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Something was utterly, catastrophically wrong.
But it absolutely couldn't be, no no no,
you see;
He'd been planning this romantic getaway for him and his darling for weeks now! After destroying their previous apartment down to every hazardous speckled tick of reality, house hunting amongst the multiverse had been tiring and he really didn't want his beau on his feet for any longer than strictly necessary. Still recovering from that atrocious break in last month, it had been a monumental moment for the both of them. The very thought conjures up horrid visions of his sweet boyfriend's terrified face stained with uncanny crimson and despair. Wilford shudders, although he's not entirely sure it's been brought on by the lurid flashback or his.. current predicament.
Staring over the swirling array of pinkish bile within a shiny hotel toilet, he gurgles a wad of heated rancor and spits it right down into the bowl, haphazardly flushing the retched spiel. He's completely fine, he's one hundred and ten percent okay, he just- erm, needs a minute to recompose, is all. He winces against the flare of pain rushing up from his abdomen, a harsh cramp writhing within. Wilford cannot, under no circumstances, be sick. It was the wholly most disastrous time to be feeling any sort of way except undeniably perfect! He rises to splash cool water upon his flushed face, hoping to soothe an unyielding fire simmering beneath the skin, his view suddenly tilts. Frantically grasping onto the sink counter, he squeezes his eyes shut in a dizzied sway of back and forth movement, hoping to quell any more bouts of random nausea. Lest he be back on those tiles upending his guts again!
He's going to be absolutely, time turningly fine! This is simply just a short hiccup, in no way is he ruining their peaceful little holiday. This was supposed to be all about his gorgeous Ken relaxing, them bonding together, however most importantly; making sure his lover felt completely safe and endlessly content. None of that included the words vomit or sick! Molded decaying bread sticks! This was a nightmare! Actually, no, even the tiniest tickle of thoughts about food have him feeling overwhelmingly queasy, he fervently shifts to another topic. He shouldn't even be ill, as a multraversal being, he hadn't once gotten unwell or even felt poorly amongst every universe. Curse this stupid galaxy for choosing now of all times! His stomach groans unpleasantly, begging for a scrap of attention that he shan't give. Wilford had been smooth enough to play off rushing to the bathroom earlier but his boyfriend would no doubt begin catching on if this virus kept up. Golly, there must be something he could do! Some reverent cure whipped up in the nick of time-- wait, yes, that's perfect! A spell, a fixture for his illed and cruddled body, some sort of witchy whoo chime to heal him. Fighting against the pounding within his head, Wilford musters any leftover magical energy within him, syphoning his own cosmic power to fix this half mast trapezium of an agonisingly worsening ailment he'd been stuck with for hours now.
⋆˚✦♭⊹ ࣪ ˖. 𝄽 ♪˖ ᯓ₊ ࣪ ˖
Quickly shaking off the sparkling whimsies of bejewelled spellwork, he blinks, hazardously adjusting once more. He's feeling.. fantastic! Arising upon moustached mayhem, he twirls around and out the door with a curious perfectly polished ease. Finally! Back to their regularly scheduled canoodiling. He siphons the flickeringly bright pull of a wormhole jump before strolling toward his beau wrapped within a baby pink beach towel and swim shorts, still sipping on his piña colada while surrounded by the warmth of a shining sun basked within resolute sands. He's gentle when circling the other's waist, both arms wrapped around him in joyful suprise, the ever knowing of his love's healing body a constant whirl on his conscience. His darling shifts a slight, bordering on a flinch before calming as Wilford leans to rest his head against the back of a delectably tanned shoulder, rubbing quiet ministrations into supple skin.
"Hm.. what were you doing in there for so long?"
He sifts his cheek upon smooth muscle, basking within simple comforts; "just powdering my nose, of course."
