Work Text:
Ryland Grace has an uncharacteristic morning.
For last 10 weeks, thanks to the stupidity of his university administrators, he's been waking up at 7 AM for his 8 AM classes. What's a better time to be lectured on evolution and genetics and chemistry than at eight in the gosh-darn morning?
Usually, his 20-or-so alarms will ring, and he'll still wake up the sound of the apartment door shutting closed around 9:30 AM, his first class on the verge of ending. Sometimes (most mornings, really), he'll jump in his chair like a cat, shoulders caved in, as he realizes in horror that his alarm is ringing, and the sun is rising.
This morning is one of the later. He reluctantly gets up and stretches, groaning as his back pops with relief. He dog-ear's the page he's on in his chemistry textbook and shuts it gently, although he wants to throw it across the room and scream. He refrains, not wanting to wake up his roommate.
Rocky will be up soon, anyways. They still bring up—
"How the hell did we end up with each other's ideal class times?" Ryland would mutter, eating a bowl of cereal at the dining table. He'd missed his 8 AM biochem class, and hence decided to sit and have a semi-proper breakfast.
"Hm. Don't know. Maybe many biology students like mornings? Maybe Grace…needs to stop drinking Jolt? Maybe Grace can give other drinks chances?" Rocky says, zipping up his backpack full of engineering textbooks and notebooks.
"Hmm, maybe not," Grace replied. Rocky sighed. "You know, you can sleep in. Get a lot more sleep."
"I don't need more sleep because I sleep at reasonable time," Rocky said. "I leave early to study."
—from time to time. Grace would kill to know who decided to put General Biochemistry at 8:00 AM and Fluid Mechanics at 6:30 PM.
Grace walks to his window, taking a moment to enjoy the sight of the fog blanketing the hills. A few red, flashing lights are visible from his room, but most of the light from the streets, the houses—its all drowned out by the fog.
He cracks the window open just enough to stick his hand out. It's cold and moist, but it takes his mind off of his coursework for a second. Plus, it smells good.
And he does not, he realizes.
He closes the window and the curtains.
Once he's out of the shower, he brushes his teeth and sits down to read his e-mails. The one at the very top, marked 'URGENT' makes him sigh.
He opens it, dragging his free hand down his face. He reads through it, mumbling to himself.
Subject: URGENT: CLASS TODAY
To: Ryland Grace, and 43 others
Dear students,
no class today. emergency.
best,
john
Grace feels something unreadable passing through him like a beam of light. An entire night studying, just for John to cancel class. Yet, it's better like this anyways. He needs to sleep. Realistically, he wouldn't have done any good on the test if he has no sleep.
He closes his e-mail and gets up, knocking over a few cans of Jolt and Red Bull on the way.
"Damn it," he groans, hoping the loud clattering doesn't wake Rocky. Well, if Rocky isn't already awake.
He picks them up and puts them back on his desk, making a mental note to collect them all for recycling. He sighs.
Maybe Rocky's got a point, but he's not going to admit that. The caffeine makes his aches go away, so they're fine.
Grace flops onto his bed face down, not bothering to undo the covers. The soft mattress makes him realize just how tired he is. His ass is sore from sitting, and his forearms are red and stinging from laying on the desk all night. The joints in his fingers ache, hours of holding a pencil leaving a big callous on his middle finger. The nail on his index finger isn't doing much better. His shoulders are tense, and he can't seem to drop them far enough onto the mattress.
His eyes burn when he closes them to finally get some sleep.
Unfortunately for Grace, his "sleep" feels like the blink of an eye. He wakes up to his face covered in drool and a few dried tears of exhaustion. He gets up, upset with how slimey his face is.
"You're so gross," he murmurs to himself.
He looks around his room for anything that'd help him clean himself off without leaving his room.
He steps around stacks of old textbooks and scattered notes on the floor. He nearly trips over his stupid boots at the foot of the bed. It doesn't help that the room is dark as hell.
