A Collection of Heartstopper Oneshots

A Sick Charlie is a Grumpy Charlie - TurtlesGonnaTurt

Summary:

Charlie catches a cold. He does not like being sick, it makes him grouchy and mean.

Nick always knows just what to say to make him feel better.
Notes:

For Oatsiexx.
I'm sick. When I get sick, I get prickly and grumpy and my bitch filter gets broken and consequently, I tend to hide away in a duvet nest until I can human once more and not offend everyone I interact with. I do like having friends, and I would have none if I allowed myself to be as grouchy as the common cold makes me.

To Oatsie, who let me get the bitchies out when I was feeling like shit, and encouraged my grumpy meanness with the true Nick Nelson energy she always has.

There is a lot of messaging that happens between Nick and Charlie in this. Nick is in the left in bold, Charlie is on the right in normal (because Oatsie doesn't like italics and this is all for her)
(See the end of the work for more notes.)

Work Text:
Charlie came home from work on Wednesday night with a tickle in his throat. He blamed fun-vampire Fiona. She had been coughing and sneezing and generally spreading germs all week. There was no need. Who goes into the office when the're sick when remote working is an option? That's just rude. She didn't even have in person meetings, she just rocked up spewing that faux apologetic "oh, I'm not feeling great today," cough, cough, splutter, "it's only a cold," hacking cough, "sorry if I make anyone sick," sneeze, wheeze, "I'm just a bit under the weather, nothing too bad," sniff, sniff, "It's not like the actual flu, I can work through it," bullshit. She didn't even wear a mask. Gutterfuck.

By 9pm, the tickle in his throat had morphed into a low level headache, blocked sinuses and general lethargy. An early night seemed like a good plan. Throughout the night, his illness got worse. He tossed and turned and burned up and shivered and at one point got oddly horny and then finally slept, dreaming about being chased by a hippo in a helicopter. All was not well.

By morning, Charlie could barely breathe. His nose was blocked but nothing was coming out, no matter how hard he blew (and he had it on good authority from his husband that he could blow real hard). His throat felt like it was made from razor blades and broken glass. His voice sounded simultaneously both squeaky and gruff. The pressure in his head was hurting his eyes and ears. All was absolutely, positively, inescapably not well.

"Nick," Charlie croaked, "I think I'm dying." Charlie reached blindly across the bed towards his husband, refusing to open his stinging eyes, as he felt Nick shift to turn off his alarm.

"Char, baby, you really don't sound great." Nick places his hand gently on Charlie's forehead. "You're burning up, sweetheart."

"Fucking Fiona made me sick. It's all her fault. She could have worked remotely, but no, she just had to come into the office and infect us all with her satanic death bug," Charlie whinges, still not willing to open his eyes.

"Do you feel like you can get up?" Concern drips from Nick's voice. He hates seeing Charlie being unwell almost as much as Charlie hates being ill. He always wishes it was him instead. His Charbear takes such good care of him when he's poorly. God, he loves this snotty mess of a man.

Charlie sighs dramatically, attempting to shift himself upright. He flops back down heavily. "No, sitting up makes me feel dizzy... You had better miss me forever after I'm dead. No moving on or I'll 100% haunt you. Can you pass me my clothes please, the wardrobe is far too far away right now."

"I think you need to call in sick, love."

Charlie's line manager was understanding. Charlie wasn't the only person in the office with the same symptoms. He was actually the third person to call in so far that morning – Fun-Vampire's Kiss , as they were calling it, was doing the rounds and taking down everyone it could.