Fever • TodoDeku

Chapter 3

Hi
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"Hiii, where'd you disappear off to?" A familiarly calming voice asked, surprising the sick boy with a hug.

"Just getting out of uniform." Nuzzling into the hug, Shouto was honestly glad to have a brief moment of stability and comfort in gentle arms.

"Ah, okay,"

"We're you looking for me?"

"Not for any reason in particular, just wanted to hang out, check up on ya." Releasing the hug, the freckled boy pressed another soft kiss onto feverish cheeks.

"Oh," almost to repay the affection, he planted a timid peck to the hand clasping his own, getting a hushed giggle from the receiver.

"So, they're, uh, they're watching..." cursing under his breath, the freckled teen struggled through embarrassment to remember the movie title in mind. "What's, w- it's that one you like, uhh, fuck, Con- no... Clue! Clue, they're watching Clue, you wanna grab some popcorn?"

"Sure, yeah, that's, that'd be nice." A stutter stifled the answer as he pushed away nauseating thoughts of popcorn, trying to keep up the facade.

The two followed suit, joining a group of friends on the couch, gathered around the tv, a game of uno, and a bowl of popcorn. Late afternoon sun dusted the commons, blessedly keeping the exhausted teen awake to the best of his extents.

At some point, through the quickly moving minutes, Shouto noticed Aizawa and his family arriving. Apparently, that afternoon, Mic was at a meeting and the rest of the family, Shinso, Eri, and Aizawa, had been invited over for games and movies in his absence.

The family joined their group, getting into a surprisingly respectful and lovely game of uno.

Though, even over every distraction, or opportunity to decompress, nothing of Shouto's state improved. Somehow, every ache and pain, each fraction of a movement, brought on a bout of discomfort, worse with every heavy breath.

Anxiously shifting in his seat, the sick boy attempted to avoid the blasting air conditioner, freezing the cold sweat drawn from feverish skin. (Which is quite the annoyance for someone used to being their own thermostat) He knew the illness was getting the best of him by this point. In the moment he was powerless– literally, and submission was the only temporary solution.

Quite temporary.

A sudden wave of nausea made sure of that.

Taking a sharp breath and swallowing the painful lump in his throat, Shouto sought a kind of ignorance to the symptoms as he blinked a sunlit headache from his eyes.

It was tempting, to rest his weary head on the shoulder of his boyfriend. But it would've been in bad, or possibly desperate, judgment; also referred to as a dead giveaway.

Lost in worry, a few long blinks brought reality back to Shouto's slurring vision. Thoughts still sticking to his agitated brain, hyper-tuned to ensuing functions of the illness wreaking throughout his body, keeping tabs on the most alarming symptoms.

As the group chatted and played, his stomach churned with the wafting scent of dinner being prepared. A sudden hiccup strained his throat, as he swallowed back a wave of nausea. His knuckles, white, clutching the couch's edge in nerve.

'Fuck, fuck, fuck... I'm going to be fine. It'll pass. Wait it out...... fuck...' another hiccup shuddered his chest, building further agitation. 'Fucking come on...... I've just...' Sucking in a loose, shallow, breath, a hand impulsively reached toward his mouth, suddenly diverting to brush a bang upon the realization of it's telling action. '...just wait it out...... how long... fuck...'

With a third, painful, hiccup, it became clear, that this wasn't a passing moment. It was not fleeting; sickness had him in it clutches.

Glancing up from his knees, Shouto's mismatched eyes flitted between Izuku, Eri, on his lap, and Aizawa, reading the room between lines, for any exit strategy. The lump climbing his throat, rapidly burned an acidic rawness up to the back of his mouth. An indescribable anticipation was reaching a fever pitch of immeasurable anxiety.

"Ex-Excuse me," rising on shaky legs, Shouto wove through chairs as quickly as he could without arising suspicions.

Fuck. He screamed internally, a clammy palm pressing against his thinly drawn mouth, making any dolorous attempt to hold back the overtaking nausea, racking the struggling teenager.

Strained legs ached to hold him up as he rounded a corner, finally out of sight of the others.

The hallway seemed to stretch, longer and longer as he neared the bathroom door, building a mountain of sheer panic, crumbling into an avalanche.

Shoving through the bathroom door, he managed to barrel into a stall. Unable to stop and lock the door, he collapsed against the wall, his body caving into itself as he slowly plummeted to the icy tile floor. A quaking hand pathetically assisting him down.

Breathing thickly, Shouto hunched over the toilet, shaking uncontrollably, as overwhelming nausea violently stung his throat. Dizziness rocking his already swirling stomach.

Anticipation worse than actual illness, the stress of waiting, just sitting there in increasingly horrible pain, waiting, waiting.

Then, his stomach lurched. Awful, acidic bile climbed his esophagus, his muscles shuddering in pure anguish as his stomach purged itself inside out.

Tears pricked mismatched eyes, as the torturous agony of his stomach completely purging itself, began to break the sickly, weak, boy.

Horrible seconds lasted eternity as nausea consumed his body. Until, finally, he could give no more.

Shivering, covered in sweat, clothes sticking to fever ridden skin, he clutched the wall at a loss of stability.

"F-fuck," in a fit of overwhelming, the teen's vision slurred as he leaned away, fever worse than before, stomach now painfully empt, yet still somehow wracked with nausea.

Scrunching his face in exhaustion, he slumped against the stall attempting to calm down even in the slightest of ways.

"God-d, goddammit," he rasped, vomit having run the inside throat raw.

Uneven, hitching breaths spilled from huffing lungs, loosely grasping small puffs of air.

Breaths hitched as, suddenly, soft footsteps echoed out, followed by the click of the bathroom door. Oh god.

"Shouto?" Izuku Midoriya's fretful voice called out, echoing in the empty bathroom. "Is everything okay?"

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