Chapter Text
Roger couldn’t feel his feet. He blamed his shoes. His lovely, expensive shoes, that were now completely soaked through with the snow slush that lined the streets. He had, stupidly, stayed up almost the whole night previously, studying and drinking too much tea and panicking because he realised he was ridiculously under-prepared for his anatomy exam the day before he was set to take it.
He’d shown up three minutes late at 3:18, and had only just managed to charm his way into the room, despite being told he’d have to sit a make up session. He managed to maybe scrape by, he’d have to wait and see for the results, but when he’d walked out, he’d immediately started wilting out of pure exhaustion. He was in dire need of sleep, but coffee would have to do until bedtime. Or he’d hoped so anyway, when he’d entered the shitty little cafe just off campus, ordering the strongest thing on the menu and taken a seat in a corner booth to try to unravel just what the fuck he’d been thinking, pulling an all-nighter the night before an exam.
That plan had backfired, though, when he was shaken awake by a cute waitress, and it was dark outside, his cup of coffee stone cold and untouched beside him, his neck and shoulders aching, with a dark red mark running along his cheek from the table.
“I’m sorry love, we’re closing up. I can get you a new one to go,” she offered, gesturing to his cup, and Roger had to get his brain in working order to try to decode what she’d said, his mind fogged with sleep. He had no idea what time they shut, he’d honestly thought they were one of those ‘24 hour diner’ type deals, they’d always been open when he’d walked past, but apparently not. His exam had finished at 5:30, and he’d been stupid to stop to get coffee anyway, it had been almost dark when he’d ducked in at 6, and it was certainly dark now, and he must have looked pretty dishevelled, because he was shaken out of his thoughts with an
“Are you alright love?” from the waitress, and he nodded and got up, grabbing his coat and shrugging it on.
“Yeah, yeah thanks, sorry,” he was a little bit flustered, and was almost out the door when he turned around suddenly, feeling a bit jarred by the wind blowing in from outside.
“Sorry, erm, what time is it?” he asked, blinking hard.
“Just gone one sweetheart,” she called over her shoulder, and his heart sank. One? That meant in the morning, which meant he’d been crashed out on the table for almost 7 hours, no wonder he was so sore, how the fuck had he not woken up by himself, and he was a bit panicky about getting home. He was already shivering, he hadn’t worn a thick enough coat, but then again he hadn’t expected to be out this late, and it had snowed a little bit while he was asleep, and he should have worn boots but he’d worn his favourite trainers - which were canvas - instead and within minutes the snow slush he was dragging his feet through had soaked through his socks to his skin. That was making him almost irrationally angry, and he found himself muttering every swear word he knew as he walked along.
There was no way there would be any trains or buses running this late, he’d have to walk it, he didn’t have enough cash on him for a cab. He knew it wasn’t that far, but he was exhausted and cold and miserable, and the more he thought about it the more he was sure he’d failed his exam, too. He should have prepared, but every time he tried to study Freddie would distract him with scrabble or Brian would bring him some tea and a biscuit or Deaky would ask him for a hand with something heavy and he’d never get to finish, and trying to get it all done the night before had been a stupid idea which he'd stupidly only just realised. He hoped it would be better than no revision at all, but he didn't have much confidence that it was, and now he was going to freeze to death walking home at one in the morning, all because he’d been an idiot. What a great way to die.
He buried his hands deep in his pockets, trying to quicken his pace a little bit. He really thought he might freeze to death soon, he couldn’t feel his fingers or his toes, he wished he’d taken the waitress up on her offer for a fresh cup of coffee. It might have warmed his hands a bit. He couldn't feel his nose or ears either, he should have worn a hat, he thought. He could keep telling himself that he hadn't dressed appropriately - hell, he was wearing a cropped tee under his coat - because he didn’t think he’d be out this late, but it was really because he just hadn’t thought about it. He’d been in such a rush that he’d figured he’d worry about it if it happened, thinking that it wouldn’t come to that. He always thought it wouldn’t come to that.
But it had come to that, and his tummy was getting cold now, and he didn’t have a solution. He could have stopped at a payphone and called home and gotten Brian or Deaky to come pick him up in the van, but it was past one, they’d be in bed, and if he did somehow manage to wake them up and get them to actually agree to pick him up, he would get an earful, and probably - definitely - have it bite him in the arse later on. Besides, it was only another ten minutes home, it wouldn’t kill him, especially if he sped up a bit. He could see his breath in front of him, thick and hot and coming in short little pants.