His love bubbles up a short chuckle, bleach blonde hair catching upon a pinkish hue amidst the sunrays. There's that lovely smile again, the one with gorgeous matching dimples accompanying a quietly relaxed expression. He's not seen it in a long while, he downright despises that he's inadvertently the reason why. They'd talked quite a bit encompassing the aftermath of his putrid doppelganger's unforgivable damage, turned the thoughts over and over within his own guilt tripped head. Wilford should have known better, should have seen it coming, should have done something, anything! That didn't leave his sweetheart bruised and battered on the ground, trying so hard to defend himself against an unfair, unlikely aggressor. He tightens his arms around his boyfriend's waist, fury licking up his insides with wrathful thoughts swirling, the sudden intake of pained breath above snaps him out of his perilous mind.
"Sorry- i'm so sorry my sweet-", "It's fine, i'm okay." He loosens his hold instantly, the other's shaky breathing leaving his heart piercing against blood and bone with a rightfully enraged dissemination of regret. His love seems to take a moment to collect himself, always looking right at him, contention and pity within pale blue eyes that he cannot help looking away from. He absolutely must fix this immediately, keeping the other calm and happy is his greatest life's work after all! "Shall we rest at the hotel for a bit darling? I could give you one of my famous massages?" That earns him another chuckle, warmth filling his body in an instant, although, it does begin airing on the side of heatedly unpleasant, befuddling him to no end. Nevertheless, his beau takes the bait. "That sounds nice.. only a massage though?" Wilford playfully wiggles his eyebrows in response, gently grasping a tan hand and leading the other away on foot.
His boyfriend had become increasingly uncomfortable with interspacial teleportation after the attack, so he pushes himself to not use his powers around him when physically possible. The change posed a little jarring, things like cosmic jumps and multiversal existence were as natural as breathing to him. Withdrawal from those motions felt akin to holding in a sneeze, come to think of it.. he's been feeling all sorts of uncoordinated and ill morose when forcibly halting his magic from normally manifesting. However, it's wholly more than fine he must say, manageable even! Anything that kept his beloved just a teency more comfortable than before was non-negotiable and completely necessary on his constant part. Wilford was entirely undeserving upon any fragmented comfort of the sort! All he'd done is laid unconscious while his boyfriend nearly died fighting within an inch of his life. He'd done nothing, the bare minimum. Scorn and spitfire is what he fucking deserves.
Un-cosmotically, they arrive upon their pristine hotel suite attached at the hip, manuvering onwards down a hall to the bedroom trading kisses and small sifts of pleasant laughter. He's giddy surrounding the feelings pirouetting, eager to continue with their usual rendezvous before pulling away for a moment to appreciate his current position. Truly and quite graciously enamoured that he'd been bestowed the chance to look into those loinstirringly gorgeous eyes many a time. Now of all timescapes, his vision tilts again, leaving him pitching forward suddenly without a single slip of permission! A rising wave of nausea washes over him once more and he withholds the dastardly urge to gag out of nowhere. Blinking away catastrophical fuzzies and tuning out the muffledness around his ears, he returns to find those very same eyes clouded with immediate worry. "--re you alright? What happened?"
Wilford shakes himself out of an ill daze, noticing the other's lean arms wrapped around his shivery figure to keep him from the dismay of a harsh greeting with the floorboards. "Fine- m' fine, apologies my darling, just feeling a little, erm, faint.." he huffs over the riverine of fatigue cascading down upon him. The spell, it should have worked goddamnit! Gosh, had he really gotten so poorly he couldn't even fathom magic correctly? No that's quite impossible. He may only dabble in the arts of spellcrafting but surely he's not at an entire loss! Maybe it just needed a refresher, another performance of whimsy whoosh to keep him reinstated. He's harkened back within the present to realise there's soft bedding abruptly beneath him, did he just... jump through reality again? No, no, fiddlesticks! "Ah- sorry, i'm sorry, I know you don't like- i'm sorry" a familiar pair of toned arms circle his waist, pulling him close while tracing simple quiet pattern onto chiffon fabric covering tirelessly flushed skin. When had it gotten so warm indoors?