He throws his head back in disbelief.
He'll have to make his way to the restroom, hopefully without Rocky seeing him.
He tiptoes around unreadable notes and a few more cans of energy drinks. He looks at his clock and sees it's 9:45. Rocky should be leaving or gone. Hopefully Grace won't need to worry about embarrassing himself with how gross he looks.
He opens his door quietly, making his way down the hall, only to see that the door the the restroom is closed. He spins around immediately and heads for the kitchen, grabbing a paper towel off the roll and wiping his face clean. Yuck. He looks around quickly and sees that Rocky's things aren't on the couch where they'd normally be. There's no dishes in the sink or on the drying rack. Okay, this is weird.
He takes a plate down from the cupboard and puts some toast into the toaster. As he opens the door to the fridge, he hears a heavy THUD from one of the rooms.
He checks the front door and sees Rocky's shoes are not at the door. He shouldn't be home.
Ghosts. Definitely ghosts.
Grace walks into his room and sees…well, he wouldn't know if anything was out of place. He can barley see the wooden floor, it's such a mess.
He makes his way towards Rocky's room, making note that the restroom is no longer occupied. As he walks past, he notes the heavy, familiar scent of disinfectant.
Housekeeper ghosts.
Grace makes it to Rocky's door and sees it is slightly ajar. He knocks.
There some shuffling and loud footsteps inside, and a very far-off, "one minute!" from Rocky.
Voice-actor…ghosts?
He waits patiently at the door.
Rocky opens the door in a haste.
"Grace friend! You're here," Rocky says. Grace nods.
"Yeah, my class got cancelled," Grace says. "No midterm for me."
Rocky raises his eyebrows a near-unpreceptable amount. He makes his way back into the room, motioning for Grace to come in if he'd like. "Oh! Must be relief. You studied all night, I guess? More sleep this morning!"
Jeez, Grace wishes. He smiles. "Yeah, did you sleep in for once? You're usually halfway to the library by this time."
Grace looks around Rocky's room and feels a wave of guilt crash into him. Rocky's room is spotless (like always). His desk is neat-as-can-be with 2 years-worth of engineering textbooks, each one full of colorful tabs, sitting with their respective notebook beside it. His room is adorned with posters of punk rock bands and various television shows. His bed is made nicely.
He has a single mug of hot tea on a coaster next to his desktop computer. A desktop computer which, "is very expensive. So much energy drinks could spill! Bad idea, Grace. Bad idea," Grace recalls Rocky lecturing him about.
Rocky seems to hesitate. "Hmm, only running late. And I mopped the restroom. Don't slip." His voice is raspy and cracks. It's flat and barely above a whisper.
Grace watches as Rocky picks up a textbook from the desk and struggles to put it in his bag. Rocky's face is pale and he's unusually sweaty. His glasses slip down his nose so he has to keep pushing them up every so often.
He's also wearing his shoes in the house.
"Rock, are you okay?" Grace asks. Rocky snorts to brush him off, but that only confirms Grace's suspicions.
Rocky zips up his bag. "Of course! Why wouldn't I be?"
Grace watches in disbelief as Rocky swings his backpack over his shoulders and then proceeds to grab the mug off the coaster, and chug the hot tea in four quick gulps.
"You know," Grace says, "tea is a lot more effective for sore throats when youu drink it slowly."
Rocky shakes his head, then suddenly stops and stares at the ground for a moment before regaining his composure. "I have this every morning."
"But not in your room. Usually in the kitchen, with that nasty oatmeal you make at night," Grace retorts. "You're sick!"
"I am not sick!" Rocky retorts, but his voice betrays him and cuts out. "And oatmeal is good!"
Grace fights the smile trying to form on his face. "Listen, bud, it's not a bad thing, alright? You can take a day off and rest, it's no biggie."
Rocky looks at him like he's speaking gibberish. Grace has that effect on people.
