Prompt: Ethan gets sick (like, flu sick, not cold sick) and Will has to come over to watch him so his parents can go out on their long-awaited night out. Basically, I just wanna see how Ethan acts when he's sick.
A.N.- Wow, I'm sorry if this is bad! But I'm sick, and a pounding headache started up while I was writing this D; But I tried!
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I rang the doorbell and waited until Ethan’s mom pulled the door open. She was dressed nicely, and basically hugged the life out of me as soon as she saw me.
“Oh, thank you so much Will!” she cried.
“It’s okay,” I said as she released me. “It’s not a big deal.”
“Yes, it is. My husband and I have had this dinner reservation for months. But the restaurant is over an hour away. There’s no way we could’ve left Ethan by himself when he was this sick,” she said, letting me enter the house and shutting the door.
I followed her upstairs as Greg came out of Ethan’s room. He was dressed neatly in a suit and came over to us.
“He’s not doing so great. I don’t know if we should leave him,” he said, chewing on his lips nervously. “What if something happens, or he has a panic attack?”
“I’ll keep an eye on him. He probably got the flu from my sister since she has it too,” I said with a shrug. “I’ve been taking care of Sonnet while my parents are at work.”
“Thank you so much Will. Please, call us if you need anything, or if he gets worse. I left my brother’s number on the fridge, and he’s only a ten minute drive away if something really bad happens,” Mary said.
“He’ll be fine,” I said. It was just the flu.
I followed Mary down to Ethan’s bedroom. She opened the door and crept in, but gave up on being quiet when she realized that Ethan was awake.
He looked absolutely awful. His face was ashy, there were heavy bags under his eyes, his hair was a hot mess, and he was sweating and shivering.
“You look awful,” I said.
“You look like an asshole. Oh, right, because you are,” he said. His voice was weak and scratchy.
“Ethan, stop that,” his mom said, going over and brushing his hair out of his face. She gave him a sympathetic look and kissed his forehead. “Your father and I are leaving now. Will is going to keep an eye on you. We’ll be back late, so you’ll probably be asleep. I love you Ethan. Just rest.”
“Actually I was planning on doing jumping jacks, maybe throw in a few push-ups,” he said.
“How are you so sarcastic when you’re on your death bed?” I asked. God, did this kid have sarcasm for blood?
“That is a fantastic question. And maybe it’s because-” But before we knew what it was because of, Ethan broke out into a horrible coughing fit. He leaned over and spit into a bucket next to his bed, and let me tell you that it was disgusting.
Mary rubbed his back and kissed his forehead again. “Ethan, honey, we don’t have to go. We can stay here,” she said in concern.
“I’m dying whether you stay or not. So go out and have fun. Will can bury my body in the backyard,” he said, slumping against his pillows.
“Feel better Ethan,” Greg said with a worried frown as Mary walked over to him. The two thanked me about a million more times before finally leaving the house.
I sat next to Ethan on his bed. “You don’t need so many blankets. You’re sweating,” I said.
“I thought sweaty guys were attractive,” he mumbled, closing his eyes.
I reached for the blankets, but he smacked my hand away and pulled them up to his neck. His body was still shivering.
“I’m cold. Don’t touch the blankets,” he said without opening his eyes.
“Sonnet probably got you sick,” I said.
“Benji and Gideon are fine,” he said.
“But you and Sonnet shared a drink,” I reminded him. They had gone to the movies, and Ethan had let Sonnet have some of his drink.
“That is the last time I’m ever nice to someone,” he grumbled.
He broke out into another coughing fit, and I shifted and rubbed his back. I grabbed a water bottle and handed it to him, watching him as he tried to drink the water and ended up coughing it out into the bucket next to his bed.
He fell back against the pillows when he was finally done choking. He curled up, shivering badly now.
“You look pathetic,” I informed him.
But instead of giving me a witty comeback, he simply whimpered. I sighed, realizing he was at the same point Sonnet had hit yesterday. Too sick to even be sassy anymore.
I resumed rubbing his back. He slowly uncurled his body, burrowing deeper into his many blankets. I watched him, feeling bad for him. There was nothing I could do to help him, and I hated it.
“I don’t feel good,” he whispered.
“I know. I’m sorry,” I said, kissing his cheek.
His arm found its way out of the blankets and he reached his hand out blindly. I took it in my free one and squeezed it reassuringly.
“I’m right here,” I said comfortingly.
I looked at him, realizing that this was probably what he had been like before he had mastered the art of sarcasm. Just a weak, broken kid who could do nothing except curl up and wait for the misery to end.
“When you get better, we can go hang out at the park. Maybe listen to a little He Is We,” I said, squeezing his hand again.
“Okay,” he whimpered and coughed again.
I rubbed his back until he fell asleep. I bent down, kissing his cheek. I was still holding his hand. My expression turned sympathetic. Ethan without sarcasm was not something I liked. I really hoped that he didn’t get sick a lot.
