(I know it's been a while, and I'm sorry for the delay, but this is the finale!)
Arin's POV
I could feel my consciousness slipping away from me as I became more relaxed in Jon's arms. I was tired, and hurt. I couldn't handle even thinking about it.
"Arin, baby," Jon cooed to me, lurching me out of my drowsy thoughts, petting my hair.
"Hmm?" Even in humming, I felt the shakiness in my voice.
"Oh, never mind," Jon heard my voice, and that was enough to keep him silent. Was I really that weak? I didn't know or care.
"Are you sure?" I managed to ask him with a faint whisper.
"Listen to yourself, babe. A-are you really okay?" He felt my head, checking for a high temperature.
"I'm less than great, to be honest," I sighed piteously, barely able to stop myself from crying out.
"You aren't feeling too good..." Jon's face was filled with fear, "I'll be right back, stay there," he exited the room for a bit, leaving me to my lonesome. I was alone, so I decided to cry for a bit, to just let it all out while he was gone.
"Arin, baby!" Jon really meant it when he said he would be right back. He saw me crying. He came back with a bucket, in case I had to vomit, and a thermometer.
"H-hi again."
"C'mere; I'm gonna take your temperature real quick, and if you need to, you can puke in here..." He put the thermometer under my tongue, making sure I didn't fiddle with it, "Holy shit!" He exclaimed when he saw the final results of how sick I really was.
"Am I gonna die?" I asked, still crying, unable to stop my eyes from watering or crying, I wasn't entirely sure if I was sad or just really, really sick.
"No, of course not, baby," he half whispered to me.
"Joooon! I don wanna die!" I cry out, giving him a quick hug.
"You won't die, I promise you that you won't die..." Jon cooed to me, patting me on the back.
"I gotta puke," I whined, suddenly noticing my stomach churning.
Jon placed the bucket before me, not saying a word as I puked. I felt terrible before, I felt terrible after. Nothing is getting better. I'm sick now, too. Good, just what I needed. It's not like I had enough to deal with.
"Better?" Jon asked comfortingly.
"No," I whimpered, "It's so cold in here!" I realized.
"No, it's not," Jon replied; I knew he was right, but I honestly didn't care.
"Yes it is!"
"Okay, fine..." Jon just agreed, letting me have it my way, "I should really get you something to eat and drink," the thought of food made my belly upset.
"No! No food," I bawl at something as simple as eating; I didn't want to vomit again.
"Baby," he sighed, leaving to get some food for me, even after I refused it.
"No food!" I cried after him.
"You're delusional!" He replied from the kitchen.
He got me food even though I wouldn't eat it. He arrived back with some ice cream and water. I wish I wanted to eat.
"Here we are!" Jon entered triumphantly.
"I don wan it!" I turned away, facing the back of the couch.
"Please, baby," Jon pleaded, "At least try it..." He bargained.
"Mph!" I grunt in disagreement.
"I- Arin, please."
"Fine, I'll eat if you shut up about it. God damn."
"Open up wide," Jon ordered, holding up a small spoonful of ice cream to my face.
"I can do it myse- ngh!" He put the food in my mouth while I was arguing with him.
"I can help you, though," Jon pointed out.
"Water!" I ordered, pointing to the cup. Jon obliged, handing me the cold glass. I spilled a bit of the water, but that didn't really matter to me.
"Arin, you're spilling it everywhere!" Jon laughed; he was far from displeased with me.
"No," I denied his statement, though I realized moments after that he was correct.
"It's fine..." Jon sighed, whispering comfortingly to me.
"No, I fucked it up!" I shouted at him, maybe getting angrier than I should've.
"Baby, I'm not mad!" He chuckled at my rage, "Give me a sec," Jon left me once again.
"One second has passed, Jon!"
"Okay, a minute, then," Jon grumbled frustratedly.
"One! Two! Three! Four!" I started to count loudly.
Jon was back by the time I hit 37. I didn't see what he came back with at first, until I spotted a pink elastic in one of his hands.
"I thought that if I got your hair out of your face, you'd be less hot," Jon explained.
"I'm not a girl, it wouldn't look good," I complained.
"It'll look fine, I promise you," Jon then started to put my hair in a messy ponytail, yanking my hair a couple times in the process, "It'll help, trust me."
"You were right," I smiled at Jon once he finished.
"You were right, too," Jon joked, laughing, to which I tried to join, but I didn't even have enough energy to laugh without- oh goddamit. I grabbed the bucket, and had another unpleasant experience, Jon patting my back patiently as I vomited.
"So what you're saying is-" I tried to continue as if nothing had happened.
"Baby, are you okay?" Jon interrupted, concern filling his voice.
"Yea," I rushed, "Anyways, you just called me ugly, and that's not nice," I again attempt to pick up the conversation from where we left off.
"I was joking," Jon quickly ended that topic, "Are you okay?"
"I already told you, I'm wonderful. Vomiting everywhere and not being able to eat or drink by myself? That's nuthin'!"
"I- babe, I'm sorry. You don't deserve to be going through so much right now."
"It's not your fault. Hey, uh... I'm supposed to be at work around now. Oops. Can you call Dan for me? Please?" I didn't want to see or talk to Dan for a while.
"Okay, okay," Jon agreed, "I'll go get you some stuff while I do that, okay?"
"Here, you can call him from my phone," I offered my phone to him; Dan's number was saved.
"Alright, thanks. Just hang tight, okay?" Jon left the room; I decided to try to sleep.