"No need," Rocky says, softer this time. "I will be back later."
Grace follows him to the front door. Rocky doesn't look at him again.
Grace sighs and runs a hand through his hair. He takes a look at his watch, shocked at the time it tells. He rushes into his room and grabs his backpack. When he steps back outside, the smell of his uneaten toast hits him. He groans and yanks the door of the fridge open, rushing to smother his bread in peanut butter. He doesn't bother with the marmalade. He puts his peanut butter sandwich on a paper towel, throws the peanut butter into the fridge, and pull out the only drink he has in the fridge: a Red Bull.
He grabs his sandwich and rushes to get out the door, not bothering to tie his shoelaces.
When Grace gets back from his philosophy class, he's starving. He can't wait to get home and eat more than a freaking peanut butter sandwich. Can you even call that a sandwich? Once his bread got cold, it wasn't really worth eating. The Red Bull also did more harm than good, as he found himself burping in the middle of the professor's lecture on Joseph Raz and his theories on autonomy and freedom. He wanted to sink into his seat and disappear.
Luckily, the professor laughed and moved on. However, Grace is sure this'll haunt his dreams forever.
Grace drops his backpack at the door, noticing quite quickly that Rocky's shoes are back where they usually are. Well, not usually at this time, but most nights.
When he turns the corner towards his room, he sees that the light in the restroom is on, and the door is open.
"Rock, I'm back," Grace says. He takes out one of his earbuds. "Rocky?"
He makes his way towards the restroom, and hears the very-familiar sound of vomiting.
I freaking knew it, Grace thinks. He takes his earbuds and MP3 player and puts them on the floor in the hall. He makes his way into the restroom and sees Rocky hunched over the toilet, emptying his stomach. Grace debates weather he can take it. The moment he hears Rocky gagging, he feels himself react and lurch forward. He swallows hard, forcing himself to take a step forward and put his hand on Rocky's back. Rocky jumps at the sudden touch.
"Hey Rock, it's okay, you're alright," Grace says, leaning down to rub circles on Rocky's back and move his long, gorgeous, soft hair out of his face. Shut up, Grace tells himself. You'd never pull that off. "You're alright."
"Grace," Rocky says, out of breath and voice strained. He's got tears running down his face, his cheeks flushed with the effort. He turns to Grace. Grace readjusts Rocky's hair in his hand, tucking a small strand behind his ear. "I'm okay. Go."
Grace's eyes widen in surprise. He almost laughs. "No way, I want to help."
Rocky shakes his head. "I'm…I'm okay," Rocky says. However, he turns to face the toilet again, a burp escaping him before he goes back to vomitting. Or, at least trying to; Grace assumes Rocky hasn't eaten much since waking up, considering that now he's just gagging and dry-heaving into the bowl.
Grace doesn't leave. He holds Rocky's hair and squeezes his shoulder reassuringly. Eventually, Rocky takes off his glasses and hands them to Grace, who takes them and carefully puts them down on the counter.
Rocky quiets down and wipes his tears with his sleeve.
"Is this why the restroom smelled of bleach this morning?" Grace asks, stroking Rocky's hair with both hands.
Rocky doesn't say anything, he simply closes his eyes and nods.
"Okay," Grace says, his voice barely above a whisper. "Are you okay to stand, or do you need a minute?"
Rocky nods. He moves to stand, and Grace helps him. Grace lowers the lid and flushes the toilet.
"I'm gonna brush my teeth," Rocky says, and Grace just nods and makes his way towards the kitchen.
Grace hasn't gotten sick in a long time; he's clueless when it comes to taking care of himself. He's surprised it isn't him, actually.
All Grace can think of is Court's example. When he or Colt got sick, Court would make them drink a lot of electrolytes and eat saltines when they were puke-y, and then made them a soup when they weren't, or when they needed something warm for the flu or a cold. He'd fuss over them like a mother hen, well into their teen years.
