You make me sick

Can't (7)

Jefferson

Hamilton stumbles out of the room, disheveled hair and a confused expression. I snort as he clutches his forehead, groaning.

"How much did I drink last night?" He shuffles over to the kitchen, painfully opening the fridge.

"Enough to get you in a fight.. But, you never needed to drink for that, did you?" He sighs, grabbing a water bottle and sitting down on the other couch. 

"Hilarious." He takes a quick swig of the water, leaning back into the pillows. "What time is it?" I lean my head back to see the kitchen clock, then lay my arms over the top of the couch and sigh.

"About ten." His eyes widen suddenly and he chokes on his water, sputtering.

"WE'RE GONNA BE LATE FOR CLASS, I NEVER MISS CLASS!" He springs up from the couch, knocking over his water and spilling everywhere as he dashes for the door, screaming a string of curses about his headache. I snort, standing up slowly and heading to the kitchen for some paper towels.

"Smol bean," He shoots a glare at me, but behind his eyes I can see amusement. So, he wasn't lying last night. "Cool your jets, darlin'. First off, you're a mess." He frowns and looks down, blushing at his state. Oversized shirt, boxers, and only one giant sock that I think is Laf's. I may or may not have left the part out where I changed him last night. I have to say, he's a lot more fit than I thought he was. "Second, you have a hangover and we both know it." As if on cue, he groans and puts a hand up to his forehead. "And third, we're not allowed in Washington's class today anyways." He raises an eyebrow, shuffling over to the counter.

"What? Why not?" I give up on trying to count, and just grab the entire roll of paper towels to head back over to his water spill. 

"Our debate didn't go so well, pretty boy." He blushes and shuffles over to me, watching as I rest on my knees and start to wipe away his water spill. 

"Don't call me that." I sigh and throw a soaked towel at him, and it splats onto his shirt, then slides off and falls to the ground where the oversized tee ends by his knees. 

"I can call you what I want, you're my friend." He frowns, crossing his arms and wincing. He looks down and starts to wiggle his sock free toes, fiddling with the soaking paper towel. Suddenly he tenses up, then grasps at his throat.

"Uhh, hold that thought-" He dashes off to the bathroom, and his retching can be heard all throughout the dorm. Disgusting. When the violent vomiting ends, there's silence for a little, before water from the sink starts running and I can hear him washing up. After a bit, he shuffles out, pale faced and tired. 

"Anyway, you frigging threatened to shove your foot up my ass." He smirks, nodding as I rip another paper towel from the roll.

"Yeah, sounds like me." We remain silent as I finish up cleaning, and he breathes heavily through his stuffed nose. "And, anyway," I grunt, standing back up again after picking up the damp towel by his cold foot. "Even if we could go to class, I would keep you home because of the hangover and stay to watch you." He raises an eyebrow, shuffling after me again as I head to the kitchen to throw away the wet paper towels.

"Really? You would do that?" I sigh, looking up to him and nodding exasperatedly. 

"Yes, Hamilton, I'm not some stuck up bitch. I can care for other people." He looks down and fiddles with his fingers, hair falling into his face.

"Sorry.." I run a hand through my hair and walk over to him, looking down at his cute little blush.

"It's fine. And see, we can get by without fighting." He bites his lip, looking down even further and blushing more. "It's not so hard." I turn back around to the counter, peering into the oven.