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Keith spits into the toilet, trying to rid his mouth of the acidic taste. But his actions are fruitless as his stomach rebels again, and he retches over the murky water.
He isn’t sure how long he’s been hunched over the toilet, heaving relentlessly, but it’s been long enough that his torso muscles are sore.
He’s hovering over the toilet, ready for another round of vomiting when he hears the soft creak of the floorboards. He considers locking the door to the bathroom briefly, but his stomach seizes up and leaves him dry heaving.
Keith is so exhausted that his arm slips off the edge of the toilet and he topples forward with no strength to hold himself up. A gentle, warm hand catches his forehead before it hits the porcelain seat and another rests on his back.
“Oh, bud…” Adam’s voice is quiet, sympathetic. “Why didn’t you tell us you were feeling sick?”
The older man’s hair is disheveled, tiredness evident in his expression. It’s clear he just woke up.
Keith opens his mouth to answer, but he gags and lurches for the toilet, bringing up nothing but a string of bile. He clutches the edge of the bowl with trembling hands, trying to swallow down the next unproductive heave.
Adam brushes his bangs aside, rubbing circles on Keith’s back as he does so. “Do you want me to get Kashi?”
Keith manages a nod, his throat working.
With that, Adam disappears down the hall. Keith can hear the creaky floor in the distance, and it’s a minute before Shiro appears in the doorway of the bathroom, rubbing sleep out of his eyes.
“Hey, buddy.” Shiro offers a warm smile that does nothing to mask the concern in his gaze. “Adam said you weren’t feeling so hot.”
“I can’t stop—” he gags, “—throwing up.”
Shiro kneels next to him, feeling his forehead. “Yeah, you’ve got a fever too. You seem pretty empty, bud. Do you wanna move to your bed or the couch maybe?”
Keith shakes his head, letting out a sick burp. “Not done. Stomach won’t … won’t stop.”
Shiro frowns sympathetically. “I know, but you’ve got nothing left in you. Let’s move you somewhere more comfortable.”
Keith wants to protest, but Shiro is already pulling him to his feet. He sways once he’s upright, but Shiro steadies him.
The trip to the couch is painstakingly slow, but once they make it, Shiro wraps him in a blanket and tells him to stay put.
Adam returns then with a glass of water and some sort of pill. “Here, small sips. And this should help with the nausea.”
Keith takes both with trembling hands, gulping down half the glass with the medication.
“Ah… Takashi?” Adam calls. “Can you hurry with the bucket?”
Shiro enters with a small basin and sets it in Keith’s lap just as he pitches forward, vomiting up the water and pill.
“‘M so sorry,” he chokes out, retching again. “So… so sorry.”
Adam smiles reassuringly. “It’s not your fault. Just try to drink a little slower, okay?”
Keith nods, but truthfully, he’d rather not drink or eat anything for the foreseeable future. His stomach finally done for the moment, he slumps back against the couch, an arm slung over his stomach.
“Is your stomach hurting?” Shiro asks, sitting beside him and adjusting his blanket.
Keith shakes his head, afraid that talking will make him gag. “Sore.”
Shiro reaches out to tuck a strand of Keith’s messy hair behind his ear. “How long have you been feeling sick, bud?”
He simply shrugs.
“We’re not going to be mad,” Adam says in his usual matter-of-fact way, more awake now. “We just want to help you feel better, but we can’t do that if we don’t know what’s going on.”
Keith stares at the ground, wringing his fingers. “Just after breakfast. Wasn’t bad until I woke up earlier.”
“Okay,” Shiro says softly. “Can I take your temperature?”
He nods. The thermometer makes him gag when he puts it under his tongue, but he’s able to keep it in long enough to record his temperature.
Adam squints at the tiny screen. “One-oh-one. Not terrible, but not ideal, considering he can’t hold down anything,” he says, mostly to Shiro.
Shiro hums, sending Keith a sideways glance. “You know what this means?”
Keith stares, dumbfounded at how calm both men are being. Eventually, he shakes his head in response.
Shiro grins. “Movie night.”
“Please not the Princess Bride again,” Adam groans.
This only confuses Keith further. “You… aren’t mad?”
Shiro reaches over and ruffles Keith’s hair with a smile. “Why would we be mad? You’re sick, buddy; you can’t control that.”
Keith glances over at Adam, but he seems to be just as unfazed. He can’t fathom what he did to deserve them, but nonetheless, he thanks God and his lucky stars alike.
“Hey, if you can keep down that water, maybe we’ll make some popcorn later,” Shiro offers, scooting closer and putting an arm around Keith.
Keith hums and leans against Shiro, suddenly exhausted. Adam sits on his other side, messing with his already-disheveled hair.
He vaguely hears Adam complaining as he turns on the Princess Bride, and Shiro arguing that it’s a good movie.
And tucked between the two men, feeling safe in a way he can’t quite remember feeling before, he starts to drift off.
With Adam and Shiro on his side, there’s nothing he can’t face.