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Today's melancholy seaside walk was turning into quite the workout. A simple stroll on the beach really should not have been a taxing endeavor, yet here he was, sweating under the cool Alolan breeze, wishing to the Dragons he hadn't tied his obi so tight.
Shuffling to a stop in the sand, Grimsley reached for the knot behind his back. He really had tied it a little tight, and walking always made it ride up from his hips to the small point of his waist. And it was worse today, like he'd gotten overzealous yanking on the knot. And all this without koshihimo underneath! Thank goodness he hadn't bothered.
He pushed the belt down, back toward his hips, and resumed his stroll. This was his time to stare at the waves and try to forget, try not to give in to the nicotine cravings for a moment longer.
His stubborn obi had other ideas. A few more steps had it riding up again, pushing disagreeably into the underside of his stomach, which, admittedly, wasn't usually so tender. He tugged the belt back down again and something in his guts growled. It might have been irritation or it might have been hunger. Although, in a rare fit of self care he'd had breakfast that morning, and not even a particularly greasy one.
Hm...
Now that he had noticed it, Grimsley couldn't tune out the percolating unease under his ribs. His stomach turned circles, lazy and disruptive all at once, like a captive Carvanha in a too-small tank.
Growling, too. That was ominous.
The breeze picked up, coming off the ocean in what should have been gentle, refreshing gusts. It chilled the sweat on Grimsley's forehead and made him shiver.
Ominous indeed!
He kept walking.
The beach was deserted at this hour, except for a few surfers out in the waves. Watching them made Grimsley's stomach do seasick flips. He turned away, but the damage was already done. The churning picked up, irritated guts making wet, unhappy noises, obi growing more restrictive with every breath.
He stopped walking. It was starting to hurt, and now a quick jaunt to the beach bathroom seemed well in order...
If Grimsley wasn't already feeling sick, the damp heat of the bathroom would have done the trick. He swallowed hard and pressed a hand to his mouth, hesitating in the doorway despite the urgent push in his stomach. The concrete floor had a layer of water over it, the drain hidden under piles of wet sand. So he hesitated, evn though each breath made his belt feel tighter around his cramping stomach, and it was either this or sticking his face in one of the slimy beach trash cans or just letting everything go on the ground. With every passing moment, that seemed like the better option. It wasn't like he had much to lose.
But some small, soft part of himself resented the idea of being so weak out in the open like that, even with the distant surfers as the only potential witnesses. You never knew who was watching, and even now, he caught a whiff of distant cigarette smoke from some unseen beach-goer.
Grimsley shuffled inside the bathroom and shut the door. Water caught the hem of his yukata and sloshed into his loafers, cold and shocking— he must have had a fever. One more step had his damp hem clinging to his ankles. Without warning, his body bent itself forward and retched, and sick saliva flooded his mouth. In turn, his stomach dropped so quickly it made his head spin. He tilted sideways and had to catch himself on the clammy wall, shoes sloshing in the water and grinding in the sand.
Sick, definitely sick. He swallowed again, urgently, looked miserably down at the uneven line of wetness advancing up his yukata. Grimsley stood paralyzed for a moment, the next few agonizing moments of his life playing out in spirals: Kneeling in the water, enduring the cold cling of wet cotton, the ends of his scarf dragging and wet. Standing instead, clawing feebly at his scarf, his hair limp in his face, the inevitable splashback making rancid stains on his pure white yukata... The slime of the beach trash can seemed more tempting by the second.
His sick stomach had no such concerns, and impelled him toward the toilet with such a violent lurch that Grimsley folded forward again and nearly tripped over himself trying not to topple over. He gagged weakly, pawing feebly at his scarf, and bent at the waist. His obi pushed into him, unyielding, and tears blurred his eyes, which was just as well, because a clear view of the toilet did not seem like it would help matters.
This... this was a nightmare. Grimsley had no issues with a little recreational loss of control. That was what gambling was, after all, and there was a certain thrill that came with knowing that the outcome of a situation had nothing whatever to do with your actions. But there was nothing recreational about this. This was pure misery.
Worse still, something in him kept holding on. Fighting every gag, swallowing every belch, ignoring every noisy quake of his furious stomach. He took a deep breath and winced as his tender belly hit the unyielding barrier of his obi. "Hrk!" His hands flew to his back, picking at the knot. Had to get it off... That would help a little... Maybe he could even get home.
Someone pounded on the door, and it sounded so much like a certain debt collector that Grimsley found himself in a crouch before he could even register the fear reflex. Pain shot through his abdomen. "Ungh!" He reared back onto his heels, clutching his stomach, doing anything to get his belt away. "O-occupied."
A voice filtered through the door, accompanied by a faint whiff of cigarette smoke. "You shooting up in there?" Nanu. Grimsley would have sighed, if he could breathe that deeply without a horrible pain in his gut. "Don't make me kick the door down," Nanu added, and Grimsley couldn't help but chuckle. Certainly an empty threat.
Slowly, Grimsley stood up and oriented himself toward the door, one hand resting on his stomach, his fingertips drawing little circles over his kimono. Water dripped from his soaked yukata. "If you must know, I preferred cocaine. N-never liked the idea of heroin much."
