Sanders Sides Oneshots and Short Stories

Soup

Requested.

Ship: Pining romantic Prinxiety

Category: Hurt/Comfort

Warnings: Sickness

Summary: ^^^ in the header

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With a soft groan, Virgil pries his eyelids open, wincing as the lamp light blinds him. He fumbles for the cord, yanking it and plunging the room into blissful darkness.

There's a hammer thudding in his head, his temples throbbing with pain. His tongue is dry, his throat parched, and everything aches. He stares up at the ceiling, fighting the urge to verbally express his pain.

Slowly, minding his head, he pushes himself into a sitting position. His stomach growls.

When was the last time he'd eaten? Or slept soundly, for that matter. He blinks a few times, the room lurching dizzyingly around him even though he hadn't stood up yet. He'd been so stressed this week, he had skipped meals and trashed his sleep schedule to finish studying for exams. Senior year sucks.

Legs wobbling unsteadily beneath him, Virgil stumbles to the door and twists the knob, grabbing his water bottle from the desk as he goes. He takes a swig, nearly choking as his head pounds.

Okay. He's okay.

He pauses in the hallway, leaning against the wall. He schools his features, turning his face into an easy mask of indifference, no matter how he feels inside. Patton would worry, Logan would lecture him, and Roman would probably just ignore him. Like always. Virgil's heart aches at the thought of him. Roman had an admirer and didn't even know it.

Taking a deep breath, Virgil walks into the living room, ignoring the nausea that hits him with every step. To his surprise, Roman is lounging on the couch, the TV remote held lazily in one hand.

"Sup Virge," Roman greets, waving with the remote.

"Hey." Virgil stumbles over his own feet, cursing under his breath as he catches the edge of the table for balance.

"You okay?" Roman asks, concern creasing his forehead.

"Yeah, yeah no I'm-" Virgil coughs, his legs collapsing beneath him and he hits the ground with a moan, black encroaching on his vision and then everything goes dark-

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"... Virgil. Virgil, come on dude."

Virgil groans weakly, eyes fluttering open to see Roman leaning over him, a worried expression tainting his features.

"What am I doing on the floor?" Virgil asks blearily, blinking quickly.

"You passed out," Roman replies bluntly. "I took your temperature. You have a fever of 103 and you're paler than Logan. What the heck is going on with you?"

Frowning, Virgil opens his mouth and says only: "And you didn't bother to put me on the couch or anything?"

Roman flushes red. "I gave you a pillow! The point is that you're not taking care of yourself. When was the last time you ate something?"

Virgil thinks for a minute. "I had an apple on Wednesday."

If Roman wasn't angry before, he sure as hell is now. "Virgil, it's Sunday. Are you telling me you haven't eaten anything, anything at all, in over three days?!"

"Sounds about right. Haven't slept over two hours in that same amount of time either."

Fuming, Roman slips his arms beneath Virgil's body and scoops him up, bridal style, and sets him on the couch gently. Before Virgil can protest, he tosses a blanket over him and props his head up with a few pillows. "Now you, mister, are going to sit here and not move until you've eaten something."

"But-"

"Ah-buh-buh!" Roman tuts, cutting him off. "Stay. Here." And with that, he heads into the kitchen.

Virgil can hear the faint sounds of beeping from microwave, and the fridge opening with a sucking sound. A few minutes later, Roman struts back into the room holding a bowl and a glass of water.

"I assume you have a headache-" Roman says, setting the bowl down, "-whether from your fever or hitting the ground, but take an ibuprofen anyway."

Virgil swallows the pills with a groan of mock-despair. "Mooooom-"

"Now eat something," Roman orders. He ladels a spoonful of soup and brings it towards Virgil.

"No," Virgil tries to protest, inching away. "I'm not eating your nasty microwave soup. Nope. Not subjecting myself to your cheap remedies-"

"Just eat the f*cking soup," Roman snaps, and Virgil begrudgingly opens his mouth and lets Roman feed him the soup.

Virgil hesitates, pursing his lips, before saying, "It could be worse, I guess."

"Everyone likes chicken noodle soup," Roman adds matter-of-factly. "Here comes the choo choo train."

"Don't push it."

When the bowl is almost empty, Virgil's eyelids begin to flutter shut, his words slurring as he tries to speak to Roman.

"You're so nice, and I'm not, and that makes me feel... bad..." Virgil mumbles. "And I like you, and you probably think I'm... I'm a meanie, but you're really neat a-and I'd like to feed you soup sometime..."

Roman smiles as Virgil slips into unconsciousness. "Get some sleep, my chemically imbalanced romance." After a moment of consideration, he leans down and presses a quick kiss to Virgil's forehead.

"I'll tell you eventually," Roman says, mostly to himself, then giggles. "Maybe once you sleep a full 10 hours first, though."

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