#someone swipes him up and gives him a good home. he is severely unwell and has rows of shark like teeth btw. if you even care | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

suddencolds · 3 years

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Untrustworthy | Genshin Impact

This is a 3k word commission for anon! (I admittedly wrote over the commissioned word count).

Thank you so much for commissioning me and for your kind message 😭This fic was surprisingly very challenging to write, so I’m sorry for the wait; I hope you enjoy!

Requested prompt:

I want Diluc completely miserable with a cold. As much mess as you're ok with. Still trying to function. Until Kaeya can't stand watching anymore and inserts himself as caregiver.

—

It’s subtle at first. Diluc turns away from making a drink to cough tightly into an elbow. Diluc’s gaze pulls uneven as he ducks forward with a barely stifled sneeze into a handkerchief he’s been keeping in his coat pocket. Diluc—when he thinks no one is watching—leans a bit too heavily against the countertop, bracing himself with one arm, and lifts the other hand to massage his temples. as if he’s attempting to drive away a headache that he’s had all afternoon.

It would be unnoticeable, except Kaeya pays more attention than people give him credit for. It would be unnoticeable, except Kaeya is aware that a cold has been making its rounds through the Knights, many of which frequent the tavern—one severe enough to prompt Jean to actually take a sick day, for once, one that seems especially severe this winter and—judging by the absences in his ranks this last week—difficult to avoid.

Diluc doesn’t fall ill often, Kaeya knows. Even now he barely looks unwell, save for the faint flush of his cheeks, the exhaustion disrupting his usually-perfect posture, the sneezes that he keeps stifling into almost-silence.

Either he’s at the start of his cold—before it’s had a chance to get really bad—or he’s putting in an inordinate amount of effort to hide it.

Kaeya suspects it might be both.

“Master Diluc,” he says, when Diluc conveniently stops by one of the tables next to him with drinks. “When does your shift end?”

Diluc’s shoulders stiffen, though he doesn’t turn around to address Kaeya properly. “Three hours from now.” he says, frowning. “if you intend to involve me in one of your late-night arrangements…”

“Oh? Not this time,“ Kaeya says. He lifts his wine to take a sip. “Even if I were, I think perhaps I would have reconsidered.”

“And why is that?”

Diluc says it flatly—unaffectedly—but he only has the luxury of keeping up that act for a few seconds before he’s ducking into his shoulder with a perfectly silenced stifle. It’s such a seamless performance, neatly contained and expertly quiet—really, Kaeya deems himself unworthy.

“Bless you,” he says, though Diluc scoffs, swipes the empty glasses from the table he’s serving, and starts off toward his usual spot behind the counter. “I do hope you are not falling ill, master Diluc.”

Diluc sets the glasses down on the countertop, diligently averting his glance. “I’m fine.”

“Is that so?” At Diluc’s silence, he presses on. “Perhaps you should close up early, just in case. You look like you could use some rest.”

“No need,” Diluc says. “It’s just— “Hiih… hiIIH-nGK-t! Hiih… HIiIH…-!!.... hiIIh-GKt!” The sneezes snap him forward, his shoulders trembling with the motion. He straightens with an almost imperceptible shiver. “—just dust, snf. Perhaps the Knights would be more efficient if you put more time into work instead of investigating less…” Diluc looks to him at last, his jaw tightly set. “...pressing matters.”

“Ah.” Kaeya laughs. “So eager to get rid of me?”

“Your concern is unnecessary. I already intend to close up earlier than usual.”

That’s surprising, to say the least—Diluc usually never cancels plans to suit himself. “So you really aren’t feeling well,” Kaeya says, suddenly worried. If it’s so bad that even Diluc is closing up early...

He must not be doing a good job keeping the concern off his face, because Diluc just scoffs dismissively, crossing his arms over his chest. “It’s not that.” He coughs softly into his raised elbow. “I have somewhere to be.”

“Hmm, to think you said no late night excursions...”

“There’s a banquet tomorrow that I’m expected to attend.”

And yet he won't be closing up for another few hours. And yet he’s here, with the start of a cold, looking exhausted and unwell, and still—for reasons Kaeya can’t fathom—he intends to work late into the night and then spend the entire day tomorrow at some pretentious social event. Kaeya knows that having to entertain strangers is exhausting to Diluc even on regular occasions. He also knows that whatever Diluc is coming down with is unlikely to resolve itself in just a night’s rest.

