BILLET-DOUX ✦ CLASSIC ROCK

45 - syd barrett ³

Requested by theskychildren and mrmurrayhead ! Sick fics are my bread and butter, so I hope you enjoy reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it!
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It had all begun with a sneeze.

As you rested on the couch with a good book, you heard the sound of Syd sniffling over a few pages of writing. Then another sneeze and a faint muttering from the ground where Syd sat sprawled amongst his work.

"Bless you," you said absentmindedly, turning a page in your novel.

Syd sneezed again before murmuring, "Thank you."

Spring hadn't yet loosened her grip on the land, and it was no surprise Syd was suffering from the pollen and mold spores that floated aimlessly through the air. This happened every year that you could remember being with Syd, and it didn't take long for you to become prepared for the inevitable change of seasons with plenty of handkerchieves to spare.

You had taken it upon yourself to sew mismatched swatches of fabric painstakingly embroidered with initials and little animals for Syd to use during the springtime. They were gifts that you were proud to see Syd keep close to his heart, as he always brought them along with him to practice or to shows.

Out of the corner of your eye, you saw that Syd still had one today. He was rubbing his nose with the purple and blue laced handkerchief – the one that you had spent hours stitching stars and diamonds onto. The sight of it in Syd's possession caused your chest to swell with endearment.

"Feeling alright, dear?" You asked after the fourth sneeze, worried eyes straying from your book to Syd's curls that jolted with each jerk of his body.

"I'm fine," Syd replied, his voice sounding constrained and almost nasally. "'s just hayfever."

It was clearly a lie, but you didn't outwardly disagree with Syd. You set aside your book and made your way over to him. His ever-changing blue-green eyes met yours immediately, their hardened irises softening and giving way at your mere presence. It was Syd's way of letting you in.

"What have you gotten done so far?" You peered over his shoulder to sneak a peek at his work. Most of it was unintelligible to you, just a smattering of poetry and a few doodles drawn in the margins of his paper.

Since being voted out of Pink Floyd, Syd hadn't so much as picked up a paintbrush. You were happy to see him get back into what he loved doing the most and out of the pitiful funk that he'd dug his heels into. There had been many a night where you would have to drag a partially conscious Syd to bed because he'd gotten entrapped in his thoughts.

You hoped that those nights would be no more.

"Not much of anything," Syd said modestly with a shrug. "It isn't... well... it won't be a song anytime soon."

You couldn't believe that. Not with a passionate Syd at the helm. In a few days time, you were sure that he'd excitedly break down the bedroom door, guitar in hand, and ready to show you his newest composition. No matter how much self doubt niggled at the back of his brain, Syd would always return to his work – albeit hesitantly.

Settling down on the floor adjacent from Syd, you dropped a quick kiss on his temple. His skin was clammy and warm beneath your lips, revealing the telltale signs of sickness. Now that you were closer to him, you could see the dark rings beneath Syd's eyes and his downcast expression.