A delicate kiss presses down upon his hair, another, nearer to his forehead; "it's okay baby, you did nothing wrong, I promise." But he did. He ruined everything, he- His boyfriend shifts to check over him, cradling his cheek in that gentle manner reserved just for Wilford's undeserved comfort as he began rubbing his thumb back and forth in softened ministration. The love of his life stares for a moment, eyes shifting, almost unsure but ever so caring; "Will.. how are you really feeling right now?" The space around them holds for a pause of worried silence, shifting through tepid heartbeats and quiet breath, before he promptly crumbles under the pressure. That damned virus is reappearing as querulously quickly as it had left him, seething for undivided attention upon his waning body. His mind is dreadedly unmerciful against his needy desire to tuck everything away within a placidly hazardous, unchecked pile until he's shaking and alone to completely fall apart.
Wilford fumbles for a moment in response. "Well, my- my head is.. unwaveringly stuffed with cotton my dear, 'nd I- I feel dizzy? Maybe.. a tad nauseous, i'm terribly sorry."
His love looks absolutely put out by his small admission, murmuring to him in a calmed tone; "You have nothing to apologise for sweetheart, how long have you been feeling like this..?" The humble beginnings of watery shine loosely rise within his eyes, pushing him to unabashedly hold back his quite dire urge to sob straight into the mattress. Golly, he's.. he's an absolute mess! They'd promised to be more honest and open with one another since the break in and he's all for it, sincerely, he just loathed the very idea of forcing his boyfriend to care for him because of one silly stomach bug! It certainly wasn't fair after everything he'd put his beloved Ken through, or was that not his doppelganger slicing a blade over his lover's chest for... fun.
Now he's really going to vomit again.
Lacking the ability to voice anything furthermore with bile rising upon a build up of gobbled spit, he unharmoniously staggers off the bed, fickle legs rushing to the bathroom akin to a baby deer walking for the very first time. His darling rises with him, right on his tail while following his fickle attempt to combobulate an endearingly wobbly descent. He's ashamed and truly unearthly embarrassed, for now having destroyed their perfect getaway vacation after all, something he'd sworn himself to never do, for this was his love's perfect chance to relax and heal yet he's ruining everything! Wilford just barely spares a moment to glance at the other in a paled blumber, murmuring a quick "ah- just a moment my dear!" Before haphazardly shutting the washroom door with a quickened lock, tumbling to the ground and burying his head into the bowl of their hotel toilet. A pose he'd grown so unfortunately familiar with over the last few hours.
After upchucking more spewed pinkish disgorge and immediately looking away when the sight had his stomach turning moreover, he shifts to shake off the nauseating vigour. He just.. needed to redo that spell. Then he could finally apologise, take his boyfriend out for dinner, treat him extra well to desert, anything he wanted! He desperately needs to make up for... well.. for all of it, really. For the bruises, the large ones painted across his darling's back or the healing array upon the side of his tanned forehead. For the cuts scarring over smooth skin, for the terrified cries he couldn't stop hearing on a loop at night, for the broken left arm, for not seeing through his sweetheart's fearful lies. For that permanent look in his bluefish eyes, clouded upheaval upon dampened cheeks, as if he'd left the room and been tucked far away, trapped within a horrid memory. It is all his dreaded fault.
Furthermore the reason to tidy up his act. Wilford squeezes his eyes shut while a spark of fizzled built up agony began poking rather enraged fingers directly through his pulsating skull. Gah- enough! He desperately needs to muster some of that spellwork, have another good go at the whoomsy and hope the blasted magic demolishly darned healed him properly for once! He allows himself only another moment to breathe through the sharpened spikes of fire sizzling beneath frayful skin before shifting upon the floor to clutch at his upset stomach, begging a quell for any searing bouts of ill tempered nausea. He concentrates heavily for a solid minute.
⋆˚✦♭--
Frickity frack!