As though to punish him for ignoring it, his stomach rolled, horrible and slow, growling noisily with the motion. Urgh.
"Bump of coke doesn't take that long," Nanu said, with a steel wire in his voice. Great. He wasn't going anywhere until Grimsley opened the door. Fine, then. Let him get more than he bargained for. Served him right for being nosy.
"Hold on, officer," Grimsley said, and sloshed over to the door.
He unlocked it and cracked it open and immediately had to squint at the flood of light. Sunrise. Merciless. He pressed the back of his hand to his face, the other arm still trying to protect his stomach from his belt.
Nanu whistled. "Fiending?" Without waiting for an answer, he pushed his way in and splashed to the center of the bathroom, clearing the sand out of the drain with the toe of his shoe. "Ugh."
Grimsley didn't have it in him to answer the teasing. He slammed the door shut again and locked it on reflex, plunging them back into watery dimness.
Nanu sighed (from the very depths of his soul, by the sound of it) and gestured to Grimsley's scarf. "Give me that."
Grimsley unwound it and passed it over on his way back to the toilet, where another wave of dry heaving passed him over relatively unscathed.
"What's wrong with you?" Nanu asked, his stare prickling on the back of Grimsley's neck.
A thousand sarcastic deflections died in Grimsley's throat, superseded and crushed by a deep retch. He bent over, then straightened up just as quickly at the wave of pain that followed. "Ghh..." He gestured to the knot at his back, wincing. "Get that off..."
"Tch." Seeming to understand, Nanu stepped forward and started working at the knot. "Won't even take a guy to dinner first."
It was strange, to be reduced to impulses like this, like a wounded creature seeking only relief. It didn't matter. The pressure released all at once, and receded to only a light brush as Nanu tied a new, looser knot.
The tile was still wet, but Grimsley collapsed onto it in a heap and put his head in his hands, his elbows resting on the toilet seat. This yukata was already ruined.
Nanu whistled again. "Something's doing a number on you. Want me to call someone?"
"Call who?" Grimsley managed between little teasing heaves. "Fair enough. Medicine?"
Grimsley shook his head frantically. "Won't be able to keep it down."
They fell into a frozen silence: Grimsley panting, Nanu watching.
It grew so excruciating that Grimsley finally forced himself to voice something coherent. "Like what you see, old man? Didn't —Urk!— take you f-for the type."
Nanu gave a lazy, one-shouldered shrug. "Just making sure you don't pass out and hit your head. Y'know, because I'm such a kind, compassionate, caring soul. But if you wanted to stick your fingers down your throat to speed things up, I wouldn't say no."
Grimsley cocked his head, casting a dubious glance at his hands curled on the wet floor. "I don't suppose you have a pen, or...?"
"So precious..." Nanu sighed, digging in his pockets. "Hold out your palms."
Grimsley did, and Nanu sprayed him down with a cloyingly-scented hand sanitizer. Saliva flooded his mouth again, but nothing came of it.
Catching his face, Nanu shoved the brightly-colored bottle back into his pocket, averting his eyes. "It's Acerola's. Birthday cake scented or something."
Grimsley's stomach rolled again, with its usual wet cacophony. He groaned and opened his mouth, guiding his finger, bitter with the sanitizer, in between the ridges and points of his teeth and along the slick heat of his cheek. His body was already so sensitive that his gag reflex kicked in at once. He hunched forward and gagged, a new wave of saliva sending his finger slipping back against his incisors. He pushed it back into place, stubbornly pressing the soft flesh at the back of his throat.
The world narrowed. The bathroom disappeared. Nanu disappeared. It was only Grimsley and the sudden fullness in his irritated stomach, and the nausea spreading down his throat, and the sharp ache of his teeth at the base of his finger.
He shoved.
His stomach contracted, and he only just whipped his hand free of the hot torrent of vomit. It splashed sickeningly into the toilet, triggering another wave that had Grimsley frantically swiping his hair out of his face. His stomach kept pushing inward and inward, forcing waves of bile up and out, burning up his throat.
When it was finally over, such a wave of dizziness rocked him that he had to drop his head to his heaving chest and focus on the cold solidity of the concrete beneath him.
"Better?" Nanu asked.
Grimsley tipped his head all the way back, overcorrecting, and the tiny room whirled with the motion. For a moment, he couldn't speak, could only take shallow breaths that felt strange and hollow through his sore abdomen.
Nanu leaned over and flushed the toilet.
Chasing the motion, Grimsley bent forward to spit.
"Because," Nanu continued, "I was just about to go get breakfast."
"Nngh!" Grimsley slapped a hand to his mouth.
"I'll take that as a no." Nanu sighed. "Clean yourself up and I'll walk you home."
Groaning, Grimsley grabbed the edge of the sink and hauled himself to his feet. Repercussions seemed distant and cloudy, and the stranger in the mirror looked nothing like it should, with sweaty hair hanging in its pale face and a damp white yukata hanging coquettishly off one bony shoulder. "Enjoy the show?"
Nanu turned and yanked Grimsley's ruined kimono up. "Don't make me tighten that belt again."
In the mirror, Grimsley's reflection smiled.