“For the winery?” he asks. “My, such impressive dedication to the business… surely you can send Elzer on your behalf?”

Diluc’s shoulders tense in a way that suggests that he is as reluctant about attending as Kaeya expected. “I can’t. The host requested my presence.”

“At the very least,” Kaeya says, “You should close up a bit earlier.” He glances over his shoulder to peer through the first floor windows. It’s dark outside—too dark to come to any conclusions, but earlier today, the sky had been too heavy, the air prickling with humidity, the clouds overhead sprawling and dark. “It wouldn’t do you any good to get caught up in the rain.”

“The rain is of no consequence to me,” Diluc says, in the kind of tone that suggests that he doesn’t intend to close up early at all.

“Even with a cold?” “I don’t have a cold.”

Kaeya shrugs. “Well, if you’re certain.” He pushes his mug forward so that it rests on the countertop, right within Diluc’s reach, and counts the mora out beside it. “Goodnight, Diluc.”

He turns on his heels. Years ago, he might’ve stayed longer. He might’ve insisted for Diluc to take care of himself and not left his side until he had.

But it’s been years. Diluc left, and Kaeya tried to muster up the pieces of himself that had existed independent of him—he’d taught himself how to lie, tricked himself into believing that the person he’d trusted most hadn’t left him—and now even though Diluc is back, sometimes it feels as if Kaeya barely knows him at all.

If Diluc won’t take care of himself, then that’s his prerogative. It’s stopped being Kaeya’s problem a long time ago.

—

Kaeya has every intention of leaving Diluc alone.

That is, until he’s at the Knights’ headquarters, listening in on a conversation that he doesn’t quite mean to eavesdrop on but hasn’t gone out of his way not to avoid.

“He keeps taking our work,” one of the Knights says. “It’s awful. Last time we spent all our time finding this one domain—Fatui territory, alright? We had a whole expedition team ready to scout out the domain the next day. Then the next day, we get there and the place is abandoned. Everything’s been scorched. Must’ve been a pyro user.” “How do you know it was him?”

“Trust me, you’d know. How many pyro visions are there in Teyvat? It’s like the legends say. He doesn’t leave any room unturned. He’s more thorough than a team of our men put together.”

“Gentlemen,” Kaeya says loudly, smiling when they startle and turn to look at him in synchronicity. “What are you talking about?”

“The Darknight Hero,” one of the knights offers haltingly. “Last night he took down one of the Fatui strongholds we were planning to deal with. Talk about an annoyance, huh?”

“Oh? How heroic. It seems he lives up to his title,” Kaeya says. His mind is reeling. Diluc? But last night, Diluc had been working late. He’d gone home right after, hadn’t he? It wouldn’t make sense for him to be out last night. Unless, of course...

He would really, really like to believe that Diluc’s self-preservation instincts are better than that.

“I’ve been saying,” says another knight. “We were supposed to be scouting out the area right now. Chances are, there will be nothing left there that’s of any use to us.”

“Seeing as we have nothing to do today,” the first knight says, his expression hardening, “maybe we can conduct a search party for the Darknight Hero instead. See what he has to say about withholding information from the Knights.”

“Let’s not be too hasty here,” Kaeya cuts in, before the other Knights have a chance to offer their assent. “It’s unlikely that the Darknight Hero would be out during the day, isn’t it? Rest assured, I’ll make sure that it’s looked into. In the meantime, have you asked the Acting Grandmaster for a new assignment?”

The knight in question falters. “No, but…”

Kaeya smiles pointedly at him—the kind of vicious smile that, around knights and strangers alike, never fails to intimidate. “Then perhaps you should get to it, don’t you think?”

He waits until he’s sure they’ll be busy with something else. Maybe they’re mistaken. Maybe Diluc had gone to scout out the area on some previous occasion, and the Knights are only now paying witness to his usual efficiency.

Or maybe Diluc has forgone a night of rest in lieu of playing hero to Mondstadt in the pouring rain. And now he’s at a banquet somewhere, with a miserable cold that he’s most likely intent on telling himself he doesn’t have.