Grace is gonna be Court now. His only hope is that Rocky isn't also Court.
Court was stubborn when he was sick. He'd sleep between assignments, take tylenol and whatever other medication was on the shelf (if there was any) and go about like normal. He'd pack lunch for 10-year-olds Ryland and Colt, make sure their bags were packed the night before, and sign their father's crooked, loopy signature on their reading logs every night. He'd take them to school with a 101°F fever, then bike back to his high school in the opposite direction. Ryland and Colt noticed how sweaty and pale he was, how his hands shook when he signed their logs, how his voice dipped and cracked when they pestered him with questions, and most importantly, how he denied all of it.
Rocky's painting a very familiar picture for Grace.
Thermometer. He needs a thermometer.
Grace digs through their medicine cabinet in the kitchen and finds a thermometer in a box, completly sealed. He takes it and makes his way to the restroom, where he finds Rocky putting on gloves.
"Woah, woah, woah! What are you doing?" Grace asks. Rocky doesn't turn to face him, only glances at him briefly over his shoulder.
"Cleaning!" Rocky says. With a groan, he bends down and reaches for the bleach under the sink.
Grace sighs, dragging a hand down his face. He walks up to Rocky, taking the bleach directly out of his hands. Rocky looks at him confused. Grace puts the bleach down.
"Don't worry about this. Get some rest. If you want to be useful," Grace says, grabbing Rocky's hand and putting the thermometer in it, "take your temperature and figure out weather you need Tylenol or Pepto."
"Grace," Rocky says, "I don't need you to baby me. I can take care of myself!"
"I believe you, trust me, I do," Grace says. "But I want you to actually get better, not just ignore it until it gets worse."
Rocky rolls his eyes, his hand wrapped around the thermometer and on his hip. "I can work fine. I don't need rest. I have homework."
Grace snorts. "You we're just throwing up in the toilet."
"Irrelevent. That's now past. I will clean and then work."
"No. I will clean, and you will sleep."
"Grace said rest, not sleep."
"Well, clearly you need to sleep, since you're sassing me."
"You sound like father. So unlike Grace. Grace should sleep, too. So bossy, so bossy." Rocky says. Grace feels his cheeks get warm. "Fine. Grace want to clean puke? Go ahead, but I will be working."
"You better not be!" Grace calls after his roommate after he throws his gloves down and storms off. He smiles, at the very least happy that Rocky took the thermometer with him.
When Grace finishes cleaning, he puts everything away and heads to check on Rocky, whom he finds at his desk, a textbook open in front of him.
Grace knocks on the open door. Rocky whips his head towards him.
"Hello Grace," Rocky says; it's soft and controlled, as though speaking may cause him to vomit again.
"Hi," Grace says. He fidgets with his hands, unsure of what to say. "I know you might still be nauseous, but I was wondering if you wanted something to eat? I can make you something light."
Rocky seems shocked by that. Grace has no idea why.
"I'm…okay," Rocky says. "Maybe later."
Grace nods. "Okay," he says. "You should try and get some sleep. It's better to work when you're all charged up, no?"
Rocky gives him a small smile. He nods.
Grace takes it as agreement. He gives Rocky a thumbs up and leaves, closing the door behind him.
He makes his way to the kitchen. He opens the fridge and finds…a lot of stuff, but nothing he could really justify making into soup. He sighs and closes the door, leaning his head against the freezer.
He grabs his backpack and some reusable plastic bags from the pantry.
With no choice, he leaves for the grocery store.
Outside, the weather is just as it was in the morning. He feels the fog on his face and hands. The pines are extra-fragrant, he thinks. The sun peaks out of the clouds every few minutes, hitting him with a brief beam of heat. In his hometown, there was rarely any fog. There was hardly any rain. In the bay area, there's fog every morning. Still, there's people wearing t-shirts and shorts. Grace understands; even on cold days like these, he ends up sweating and out of breath when he gets to class, and then he's freezing on his way out. By the time he gets home, his face feels solid, but he's drenched in sweat. There's no "right" clothes to wear.
