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salembutnotthecat · 2 months

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Novemetober (Rescheduled) | Day Twenty

@monthofsick | day twenty: late caretaker (i think i did this right)

introducing some new ocs to take a break from Novak. meet Lucien, the rookie police officer Vanessa (Willow’s girlfriend) has taken as a little brother almost. lucien is very anti-help and vanessa doesnt care, basically

if you want to see more of this oc or any other, PLEASE SEND ME A REQUEST!

tw for emeto, resistance, fever, sick on the job

It's 4:47p.m.

He should be on his way to the station. The 6 to 6 shift. He didn't drive, he needed to catch the bus, and then the train.

Instead, he's half ready, coughing as he tried to catch his breath while leaning over the toilet, spitting after a sudden round of vomiting he hadn't been expecting to endure.

He hadn't been expecting the headache he woke up with, or the ache in his muscles, or the way that moving made his head spin.

Of course, he couldn't skip out on work. That would put everyone on tonights shift at a disadventage. And he couldn't do that to them.

He was shaking. He could feel the way his whole body was almost vibrating, like he had a current of electricity was running constantly through every vein in his body.

He needed to pull himself together. He needed to get dressed, he needed to catch the bus, the train, get to the station. Regardless of how terrible he was feeling.

Vanessa looked at the clock. It was quarter after six. Lucien wasn't here yet. That was unusual.

She picked up her phone, dialing Lucien's number. The phone rang, and rang, and eventually went to voicemail.

"Hey, Jonah," Vanessa said, grabbing her fellow officer's shoulder as he walked past her desk, "Have you heard from Officer Carpentier?"

Jonah thought about it for a second, before shaking his head, "No, I haven't heard from him. Ask Cap maybe?"

Vanessa groaned, tossing the file she was looking over back onto her desk. "Fine."

She got up, heading to Captain Baxter's office.

SHe knocked on the door.

"Officer McAllister?" Captain Baxter looked up from his own paperwork, "Are you here to get your clearance to go on patrol?"

"First of all, I would love to go on patrol, or literally anywhere that isn't this boring ass office," Vanessa said, "But, no. Actually, I was wondering if Officer Carpentier called in?"

"Not to me he hasn't," Captain Baxter shrugged, "Your rookie's a no show?"

"He doesn't seem like he would be a no show, like on purpose," Vanessa said, "But maybe."

A knock on Captain Baxter's door.

"Hey, Vanessa," Jonah is popping his head in the door, "Carpentier is here."

"Great, yeah," Vanessa said, "So, can I go on-?"

"Yes, Officer McAlliser," Captain Baxter said, "Stay out of trouble."

Vanessa stepped out of the office, offering a welcoming smile to Lucien.

"Ready to go on patrol Luci? Vanessa asked.

Something seemed off. Vanessa always prided herself in her perception of things. But Lucien was a special case. He was good at hiding things. Vanessa knew that.

"Are you feeling alright, Lucien?" Vanessa asked, her tone laced with concern as they parked at the riverside.

Lucien forced a smile. "I'm fine, Vanessa. Just a little tired."

Vanessa didn't buy it. She had known Lucien long enough to see through his facade. But she decided not to press him further, trusting that he would confide in her when he was ready.

As they patrolled the streets, Vanessa couldn't shake off the feeling of unease. Lucien's casual attire, a stark contrast to his usual professional demeanor, only added to her worry. But she chose to focus on their duty, hoping that the distraction would alleviate whatever was troubling Lucien.

Their radio crackled to life, dispatching them to a disturbance at a nearby apartment complex. Vanessa glanced at Lucien, who nodded in response. They arrived at the scene to find a heated argument between two neighbors escalating into a physical altercation.

Vanessa and Lucien intervened, defusing the situation before it could escalate further. As they escorted the individuals involved to their respective residences, Vanessa stole a concerned glance at Lucien, who looked paler than usual.

"Are you sure you're okay, Lucien?" Vanessa asked once they were back in the patrol car.

Lucien hesitated for a moment before nodding. "I'm just a bit tired, that's all. Nothing serious."

Vanessa sighed inwardly, wishing Lucien would open up to her. But she respected his privacy, knowing that he would share if and when he felt comfortable.

They continued their patrol in silence, the only sound being the occasional chatter over the radio. As the night wore on, Lucien's condition seemed to worsen, his usual composure slipping with each passing hour.