He wasn’t much of a runner, but it was warming him up a tiny bit. The problem was, it also made him sweat, and when he was out of breath after a few minutes and had to slow down, he was colder than ever, like his sweat was freezing onto him in the cold air. He finally made it to the lobby of his building, realising that fuck, the main doors locked between two and five in the morning, and he needed somebody to come and let him in from the inside. He buzzed the office once, twice, three, then four times, bouncing on the balls of his feet to keep moving, trying to keep himself from freezing solid, before a very disgruntled looking building manager let him in with a grunt and a warning. He sprinted up the stairs, panting again by the time he reached the door. The second the key was in the lock, the door swung open by itself, only not by itself at all, and he was greeted by a very, very cross looking Brian, practically being yanked inside by the collar.
“Where the fuck have you been? It’s past two!” his voice spat. Roger winced, and looked around to see Freddie, thankfully, coming to his rescue. Maybe.
“Darling! What have you been doing? I thought your exam was over at five, we all thought you’d jumped off a bridge or something!” Freddie was shouting too, but he didn’t sound very cross, more like he was about to cry, and he was being pulled into a tight hug.
“My goodness, you’re an icicle! What have you been doing?!” he asked, wrenching his hands out of his jean pockets and sandwiching them between his own, gasping.
“I fell asleep,” he admitted sheepishly. He saw three mouths drop open. Oh, great, Deaky was up too.
“You fell asleep ? In the middle of your exam?” Brian asked incredulously.
“No,” he sighed, shaking his head, “no I went to get coffee and I just kind of… nodded off,” he mumbled, feeling his cheeks heating up.
“You don’t even drink coffee, Rog. We were going to call the police,” Deaky’s measured voice came next, and he winced. He sounded upset, and Deaky never sounded upset. He shook his head.
“I’m sorry, god , I’m not a little kid, you don’t need to be… sitting up and wringing your hands over where I’ve got to,” he grumbled, feeling himself being steered by the shoulders and pushed down onto the sofa, a blanket wrapping around his shoulders.
“We normally wouldn’t, but you said you’d get dinner on the way home so we were expecting you. And, it’s a Tuesday night so there isn’t really anywhere you could have gone, Rog,” Brian reminded him, and he felt a little bit guilty for worrying them.
“Whatever,” he grumbled, shrugging the blankets off and getting up.
“Darling, how did you fall asleep for that long? Are you ill? How did you get home?” Freddie asked, replacing the blanket, making him scowl. He heard Deaky in the kitchen, switching the kettle on, and just sank back into the sofa a little, feeling a full blown interrogation brewing.
“I just fucking did, okay? I was up all night last night and I forgot about dinner so I went to get coffee so I could actually focus and I just - I don’t know! I fell asleep at the table and the fucking waitress woke me up and told me to get out, and it was too late to get a train, so I walked,” he was getting worked up about it, but then Freddie’s arms were around his neck, and he was hushing him and stroking the little hairs at the back of his neck with his thumb.
“You walked? Oh, sweetheart you could have called, Brian would have come,” Freddie's voice was soft and calming and a bit guilty, and his thumbs were running along his cheekbones.
“Darling, oh, sweetheart we were just so worried about you, Deaky’s right we really were about to call the police, we thought something horrible had happened. How far did you walk? Are you alright?” he was properly fussing now, which distracted him and calmed him down a little bit, and he shrugged.
“From the cafe next to the school, I’m fine my nuts are just frozen off,” he grumbled, and Deaky set a mug of hot tea down in front of him, which he took right away to warm his almost purple fingers. Freddie was soon busy working off his trainers,
“That's a long way, sweetheart. Oh! They’re soaked through! Darling you are an idiot,” he sighed, and he soon had his icy, wet socks replaced by dry ones, and he was starting to feel exhausted and a little bit sorry for himself with everybody fussing over him. Well, everybody except for Brian, who had his arms folded over his chest, still looking very cross with him. He was going to have to make it up to him somehow. He didn’t like it when Brian was cross with him, especially because they shared a bedroom, and especially because Roger had a big fat crush on him and had been trying to ‘woo’ him for two months now, with very little reciprocation.
He was glad when Deaky turned the heat up, and Freddie cuddled up with him, rubbing his hand across his shoulders to try to warm him up, and he stopped being cross altogether.