⋆˚✦♭⊹ ࣪ ˖.---
For the love of burgeoning bike cyclers! His head is splitting itself apart, growing with pleading vertigo and unceremonious heat under each attempt to wrestle his powers into careful submission. It hurts.. so much, right now. He winces under the harsh bathroom lighting, ears having grown fuzzy within unbridled fatigue. Gosh- he's sweating a whole lot now, burning beneath the flesh, Wilford pants and puffs each breath to combat the overwhelming heat. He ceremoniously tunes back into reality with a panicked shiver when sudden clangs and bangs against the door trifle against his pounding headache. Only worsening the fire fuelling through him, he groans in pain under the continued thumps upon the entry, a mumbled voice accompanying them. "Will? What's going on, are you okay!? Let me help you, please-" Great galaxy it hurts! His stomach writhes with equal displeasure, a nauseating swirl of torment forcing a gag from his throat.
He turns back toward the marble toilet in quick succession, crying out as anguished cramps radiate from his roughened midsection each time he upheaved what was mostly garbled pinkish spit and spew at this point. The clangs grow with volume and he winces against it, his pruning head crackling with unchecked flurries of flame beneath each sudden sound. When it's all upended from him, the nausea simmering over his stomach with warning, he carefully, trepidatedly rises. Deliriously gripping the sink once more in a dizzied sway, he fights to stay upright, somehow earning momentary balance. Gosh, everything is agonising fury, he couldn't even think properly with each curdling grasp of harmful promise scraping for his attention. He's so overwarmed and shivery he can barely concentrate on more else, putrid nausea and stinging aches of hardship meld together, leaving him beyond distressed and half leaning against the sink. Another prickling spike within his head has him unbalanced and uncoordinatingly pitching forward in a rush of light.
"What the-- WILL!!"
He's careening straight into a firm chest, strengthened arms encasing his ailing figure before he could completely topple over. Wilford blinks under the strange differences surrounding his cosmic frailty, for no harsh brightness nor cramped tiling found him, rather glimpses of their spacious hotel room. Had he..? Blasted! He'd accidentally done it again, immediately muttering a cacophony of slurred apologies to his love who must be so frightened while reminded of his otherworldly form and overpowered nature again. He's a terrible, universally awful boyfriend! He- he just needs to reel it in and stop teleporting all over the place, he must appear so gloaty and disrespectful! Wilford murmurs another apology, rattling on something nonsensical even to himself in the pressurised moment. Golly, why does he feel so.. dastardly light-headed all the sudden?
The other is ever so gently laying him down against their bed, in hopes of preventing his succumbing to further dizzy spells he presumed. His beau stays soft spoken above him with something that doesn't fully make sense to his currently melting brain; "you're not a monster Will, it's not your fault okay? I promise." A supple hand presses against his burning forehead, the dismayed hum above him alerting his painstakingly muddled consciousness. He sifts in and out of awareness for awhile, only picking up on murmurs and soft touches of comfort in-between his incoherent, feverish rambling. Ranging from near constant apologising until he felt like crying his own eyes out to catastrophically panicked pleas every time he accidentally teleported around the room within a heated haze. The more he tried to control his unwinding power, the more out of sorts he felt, until his boyfriend was reeling him back to help in any way he possibly could.
"Look at me, it's not your fault sweetheart, it isn't. Don't fight it, please. It's hurting you, I know it is!" Two hands cup his face with a certain tenderness, he'd appeared on the floor in a discarded heap of limbs again, magic flowing through him on it's very own accord. He's dreadfully tired, energy waning as his abilities work overtime to combat all he'd held back, sneakily syphoning any scrap of vitality left within his body. He feels the comforting weight of healed arms encircling him, pulling him into a warm chest and lifting up. Wilford musters a moment to drag his fatigue back, feeling it ebb away for a second. His head lulls against the other's firm shoulder with whiley eyesight blurring as the shifting lids continued trying to despairingly close against his will. As he's placed back upon plush bedding once more, he wafts through messy thoughts to string together but a crumb of what he truly wanted the other to know so vehemently.