Around 2:30, Vanessa figured heading back to the station would be better. They could do their paperwork and then Lucien could be out by six.

As they got to the department, Vanessa got out of the car. It took Lucien a little longer.

“I’m going to use the bathroom,” Lucien told Vanessa, “Then I’ll catch up.”

Lucien started feeling nauseous halfway through the patrol. The nausea that had hit him so suddenly that evening, before he came in, was nothing to how he felt now.

His head spun, his body hurt, and his stomach was gurgling and churning in such a way he hoped Vanessa didn’t hear.

“I’m going to use the bathroom,” Lucien had forced out, if only barely. “Then I’ll catch up.”

Maybe taking a breather in the bathroom would settle his stomach. He was off the next three days. He could be as sick as he liked as soon as he got home. But for now, he had to stay healthy. Or at the very least, appear he was in perfect condition.

The button up shirt he tried to put on before work squeezed his stomach back then, but even the loose Portland police department sweatshirt he was wearing felt like a vice grip on his stomach. He knew Vanessa was already suspicious by his attire, but he was begging internally that she second guessed herself.

As Vanessa and Lucien stepped into the station, Lucien's stomach churned violently, threatening to betray him at any moment. He forced a tight-lipped smile at Vanessa before excusing himself, his steps hurried as he made his way to the bathroom.

Once inside, Lucien's legs gave way beneath him as a wave of nausea washed over him like a relentless tide. He staggered to the nearest stall, collapsing to his knees just in time as his stomach revolted with a vengeance.

The retching sounds echoed off the tiled walls, each heave sending shards of agony through Lucien's body. His forehead beaded with sweat, his breaths coming in ragged gasps as he struggled to regain control.

His stomach heaved again, bile rising in his throat like a bitter tide. Lucien gagged, his whole body convulsing as he emptied the contents of his stomach into the toilet bowl. Tears pricked at the corners of his eyes, a silent testament to his suffering.

Lucien’s world was suddenly reduced to the searing pain in his gut and the relentless cycle of vomiting.

Finally, the ordeal came to an end, leaving Lucien trembling and weak, his face drained of color as he slumped against the stall door. He wiped his mouth with toilet paper, his fingers trembling as he reached for the flush handle. But reaching forward, leaning forward, made his stomach lurch again. So, he leaned over the toilet, lips parted as saliva dripped into the bowl.

The shaking started again. The spinning in his head. The occasional clench of his stomach. Everything started again, telling Lucien he was going to vomit again.

Vomit again he did. His stomach lurched, he heaved so hard. Nobody was coming. Just as he liked it. He could puke his guts up, feel temporarily better, and finish the day. No additional concerns necessary.

He heaved, the type of heave he was sure started in the pit of his stomach and roared up his throat. He felt liquid come from his nose, he sniffled between vomiting rounds on instinct and could feel the acid going back up.

He clutched his stomach with his free hand, willing it to be over soon.

As minutes turned into what felt like an eternity, Vanessa's concern for Lucien grew with each passing second. She couldn't shake off the nagging feeling that something was wrong, her instincts as both a police officer and an unofficial older sister kicking into overdrive.

Abandoning her paperwork, Vanessa rose from her desk, determined to check on Lucien. She made her way to the bathroom, her footsteps quickening with each step, heart pounding in her chest.

Pushing open the door, Vanessa's heart lurched at the sight before her. The air was thick with the acrid scent of vomit. Lucien himself was kneeling, leaning over the toilet. Vanessa could see how bad he was shaking. She also saw the way his breaths shook, saliva dripped out of his mouth. She saw everything.

"Lucien," Vanessa whispered, her voice filled with concern as she approached him slowly.

Lucien didn’t look at her. Vanessa could see the way a hand stayed over his stomach, Lucien was trying to gauge whether or not he was going to be sick.

"I'm sorry, Vanessa. I didn't mean to worry you."

Vanessa's heart clenched at the sound of Lucien’s voice. Ripped absolutely raw by vomiting. Without a moment's hesitation, she brushed some bangs away from his suddenly sweaty face.

“You’re burning up,” Vanessa said, adjusting her touch to get a better feel of his forehead and cheeks. “Yeah. You have a fever.”

“I’m sorry,” Lucien tells her again.

"You have nothing to apologize for, Lucien," Vanessa murmured, her voice gentle but firm, she shifted her hands to pet his hair, "You're not alone in this. I'm here for you, no matter what."