“Sorry I didn’t call, I panicked,” he mumbled, and Freddie hugged him a bit tighter, and Deaky patted him on the top of his head, and even Brian unfolded his arms and deflated a little bit.
“Just… call, next time, alright?” Brian sighed, exasperated, and Roger nodded. He should have taken off his soaked clothes and had a shower to warm up, and he should have spoken to Brian to apologise properly because he looked like he'd taken ten years off his life with this one ordeal, and his frown had carved another deep line into his forehead, and he wanted to cuddle up with him in his bed and be held and warmed up properly. But he was too exhausted to do anything except to whine softly, and be carefully steered to his bedroom and bundled into bed by Freddie, still wearing his clothes, with a kiss on his forehead, and a tired sounding,
“Goodnight,” from Brian across the room, and he was asleep before his head hit the pillow.
Roger really, really should have taken that shower. He woke up at 7 with a frigid chill running down his spine and a blocked nose. Great. Just what he needed. He was sweating a little bit, too, which was marvellous, and when he got up out of bed to go to the loo he had to grab the wall to stop himself from toppling over. Fuck. He wasn’t going to hear the end of it if he’d gone and gotten himself sick. He felt a pair of eyes burning into him as he stood against the wall, eyes fluttering closed for just a second, and turned to see Brian, sitting up in bed, already dressed, open books spread out over his neatly made bedspread.
“Alright?” Brian asked, eyebrow raised, and he nodded, doing his best to dash out of the room and across to the bathroom without stumbling too much. Deaky was up too, looking like he was ready to leave for class, sparing him a little wave as Roger locked himself in the bathroom. He could smell the fry up that Deaky had made for breakfast, and it made his stomach turn in response. No no no, he wasn’t nauseous, he wasn’t sick, he didn’t get sick, he was fine. He had a lesson at 3, and he’d be fine by then, after a bit more sleep and some breakfast. He went to the loo, not bothering to wash his hands, which was a bit gross, but he was too tired to care, practically crawling back into bed and pulling the covers over his head, earning a concerned glance from Brian.
“Sure you’re alright?” he asked, and he just grunted at him, already feeling himself drifting off, hoping that was the end of it. It wasn't.
“Rog, you’ve got a lecture at 10,” he reminded him, twat , he thought, and he pulled the covers down from over his head for a moment.
“I’m not going to the lecture,” he grumbled.
“That’s not going to get you a passing grade, Brian commented. Roger scowled at him, twat twat twat, before launching his pillow across at him. He lay still for a second, before Brian heard a sheepish,
“Can I have that back?”
He just laughed softly and tossed it gently at the middle of the bed. Roger slipped it back under his head and turned over to face Brian.
“You don’t sound very good,” he said, sitting up and curiously looking over at him. He rolled away from him, and he sighed.
“Want me to wake you up for your lesson?” he asked softly.
“Don’t you have uni today?” Roger grumbled, sounding a bit accusing.
“Not until four,” he replied, sounding too calm and measured and sensible, and it almost made his blood boil, seeing as how rotten he was feeling.
“Want some tea?” Brian offered, and Roger rolled his eyes.
“I’m trying to sleep,” Roger sighed, and Brian hummed.
“Sorry, I’ll be quiet,” he said, a hint of a smile in his voice, and Roger was out like a light, pillow draped over his head to block out the light.
Roger woke again when Brian slammed the door, opening his eyes and seeing him wince.
“Sorry,” he whispered, looking sheepish, sitting down on his bed.
“Mm, right,” Roger sighed tiredly. He hadn’t gotten more than an hour of sleep, he was sure, but when he looked at the clock it was past two, and he was still exhausted.
“You should get up anyway Rog, you need to get ready for class,” he prompted, and Roger sighed dramatically, making a snap decision that he’d rather do literally anything else than go to class today.
“I’m not going in,” he grumbled, pulling the covers back up to his chin and shutting his eyes. He heard Brian’s bed springs creak as he got up again, and his own bed dipped as he sat on the edge near Roger’s legs.
“Like hell you’re not. You haven’t been going nearly enough recently, and you’ve been struggling with keeping up with the work as it is. Stop being lazy and get up,” he said sternly, giving him a firm pat on the leg. Roger rolled onto his back, sitting up a bit to glare at him.
“Brian, could you stop being such a fucking prat for five minutes,” he spat. Brian looked a little bit hurt, but he didn’t say anything about it, folding his arms as he stood up.