"I don't- wan' you to be scared of me.."
The slurred speech makes for a cumbersome and timely concious demise, his feverish mind scrambling to catch up with the crumbling world around him. Nevertheless, he holds on, tightly, to that fickle flash of recognition, directly tied to the man above him. Wilford couldn't, under any circumstances, begin falling asleep yet, he couldn't! Not until he'd made up for his wrongdoings, his unkempt mistakes and his carelessness! His doting darling was sat here, caring for someone who couldn't even control the one thing that he'd asked to stay hidden, something that reminded him only of horrid and unfathomable pain! Some lover he was, of course he couldn't even ward off an illness at the worst of timing and now his poor beau has to deal with his shortcomings. The wretched guilt of it all consumes him, splintering out from his bleeding heart and onto the pristine bed spread through garbled murmuring and hazardous movements to push himself up, to deal with himself, to prove that he's not at all the horror who'd shared his face, who'd stolen his image and shattered it while ruthlessly assaulting his sweet beloved. To prove that he's good.
He can't, because he's not.
" 'm not- not good- i'm sorry.. you wouldn' be in s' much pain without me."
"Will-"
"N-no! I.. hurt people, my friends-"
"Wilford-"
"And i hurt you!! You don't have t' pretend- or.. understand, i'm- m' a murderer.."
His love cups each side of his jaw in a gentle pull to garner his fretted and fraying attention. Wilford looks on into clearing blue pools of pitiful worry, searching his very own gaze for what? He couldn't say, not with his brain melting down in streaks of molten disrepair and a stomach so tied up in knots he wouldn't know where to start undoing. Still he stares on, so equally full of adoration as he is with dreaded guilt gnawing between his ribcage. The other takes a breath; "What you are, is my boyfriend. The person who saved me, so many times! The man who wakes me up with a thousand kisses every morning and insists on cooking only the finest of meals for me. The man who ripped an alternate version of himself's heart out just to protect me, to save me! Don't you see? You never hurt me."
Wilford shivers with the sudden cold snap harkening through him, voice sinking to a low whimper, "... but i did."
He simply cannot help it, cannot give up on his rightful penance, because that was all it was, what he wholeheartedly, detrimentally deserved. His beau looks torn before quickly taking on a rather contemplative exterior, uttering out; "okay.. did you shove me into the kitchen counter?" He splutters, "What!? No-" his boyfriend continues; "what about when you put me in a chokehold? Or sliced my chest open?" He begins feeling overly nauseous again at the mere thought. "Darling i- I didn't, i would never! N-not me-" Wilford's chittering with slight panic at those same accusatory actions pointed directly toward him. He would never even think to lay a hand on his sweetheart! He'd rather die a long and endlessly painful death over and over forever than commit such an inexcusable, dastardly action!! It's why he- why he can't- well- gosh his head really couldn't keep running in these trepid circles, he's dizzy enough as is. Upon swaying vertiginous vision, his darling meets him with a look so sorrowfully tender.
"You never hurt me, okay? Never."
Unruly saline shines from a build up within his eyes, gliding down his cheeks under slow resonance. His splitting head continues pounding in sync with each fretful heartbeat, overlapping every locked away emotion, magic, wound, everything. He's caught between rifts, a deteriorating shame colliding with the juxtaposition of evidence brought to his full attention. His boyfriend then lowers himself to lay down next to him, distinctly on his exact level in every way. He can feel those toned arms circling his waist evermore, pulling him in while undoubtedly letting a smearing of unbridled tears stain his healing shoulder. He's soothed beneath croons of comfort, spilling through in mindful music upon his ears. "Just let it out sweetheart" softened lips harmonise and press against his overheated forehead, he can feel himself hollowing out, "i'm not going anywhere, okay?" Around the admission, a dire urge to curl in upon himself between the absolute heart wrench seeping inwards grows harsh and loud.
