You wake up with a pounding headache, and a sore stomach to go along with it. You glance at the clock beside the bed. 5am.
You drag yourself out of bed and grab your crutches to go to the bathroom, running a hand over your face and sighing.
You see that you have big purple bags under your eyes, to your dismay. Your face is not its normal colour, and sickly looking. You sigh again and close your eyes.
Suddenly, a wave of nausea overcomes you, making you want to throw up. You quickly drop to your knees, wincing in pain where your leg hits the tiled floor, and empty the contents of your stomach into the toilet.
You stay hunched over like that for a few more minutes, until you've regained your breath and feel a bit better.
You flush the toilet and wash your face, rinsing out the disgusting acidy taste from your mouth.
Then, you take a quick shower, feeling clean and refreshed afterwards. You wrap a towel around yourself and walk into your bedroom, desperately trying to hold onto the towel and the crutches at the same time.
You put on some casual clothes - a comfortable hoodie, black leggings and stripey woolly socks. You roll one of the legs of the leggings up carefully so it doesn't cover your burn.
You go back to Dan's room. He's still asleep, curled up in a foetal position. You smile to yourself and limp over to the side of the bed, climbing in beside him.
You close your eyes, which seems to help the headache slightly. You can't get back to sleep, though, however hard you try.
After what seems like a few days, but is probably only a few hours, you feel movement next to you. You open your eyes and find yourself looking straight into a pair of brown eyes.
"Hello," Dan whispers quietly, finding your hand under the covers and giving it a squeeze. "You're a bit pale... are you okay?"
"Not really," you admit. "I think I've caught a bug of some sort..."
"Aww, what's wrong?"
"I have a sore stomach, and my head is killing me," you reply, pouting. After you've finished speaking, you feel a warm hand on your forehead.
"You're roasting!" Dan observes, frowning and removing his hand from your forehead, instead moving it down to caress your cheek.
"I don't feel like it," you say, sighing. "I'm really cold..."
He moves closer to you to kiss you on the lips, but you cover your face with your hand. "You'll get sick!" you protest.
"Don't care," he replies simply, moving your hand aside gently and capturing your lips in a gentle kiss.
You blush when Dan pulls away, rolling your eyes at his stubborn attitude. He smiles sweetly at you, his dimples appearing on his cheeks.
"What time is it?" he asks, propping himself up on one elbow and peering over at the clock beside you. "5 minutes past 9... it's so early!"
You close your eyes again, feeling your head throb. "Mhm..." you reply to him, not feeling strong enough to say any proper words.
"I'll get you some paracetamol," Dan says after a short pause. He kisses your forehead and leaves the room.
After a few moments, he comes in again. You open your eyes and see that he has a box of tablets and a glass of water in his hands.
He sits down beside you, perched on the edge of the bed. You sit up slowly, with his arm supporting you from behind.
Dan gets a tablet out of the box and hands it to you, along with the glass of water. You swallow it along with the water.
A low rumbling in the pit of your stomach suddenly alerts you of what's going to happen. You clamp your hand over your mouth and throw the bed covers off you, grabbing your crutches and nearly keeling over from the light-headed feeling. Despite this, you run (as fast as you can manage) to the bathroom, getting there just in time to throw up again.
You hear footsteps behind you, and you whimper in protest. "No, go, please! Don't look at me," you whisper weakly.
"Sshhh, I don't care what you look like, Y/n. You're beautiful no matter what," Dan's voice says, coming from behind you. He comes up to you and puts his hand on your shoulder, giving it a squeeze.
You feel really sick suddenly, and throw up into the toilet again. Dan holds your hair back (or just brushes it back from your eyes or something if you have short hair) for you, rubbing circles into your back.
When you don't feel as sick as before, you flush the toilet and get up slowly, rinsing your mouth out. Your eyes are red and puffy, and you think you look a bit like Voldemort, to be honest.
Dan gives you a sad look and opens his arms wide to give you a hug. "Do you feel a bit better now?"