He wonders weather it's actually so bad that he stayed. He loves his school, but…is this what he wants to do for the rest of his life? He's not sure yet. Besides, the choice was made for him.
He gets on the bus and stares off into space. Where does he got off, anyways?
Grocery store! That's right.
Fuck, he should have made a list.
What the hell do you put in soup, anyways?
He arrives back at the apartment with carrots, celery, potatoes, noodles, and whatever else Janet at the grocery store told him to buy. The place is quiet and dark, the only light being that from the streetlight pouring in from the window in the kitchen. He drops the bags on the kitchen counter. He may have also bought more energy drinks, as well, but Rocky doesn't need to know that.
Speaking of, Grace makes his way over to and knocks on Rocky's door before turning the door knob slowly. He opens the door, disappointed to see Rocky's unmade bed with no Rocky in it.
He turns and sees exactly what he hoped he wouldn't find, but expected regardless. Rocky is sitting at his desk, one hand on his keyboard, the other in his lap. He's laying on one of his textbooks, his mouth slightly open. Grace feels his heart squeeze at the small snores coming from his roommate. His eyebrows are knitted together; Grace hopes he's not in any pain.
The thermometer from earlier that morning sits on a paper towel, with a post-it note that says, "98°F — 12 PM" and "98°F — 3 PM" directly below it. At the very bottom, it says, "seem fine." Grace smiles.
He needs to move him, he realizes. He needs to be in bed.
Um.
It dawns on Grace that he can't. Rocky's not only taller, but so much bulkier. Maybe if he'd accepted those gym buddy invites from time to time, he'd be able to. Who has time for the gym in the midst of the semester?
Well, Rocky does, but he's the exception, the outlier.
Rocky's put together. He's got his life together. He's good at managing his time, and being everywhere at once. It's no wonder that he's sick now, Grace thinks. He's everywhere at once. If he's not in the library, he's at work, and if he's not there he's volunteering his time elsewhere. He's perfect, and Grace wonders if that's hurting him now.
Grace is far from perfect. He rarely sleeps for more than 5 hours, his room resembles a pig's pen, he eats like a mouse; a bit of this and a bit of that. It's either that or whatever Rocky makes.
Well, Rocky's been making dinner most nights, now that he thinks about it. Grace washes the dishes, but that doesn't compare to spending time actually cooking. He's also always checking the carbon monoxide alarm, for reason's unknown to Grace.
Grace looks around the room. He looks back at Rocky's open closet with a fond smile, and walks to his own room. He digs through his closet and finds a quilt; it's got multiple different patches with different designs from around the world—a gift from…a mentor.
He quietly makes his way back to Rocky's room. Rocky's just where he left him. Grace unfolds the blanket and drapes it over Rocky. Rocky stirs momentarily, but doesn't wake. Grace sighs in relief. He carefully moves around and puts Rocky's desktop to sleep, ensuring he doesn't wake up to blinding light in his face. He takes one last look at him before leaving.
He's gonna wake up sore and with a crick in his neck, but he was warned, Grace thinks. He's gonna learn the hard way that when you're sick, you rest.
The soup is not easy to make, but he eventually manages to serve up a bowl for Rocky. He's not much of a cook, but he has some experience from living alone the last 4 years.
He makes his way over to Rocky's room.
He places the bowl on the nightstand, then goes to wake Rocky. He puts a hand on his shoulder and shakes him, watching as Rocky slowly lifts his head and opens his eyes.
"Hey, Rock," Grace says, his voice almost a whisper. "How are you feeling?"
Rocky blinks, rubbing his eyes and searching for his glasses. Grace spots them on the bed and grabs them, handing them to his roommate.
"I'm good." Rocky puts on his glasses. "Sorry."
