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Simon
I wake up and reach over the bed, expecting to feel the soft, cold skin of Baz. Instead, I feel nothing but sheets.
Where’s Baz? My half-asleep brain looks at the small clock on our (newly-purchased) nightstand. It’s 4:49 am. Now I’m really worried. Baz wouldn’t sacrifice his sleep for anything.
I sit up and eventually see the soft light coming from the bathroom. Even though I should be reassured (Maybe he’s going to the bathroom?), my tail is swishing around and my gut is churning with worry.
I get out of bed and move closer to the bathroom. The closer I get, the better I can hear him. His breathing is muffled and it sounds like he’s crying. Fuck. Did something happen? Is Baz hurting himself? He told me (hesitantly) that he hadn’t really done anything dangerous to himself since before we went to America. Fuck.
“Hey Baz?” I gently tap on the door. “Can I come in?” I stand awkwardly by the door, anxiously awaiting a response from Baz.
After what feels like an eternity, I hear a muffled “Yes”. I open the door and see Baz leaning against the wall across from the toilet, unscathed, but breathing unusually heavy. When he notices my entrance, he turns to face the wall with the tub, opposite of me.
“Baz? What’s wrong?” Why isn’t he looking at me? Did I do something?
“Don’t get closer, I don’t want you to catch it too.” His voice is shaky and thick with unshed tears.
“What do you mean?” Worry seeps into my voice. I didn’t know vampires could get sick.
Baz turns around from his position facing the wall, brings his knees to his chest, and wipes his eyes with his wrists. I settle next to him, placing a (hopefully) reassuring hand on his shoulder while wrapping my tail around his waist. He closes his eyes and rests his head on his knees.
“Do you remember when I told you about this stomach bug that’s been going around Uni?”
“Yeah,” I nod.
I actually remember that conversation. He was complaining that most of his study group had been sick the other week. But what does this have to do with Baz feeling shitty?
“Well I think I might’ve-“ Baz never gets to finish his sentence because he lurches forward and vomits into the toilet.
I’m stunned for a few seconds. This was not what I was expecting, but is it better or worse?
I put my hand on Baz’s back and rub circles as he continues to retch into the toilet. He finishes with a gag and leans his head on the cool toilet bowl. He’s shaking and… crying? Shit.
“Baz, what’s going on?” I cup his head with my hands and turn it so I can see Baz’s eyes. His eyes are unfocused and a broken sob comes out of his throat when his eyes look into mine.
“Please tell me what’s going on, I want to help you.” He looks really bad. His face is really pale and green-tinted (I didn’t know vampires could get that pale). Worst of all, I have no idea what this is. When I got the stomach flu a while back, I never had this bad of a reaction. It was fucking terrible, but I wasn’t sobbing. (Is it worse for vampires?)
“I just- I don’t- I hate this.” Baz’s voice is hoarse from vomiting and crying. “I just want this stomach churning to stop. It’s been going on for a few hours and I don’t want to vomit again and I don’t want to be sick and-“ Baz’s breathing has quickened substantially and his hands are shaking. This isn’t normal for nausea. He’s having a panic attack.
“Look at me.” Baz tries to focus his eyes on me.
“I can’t.” He shakes his head, tears starting to emerge from his eyes. “Please.”
“You don’t have to say please love.” How many times have I told him that? I would do anything for him.
I grab his hand and place it on my chest. “Do you feel my heart beat?”
Baz nods “That’s great. You’re doing so good. Now try to breathe with me, okay?” I exaggerate my breathing. Baz nods again and tries to copy it. His first few attempts don’t really work, but after a few more tries he gets it and tries to match my breathing as best as he can.
“You’re doing so good, love.” He nods for the third time and keeps breathing with me. Even though Baz isn’t hyperventilating, tears are still sliding down his faces and his breathing is erratic. I wipe away as many tears as I can with my thumb.
“Tell me a thing you can hear.”
“Um, your voice.” He grips onto my shirt and exhales.
“Your doing so, so good. Tell me something you can see.”
“Your… your shirt, and my hands.” His breathing is settling down.
“Great job. Tell me something you can feel.” Baz brings his hand up to wipe his eyes.
“Your shirt, my hand wiping my eyes.” He inhales slowly and exhales slowly.
“Perfect Baz, you did so good.” Baz smiles weakly and leans into me. I wrap my arms around his shoulders and lean into him.
~~~~~~~
“Hey, are you feeling a bit better?” I ask after a few minutes have passed. He’s leaning against me and I’m rubbing his back.