But Lucien recoiled from her touch, his shoulders tense with self-doubt. "I don't deserve your comfort, Vanessa. I should be able to handle this on my own."

Vanessa's heart ached at Lucien's words, knowing all too well the weight of his self-imposed expectations. She did the same thing. She was sure it drove Willow up the wall most of the time. But she refused to let him suffer in silence, not when he needed her the most.

"You don't have to do this alone, Lucien," Vanessa said, her voice unwavering. "Let me help you."

Reluctantly, Lucien allowed himself to lean back against Vanessa, his defenses crumbling under the weight of his exhaustion. He felt the warmth of her presence enveloping him like a comforting embrace, soothing the raw edges of his frayed nerves.

“Come on,” Vanessa said, “Let’s head to the break room.”

Lucien nodded.

As Vanessa gently guided him out of the bathroom, her protective instinct kicking into overdrive, she was going through her list of things to grab. To give him.

She led him to the break room, guiding him to the couch. She brought over the trash can, just in case, and grabbed a cup of water for Lucien.

“Here, try this,” Vanessa said, sitting beside Lucien and rubbing his shoulder, “When six comes, you can come home with me, okay? Willow and I will take care of you.”

Lucien's throat tightened at Vanessa's words, a mixture of gratitude and guilt swirling within him. He accepted the cup of water with a shaky hand, taking a small sip to quell the persistent nausea churning in his stomach.

"Thank you, Vanessa," Lucien murmured, his voice barely above a whisper, taking the cup. "But I don't want to be a burden to you and Willow."

Vanessa's expression softened, shifting her hand from rubbing his shoulder to her running her hand through the slight curls of his sweaty shoulder length hair. "You're not a burden, Lucien. You're family. And family takes care of each other, no matter what."

Tears pricked at the corners of Lucien's eyes, overwhelmed by the depth of Vanessa's compassion. Despite his protests, she remained steadfast in her resolve to support him through his ordeal, her unwavering faith in him a beacon of hope in the darkness.

After a few sips of water, he looked at her, and she knew what he was looking for. Vanessa leaned back against the couch, Lucien laid hisbhead on her shoulder.

“I feel sick,” Lucien said, swallowing thick as the water tried to reappear.

Vanessa's heart sank as she felt Lucien's body tense against her, a silent testament to the relentless onslaught of his illness. She wrapped her arm around him, offering what little comfort she could in the face of his suffering.

"I'm here, Lucien," Vanessa whispered, her voice a gentle reassurance amidst the storm raging within him. "Just let it out. I've got you."

With a shuddering breath, Lucien buried his face against Vanessa's shoulder, his body convulsing with another wave of nausea. Then he broke away from her, grabbing the trash can. Vanessa rubbed his back as he heaved, hard. So hard Vanessa wanted to wince.

As Lucien emptied the contents of his stomach into the waiting trash can, Vanessa rubbed soothing circles on his back, offering silent comfort in the face of his suffering. And when the ordeal finally came to an end, leaving Lucien trembling and weak against her, Vanessa knew that they couldn't stay any longer.

"Come on, Lucien," Vanessa said softly, helping him to his feet. "Forget six o’clock. Let's get you home."

“But what about-“

“That cant have a puking officer on duty,” Vanessa shrugged, “And they won’t fire me unless I commit a real felony.”

Despite his protests, Vanessa remained steadfast in her resolve to take care of him, guiding him out of the break room and towards the exit. With each step, Lucien leaned heavily against her, his strength depleted by the relentless onslaught of his illness.

As they stepped out into the cool night air, Vanessa felt a sense of relief wash over her. They may have been leaving work early, but in that moment, nothing else mattered except getting Lucien home safe and sound.

“I texted Willow, she said she has some medicine for you,” Vanessa said, “Just try and rest until I get you to our apartment.”

“I can go back to mine,” Lucien offered.

Vanessa shook her head, “No Luci, you’re coming to ours. Willow and I will take care of you. Just let us, for once?”

And Lucien is too worn out, too nauseous, to disagree.