"For what?" Grace chuckles. "For sleeping? I asked you to do that."
Rocky doesn't answer.
"Why don't you go to bed?" Grace suggests, "I made you some soup, if you're feeling up to it."
That seems to get his attention. He finally looks up at Grace, who points at the soup on the nightstand. Rocky spins in his chair to look at it. He takes a shakey breath.
"You…made me soup?" Rocky asks. Grace feels bad about how sore his throat sounds.
Grace nods. "Chicken noodle. I don't know how good its gonna be, I've never really made soup, but I figured it'd be nice for you to have a warm meal since you're sick! Oh, um, actually, I forgot your spoon. I'll go get it, but just get comfortable and I'll be back!" He rushes out of the room and into the kitchen, grabbing a spoon and a napkin and rushing back.
Back in Rocky's room, Rocky's sitting on the edge of the bed. Grace hands him his spoon, telling him to take his time and eat as much as he'd like.
Grace turns to leave, when Rocky calls back for him.
"Grace," Rocky says. Grace turns around. "Your soup?"
Ah. "In the kitchen," Grace says. "I figured I'd give you some alone time, if that's—"
"Eat with me," Rocky says. It's not a question. Grace nods and leaves.
They don't usually eat dinner together, given how Rocky has late classes. Usually, Rocky'll make dinner and take it to go, and leave Grace a container in the fridge. Grace insisted on washing the dishes at the very least, which he knows Rocky is not a fan of.
I need to start making dinner, Grace thinks.
He serves his own bowl of soup and grabs a spoon. He makes his way over to Rocky's room.
Rocky is sitting in his bed, Grace's blanket wrapped around him. Grace feels something warm crawl up his spine.
He makes his way over, where Rocky urges him to sit in front of him on the bed. Grace does as he's told.
"Your soup is good, very good!" Rocky says, a smile wide on his face. Grace smiles.
"I'm glad you like it bud, I'm really not much of a chef," Grace chuckles.
"Not true," Rocky insists, taking a sip of the broth. "Thank you, Grace."
"It's no problem. I hope it makes you feel better." Grace sips some soup.
Janet, you're an angel, Grace thinks.
They eat in silence for a while.
Rocky finally says, "I'm sorry about being difficult."
Grace looks up at him. Rocky's looking down and playing with his soup now.
"You don't have to apologize," Grace says. He knows that look. "You wouldn't be Rocky if you weren't sassing and scolding me."
That gets a smile out of him.
"I'm not…used to this. I don't get sick," Rocky says.
Grace puts down his soup for a moment. "Rock, that's literally not possible. Everyone gets sick."
Rocky shakes his head. "No. Never been sick, never never!"
"Rocky, I promise, even if you don't remeber, it's literally impossible for you to have never gotten sick. I would know."
"Maybe Grace just weak." Ouch, Grace thinks. There's a smirk on Rocky's face.
"You know what, maybe I am," Grace says, "but so are you. Cause you're sick now."
They both laugh. They sit in silence for a moment.
"I don't…know how to take care of people, so, we're in the same boat," Grace confesses. "I always got sick, but, I had my brother. He took care of me."
"I have my siblings. I take care of them. It doesn't…feel right, to need help," Rocky says; a confession of his own.
Grace nods. He gestures between them, "we'll figure it out, yeah? After you sleep?" Rocky nods.
"Yeah, sorry," Rocky says. "Again."
"And again, you don't have to apologize. I'm just glad you're feeling better."
They fall silent again. They finish their meal. Grace takes their plates.
"You should sleep, Rock," Grace says. "I'll worry about everything else. Please?"
Rocky nods. "Will you…come back? When done?"
That catches Grace off-guard. "If you want me to. Yes, I will."
"Great!" Rocky says. "Good, good! I will wait."
Grace smiles. "Okay, I'll be right back."
Grace kicks the door closed behind him. Maybe the dishes can wait.