“Yeah, a bit.”
I spot a stray hair tie laying on the floor and tie his hair back so it doesn’t get in his face, just in case he vomits again. He must be quite out of it because normally, he never lets me tie his hair back. (Baz and his stupidly annoying hair rules.)
Baz shakes his head. “I mean, my stomach is still churning, but I don’t feel super panicky.” He looks up at me and my heart stops. His eyes are tired and weary and red rimmed and so nervous.
All of a sudden, puzzle pieces start connecting in my mind. Baz refusing to go to the bathrooms at clubs, not drinking more than two drinks whenever we go out, Baz being very busy “studying” when Penny and I got food poisoning a couple months back. (Shep gave us something.)
Tears start to fall from Baz’s eyes again and I wrap Baz in a hug, viruses be damned. He starts crying violently.
“Is it getting worse?” Baz nods and digs his head into my shoulder. His tears are getting my sleeve wet, but I couldn’t care less about my clothing right now. Baz is priority number one.
“Thank you for putting up with me love.” Baz’s voice is barely audible when he whispers into my shoulder.
“It’s nothing at all.” I kiss his forehead and wrap my arm around him.
For the second time that night, Baz lurches forward onto the toilet. There’s nothing left in his system, so he dry heaves for a few seconds instead. I pet his hair, trying to keep it back.
“Darling, come here.” I say when he finishes. Baz lays himself onto my lap and breaks down again, sobbing and shaking into me. I try my best to reassure him by petting his hair and stroking his cheeks.
“Simon,” He says between sobs, “I’m so scared.”
I don’t know what to say to that. All the responses I try to think up don’t seem right. How do I do this? I’ve never met anyone that hated vomiting as much as Baz.
~~~~~~~
We stay in the bathroom for a while. Him leaning onto my shoulder and me supporting him (literally and figuratively).
After thirty minutes, Baz starts getting worse again. He retracts himself from where he was clinging. (Baz won’t admit it, but he’s extra clingy when he’s sick.) He puts his head in between his knees as he starts shaking.
“Please.” Baz whimpers. “I don’t want to do this again.” I really try to help as I can, but I don’t have any magic to make Baz not vomit. (Is there a spell for that?) Crying, he moves away from the toilet bowl and leans back into me.
He has another panic attack right after vomiting. I help in the ways that I can, but I think the only thing that will make Baz more reassured is feeling better. (I wish I could do something.) I don’t think I’ve ever seen Baz in such a horrible state and Baz has been shot full in the chest with bullets before.
Baz seems exhausted. Whether that’s from the sickness or the panic attacks, I don’t know. What I do know is that whenever I get panic attacks, I’m always exhausted after and I know for a fact that this bathroom floor isn’t comfortable (my butt is asleep and tingling). Maybe I should bring Baz to our bed?
“Can I carry you to bed?”
“I didn’t think you’d be into this.” Baz laughs weakly, but the joke falls flat when he grimaces.
“Is that a yes or a no?” I really don’t want to do something Baz isn’t comfortable with.
“Fine.” He rolls his eyes half-heartedly.
Baz groans as I pick him up and place him on our bed, tucking him into the sheets (he’s shivering again). I grab the trash can from the bathroom and place it next to him. Everyone always says that sleep is the best medicine, so hopefully Baz’ll be able to rest and feel better.
Over the next few hours I alternate between comforting Baz, trying to get him to drink water (which he does), trying to get him to eat (which he doesn’t), and sleeping fitfully.
“Love,” Baz nudges me awake with his toes after a brief nap. “Do you… would you mind if… if you could…” He looks down and mutters the last words “rub my stomach? My mother always did it to me when I was sick.”
I smile and nod. Even though Baz’s sick, it’s nice to see how he’s starting to become more open with me. (Even if it’s just belly rubs.) A few months ago, I probably wouldn’t even be sleeping in the same flat and he would’ve just told me he was fine and that would be it.
I carefully place my hand over Baz’s stomach and gently rub circles, applying pressure in different areas. He smiles and closes his eyes, stretching his long limbs across the bed.
“Thank you.” Baz whispers, tucking his head into my neck for the billionth time this morning. (It’s so cute.) He looks so peaceful, it’s hard to believe he just had a panic attack thirty minutes ago. I kiss his forehead and continue to rub his stomach until I hear his breathing even out. His mouth is starting to go slack and little snores are escaping. (Baz always claims that I’m the mouth-breather, but he’s a mouth-breather when he sleeps.) (And he drools.)
