Taron has suffered from allergies since long before he even knew richard, and so it was astoundingly easy to convince his fretting boyfriend that such is the cause of his incessant sneezing and the persistent pressure in his sinuses. Of course, he was forced to evict the fact that his throat has been aching with every word he dares to speak from his appeal to richard, but by failing to mention this (along with the truth of his mounting fever) he managed to convince richard to go enjoy a night out with his friends.
Given that their friends are more or less the same group of people, taron had to make an excuse to miss out on the social event himself, but he’d easily fibbed that he needed some alone time. Richard understood. He always did. After all, taron is not the most social of creatures—richard’ polar opposite in that respect—and is known to grow quickly exhausted of social intercourse. Richard would likely have been more surprised to hear he wanted to join in on the “fun” than he was when taron declined his offer to tag along, and so it really is a decent enough excuse. Decent only in that richard bought it, though, because taron is now finding himself very lonely in the absence of his boyfriend.
Something about being ill and miserable makes taron very needy, and he wishes he’d allowed himself to admit the truth to richard: that he feels very unwell and would really prefer not to be left alone. It’s too late for that, though, because at this point richard is undoubtedly having a blast at some bar, serving as the life of the party per the norm. Meanwhile, taron is lying dejected in his and richard’ bed, listening to the sound of rain pattering against the window.
A crack of thunder slices through the night and taron jumps, startled and trembling.
He seizes the duvet wrapped around his shoulders with both hands and tightens its embrace around his shivering form, eyes burning and nose running. His thoughts stray to richard, and a hollow feeling takes up residence in his chest. It feels like he’s got no right to miss someone he’s seen within the past five hours, but still he wishes that richard was curled up beside him, warming his shivering form and stroking his hair until one of them would fall into a contented sleep.
Sleep. The concept is so appealing to his heavy eyelids and pounding head, along with every aching inch of his body, but each crack of thunder and flash of lightning jerks him out of the hazy land between sleep and wakefulness and he knows this isn’t liable to change in richard’ absence.
Whether it’s the fever or the sickness-induced loneliness that’s making him so jumpy is unclear, but whatever the cause taron is too miserable to entertain a thought outside of his lover’s bright grin and gentle touch dispelling the fear. He wants so badly for richard to make the pain go away, to ease the aching of his body and the hot-and-cold feeling indicative of rising temperature. His throat is sore and scratchy, his head all but caving in beneath the pressure in his sinuses, and he itches to feel richard’ presence beside him, radiating warmth and safety and comfort.
Taron wishes desperately that he’d allowed his dignity to split and provide liberation for the truth, but it’s too late for that. He’s already alone; cold, sick, and aberrantly frightened of the raging storm.
Yet again he finds himself sinking into sleep beneath the weight of his exhaustion, and yet again he’s startled fully awake by the deep, rumbling sound cutting through the quiet like a machete. Behind the blinds, lightning strikes and sets the room aglow with a broken, spectral light for all of a few seconds before the room is tossed into darkness again and no sound is audible apart from the missile-like drops of rain assaulting the window and the heavy, shaking breaths that enter and exit taron’s aching lungs with some reluctance.
