Work Text:
It started small.
With Alex, it always did.
A cough here, a sniffle there. The slight sluggishness as he refused to get up in the morning.
And now, as they trekked across the frigid campus. Alex was bundled in two of John's sweatshirts and Herc's scarf and was clutching onto a mug of tea with a desperation he usually reserved to coffee. A gust of wind shook the tree branches and Alex cursed and coughed harshly.
"You feeling okay, Alex?"
"I'm fine!" Alex snapped. "I have three papers due and a midterm. I'm peachy."
John wasn't sure why he bothered asking.
John didn't cook much. Not because he didn't enjoy it, just that it was hard to find the time between school and work. He had spent most of today hunched over the stove top, sauteing and boiling. And he had to admit, it came out good.
Alex picked at the chicken. His nose was red, and he sniffled so often John wondered if he had taken up cocaine.
"Man, are you sick?" John put his fork down and stared across the table.
"Of course not! I'm not sick! See?" Alex shoveled mashed potatoes into his mouth and mocked a smile. "Mmmm! Delicious!"
John rolled his eyes and reached for the vegetables. Whatever. Alex could suffer in silence.
Of course, it escalated.
John looked at the time on his laptop. 11:34 AM. He looked over at the open door of their bedroom. Alex was buried under multiple covers. Usually, John wouldn't have bothered him- Alex had a tendency to stay up to ungodly hours typing some paper, then sleep till noon. But John knew for a fact he had gone to bed at 9 PM last night after falling asleep on the couch watching Netflix with Eliza.
John looked at his feverish head poking out from the blankets, and shut his laptop.
"Alex?"
No movement. John got up and went to shake him. He didn't stir.
"Alex, wake up!"
"Mmmm"
Alex turned away from John.
"Alex, the provost is here and he wants to talk to you."
Alex shot straight up, stared wildly around the apartment, seemed to realize John's joke, and slumped back down onto the bed.
"Not funny." He groaned. He was flushed, definitely, and his hair was sticking to his forehead.
"Do you feel okay?" John asked.
"Yes, John! I'm not sick." He whined.
"Oh yeah?"John crossed his arms. “It’s 11:30. If you were sick, I’d say, hey, get your sleep and keep your germy ass far, far away from me. But since you’re not…”
“I. Am. Fine.” Alex punctuated each word by slamming his feet on the ground and standing up determinedly, if not a little unsteadily. “See? I’m up.”
“Whatever, Alex.” John raised his hands in defeat. “It’s your funeral.”
“Jesus, Alex!” John switched on the bathroom light and found Alex slumped over the toilet, retching violently. He lifted his head up and gave John a look that told him to fuck off.
“ 'm fine, just ate some bad food.” He groaned.
“Yeah, okay.” John crouched down and lifted up the sweaty hair sticking to Alex’s neck. “Whatever you say.”
It was 3:30 in the morning, midterms were finally over, and Alex, who had vehemently denied being sick, was puking his guts out.
“Here. Drink.” John handed Alex a water bottle. He had helped Alex back to bed, where he was now swathed in light blankets. Alex looked warily at the bottle.
“You’re dehydrated. Drink.”
“Fine.” He took small sips as John slid onto the bed next to him.
“So,” John said, shaking out advil and handing them to Alex. “You still think you’re not sick?”
“Fuck you, Laurens!” Alex’s voice was raspy, and apparently intended to be mean, but it fell flat when his voice cracked.
John laughed.