It’s been awhile since Kaeya’s been to a banquet. He misses the alcohol, the music, the extravagant decorations. It’s easy enough to tell himself that that’s the reason why he’s going.

—

It’s not difficult to get in. Kaeya is well-acquainted with having to sweet talk his way into lowering someone’s defenses.

Inside the banquet hall, it’s crowded. It is as pretentious a setup as it gets—visitors wearing suits and ballroom gowns, walls adorned with streamers and gold plaques, tables laid out with refreshments of all sorts. The building it’s being held in has at least two floors and too many side rooms to count.

He spots Diluc from across the room—red hair is rare enough that he’s not easy to miss. Diluc is currently engaging in conversation with someone Kaeya hasn’t seen before.

It’s likely that Diluc has found the person who explicitly requested his presence—probably someone with a business deal that he thinks warrants a personal talk with the owner of Dawn Winery. If Kaeya interrupts Diluc while he’s negotiating some sort of once-in-a-lifetime deal, Diluc will never let him live it down. So instead, he grabs a drink as an excuse to get closer and stands a few tables away to listen in.

Up close, Diluc’s cold is practically impossible to miss. His clothes look freshly ironed, but his hair is still damp at the tips—he’s changed into dry clothes, then, but his wet hair seems to only confirm the hypothesis that he was, in fact, scouting out domains last night in the rain instead of getting a wink of sleep. Diluc has always been pale, but now there’s a flush high on his cheeks that Kaeya thinks could only be a result of an impending fever. He is standing with his arms crossed—a last attempt to keep warm, perhaps—with a handkerchief gripped loosely in one hand. Faint shivers break the line of his shoulders.

Kaeya feels a pang in his chest. Diluc looks…

Kaeya watches as Diluc twists away with a soft apology and a wrenching sneeze that snaps him forward at the waist.

...miserable.

“That was merely my expectation,” the man says. “Crepus and I were business partners, do you know that? You don’t seem like the type of person who would choose this profession. I am sure your priorities lie elsewhere.”

Diluc clears his throat. “I have no qualms against upholding the family business.” His voice—though usually smooth and mellifluous—has taken on a rough edge to it, as if from overuse.

“Of course, I didn’t mean to suggest otherwise,” the man says. “I am sure you’re aware of your options, no? You could make a fortune selling off the winery if you so desired.”

“If you are...” Diluc starts, though his sentence is punctuated by a soft, desperate gasp, and he turns away just in time, ducking into his handkerchief. “hiIh…. Hiih… hiih’GKt—CHhiiew! Snf-!” His eyes stay shut in anticipation, the grip tightening around the handkerchief as his shoulders jerk with another sharp intake of breath. “Hiih… Hiiih… Iiih’DZsshh-iu! haAHH’iIKTch-iIIew!” he sniffles wetly, barely suppressing a violent shiver.

“If you are here to gauge whether or not I intend to sell the winery, I can assure you that I do not,” he says, quieter than usual.

“Ah, of course, just a question.” The man leans forward, lowers his voice. “Truthfully, I am more interested in a partnership. It’s come to my attention that you have an excess of wine sitting in the winery’s cellars. If you can get me the amount of Dandelion Wine I need at a discounted price, I can sell it down in Liyue for a profit.”

“I have no interest in expanding the business any further,” Diluc says. “The excess will sell out easily in the spring when demand rises for Windblume.”

“I urge you to give it some consideration. Dandelion Wine is a specialty to Mondstadt. Think about the profitability of expanding to somewhere where dandelions are hard to come by,“ the man says. “You could stand to double or even triple the prices per bottle. I am only asking to take a fraction of your stock, see? Ten percent would be enough.”

He says it as if ten percent isn’t anything substantial, but Kaeya can’t help but think that there’s something wrong here—both with the presentation of the offer and with its suddenness. From here, Diluc’s expression is unreadable—it betrays only slight discomfort when he turns to the side, muffling harsh, forceful coughs into his suit sleeve, and murmurs a reflexive apology. No hesitation—not the slightest hint of wariness—even though the Diluc Kaeya remembers wouldn’t agree to raising prices so drastically without good reason.

“I can handle all transportation and deliver the profits to you in a few months,” the man presses on, interpreting Diluc’s untelling silence as interest. “My associates have done research on the market in Liyue and where it would be best to sell. You wouldn’t have to do anything differently from your end. All that I ask is for you to trust me with the first shipment and compensate me fairly after I handle the marketing and transportation.”