#emeto #sickfic #emeto fic #emeto cw #emeto tw #fever cw #fever tw #emetophilia #novemetober 2023 #novemetober rescheduled

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salembutnotthecat · 3 months

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Novemetober (Rescheduled) | Day Seven

@monthofsick

day seven: too feverish to think

i started fics for day five and day six but i experienced some offline health issues (ironic, right?) so i’ll either post them later and tag them or just post them on their own after the event. we’ll see.

decided to write another flashback fic. this time of novak in college. totally, definitely, absolutely not based off true events.

this fic happens around novak’s junior year of college.

if you have questions, comments, or requests, feel free to send!

tw emeto, sickness, overwork, stress, panic attack, fainting

Novak sat on his bed, leaning against the wall. He was hunched over his notes, rubbing his eyes in a futile attempt to ward off the exhaustion creeping into his bones.

He grabbed his phone. He checked the time.

3:27AM

Benji stirred in his bunk, his sleep-addled brain registering the soft rustle of papers and the occasional frustrated sigh emanating from his roommate's direction.

With a groan, he rolled over.

"Novak," Benji's voice was exhausted, but he still seemed worried. "You still at it? Have you even slept?"

Novak looked up, "Yeah, just trying to cram for midterms," he mumbled, forcing a smile. "I'll crash in a bit, don't worry about me."

But Benji wasn't convinced. He could see the telltale signs of exhaustion etched into Novak's features, the paleness of his skin, the tremor in his hands as he reached for another textbook.

“Dude, you don't look so good. Maybe you should take a break, get some rest.” Benji said, “Your health is more important than acing these exams."

Novak waved off his concerns, brushing them aside with a dismissive gesture. "I'll be fine, Benji. Just a little tired, that's all. I can't afford to slack off"

“Alright, whatever dude,” Benji said, rolling back over to go back to sleep.

Despite the mounting discomfort, Novak dragged himself to his morning classes, his head pounding and his body aching with every step.

He was freezing when his alarm went off, telling him it was time for class. He slept for maybe two hours, but he felt like he didn’t sleep at all.

Novak pulled himself out of bed, grabbed his sweatshirt, tied back his hair, and grabbed his things.

Breakfast was the last thing on his mind, but the way his head spun and he stumbled into the wall, he knew he had to eat something.

As he sat in his marketing lecture, Novak struggled to focus on the professor's words, his mind clouded by the persistent throbbing in his temples.

The quick breakfast he grabbed had long settled like a rock in his stomach, a queasy sensation churning in the pit of his stomach.

He tried to focus. He did. Now was not the time to not focus. But, he couldn’t make out what the professor was saying. Let alone take notes or retain anything.

He tried to drink some water, take some medicine. Despite his best efforts, Novak's condition continued to deteriorate. Each step became a struggle? his body weighed down by the relentless onslaught of fever and nausea.

As he stumbled through the halls of his college, Novak's world blurred into a hazy fog of discomfort, his mind struggling to grasp the simplest of concepts.

In class, the words of his professors seemed to float in one ear and out the other, lost amidst the cacophony of pain and fatigue that consumed him.

Desperately, he tried to focus, but the fever had dulled his senses, leaving him adrift in a sea of confusion.

Nausea clawed at his stomach. With each passing minute, the urge to just go back to his dorm room and crash for a week was getting stronger. The desire to escape the suffocating confines of the lecture hall and take a cool shower and just sleep this off.

Novak was still holding out on not being sick. He couldn’t be sick. Especially because being sick was brutal on him, more brutal than it was on others. He had always been that way. And it was horrible.

But if he skipped class he couldn’t go to practice. He couldn’t play.

He had to tough it out. Just until midterms were over.

As Novak made it onto the practice field, the weight of his illness hung heavy upon him, each step a struggle against the relentless tide of fatigue and discomfort.

The sun beat down mercilessly, its searing rays only serving to exacerbate the fever that he was sure he had.

Despite the mounting agony, Novak forced a stoic mask onto his face, unwilling to show any sign of weakness to his teammates or coaches.

Novak clenched his jaw, he pushed himself through the grueling drills and punishing workouts, his body screaming in protest with every movement. If he wanted any chance of going professional, he couldn’t afford to lose out on practice or a single game.

As practice dragged on, Novak's strength waned, his limbs growing heavier with each passing minute. Nausea clawed at his insides, threatening to overwhelm him at any moment.

The coach barked out orders, his voice a distant echo in Novak's ears as he fought to keep his focus amidst the haze of fever-induced delirium.

But as the afternoon wore on and the sun dipped below the horizon, Novak was, for lack of better explanation, fucking up royally.

His vision swam, black spots dancing at the edges of his consciousness as he struggled to remain upright. With each passing minute, the world seemed to tilt on its axis, threatening to make him pass out. Or vomit. Something.