“You can get as annoyed as you like, you’re not getting out of going to school,” Brian said, and Roger snapped, kicking his sheets off with flailing legs, looking very cross as he sat up quickly, head spinning sickeningly.
“You sound like my fucking mum!” he spat, and Brian just rolled his eyes.
“Ooh, harsh, Rog,” he said, voice dripping with sarcasm as he went about packing his books into his bag. Roger didn’t really know why he was even doing what Brian said, he just sort of had that way about him. When he commanded you to do something, you just did it, no matter how badly you didn’t want to. He threw on the first pair of trousers he saw, and a clean t shirt. He smelled bad, he hadn’t showered in a bit too long, and his hair was a birds nest, but he didn’t care, grabbing his satchel and slinging it over his shoulder, looking like a mental case, eyes wide as he stared over at Brian.
“There, happy?!” he spat, slipping on a pair of trainers, stepping on the backs as he shuffled away, and Brian rolled his eyes.
“I’ll see you later, then,” he said calmly, waving him off, and Roger slammed the door behind him.
Well, he wasn’t doing the best job of winning him over right now, but he was being an absolute dickhead, so he didn’t care. Well, not until he got on the bus and started drooping like a dying flower and wished he hadn’t gotten so hot headed. He could have put on an act and pretended to be much sicker than he felt and maybe gotten some sympathy, and he’d still be at home, too.
Turns out, had he waited an hour or so, he wouldn’t have had to put on an act at all. By the time he got to uni at three, again just making it on time, his head was swimming, and despite the fact that it was almost snowing again, he felt too hot. He'd had to take his coat off before he'd even gotten into the building, feeling goosebumps rising on his skin from the sudden sensation of cold air, but not really feeling any less warm. He took a seat near the back of the room, hoping maybe he could just sleep it off and nobody would notice.
There was a small flaw in that plan, though, because peculiarly, as soon as he'd dropped his head down onto the desk, his stomach had started churning, even though he hadn't had anything to eat yet today. He had to admit it to himself. He was ill. He was going to get up and take himself home, but his professor was right in the middle of explaining something he was sure was very important to the course, and he felt a bit mean to disrupted the class even though he had to keep swallowing down nausea, making him wince when his own saliva burned his throat. It somehow ached as well, almost like it was swollen. What on earth was he coming down with? He hadn't felt this horrid in a long, long time.
His idea to not disrupt the class was also a bust, though, when he felt his stomach lurch and he knew he'd better get out of there if he didn't want to make a complete fool of himself, so he grabbed his bag and his coat and ran out of the room without so much as an apology. There wasn't any time. He was going to be sick, and he was going to be sick now. There wasn't even any time to run to the loo, the door to the courtyard was closer, and he just managed to shove it open and make it halfway behind a lone bush before he was spewing up tea and bile, and surprisingly, the cornflakes he'd eaten before his exam yesterday, all over the pavement. The courtyard was thankfully almost deserted, and the people who were hanging around didn’t pay much attention to him. It wasn't the first time a hungover looking student had spewed their guts on the concrete, and it wouldn't be the last.
He slouched down against the wall, feeling annoyingly weak and dizzy, needing just a moment to compose himself. He didn't get his moment, though, because when he glanced up he saw the longest pair of legs he'd ever seen quickly crossing the courtyard over to him, hopping the little patch of grass in between the two paths, and he groaned. Of course. Brian, on his way to his 4 o'clock class, which he was early for, by the way, would have caught him in his finest moment, slumped on the ground beside a pile of his own sick. He heard him clear his throat and he looked up, squinting against the annoyingly bright sun, which was all but eclipsed by a mop of springy curls.
“Roger?” he said softly, like it wasn't obvious, and he just dropped his head back down onto his knees. He didn't have anything to say to him, there was no way he could make this better, or worse for that matter. Brian took in the sight in front of him, not entirely sure what to do, wishing he had Freddie with him. Freddie would have already had him cleaned up and bundled in his coat and in a cab on his way home by now, but Brian didn't really know how to approach any of this.
“Is that vomit?” was all he could come up with in an attempt to ‘break the ice’, gesturing to it with his foot. Roger just nodded, head still on his knees, looking positively miserable.
“Is it yours?”
Why he'd needed to add that as a follow up he wasn't sure, he'd seen him being sick after all, but he hadn't gotten a great response from him the first time he'd spoken, and he was feeling a bit nervous. Roger just let his shoulders droop a little more, not bothering to say anything snarky, which was worrying, before nodding once. Brian felt awful about it, really, about having insisted he go to class when he clearly hadn't been feeling well, and he was paying for it now. Karma was a cruel bitch.