Diluc sniffles. “Forgive me,” he says, bracing himself with one hand against the table behind him as he ducks forward violently into a raised arm. “hiIh’nGKT-chhiEW! HIih… I do n-not… hhH… Hiih-! hiIH’iiikT-CHhiew! Sdf-! Ugh… hiIIH’NGKT-CHhiew!” He leans slightly into his side, and though the gesture is well-disguised, Kaeya can tell just how much he’s bracing his weight on the table. It’s concerning, to say the least. Is he really too tired to stand upright? “...I do not expect to give out so much wine without a proper assessment of the risk. If you believe the model to be profitable, you are free to… t-to… hh-! to purchase…. hiIH… haAA’iiKTT-CHh!-u! hiIh’iiiTSSHhh’uh! snf-!” The congestion in his voice is evident in all of his consonants, and his gaze flickers down to his handkerchief in unspoken desperation, though Kaeya suspects he’s too polite to blow his nose in front of a business partner.

“...You are free to purchase wine at the same rate as I offer other corporate partners. I cannot - coughcough - I cannot offer such a large first-time shipment for free based on only an assumption that it will be successful.”

Kaeya can see the exact moment the smugness drops off of the man’s face. His eyes harden at Diluc’s hesitation, his practiced smile shifting into the approximation of a sneer.

“An assumption? You don’t trust my ability to see the operation through to the end?” He says, still in the same polite, haughty tone of his. “As a long-time associate of your father, I would have thought I would have earned your trust as well. Unless, of course, you simply don’t agree with Crepus’s assessments?”

Kaeya can see the way Diluc’s jaw tightens at the query. He clears his throat softly, though the brief wince that follows suggests that the action is far from painless.

“His vision for the company is - snf - very important to me,” he says simply.

The man waves a flippant hand. “Or perhaps once he left, you decided you knew better? I mean, you have grown up so much, so I’m sure you feel more than capable of handling his affairs, regardless of whether or not you’re doing it his way. I don’t blame you.”

As the man turns around to pour himself a drink, Kaeya sees a flash of blue and gold tucked into his suit pocket. It takes him another moment to realize what it is.

A Fatui sergeant’s insignia—for identification purposes, or just a habit, likely.

This man isn’t a business partner of Crepus’s at all.

Now, the man wheels around, holding one drink in each hand. Alcohol, clearly—though it sparkles, faintly red. “Ah, well. I can’t say I’m not disappointed, but your decisions are understandable. A friend of mine has been working on a drink that mixes certain Liyuen specialties and Dandelion Wine—would you give it a try?”

“I don’t drink,” Diluc says haltingly.

“Just a sip wouldn’t hurt,” the man says, raising an eyebrow. “If you are anything like Crepus, you must have developed quite the refined taste when it comes to wine. Perhaps you could speak for the quality?”

“I’m sorry,” Diluc says quietly. “I am… Hiih… f-feeling… hH…. hiIih’iIKT-chHIew! Sdf!... slightly under the weather.” Kaeya blinks at him, disbelieving. Such an outright admission is practically unheard of, when it comes to Diluc—but then again, it’s a convenient excuse, and Kaeya is not under the impression that he really knows him. Diluc lifts a hand to his face, sniffling hard. “I’m afraid I would not be able to taste it.”

“You state the obvious,” the man drawls, and Diluc’s shoulders hunch slightly as he turns his face away, his cheeks reddening slightly. “Actually, that’s one of the reasons why I recommended this drink. It’s made with Jueyun chilis. Should be good for clearing up a cold.”

“Is that so?” Diluc says, still frowning.

“Perhaps you could speak to its efficacy?”

Slowly—hesitantly—Diluc lifts the glass. The man watches him like a hawk—too eagerly, if anything. Kaeya presumes that he either wants Diluc poisoned or too intoxicated not to be swayed, and hauling home a Diluc who can’t hold his own sounds like more than he’s signed up for, so now would be a good time to interfere. Diluc can be mad at him later.

Kaeya, for all he’s attempted over the years, has plenty of practice making his entrances as obnoxiously showy as possible.

