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Kakyoin awakens overwhelmingly sweaty and uncomfortable. He does little more than slowly blink as his eyes adjust to the darkness of his surroundings, disoriented. It’s unbearably hot, he thinks, before untangling himself from the thin bed sheets and managing to sit up. There’s movement beside him in the bed followed by a rumbling snore, when he remembers he’s thousands of miles from his own bed and somehow ended up with Polnareff as a roommate in a hotel somewhere in the Middle East. (Of course. Just his luck.) Kakyoin flings the rest of his sheets aside towards his sleeping companion to swing his legs over the bed, trying to ignore the sudden pressure he feels between his eyes. That’s probably not a good sign. Still, he languidly rises from the bed to shuffle his way towards the bathroom for a drink.
The buzz of the AC unit he hears confirms that no, it’s not the room, it’s just him that’s burning up and disgustingly sweaty. He combs a hand through his disheveled hair, head feeling heavy. Heaving a sigh, Kakyoin has Hierophant flip the switch before softly cracking the bathroom door, so that the flood of sudden light doesn’t disturb anyone. Once inside, the redhead rubs his tired eyes and fumbles blindly around for a spare paper cup on the bathroom sink. A turn of the faucet soon yields a small cup of water, which Kakyoin throws back immediately. He repeats this again, at least feeling a little relieved from the coolness the tap water provides. It isn’t enough, unfortunately; the water settles strangely in his stomach and Kakyoin, head down, leans over the sink gripping the counter. His neck feels too weak to support his head right now, which just makes the throbbing behind his forehead seemingly worse.
It’s all too familiar feeling, unfortunately.
He had been the first to settle to sleep, feeling the beginnings of a notorious migraine surface after the five of them had eaten their late dinner. Kakyoin had pushed away his meal at first; he was accustomed to eating dinner much earlier and when it became too late Kakyoin simply lost his appetite. (Polnareff, like always, tried to be obnoxiously overbearing, commenting that Kakyoin should know better than to sleep on an empty stomach, especially in their situation. He had graciously decided not to strangle him with Hierophant.) It wasn’t until Mr. Joestar insisted the redhead at last try to eat something before they settled for the night that the teen hesitantly obeyed, feeling unable to argue.
The result had made him feel slightly queasy, stomach too full at a time when he was normally asleep, and it only went downhill from there. Kakyoin knew he was prone to suffering migraines that triggered awful nausea and light sensitivity. He knew too well when he felt one coming on, and sleeping it off seemed to be his only option before he got hit with it full force. Right now, however, it would be impossible to sleep. So, the redhead stood there, covered in a thin veneer of sweat, hunched over the sink and contemplating what he should do while it felt like someone took a hammer to his skull. It wasn’t until he felt a sudden wave of nausea wash over him that he thought it best to sit down, especially when his knees began to buckle.
Kakyoin summons Hierophant again (who appears and hovers closely by his side like a faithful dog) to fetch a washcloth that is then ran under the faucet and rung out briefly. He has Hierophant hold the now damp cloth while the redhead focuses on returning to bed without making too much noise or immediately losing his dinner. (He should probably be more worried about not vomiting in the hotel, thinking of the cleaning fee it might incur that he’d get scolded for. Probably.) Hierophant helps him into his side of the bed (well, more like it prevented Kakyoin from collapsing right on top of a still snoring Polnareff, who is still obnoxiously spread out), and once Kakyoin has his head elevated slightly by the pillows, it’s gently patting the cool, damp washcloth around its user’s flushed face. The redhead lays there, eyes tightly shut as he settles with the pain. It hurts, obviously, but he endures it regardless, knowing there’s nothing he nor his Stand can do.
(As he thinks this, he feels a tug of...what? Sadness? Disappointment? Hierophant Green seems agitated by his silent affirmation, as he can feel it fidgeting and he realizes what he feels is Hierophant’s frustration at not being able to help him. Kakyoin cracks his sensitive eyes open slightly to see his Stand hovering over him closely, its inanimate eyes focused solely on him. Hierophant isn’t able to physically emote, but Kakyoin knows exactly what its eyes convey: concern and the desire to help his friend. Yes, that’s right, Hierophant is his friend, isn’t it—)
One of Hierophant’s green, slick tendrils draws near, and Kakyoin grunts as his Stand shifts above him and the cool tendril wraps snugly around his forehead, applying gentle pressure. Hierophant presses against him with phantom weight and Kakyoin lets out a breathy sigh, closing his eyes again as he fully relaxes in his Stand’s embrace. Many nights had occurred where this exact situation took place, where Kakyoin laid in bed and let Hierophant comfort him. Perhaps it was a bit juvenile, and ultimately did nothing to assist his current state, but the familiarity of the contact put both him and his Stand at ease.