“Are you alright?” he asked, crouching beside him on the side that his vomit wasn't, reaching out a hand to awkwardly rest atop his blonde mop, patting it once before deciding he'd better keep still. Roger just shook his head, letting out a noise that sounded like a whimper, and it made Brian's heart hurt.
“Not feeling very well?” he tried, desperately, to get some verbal confirmation out of him, but Roger just seemed to be getting pissed off.
“What the fuck do you think?” he asked, no heat to his words, sounding like he'd swallowed a lemon whole. Brian felt his heart almost split in two as he realised that he really had no idea what he was supposed to do, desperately wanting to help Roger, but finding himself lost as he crouched there, trying not to gag at the smell of stomach acid.
“Come on, I'll take you home,” Brian offered. Roger just scowled up at him, and he felt his cheeks heating up with guilt and shame. He offered him an apologetic look, which seemed to get through to him, somehow, and Roger slumped.
“‘kay,” was all he managed, not making a move to get up, or do anything, really.
“Roger, come on,” he urged, “you need to get up.”
Roger seemed to listen to him, finally, and he slowly rose to his feet, one hand on the wall behind him, looking very shaky. Brian gingerly reached out a hand to hold onto his arm, and Roger didn't shove him off, so he counted it as a success. His heart was still floating around in his stomach, though, and he swallowed down any anxieties he might have had and wrapped his arm securely around his waist.
“Shit, Rog, I'm really sorry. Didn't know you were actually ill,” he tried, hoping it would be enough.
“‘s ‘kay, didn't know either,” Roger mumbled in response, looking very pale and stupidly young. Brian moved his thumb up, finding the back of his neck, rubbing small, soothing circles there, like he'd seen Freddie do. He paused for a moment, not sure if he was ready for walking yet.
“Okay?” he asked kindly. Roger nodded, feeling his heartbeat speed up. He'd wanted this for so long, to be this close to Brian, to have him holding him and comforting him but it was happening all wrong. It wasn't supposed to be happening because he'd been sick on his shoes in the middle of the school, and he wasn't sure how he was supposed to feel about it. Sick, was how he felt, actually. He let his head hang down, allowing Brian to guide the way as they - thankfully slowly - started walking.
“Is the train okay?...” Brian asked softly, keeping his voice low, not wanting to exacerbate any of his symptoms by being too loud. Roger nodded, even though it wasn't, really, it would be a while before the next train and he wouldn't get a seat, and he'd much sooner have been in a cab. He knew none of them had the money for a cab, though, so he just nodded and followed him to the train station. He got a bit scared when his stomach started worrying him again, and he panicked that if he got on the train he'd be sick in front of everyone again, and he started breathing funny. Brian noticed, gently squeezing his shoulder.
“You alright?” he asked, frowning down at him, and he realised with horror that Roger looked like he was going to cry.
“No,” he croaked, shaking his head fiercely. His stomach started cramping then, and he realised he needed to find a toilet very quickly. His eyes darted around, looking for anywhere that might have one, wondering if he'd make it back to the science and technology building. They'd just passed the art and design block, Freddie's building, they'd have a loo, he hoped. He hadn't been in there before, but they would, wouldn't they?
“Rog?” oh, had Brian been talking to him? Damn.
“Mm?” his voice was weak and raspy, and Brian gave him a sympathetic wince.
“I need the loo,” he mumbled, making a face as his stomach cramped again.
“There's one at the station,” Brian told him, and he shook his head. Not only was he quite disgusted at the thought of using a loo at a train station, what was worse was that he didn't think he'd make it. He just shook his head, turning on his heel to head back into the building. Brian followed with a look of worry, a step or two behind him the whole way.
“Are you going to be sick again?” he asked, and Roger shook his head, practically slamming the bathroom door in his face. He winced, leaning against the wall and trying not to think too hard about what he was doing in there. He ended up having to wait a while, slouching down the wall before sitting on the floor, taking out one of his books to catch up on his reading.
Roger reappeared more than twenty minutes later, looking pale and drained and absolutely exhausted, cradling his belly. Brian just winced when he saw him, doing his best to make his face soft.