“My, my,” he says, striding in with a drink in hand to settle right next to Diluc. “The esteemed owner of the Dawn Winery.” Just for the way Diluc grimaces at the title, his eyebrows furrowing, he decides this intervention has been worth it. “And… who’s this?”

Diluc veers away from Kaeya to stifle—a soft, near-silent stifle that must be exhausting to suppress.

“A business partner,” the man answers through gritted teeth.

“Must be a busy job,” Kaeya says, snatching Diluc’s drink out of his hand and setting it down on the table behind him. “Given, of course, that you have two.” He takes an efficient step forward and swipes the insignia out of the so-called business partner’s pocket.

“I do wonder why the Fatui would be so interested in the Dawn Winery,” he says calmly, ignoring the man’s indignant yelp of protest. He turns the insignia over in his hands, contemplative. “Did you really think the owner of the largest wine business in Mondstadt would be so easy to scam?”

The sergeant swears. “You asshole—!”

Kaeya reaches for the sword tucked into his belt. He knows it wouldn’t be a fair fight, seeing that the man seems very much unarmed, but it’s as good as anything as a threat. “I don’t suppose you’ll try this again?” he says. “I can’t claim to be the best swordsman in Mondstadt—that title goes to the previous cavalry captain, but maybe tonight I can come in second.”

“You can’t be serious.”

“Oh? Do you want to find out if I am?”

“No,” the agent says. “I wasn’t finished having my conversation.”

“Well, what a shame.” Kaeya doesn’t wait for him to think of a response. He takes Diluc’s arm and turns abruptly to haul Diluc towards the exit.

Diluc goes along easily enough. It’s only when they get outside that the frustration—from watching Diluc push himself, stubbornly, to this extent—boils over.

“Diluc,” he says, turning on his heels. “Really? After a late night shift at the tavern, your first thought was to forgo rest to spend all night scouting out a Fatui domain? In the rain, for that matter?”

Diluc turns away, his expression unchanging. “That’s not worth mentioning.”

“Perhaps you’d claim that attending a banquet directly afterwards is not worth mentioning, either? Your hair’s still wet. And that encounter with the Fatui sergeant—what’s gotten into you? Since when have you been so careless?”

He’s almost certain Diluc can hear the unspoken accusation behind it. This isn’t like you. Diluc is hasty—he has a tendency to overestimate himself and involve himself in situations he knows will be dangerous—but he isn’t careless.

“—I knew he wasn’t one of Crepus’s associates.” Diluc explains, with a soft, liquid sniffle. He turns away, lifting an arm to his face. “I would’ve - hhihH-!! - snf, I would’ve recognized him if he were, sdf.” his eyes drift shut; he buries his face into his suit sleeve, sniffling. “Crepus made it a point to… hiIh…-! hIIIh… to introduce him to everyone he - HIiIIih… sdf-!! ...Everyone he worked closely with.”

“Is that so?” Kaeya says, but it’s not enough. “Then why did you entertain him?”

Diluc is quiet for a moment. When Kaeya looks over, it’s to a dazed, bleary expression before he ducks harshly into his raised elbow with a forceful, “hiIh’nNGKT-chHIEw! hiIH’IITCHh-chhUU!! Snf-!”

He doesn’t lift his elbow from his face. “I w-wanted… snf-! more - hiIh-!...information,” he says. “If I were to know more about what he was planning, it would make it easier for me to find any fraudulent - hiIih-!! Snf-! - transactions in the company’s history if I knew what to - hIih-hiIh’iIKTch-IIiu! Excuse me… snf-! -to look for.”

“Bless you. There are better ways to do that,” Kaeya says. “No need to do it when you’re evidently unwell.”

Diluc peeks out from behind his arm, which he still hasn’t lowered from his face. His face is flushed up to his ears—easy enough to dismiss as fever, though Kaeya knows that’s not all there is to it.

Diluc has always been embarrassed about admitting weakness. Kaeya sighs, fishes through his own pockets for a spare handkerchief.

“I have to say, Diluc,” he says, holding out the handkerchief — which Diluc accepts hurriedly, turning away to clean up whatever mess he’s made of his sleeve - “My weekends would be much less eventful -”

“hiiihh’GKTTt-CHh’yyew! snf-!”

“- if I could trust you to look after yourself,” Kaeya finishes, raising an eyebrow. “Bless you, by the way.”