There’s a moment of relative silence, besides Polnareff’s occasional snore. Kakyoin is half asleep when, suddenly, he feels his mouth begin to salivate in anticipation, and his eyes fly open. Oh, god. Not here, not now—
The redhead quickly throws off his sheets and stumbles to his feet, knowing he may not have much time. Though Hierophant’s visage has melted away, he can still feel the Stand’s anxiety now tugging at his mind. Help? Help Tenmei? Help?
He staggers back into the bathroom, this time forgoing the lights or even closing the door. Kakyoin has barely enough time to lift the lid of the toilet before his nauseousness finally overwhelms him, sinking to his knees as he finally lets go, sick and miserable. It’s too much all at once, and before he knows it, he’s slumped over the toilet’s rim and losing what little of his dinner he did manage to eat. When the wave subsides, the redhead feels weak, thin limbs trembling. Fuck.
“...Kakyoin?” Though he feels like his head is stuffed with cotton, he recognizes his name being called. The teen doesn’t answer, hoping to be ignored until he’s managed to recover. There’s a soft padding of feet that’s joining him in the bathroom and Kakyoin realizes it’s Avdol’s voice. He forgot the older man had roomed with them, being much quieter compared to their French roommate. Kakyoin doesn’t have the strength to at least turn towards Avdol, to assure him he’s fine, there’s nothing he can do, or—
Avdol’s large, warm palm gently rests on Kakyoin’s sweaty forehead for a moment, pushing back the mess of stray hairs sticking to his skin. He’s kneeling beside Kakyoin now, his other hand supporting Kakyoin’s back. The teen naturally stiffens, unused to the unfamiliar touch. (Truthfully, it felt overwhelmingly parental for someone of Avdol’s age. The sick teen briefly wondered if, perhaps, the fortune teller had younger siblings, or even children himself. Kakyoin’s stomach tightens at the thought of the older man leaving behind a family too, much as he had, for the sake of their mission to Cairo.) Kakyoin tries to lift his head but the discomfort is too much, and all he manages is a pitiful groan. He’s exceedingly grateful the older man hasn’t turned on the lights.
“Easy, easy,” Avdol’s impossibly deep voice whispers, and Kakyoin just finally sags in his grasp, exhausted. He just lets Avdol support his weight (which, granted, probably wasn’t much to someone with huge arms like Avdol) while he spits into the toilet occasionally between retching. The vomiting seems to continue impossibly, and all Kakyoin could think of was how miserable he felt. The overexertion caused his eyes to water and blur his vision. All he could do was remain clinging to his patient companion, who still held his damp hair away from his flushed face. There’s a part of the teen that feels like he should be embarrassed; that he doesn’t need anyone’s help, he’s used to taking care of himself, but the way his companion doesn’t interrogate him, only offers his comfort, makes Kakyoin want to sob.
“Do you think you can hold down some water?” Avdol asks softly, once Kakyoin finally spat the remaining contents of his stomach into the toilet bowl. The teen simply nodded, feeling his sore throat burn with every involuntary swallow. His long bang is now glued to his forehead with sweat, and Kakyoin can only imagine he looks like hell, violet eyes watery and dull. Avdol hooks an arm around his back, catching him under his armpit before hoisting Kakyoin’s own limp arm around his neck and carefully lifting him to his feet. It takes a moment for the redhead to balance himself on his weak limbs and it’s all he can do but lean into Avdol’s height. Despite the darkness, he’s still wiping away the evidence of tear tracts marking his flushed cheeks and then wiping dribble from his mouth.
He hears the faucet running meanwhile, and soon another cup of water is being handed to him, which he accepts and sips delicately. The cool water feels immensely relieving to his raw throat. Avdol reaches to flush the evidence of the crime scene before hesitating. Kakyoin is mortified when he hears the Egyptian give an impressed hum.
“You sure can pack away a lot, huh? I’m surprised you still have your bones after all that.” Avdol teases lightheartedly before proceeding to flush the toilet of its contents. His tone convinces the teen it’s only meant to comfort rather than to truly aggravate. It’s...brotherly.
Kakyoin wants to argue that he does indeed feel like his bones are gone. The redhead only manages to groan instead. Avdol snorts a nasally laugh, patting his friend gently amongst his ribs where he supports Kakyoin’s thin frame.
