, if you'd like,” Rob tries, but is instantly denied by Joe shaking his head.
“Ben needs you in the studio for something. I'll just go lay down on the couch,” Joe compromises, the first of the two to get to his feet. He wobbles for a moment, dizziness overwhelming him, but he manages to compose himself. He starts back off towards the door of the studio and leaves Rob in the dust, with the cough medicine he'd brought. Joe is always quick to deny help, so Rob isn't all that surprised. Disappointed, however? Just a little.
Joe sits down heavily on the couch in the control room, the wind being knocked out of him just from a short walk. Ben, who's now recording with Zubin, gives Joe nothing more than a sympathetic look. That only pisses Joe off, so he lays down on his back and shuts his eyes.
Rob follows, because of course he does. He stands next to the couch, his concern evident on his features. He nudges Joe a couple of times, before handing Joe the bottle again. Joe is hesitant at first, before realizing Rob's not going to let up.
Joe snatches the bottle of medicine from Rob's hands, not bothering to pour the liquid into the small measuring cup attached. Instead, he simply takes a large swig of the bitter liquid, shuddering as it burns his already sore throat. He sets the bottle back on the table and lays back down.
Rob sits down on the floor next to the couch, folding his knees up to his chest so he can fit. He glances back at Joe, bringing a hand up to Joe's forehead. Joe's skin is burning, and he flinches as Rob's cool hand brushes his flesh. Rob frowns, silently hoping that the NyQuil will actually do something to help.
Rob sits there for a while with his head tilted back against the couch. He listens as Joe's shallow breathing eventually evens out, and his occasional coughs and wheezes come to an end. He's glad Joe is getting some rest, especially while he's sick like this.
Ben eventually calls Rob over, and Zubin exits the live room. He gives Rob a small wave as he walks over to the unoccupied couch. Rob stands, and decides to tug his hoodie off and drape it over Joe. As the fabric warms Joe's skin, he relaxes. Rob bends down, pressing a kiss to Joe's forehead which earns a noise of confusion from Zubin.
Joe wakes up a little while later to the sound of faint singing, all of the sensory information immediately overwhelming him after a wild fever dream. Zubin and Andrew are here now too, and they glance over as Joe shoots up from where he's laying. Cold beads of sweat form on his skin, and a particularly soft piece of fabric pools in his lap.
Joe rubs his eyes, disoriented. His head is spinning slightly, and when he sneezes it only gets more intense. He lays back down, groaning in response when Andrew asks if he's okay. He pulls the fabric—which he realizes, is Rob's jacket—over himself again, and lets himself fall back asleep.