“I know my limits,” Diluc says.

Kaeya huffs a sigh. “But you don’t honor them, do you?”

Diluc frowns, looking away. “I would have been fine if you hadn’t showed up.”

Kaeya stares at him. It’s half in disbelief, half in exasperation—but Diluc has always been like this, hasn’t he? Insistent on his own self-sufficiency. Hesitant to admit he might, in any way, be infallible.

I would’ve been fine.

“You always are,” he says finally, with a smile that he doesn’t mean.

If Diluc so diligently insists on refusing his help, perhaps Kaeya should take a hint. Mondstadt is a half hour away—less, if he hurries. He quickens his pace. It’s fortunate, he thinks, that the rain stopped early this morning, after—

Diluc grabs his arm.

Kaeya wheels around, suddenly worried that Diluc might be feeling much worse than he’d let on, but Diluc’s expression betrays nothing as he lowers his hand to his side.

“Thank you,” he says—a soft, private admission.

Kaeya clears his throat, waves a dismissive hand. “I assure you, I have plenty more handkerchiefs.”

“No,” Diluc says quietly, looking away. “Not just for that.”

#snz #snz kink #snz fic #sneeze fic #my fic #gen/shi/n im/pac/t #i have been working on this for almost 2 weeks straight #longer than anticipated T-T i planned to finish this before moving back #it was really hard to write ngl (more plot-driven than most of my other recent snzfics)#i hope it doesn't disappoint ;;#(prob the last 2k+ fic in awhile unless my time management is insanely good)#i will still write drabbles if time permits! been wanting to write abt ko/kom/i after playing her character quest #(requests are still open as always! or scenarios if anyone just wants to talk!)#this is actually my first time being commissioned for writing and #it really made me happy!! thank you!

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haikyuu-sickfics · 4 years

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Vomit warning!

Gah, the pacing of this is so out of wack and rushed, I hope it’s at least readable. Anyways, here’s the mass illness Inarizaki I mentioned

Shinsuke Kita was observant.

This was a known fact by everyone on the Inarizaki volleyball team. A fact reaffirmed time and time again whenever he sent a teammate home for showing even the smallest symptoms of illness or for limping ever so slightly to comfort an injury.

In short, he was known to not be a risk-taker when it came to health and wellness.

So why, pray tell, was he allowing a very visibly unwell Atsumu to remain on court, setting wonky balls and diving seconds too late.

The setter’s lackluster performance went unnoticed by no one- even the coaches were shocked at how this very clearly unwell Atsumu had remained unscolded by Shinsuke for so long.

Though a quick glance at the captain revealed why.

His skin was 5 shades paler than usual, bringing out the light pink flush dusting his cheeks. Perspiration, more than what was normal considering the lowkey practice today, glued his fringe down to his forehead.

Well, that explained a lot, Atsumu’s illness went unnoticed by Shinsuke because the latter appeared to be in a strikingly similar state.

Which was also unusual. One would think Shinsuke would be observant and careful of his own health, considering how involved he was in those departments for others. Though, it’s not too difficult to chalk that up to Shinsuke being so delirious that he didn’t even realize his own poor performance. Then again it could also be that that team was currently at a training camp hours away from Hyogo and not much could be done in terms of going home and resting even if one was sick.

So they let it slide, the coaches not doing anything more than sending cautious glances at the two uneasy boys and telling everyone to not push themselves too hard.

It was unsafe, reckless, and by this point, Aran had had enough of it.

“Kita, you’re not looking too good,” he finally spoke up, voicing the teams concerns.

“Yea you look like shit,” Michinari added, turning his attention away from Ren who was practicing his serves and ignoring Aran’s glare.

Shinsuke blinked. Then once more, his eyes wide and uncharacteristically clueless and fully unaware of the rest of the team stealing quick glances in his direction

“Hmm, what do you mean?” He cocked his head to the side, “is that mean to be an insult?”

“No no!” Aran quickly covered, giving Michinari a side-eye, “You just look like you could use a break, maybe get some water and rest.”

Shinsuke blinked again, now growing mildly aware of the fact that the players on the court were not-so-subtly staring at him.

“Yea, maybe you’re right,” Shinsuke finally admitted, swiping the back of his hand against his moist forehead.

