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Being sick sucked.
Duang’s head pounded, his sinuses hurt, his throat ached. Breathing through his nose was next to impossible, even propped up on every pillow Qin owned. He felt starving and yet like a single bite of food would have him puking up everything he’d ever eaten in his life. Nausea was his constant companion, even curled up with his eyes closed.
“Duang,” came the voice of an angel.
Duang managed a tiny groan to let Qin know he was awake. A moment later, fingers came to rest gently against Duang’s neck. They were cool and comforting and Duang wished he could purr like a cat.
“You’re not a cat,” Qin said almost petulantly.
Huh? Oh. Right. His boyfriend could hear thoughts. That was so nice. Was it time for meds? Or food? Or death?
“You’re not dying. Don’t be dramatic,” Qin said. “It’s time for a new dose of medication, but you have to eat first.”
Duang didn’t want to eat. He didn’t want to exist. He wanted to fall asleep and wake up all better. Couldn’t things work that way?
“Come on. Sit up,” Qin ordered.
With help from Qin, Duang did as bade. He squinted his eyes open, ready for unholy light to pierce his skull, but found the room pleasantly dim. Of course Qin would do that for him. He was so kind.
A fond shake of his head, and then Qin let go to instead hold up a bowl of jok. Duang recognized the toppings as things his mom used to say were good for sick people. At the moment, nothing had ever looked so unappetizing.
“Eat,” Qin said.
Duang whined but, with effort, opened his mouth and accepted the spoonful. He nearly spit it right back out, but slammed a hand over his mouth and forced himself not to. It was uncomfortable, and his everything protested, but he managed. Several excruciating chews later, he swallowed.
He endured five spoonfuls of jok before he couldn’t take it anymore and had to turn his face away when Qin held up the spoon again. Even without touching him, Qin knew Duang was at his limit, because he didn’t push for more. The bowl was set aside and Qin held up a glass of water and pills.
After forcing those down, Qin helped Duang lay back down. Duang groaned. Why did his healing power have to not work on Duang himself? This sucked.
“So I can return the favor.”
Huh? Duang blinked blearily up at his boyfriend.
“Your power doesn’t work on you so that we can take care of you, too,” Qin explained. He pushed hair out of Duang’s eyes. “You make sure none of us stay sick. Me especially.”
Damn right. Duang had promised himself he would never let Qin get hurt and that included colds. Jamie and Pae, too, he supposed. But mostly his boyfriend. Boyfriend privileges~
A single, tiny laugh. “Yeah. And I’m exerting those privileges to take care of you this time.”
“Teeeerrrrr,” Duang whined, reaching out, pathetic but trying to be his usual cutesy self.
Rolling his eyes, Qin pushed Duang’s forehead to make him lay back fully into the pillows. “Enough.” His gaze immediately softened, and he cupped Duang’s cheek as he asked, “Do you need anything else?”
Really, Qin was too sweet. He knew talking was difficult, that his head pounded fiercely and made even thinking something Duang had to focus on. So he used his power to communicate. Duang’s thoughts were probably slippery, like a wet fish or a cooked noodle, but Qin would figure out what he needed, what he wanted to say, because Qin was smart like that. Smart and loving.
A fever patch would feel so good right then. He was burning up.
The medication must have been taking effect, or maybe Duang was just tired from fighting this illness, because he barely noticed Qin’s hand leaving his face before it was back—pushing his bangs out of the way to stick the fever patch across his forehead. It was so cool, like Qin’s fingers against his skin, and Duang let out a relieved sigh.
“Rest. I’ve got you.”
With Qin’s promise, Duang fell asleep.