Right as I start to drift off, Baz wakes up with a whimper and leans over the bed to puke in the trash can.
“Sorry.” Baz whispers when he’s done, fresh tears creeping from his eyes.
I wipe away his tears with my thumb. “Don’t worry about it. This isn’t your fault.” My touch seems to soothe him, so I keep doing it until he falls asleep again. This time, it seems like he’s going to sleep for a bit longer. I get up and try to do some household chores.
I do the dishes from last night quietly (Baz is a heavy sleeper, but I still don’t want to wake him), and I Google which medicines are good to give to sick people. (I was never sick as a kid, it must’ve been the magic.) Luckily, we have a few medicines in our medicine cabinet that would work. I also learn through research that Baz has emetophobia, the irrational fear of vomit. (I’ll have to tell him about that later.)
When I finish the chores, I go to check on Baz and find him very asleep with drool hanging from his mouth. (He’s adorable.) I decide to leave him alone, so I plop down on the couch and turn on the TV. The first thing I see on Netflix is this new fantasy series about dragon princes and elves. It’s pretty good, but I only catch about 3 minutes of the first episode until I fall asleep.
“Hi.” Baz wakes me up by carding his hands through my hair. He’s standing above me wrapped in our duvet.
“Baz,” I stand up immediately. “You’re supposed to be in bed.” I check the clock an the wall and realize I’ve been asleep for a whole hour. “I’m so sorry, I should’ve checked on you. I didn’t mean to fall asleep.” I cup his face in my hands. “Are you okay?”
“You don’t have to apologize.” Baz smiles wearily and yawns. “I’m kind of hungry though.” He sits down on the couch next to me and leans into me.
“Y’know, if you want me to make you food, you have to let me move.” I start to maneuver Baz off of me.
“That’s homophobic.” Baz pouts, but scoots over nonetheless.
“Well, I feel pretty gay taking care of my sick boyfriend.” Baz sticks his tongue out at me and yawns.
I get up and give Baz a once-over. He looks a lot better now. Less pale and green. He’s still pouting as I walk into the kitchen and grab a slice of bread, putting some medicine on the plate.
“Your Royal Highness is served.” I bow in front of Baz and present him his food. He rolls his eyes, grabs the plate and takes a bite of the toast.
“Thank you.” Baz gives me a quick peck on the lips when I settle down next to him.
“While I was researching I might’ve found a name for what you were feeling.”
“Mm.” Baz hums.
“You just have a regular stomach bug but you also have emetophobia.” I squeeze his shoulder. “It’s the intense fear or phobia of throwing up.”
Baz goes quiet. “That… sounds about right.” He sighs and bites into his toast again.
“If you want, we can talk about it now, but we don’t have to.” I put my arm around Baz, tuck my feet under myself, and turn on the TV for some background noise.
He grabs the medicine and swallows it. “I don’t really know where to begin.”
“It’s okay. Take your time.” I pull Baz’s hand from under his blankets and run my hands around it and through his fingers. He breathes out and leans his head against the couch.
“It’s hard.” Baz inhales and continues. “I don’t know how or why it started, but vomiting has always felt, like horrible. I would plug my ears if I heard it and would close my eyes if I saw it. Some people don’t really care about throwing up, but I would rather break my arm.” Baz sits up from where he was laying. “But right now, I’m just happy you understand and don’t brush it away or make a huge deal about it.”
“Thank you for sharing with me.” I tilt Baz’s head to make him look at me. “I’m glad you told me. I like to learn new things about you even if they’re things you’d rather keep hidden.”
“Thanks for understanding love.” He kisses me on the lips again and pulls away quickly. “Shit.”
“What’s up?” Is he feeling nauseous again?
“I just realized that being this close to me isn’t a good idea. You’re probably going to get sick.” He grimaces. “Sorry.”
I press a kiss to his forehead and snuggle up next to him. “It’s totally fine. I’ll definitely risk getting sick for you.” Baz relaxes and leans into me. The medicine must be making him drowsy because he’s asleep again in a matter of seconds. The coolness of Baz’s body and the comfort of the blankets and pillows make me exhausted too. Before I know it, I’m succumbing to sleep wrapped around Baz.
~~~~~~~
That’s where Penny finds us after hours have passed. She barged into our house after she didn’t hear any texts from us. I think she was just glad we weren’t having sex.
When Penny was done barraging us with questions (and made sure Baz had plenty of chicken noodle soup), she left. Baz and I moved to the bedroom and stayed cuddled up, like two normal boyfriends for the rest of the day.