You nod, running a hand over your face and sighing. You gratefully embrace him, burying your face in his shirt.
"I'll carry you back," you hear Dan say, before you're lifted up and carried back to Dan's room.
He tucks you under the covers and kisses you on the forehead, leaving the room to get your crutches and returning a few moments later with them in his hands.
You hear a knock on the door. "Come in," you say quietly.
Minty walks in, followed closely by Phil. She gives you a wide smile, which turns into a frown as she sees your state.
"She's sick," Dan explains softly, taking your hand and giving it a gentle squeeze. You give him a small smile.
"Oh, that's a shame..." Minty says, grimacing. Just then, a phone starts ringing, playing the Super Mario theme tune.
Minty blushes and reaches into her pocket, pulling out her phone. "That's me... uh, I have to take this. I'll be back," she says, going out and closing the door quietly.
"Well?" Dan asks Phil, giving him a sly grin and raising his eyebrow.
Phil's face instantly reddens. "'Well' what?"
"I assume you know what I'm talking about, going by the blush on your face," Dan replies, chuckling.
"M-maybe?"
"Dan," you scold. "Leave him alone."
Phil gives you an appreciative smile, and looks back at Dan. "I'm never asking you for advice again," he says with an eye-roll.
Dan scoffs, looking offended. "How rude."
Phil rolls his eyes again. "Anyway, the reason we came in here in the first place was to tell you that we've decoded the other part of the code. It's a bit... strange."
Dan raises his eyebrow. "What?"
"It would be better to show you," Phil replies, after a short pause. He hands you a piece of paper, with his neat handwriting all over it.
You squint at the paper, making the letters become slightly clearer. The page is mostly covered with scribbles, but in the middle of it there is a sentence. You focus on it, your eyes widening in surprise.
ROR NGX YOUXKT OE GXZ?
EQSS DT.
(phone number)
Did you figure it out?
Call me.
(phone number)
"We also figured out the last part of the first code..." Phil continues. "It says 'Surprise', but that's not really important..."
You hand the page to Dan, and watch his reaction as he reads it. His eyebrows knit together in confusion.
"Should I call it?" you ask him, chewing your lip.
"I don't know... it's up to you, really," he replies. "I can't decide for you."
The door swings open, and Minty comes in again. "Sorry, again," she apologises.
"Who was on the phone?" Phil inquires.
"My mum..." she replies, her gaze fixed on her shoes. "I have to go."
"Oh..."
There's a short pause. Suddenly, Phil wraps his arms around Minty, taking her by surprise. He pulls back a few seconds later, looking genuinely sad. "Text me?"
"Sure," she replies, waving awkwardly to everyone and going out of the bedroom. Phil follows her, presumably to walk her out.
Once they're gone, you look back at Dan. "I ship it," you say with a laugh.
"Same," Dan replies, giving you a toothy grin. "It's... Phinty?"
"Yeah, that's good," you reply, smiling at him. "Phinty... great."
Dan groans suddenly, falling backwards onto the bed, a hand over his face.
"What's wrong?" you ask, alarmed.
"I'm tired," he replies, letting out another groan, propping himself up on his elbows and looking at you. He closes his eyes and makes a noise of distress, which sounds like "Nya."
You chuckle at him and watch as he gets back under the duvet and shuffles closer to you. You feel his arm snake round your shoulders, pulling you close.
Dan puts his head in the crook of your neck, his eyelashes tickling you. You wriggle away from him and let out a quiet giggle.
"You're tickling me!" you protest, squirming away from him. He lets out a laugh and shuffles closer to you again.
"Stay there," he pleads, pouting at you. "You're comfortable."
"Thanks, I guess?" you reply, laughing croakily and smiling to yourself as he puts his head on your shoulder again.
"I love you," he mumbles, sitting up to kiss your nose, then lying down again.
"Cheeseball," you reply, smacking his shoulder lightly. "But I love you too."