“Tummy ache?” he asked quietly, and Roger nodded silently, swallowing thickly and turning a bit red. Brian was thinking maybe they'd somehow find the cash to get a taxi home, the poor thing looked god awful, and he didn't know how either of them would handle it if he had an incident on the train.
“Hang on, I'll ring for a cab okay?” he offered. Roger nodded gratefully, leaning against the wall and shutting his eyes, arms wrapped tightly around his aching belly. He bit his lip.
“You should sit down,” he said, and Roger took his advice, slumping into a heap on the floor of the corridor. He hadn't meant there, but he didn't say anything. He just shot him a worried look as he made off down the hall to find a payphone. Thankfully, there was one not too far away, and he called to get a cab ASAP, hurrying back to Roger to get him to the front of the school. He seemed to have wilted even more, if that was possible, and he cringed at the sight of him, practically carrying him to the road at the front of the school.
“Jesus Rog, you look horrible,” he commented. He scowled at that, moving his hand up to smooth his hair down. Brian just laughed.
“It's not your hair mate,” he chuckled, hand finding his waist again, giving him a quick squeeze while they waited. He was shivering beside him, and Brian worried his lip between his teeth until it bled.
“Are you cold?” he asked quietly, getting a nod from Roger, taking his coat off and wrapping it around his shoulders. The air stung his bare arms a bit, but Roger seemed not to be shivering as much now, and Brian counted it as a success.
He bundled him into the cab, sitting across from him in the back, calming down now that Roger wasn't shivering anymore, and he seemed to be breathing a bit more normally.
“Give me a kick if you're going to be sick,” he said. Roger smiled a bit at the rhyme, nodding. They both earned a worried glance from the driver, but he just took them home, thankfully not kicking them out when he got a good look at Roger, which was what Brian had been afraid of.
Brian managed to manhandle him into the lift, giving the cabbie his last fiver with a wince, only getting a few coins change. That was going to bite him in the arse later in the week, he could feel it. The clock had just ticked over 4:30 when they got in the door, and he could hear Freddie complaining about cutting onions in the kitchen.
“Hey!” Brian called into the flat, and Deaky poked his head out of the kitchen into the living room, eyes widening a bit when he saw the pair, Roger wearing two coats and looking like he'd been dragged through the street backwards, Brian's hands on his shoulders firmly, holding him in place.
“Jesus! What's happened?” he asked, carefully taking a little step back into the kitchen when he noticed how pale Roger looked.
“He's not very well I'm afraid. Caught him spewing his guts up outside the tech building,” Brian sighed, and Deaky's eyes went even wider.
“He's been puking?” he asked, blanching when Brian nodded, and Deaky skirted around the outside of the room, practically stuck to the walls, avoiding them both as he made a dash for his room.
“Nope, no, no, not going to- no,” he mumbled to himself, seeming a bit panicked, shutting himself in his room.
“Who's been puking?” Freddie’s voice called from the kitchen, and his head popped out the door too, face setting into a frown when he saw the pair.
“Oh, god, he looks like he's about to drop dead! Brian, stop holding him there like he's a pair or dirty knickers and take him to bed!” he insisted, crossing the floor to take charge. Brian relaxed a little bit when he did. He’d kind of exhausted his - admittedly small - realm of knowledge when it came to caring for somebody.
“Roger, darling you look awful, you've been sick?” he confirmed, sweeping him into his room and sitting him on his bed. Brian followed him, not really sure what else to do, watching as Freddie pulled out a pair of pyjamas that Roger never wore, usually opting to sleep in a jumper and a pair of underwear, tossing them on the bed beside him.
“God, you really shouldn't have told Deaky, he's not going to come out of his room all night now. Don't just stand there, Brian, help him get dressed,” he scolded lightly, moving about the room like a hurricane, and Brian did as he was told. Roger was surprisingly pliant, looking wrecked.
“Oh! I know, I can turn my stew into soup, that'll be good for your stomach darling, I've only just started so it won't be ready for a bit. You won't be hungry for a bit though, will you,” he cooed, pushing Brian aside once he was done helping him with his pyjamas, making sure the pillows on Roger's bed were adequately fluffed before tucking him into bed.
“Now, don't you move, alright?” he instructed, finding the bin from the corner of the room and showing it to him, before putting it down beside the bed.
“If you're going to be sick, do it in that. Brian will go out and get you some medicine, you just get some rest, darling,” he said sweetly, dropping a kiss onto his forehead. Roger hadn't been listening, his eyes were fuzzy and unfocused, and he was already half asleep.