“Alright, careful now.” The Egyptian warns as he carefully tried to guide the teen back to the main room. Kakyoin stumbles, having planted his feet despite himself.
“Wait, Avdol—“ The redhead croaks through a rough voice and cringes when he hears himself. He gestures towards the mess he’s left on the floor from his accident, trying to explain himself but all he can mumble is, “Gonna clean it.”
There’s a pause of what Kakyoin can only assume is astonishment. Avdol just looks between him and to where he’s pointing before clicking his tongue.
“I think we’ll deal with that later, yes? Now, slowly.”
There’s no use arguing and truthfully Kakyoin is little more than a rag doll at this point, being dragged across the floor in the fortune teller’s strong grasp. Slowly, he’s being helped into the bed that Avdol solely occupied just a few moments before. Kakyoin’s brow furrows in confusion as he blinks dumbly up at his companion.
“I figured you would like the extra room.” Avdol explains, offering a small smile as he draws the sheets up to the young man’s chest. “Wait there for a minute, okay?”
Kakyoin watches as Avdol returns to the bathroom. He had to admit that their hotel beds were rather comfortable now that he wasn’t puking his guts out. In fact, he felt reasonably better after that incident. His head still pounded consistently, but it was greatly manageable compared to dealing with nausea and slumping over a toilet. The teen allows himself to sink into his pillows, still faintly smelling of Avdol’s warm scent, and closes his eyes, exhausted. He hears the rustling of sheets followed by the click of the bedside lamp accompanied by Polnareff’s scratchy voice recently drawn out of sleep.
“Kakyoin? What the hell’s goin’ on?” The Frenchman inquires in a half whisper, and it’s remarkably the quietest he’s ever heard Polnareff be. Kakyoin doesn’t answer. Hell, he doubts he still has the energy to hold a conversation with anyone right now.
“Polnareff.” Avdol addresses, a firm tone in his voice as he enters the room again. The teen doesn’t open his eyes, but he imagines his two roommates exchanging looks between themselves if the silence was anything to go by. Then, there’s a dip in the bed as he feels the presence of someone perched near him, though not in his face. He instantly recognizes that it’s Avdol by his warm, uncalloused palms carefully peeling his long messy bang from his forehead, brushing it aside. He feels the teen’s damp skin and hums thoughtfully. Soon Kakyoin feels something pleasantly cold being placed against his forehead: another washcloth.
“Does he have a fever?” Polnareff asks from his side of the room, uncharacteristically seriousness in his voice. Kakyoin would’ve laughed, had he been able to.
“I don’t think so. We’ll see how he feels in the morning first.” Avdol answers, his own voice low but Kakyoin can still swear he feels the rumble of his deep voice, strangely comforting and grounding. “Just let him sleep.”
Kakyoin can feel Polnareff eyeballing him skeptically, but says nothing other than a grunt of acknowledgement. Polnareff then tosses his sheets open for Avdol to climb in beside him. The redhead feels Avdol hesitantly leave his side, and he cracks open his eyes slightly to watch the older man settle into bed himself. Avdol is again quiet before he chuckles under his breath, shaking his head.
“I’ll have a talk with Mr. Joestar about eating our meals so late.”
Polnareff snorts as moves in closer to Avdol’s side, ignoring the rest of the sheets for the other man’s body heat. “You can’t be serious, Mo.”
Avdol just shrugs, but is smiling regardless, which Kakyoin can’t interpret. Confusion settles in his mind when the room is once again overtaken by darkness as Avdol switches off the bedside lamp. He’s lost in thought for a while, just staring blankly at the dark ceiling. He hadn’t anticipated their reactions to be so...well, unbothered. Thus far, while Polnareff was obnoxiously nosy and it felt stifling to have the man nag him over this and that, he hadn’t known Avdol to be exceedingly personal. The fortune teller is friendly in his own way, yes, but now Kakyoin feels strangely overwhelmed with the parental treatment.
The teen sucks in a shaky breath. His eyes are still watery, and a few unshed tears cling to his eyelashes stubbornly. He closes his eyes briefly and when he opens them again, he sees Hierophant hovering above him in a transparent haze. Kakyoin grins weakly.
Bastard. It was you that woke up Avdol, wasn’t it?
Hierophant Green hovers closer until its mask piece gently presses into the crown of Kakyoin’s damp red curls. A smooth, thin tendril intertwines with his fingers as the young man finds himself finally drifting off.
Help Tenmei. Hierophant’s thought affirmed and it was the last thing on his mind before sleep settled in.