After swallowing down the medicine and water, Omi settles back against the pillows and is asleep within five minutes.
He stays that way for several hours. A few times, he half-wakes, with his eyes opening for a few moments and only taking in the fact that he's inside and extremely comfortable and moving would take more energy than he has. Then he drifts back off.
When he finally does wake, he's confused at first about where he is. He knows he's comfortable, and that the room doesn't look at all familiar. There's something damp and a little cool on his forehead. And he's hungry, but the thought of food turns his stomach. His mouth is dry.
And sitting close by, slumped in an armchair, is a man with long blond hair who looks vaguely familiar. Asleep by the looks of it. Has he been keeping watch over him...?
Omi tries to keep his groan quiet as he pushes himself upright on the couch. All of his muscles feel stiff and sore. Now he feels sick. Stop and let it catch up with you, and sure enough... But the truth of the matter was that there was no outrunning an illness. He'd simply been ignoring it as long as he could, until someone put their foot down and made him come to terms with the fact it was a setback he was just going to have to ride out and get over with. And then that same someone had stayed with him, taken him into a comfortable home and assumed the role of nurse for someone who'd done no more for him than buy him a hot drink.
What a cheap sum he'd paid to get this level of kindness in exchange. He was going to owe this man a daily can of tea for the rest of the year.
no subject
He stays that way for several hours. A few times, he half-wakes, with his eyes opening for a few moments and only taking in the fact that he's inside and extremely comfortable and moving would take more energy than he has. Then he drifts back off.
When he finally does wake, he's confused at first about where he is. He knows he's comfortable, and that the room doesn't look at all familiar. There's something damp and a little cool on his forehead. And he's hungry, but the thought of food turns his stomach. His mouth is dry.
And sitting close by, slumped in an armchair, is a man with long blond hair who looks vaguely familiar. Asleep by the looks of it. Has he been keeping watch over him...?
Omi tries to keep his groan quiet as he pushes himself upright on the couch. All of his muscles feel stiff and sore. Now he feels sick. Stop and let it catch up with you, and sure enough... But the truth of the matter was that there was no outrunning an illness. He'd simply been ignoring it as long as he could, until someone put their foot down and made him come to terms with the fact it was a setback he was just going to have to ride out and get over with. And then that same someone had stayed with him, taken him into a comfortable home and assumed the role of nurse for someone who'd done no more for him than buy him a hot drink.
What a cheap sum he'd paid to get this level of kindness in exchange. He was going to owe this man a daily can of tea for the rest of the year.