Thomas was starting to believe he had the worst immune system in the world. Newt was supposed to be the one who got sick more times than he can count, not him. Worse yet, to get sick a week before finals? It was just his luck. It was like his body had a vendetta against him this semester.
He already knew he was sick before he opened his eyes that morning. His dreams were plagued with nonsense and his body seemed to ache in a way that was beyond his muscular level. His throat didn't feel scratchy or dry, thank goodness, but his head felt hazy like someone had turned on the blur function on a camera. He couldn't grasp the thoughts lurking in his head save for the most basic function. There was an ache behind his eyes that pulsed in time to his heart. It made him lethargic. Apathetic.
He was hungry. Exhausted.
He did not want to move for anything.
But making his boyfriends worry about his well-being was something he did not want to deal with.
Thomas forced his heavy limbs to rise. One glance at the clock told him he was up far beyond a time that was socially acceptable for him. Across the room, he gave a tender look to the softly breathing mound that was Newt's body, curled warmly beneath his sheets.
He could hear Minho's snoring just above him, the athlete not yet awake for his early morning run. Thomas struggled to move. His muscles screamed at him to go back to sleep with every step he took, his movements sluggish and unsteady. His chest felt constricted like something was squeezing his lungs with every breath. It was uncomfortable, but Thomas was stubborn. He grabbed his bathroom necessities and dragged his half-dead body to the showers.
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Newt and Minho were already gone by the time he returned. He was grateful for the absence, the silence was music to his sensitive ears. He had struggled through the movements of cleaning himself and nearly panicked when the steam in the shower almost suffocated him. He wanted nothing more than to crawl back into bed and sleep away the sickness.
And perhaps he would. Minho wouldn't be back for another thirty minutes and Newt often took him out for breakfast afterward. A quick nap seemed exactly what he needed.
Thomas collapsed into his bed like a sack of flour and disappeared into the void.
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