Munchy's Treat Time

AoS: A Stereotypical Sick Fic

Ren

One of the bad parts of being around a lot of people is that I get sick pretty easily, and as I try to force myself to roll onto my side, I very quickly notice how shitty I feel. I frantically kick the blanket off before checking my phone. Fuck, wasn't I supposed to be going to a food tour of one of the neighboring cities with Toz, Zu, and Ikinari today?

I shoot them a text telling them I'm not up for it. Tozen immediately offers to not go to take care of me, but I video call him just to yell at him about dropping plans for my sake again. Despite my nasally, shaky voice, I manage to get my point across. So reluctantly, he leaves with the girls.

Part of me wants to call Mom, but that's kind of pathetic— I'm sixteen, almost seventeen, I shouldn't need my mommy to help when I'm sick. Alright, Ren. Just get up and go get some water. Dehydration is the enemy.

Before I can muster up the energy to do so, however, the doorbell rings. I inch out of bed slowly and unlock the door. To my surprise, I find a demure friend shuffling his feet nervously. "Hey, Daichi." I cover my mouth with my elbow quickly so that my cough doesn't spread. He's donning a medical mask and a pair of gloves.

"A-Azumi said you're s-sick. And since your b-best friends are b-busy, I figured you'd need s-someone at your side," he explains, avoiding eye contact.

"Yeah, I'm sick. Lovesick for you," I tease weakly. He noticeably flinches at this, but then gives a slight chuckle. He merely urges me back into bed. He holds up a finger, essentially telling me to wait a moment (though it's not like I'm going anywhere) and rushes back with a thermometer and a cool washcloth. He checks my temperature— the slightest bit high, not really a fever— and then applies the washcloth to my forehead. I sigh in relief at how nice it feels.

I sniffle. Seeing this, he rushes off to gather a messy wad of tissues, as though he grabbed them frantically. I laugh and then blow my nose. "Y'know, my nose may be running, but my mind has been running far longer with thoughts of you," I wink.

"I-I'm gonna make you some tea. As a s-survivalist, I have a good idea of what can work as n-natural remedies." Even with my eyesight blurred from not wearing my contacts, I can see from the way his eyes crinkle that he gives a soft smile, happy to be helpful.

While he's away, I let my eyes close. My muscles ache, but I'm already in a much better state than I was this morning. He's ruthlessly efficient at this. It can't have been more than fifteen minutes since he showed up. After a while, as I'm about to drift off to rest, I hear his subtle footsteps. I wouldn't have heard if it wasn't for the dead silence in my room, but it's enough to rouse me. "A-Ah! I'm s-sorry. Didn't mean to wake you," he apologizes frantically, setting a steaming cup of tea on my nightstand. "It's ginger tea. W-With lemon and h-honey."

"Mmm... you're the honey here," I murmur.

He gives the slightest squeak, finally letting the nerves show. "W-Why are you like this?"

"Cause it's fun. People deserve compliments and it makes me laugh to deliver them through pickup lines," I respond. My throat's a bit sore, but, as I take the mug into my hands, I can tell it'll shortly be getting some relief. The taste is balanced, comforting. "Perfect."

"A-Am I allowed to brag a bit?" he asks timidly.

"Brag all you'd like," I welcome.

He gives a shy laugh. "Um, s-so, the honey is f-from my bees. I'm new to b-beekeeping, but it's pretty exciting!"

"Wow! I guess you're the real bee's knees."

"That one's m-more like one of Y-Yuu's puns," he points out playfully. "H-Hey, would you like to t-take a nap now? Rest is important."

"Yeah, I'm getting sleepy, and now my tummy feels warm and cozy. But, um, I have kind of an embarrassing wish." He quirks up an eyebrow in curiosity. "Um... wh-whenever I got sick growing up, whoever s-stayed home to care for me would sing."

"S-Sing?!" he squeals. "U-Uh, o-okay. But you're n-not allowed to m-make fun of it! I'm m-much better at b-bedtime stories than lullabies!" he fumbles.

"You're such a nice guy. Why don't we talk more?" I wonder aloud.

He settles into a chair and tugs at the sleeves of his green sweater, though I can't tell whether it's out of eagerness or anxiety. He starts singing in some exotic-sounding language, and the energy in the room starts to die down a little bit. I feel safe, and despite my nose being a bit stuffed, I gradually slip into a much-needed nap.

When I awaken, he's still here, holding soup, and I can tell that the cloth on my head has been re-soaked. He waves to me. "Heh. You're an overachiever, aren't you?" I grin.

His electric green eyes share a hint of whimsy, as though, even though he's not saying anything, my playfulness is finally getting to him. Being cheerful when sick is hard, but honestly one of the most rewarding things. And it's so much easier when I have someone so sweet to tend to me.