“You too, Atsumu,” coach Kurosu added, calling over to the wobbly setter.

“Hah?!” he exclaimed, “Why me?”

Osamu sent him a look that said ‘are you seriously asking that question, you dense idiot’ to which Atsumu replied with a look that stated ‘yes, yes I am.’

After a second or two of the twins having a silent conversation, Aran took the situation into his own hands and ushered the two visibly sick players out of the gym and off into the room where the team’s futons were set up.

“Alright,” Michinari called out with a clap, “Now that they’re gone I’m the only third-year left, so I’m putting myself in charge.”

“What about me?” Ren interjected with a playful smile on his face, signaling his offense was fake.

Michinari looked over to him and smiled innocently before turning to the rest of the team and giving them various things to work on.

Practice continued relatively normal after that, Michinari called out far more inspirational cheers than usual to make up for the loss of the teams two captains.

Though, his enthusiasm died down drastically within 5 minutes. No one paid much mind to this, them all being too absorbed in their individual practice or worrying about the missing teammates. But Rin, who was well versed in Michinari’s seemingly endless enthusiasm, couldn’t help but to worry.

So he discreetly called out for Michinari’s attention, sending him a questioning face and a thumbs-up as his way of asking whether or not the libero was alright.

Michinari shut a thumbs up back, attempting a smile which only made Rin more nervous. The libero’s eyes were furrowed, giving his eyes a rather sad look. The smile resembled more of a grimace, accompanying his seemingly paler than usual skin.

Rin hurried to his friend, fully intent on taking him to the room where Shinsuke, Atsumu, and Aran were settled.

However, just as Rin was 3 steps away, a desperate voice yelled ‘Akagi-san!’ followed by a hollow thump as a volleyball bounced off Michinari’s chest.

Silence fell upon the gym as everyone’s eyes widened, glued on the now floored libero. No one moved, even Rin forget how to put one leg in front of another as Michinari coughed and gagged helplessly, his knees and the plans of his hands pressed against the hard floor.

Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, a splash alerted the gym of Michinari’s heaves finally becoming productive. The awful sound powered Rin back up, a new sense of urgency overcoming him as he knelt down beside his friend and brushed his fringe away from his sweaty forehead.

“Bucket! Someone get a bucket!” A coach called out to the team.

“Ok let’s get out of here now,” Rin began, lightly trying to pull Michinari uo.

The latter shook his head, his cheeks puffed out to alert that he was not done yet. His back arched suddenly, his chin tucking slightly into his neck as sick worked it’s way up his throat.

Just as he was about to open his mouth, a second-year forced a bucket under his chin, holding it above the ground as to not soil the bottom with what was already on the ground. Michinari would’ve given them a thankful look, but intense nausea warned him that now was not the time.

Instead, a loud gag brought a thick wave of vomit splashing into the bin, followed by a couple coughs.

“Water?” Hitoshi offered, using his left hand to extend Michinari’s water bottle to him.

Michinari hummed, lifting his head out of the bin to accept the bottle. He then took a mouthful of water in his mouth and swished it around a bit before spitting it back out into the bin.

After a couple seconds of Michinari swishing out his mouth, he looked over to Rin and nodded. The latter nodded back, standing up and helping Michinari to his feet.

They walked out of the gym together, Michinari leaning heavily on Rin and holding the bin near his waist. Their steps were a bit awkward, a result of the height difference, but they made it work.

Across the gym, watching this ordeal with uncharacteristically wide eyes was Osamu. He had been feeling a little off ever since Atsumu had left, but chalked it up to nerves. It wasn’t unusual for Osamu to see Atsumu sick or hurt and feel the same symptoms, his mother called it a twin thing, but the severity of the symptoms were abnormal. And Michinari falling ill only added to the idea that maybe he wasn’t imagining the nausea churning in his gut and the excess saliva in his mouth.

“Are you okay, ‘Samu?” Rintarou asked, his hands shoved in his jacket pocket and voice deadpanned. It wasn’t that he wasn’t concerned for Osamu’s wellbeing, he just didn’t like expressing it.

“Mn-mn,” Osamu hummed in a negatory response, not feeling comfortable enough to open his mouth.

“Ok… um… do you wanna uh step outside or to where the other sick people are?”

