Mon Cheri | Frerard + Petekey AU

16

CONTENT WARNING: ILLNESS/VOMITING

Mikey:

I feel a hand on my shoulder, shaking it. I think someone's saying my name? I crack open one of my eyes, pretty dazed after my nap. It's Pete. Their hair's damp after their shower.

"Huh? What's happening?" I say, my voice cracking. I must have been asleep for hours.

"You were asleep babe. I, uh, panicked. I didn't really know what to do." Pete says. "I need to check to see if you're running a fever."

"Fat chance. I'm absolutely freezing." I croak out. I feel like I've just swallowed a cheese grater, my throat is really painful.

"Can you sit up for me please love? So I can take your temperature." They ask. I try to sit up slowly, but even that feels too sudden. My vision is swirling, and I feel so dizzy. I grab onto Pete to steady myself. I feel sick.

"Pete-" I start. They run over to the kitchen and find one of our unused trash bags, and I vomit what feels like every meal I've ever eaten. Pete's rubbing my back and holding the bag. They've somehow managed to get onto the sofa next to me.

"It's okay baby, I'm here now." Pete says, kissing my sweaty forehead. "Remember, you have to stay sat up, even though it hurts your head. I don't want you choking on your own vomit. Is there anything else you need?"

"Can you get me some water? I feel like crap." I ask. I also want to kiss them, but I don't want to get them sick, especially not before their big show tomorrow night.

"Sure thing. Do you want to brush your teeth, or do you think you'll be sick again?" They ask. I don't feel like I'm going to be sick again, but I still feel like pure shit.

"Yes please, I love you." I answer, kissing their cheek. They don't seem to mind it, either. I get Roger and hug him close to me, just for a bit more comfort. Pete comes back with my toothbrush and some toothpaste. They pass them to me, and I brush my teeth.

"Who's this, baby?" Pete asks me, holding Roger up and smiling. I forgot they didn't know who he was. Whenever Pete always used to come round to 'study' when we first got together, I would hide him. I was mortified about owning a stuffed animal.

"Oh, erm, that's Roger. He's my childhood bear. Gran and Gampa got him for me when they visited London. I used to sleep with him every night, but now I just have him when I'm sad or sick. He's like a comfort thing from my childhood." I explain, embarrassed that I still have him, and I had to explain him to Pete.

"That's so cute, baby. I hope when we're older you won't feel weird about him being in the same room as us." Pete says, with a lopsided grin.

"He's seen too much already." I say, not wanting to look at my poor, probably traumatised, bear. Pete gives him back to me, and I bury my face in his fur.

"Say no more, love. I still have my giraffe plushie that my Dad won for me at the Chicago city fair that he won for me a week before he cheated on Mom for the first time." They say. Anyway, open wide, I need to take your temperature."

I hate anything medical in my mouth, and I think we're out of the ones that stick to your forehead. The thermometre beeps twice, and Pete takes it out of my mouth. I can see them visibly wince.

"What is it, Petey?" I ask, using my old pet name for them.

"I'm no medical professional, but I think it's safe to say you've got a pretty high fever." They say, showing my thermometer display. 100.4. That's not good.

"But I'm cold, so it makes no sense." I whine, hoping to get a bit of sympathy.

"I know you are, love. How about I get you a cold washcloth to cool you down." Pete says. They've got the patience of a saint to put up with me.