South Park Shorts

Sick

I'm sick and I want to write so yeah.

They're around the age of fifteen here

  Craig has been falling in and out of sleep all day, not feeling well enough to get out of bed to take medicine or eat. It sucks he was home alone. It also sucked he wasn't a little kid anymore, his mom would stay home from work and give him medicine and making sure he was meeting his basic needs. He would lay on the couch and watch reruns of Red Racer and fall asleep. It seemed like a fever dream, thinking back to when he was small. God, he just wanted to be taken care of, held in someone's arms and sleep; he wasn't ready to be responsible and independent yet.

  There was a knock at the door. Though he was upstairs, he could hear the frantic pounding from across the house; and he immediately knew who it was.

  Though he was excited to know his boyfriend of five years was here, he didn't want to get out of bed. He sighs, contemplating rather he should get up to get the door or just text Tweek to use the spare key he kept in his book-bag.

  Craig sits up, already feeling dizzy from the small action. He squeezes his eyes shut, trying to get over the lightheadedness. He opens his eyes after a moment and reaches for his phone, squinting at the high brightness. How did it get so bright anyways? He always has his screen dark. Craig turned the brightness all the way down, texting Tweek. 

  It takes a minute but he finally hears the door open and close, quick but quiet (or at least tried to be) footsteps coming closer to him. Craig's bedroom door opens and reveals his jittery boyfriend.

"ACK—! Why weren't you in school today?! Are you under alien control? Did you have to go to the hospital? Oh my god, what if you are—ngh— an alien and you ARE under alien control? What if you aren't Craig at all?"
Tweek spieled.

"No, Tweek, I'm just sick. Sorry I didn't message you like I usually do."
Craig responded, setting his phone back down on his nightstand and laying back down.

"Are you dying? Are you—ngh—having trouble breathing? What if you caught a disease?! AHH—! This is too much pressure!"
He exclaimed.

"It's just a cold, it's been going around school. I must've caught it from Clyde or something."
He grumbled, sniffling to clear his stuffed nose.

"Alright! Did you take medicine? Have you been eating and sleeping?"
Tweek asked.

"I've been sleeping all day, I haven't gotten up once." Craig muttered, voice hoarse.

"You have to—ngh—take care of yourself."
The blonde advised.

"I could say the same to you."
The other said.

"This—ngh—isn't about me right now. You're sick and you haven't ate or taken any medicine."
Tweek claimed.
"I'll go get some—uh—medicine."
He adds, leaving the bedroom.

  It was only moments later when Tweek returned with a bottle of water, Tylenol, NyQuil, a thermometer and melatonin. He grabs the bottle of Tylenol and reading the back of it before opening it up and handing him two pills, along with the bottled water.

"I'm assuming your throat's dry.."
Tweek stated.

Craig lightly nods, swallowing the pills and chugging water after.
"Why did you grab NyQuil and melatonin?"

"Because to get—ACK—better, you need to get as much asleep as possible."
He replied, grabbing the thermometer gun and putting it up to the left side of his forehead.
"What stuff you got going on?"

"What? Are you like a doctor now?"
Craig chuckled.

"I—I could be! I know my—ngh—medical and illness stuff."
Tweek said.
"Now tell me."

He sighs.
"Headaches, dry throat, stuffed nose, a cough that hurts my throat, I don't know."

Tweek takes the thermometer gun and slowly runs it along his forehead. When it beeps, he reads the numbers.
"One-o-two point three."
The blonde read aloud.
"You definitely have a fever."

"Yeah, yeah. I know."
Craig mumbled, taking another sip of the cold water.

"Okay, now you got to—ARGHH—take your NyQuil and melatonin."
Tweek said, giving him a NyQuil pill and two melatonin gummies.

"Do I need to take them? I'm already tired as it is, I don't think I need any help."
The sick boy asked; complaining.

"I want you to get the best rest possible, I hate it when you aren't at school."
He responded.

"Alright, fine. Hand them over."
Craig replied, holding his hand out.

He takes the pills and swallows them and covers himself with the comforter. Tweek gets in bed beside him and holds him close.
"What are you doing?"
Craig asked.

"ACK—! What do you think I'm doing?"
Tweek inquired.

"Why are you cuddling me? I have a cold and you're gonna get sick. You hate germs."
The boy claimed.

"Yeah, I know, but it's just a cold. I'll be fine."
The blonde stated, taking the blue hat off Craig's head and throwing it into the laundry basket filled with dirty clothes.

"Hey—!"
He exclaimed before going into a coughing fit.
"Give me back my hat."

"You've been wearing this hat since we were eight, you probably haven't—ARHH—washed it in years." Tweek confirmed.

"That isn't true! And I'm cold, I want my hat."
Craig said.

"You'll survive without your hat, it felt gross when I touched it."
The other stated, laying a hand in Craig's hair.

"It doesn't feel gross! It's made out of a special material!"
He testified.

"Just—ngh—relax. I'm trying to help you get better." Tweek said.

"Fine.."
Craig rolled his eyes, laying limp on the blonde's lap.