Osamu shrugged, bringing a fist up to his mouth to stifle a burp.

“How about outside, I think air would be nice,” Rintarou stated, tugging at his own shirt collar to cool off his uncomfortably hot torso.

Osamu nodded, turning towards the large door to the outside and walking over slowly, Rintarou keeping pace slightly behind. The coaches ignored them, considering what had just happened moments ago, stopping two people from leaving to get air was a bad idea.

They only took two steps into the green grass outside before a loud retch forced its way out of Osamu. Rintarou looked over with wide eyes as Osamu slapped a hand over his mouth.

“You should probably,” he paused to gulp down his own nausea, “just let it out.”

Osamu looked over to Rintarou before nodding and removing the hand from his mouth. Saliva dripped out as Osamu leaned forward and let his mouth fall open.

A couple feet away, Rintarou was beginning to lose the battle with his own stomach. Instead of standing up like Osamu, Rintarou was crouched down, leaning over his knees which were pressed tightly against his chest. The position did nothing to help his nausea, the pressure actually only served to make him feel more sick.

Osamu lost it first, a sharp gag pressed against his stomach and forced out a small wave of vomit. The sound of it sent Rintarou over to edge, a much thicker wave splashing onto the grass between his feet.

“You’re sick too?” Osamu sputtered out before his body had a chance to revolt once more.

“No,” Rintarou commented sarcastically just before another heavy wave forced it’s way out of his mouth.

Osamu quickly turned his head away from Rintarou, seeing his friend get so violently ill didn’t do anything to help his situation.

“Poor Ojiro,” Osamu whispered-- if he and Rintarou were this sick he could only imagine how bad Shinsuke and Atsumu had it.

Atsumu curled into the bucket on his lap, coughing harshly in an effort to clear his throat from the acidic vomit clinging along its edges. Aran rubbed between his shoulder blades, warily eying Shinsuke who was sitting in a chair across the room unnaturally still.

A loud retch from Atsumu and the sound of liquid splashing in the bottom of the bucket stole Aran’s attention before he had a chance to ask if Shinsuke needed a bucket as well.

Atsumu groaned, hugging the plastic bin even closer to himself and coughed up another wave.

Aran winced in sympathy, not knowing what else to do other than continue to rub circles onto Atsumu’s back.

Across the room Shinsuke slowly stood up, his eyes containing their usual wideness and empty stare.

Aran didn’t think much of it.

He should have.

Without noise, Shinsuke leaned forward and opened his mouth. After one silent retch and a back arch, a wave of sick fell onto the floor.

It was so quiet that Aran didn’t even hear, not until Ren and Michinari walked through the door and pointed it out.

Aran groaned, Michinari laughed dryly, Ren whimpered, Atsumu coughed, Shinsuke threw up another wave.

“Rag. I’ll get a rag,” Ren informed, leaving the room.

“How many more?” Aran asked Michinari as the latter sat down.

Michinari shrugged, “Osamu and Rintarou looked kinda shitty but I did just puke on the floor so it’s hard to say.”

Aran nodded. Best situation was they caught whatever was going around early enough to keep it between the current people in the room. Worst situation was everyone got it-- an unlikely situation but one to consider nonetheless.

Ren returned, moist rag, cup of water and bucket in hand, and walked over to Shinsuke.

“Take a seat,” he commanded gently, guiding Shinsuke to a sitting position and handing him a bucket.

Shinsuke’s eyes were glazed with fever, he was far out of it and didn’t seem to be coming back any time soon. Ren set the glass next to him, making sure the latter saw it before walking over to Aran.

“How long has Atsumu been like that?” He asked as Atsumu spit out another wave.

“Why are you talking like I’m not even here?” Atsumu exclaimed with overexaggerated offense.

“You don’t seem to be in a situation to have a conversation,” Ren pointed out.

“How dare y-” a burp cut Atsumu off, forcing him to hang his head over the bucket once more.

Michinari laughed at him before his own nausea spiked and forced him over his bucket once more.

“He threw up in the hall on the way here,” Aran answered Rin’s earlier question, “been like this since. Shinsuke got sick just before you got here.”

Ren let his head fall back.

Today was going to be a long day.

#tw: vomit #tw: emeto #emeto #sickfic #haikyuu sickfic

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stephaniavaux83-blog · 7 years

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