Wilford isn't sure how much fragile time passes while he's completely unable to quell the onslaught of fitful sobs that might’ve stayed wasting and unknowingly dormant for more than millennia. Within the arms of someone he loved so eminently, who, he somehow hadn't realised, loved and cherished him to that very same egregious degree. He's still not quite fully sold on his worthiness of such a distinct and hopeful declaration, yet as his fizzled mind grows heavy upon heated wooziness, he'll have to give it a rest for the moment. Tumble it around his mind, make bread with the leftover brain matter taken to understand what he never dared even touch.
His stomach decides that now is the absolutely perfect time to cramp up in rageful fire, a sudden vengeful sprout of angered wrath from his lack of composure nor attention. He winces beneath the unbecoming intrusion, unwanted and rather annoying upon ruining their gentle moment. His beau takes immediate notice, arms loosening to quietly intervene. What an ever presently stupid sickly BUG! He's careening for just the simplest moment of respite but instead, he's heatedly bludgeoned to no end! As if to back-talk, nausea arises within him once more. Gosh, golly, actually- fuck! He can feel tepid bile rising from his throat, culminating until a bout of overflow. This was rather unmistakably fucked! Wilford hurries to force himself up, somewhat steady after a brief pause of rest but still panicking as he haphazardly shuffled closer and closer to the bathroom for his untimely demise. His darling still frets, moving with him before he could even think to stop the other. All he hears is muttered pleas and worries before sinking down on wobbly knees and shoving his head into the toilet. Gregariously gross rancor greets him again. Fuck.
His sweet Ken carefully wipes sweat soaked tufts of midnight away from his burning forehead, rubbing soft and sifting motions against his shivering back. First he feels ever so blazingly overheated, then freezing and shaking in the next-door second. It's querfuddling his goopy uncoordinated mind, leaving textiles of uncerta¿nty weav?ng between an unrelent‽ng boisterous headache. Damn this wretched ailment! Everything pounds and cracks within him, bringing forth only pain and torment in the wake, he utterly lacks any defences to not crumble under the furled fury. He can hear his beloved's breath catching before he himself is caught between those gloriously bulky arms once more, bringing him close and lain blissfully warm, as if to shield the very illness working it's harpooned way through his weakened system. He blushes over rising heat upon already feverishly flushed skin.
Delicate fingers card through his silkened hair, gently scratching against his scalp at deliciously random intervals. It's heaven upon his aching head. Generous kisses press against the side of his sickly forehead before gathering his ailing form even further forward with a short mutter; "you're okay, i've got you." He's steadily lifted once more, rather elated in that classic bridal carry, if not for the swirling twirling nausea and ruthless headache that couldn't even give him five flavourful seconds of peace! He's placed delicate across their bed, sinking into plush comfort and grimacing beneath his body's persistent eagerness to continue tormenting him. His beau proceeds to play nurse for the next couple of hours and not in the fun way. He's prodded and pampered, huffing beneath a thermometer on his tongue as he'd watched the other unpack an entire chemist's worth of medication and sick supplies. He doesn't have it within him to put up a fight against those gorgeous seasong eyes staring so adamant and kind upon his every weakened moment.
His love gently places a folded towel over his forehead, slowly wiping away dried sweat and inadvertently relaxing him evermore tenfold at the same time. It's graciously cooling on his blazing skin and he releases a calmed breath of relief at the fingertips of solace. Hearing a slight hum above, Wilford blinks up to see other's features twisted in concern, sifting cobalt locked onto his.. mouth? lips? Surely he wasn't anywhere near attractive enough to smooch in such a state; "Darling..?" His boyfriend seems to almost shake and shimmy himself out of a mesmerised stupor, looking toward him with confuzzled worry. He raises an eyebrow at the simple oddness of it all returning; "what is it?"
"Nothing, just... your moustache is turning pink."