Yet still, he refused to quit. With every ounce of strength left within him, Novak pushed himself to the brink. Every bit of energy he could pull was put into finishing out the practice.

He had to finish.

As Novak stumbled back into the dimly lit dorm room, his shoulders slumped with exhaustion, it was evident to Benji that something was seriously wrong.

“Okay. Study, class, practice, now you can sleep, right?” Benji spoke.

Novak shook his head, “Not even close.” He said, setting his bag down by his desk.

Novak grabbed the sweater from the corner of his bed pulling it on.

“I’m… fucking freezing…” Novak mumbled.

Benji watched in concern as Novak sank into his chair, a sheen of sweat glistening on his forehead as he attempted to bury himself in his books. But it was clear that the fever had taken its toll, the lines of fatigue etched into Novak's features betraying his struggle to remain upright.

“That’s the sweater your mom sent you,” Benji said, “Are you sure you’re feeling okay? I think the last time I saw you wear it you were stuck in bed with a migraine…”

Novak waved him off with a weak smile, his voice strained with effort. "I'm fine, just a little under the weather, that's all. Nothing to worry about."

But as Novak attempted to focus on his studies, the fever raged unchecked, a relentless drumbeat of pain and discomfort that refused to be ignored. His vision swam before his eyes, the words on the page blurring into a meaningless jumble of letters and symbols.

With a soft sigh, Novak felt his eyelids growing heavy, his body succumbing to the overwhelming urge to sleep. But before he could succumb to the sweet embrace of unconsciousness, Benji's voice cut through the haze, jolting him awake.

"Gwt in bed,” Benji said. Suddenly his roommate was beside him, shutting his marketing textbook.

“Hey I was studying-“

“Novak, you should really get some rest," Benji started. "You look like you're about to pass out."

Novak's stomach churned violently, a wave of nausea washing over him with sickening intensity.

He buried his face in his hands with a soft whine, shaking his head. He could feel his own fever. Could feel the way his stomach churned. God he felt so sick. When did he start feeling so fucking sick?

Novak's heart hammered in his chest, a relentless drumbeat of panic echoing in his ears as he fought to regain control of his trembling limbs. He forced himself to take slow, steady breaths, attempting to make everything feel less overwhelming.

Novak's hands trembled as he fought to suppress the panic threatening to engulf him. His whole body felt like it was buzzing, like despite the fever there was a live wire running through him.

“Novak..?” Benji asked.

"I'm... I'm fine," Novak managed to choke out, though the words felt hollow and insincere even to his own ears. "Just... need a minute."

But even as he spoke, the nausea intensified, a vicious reminder of his body's betrayal. Not only was he sick, but he was sure he was experiencing… something.

His throat constricted, a bitter taste flooding his mouth as he struggled to hold back the inevitable tide of vomit.

With a desperate lurch, Novak lunged for the trash can by his desk, his stomach convulsing as he retched violently into the bin. Hot tears stung his eyes as he emptied the contents of his stomach once more. He felt his nose running.

“Novak… jesus…,” Benji said, pulling back Novak’s hair.

Novak's chest tightened with each ragged breath, the weight of his sickness and panic pressing down on him like a leaden blanket.

The sensation of Benji's hands on his back, trying to comfort him, only served to exacerbate his distress, sending waves of overwhelming stimulation crashing over him.

"Please... just... stop," Novak gasped between heaves, his voice barely audible over the cacophony of his own suffering. "I can't... I can't..."

But even as he spoke, another wave of nausea crashed over him, leaving him trembling and helpless in its wake. He could feel the panic rising within him, a relentless tide threatening to consume him whole.

There was nothing he could do to stop the vomiting. He was sure his fever was making his panic all the worse. But maybe, maybe that he could fix.

Novak did the only thing he knew to do for the panic. He hugged himself, tried to take breaths between waves of vomiting. He clutched his sleeves in his fists.

Benji pulled his hands away, stepped back. Being a psychology major, Benji could see the panic. The overstimulation.

“I'm sorry, Novak," Benji said, taking another step back “I just... I don't know what to do."

But Novak had no answer to give, no solace to offer in the face of his own torment. The fever made the panic worse. The panic made the nausea worse. The nausea was worse. Novak was going to throw up again.

Benji fetched another trash can, Novak braced himself for the next onslaught, his body wracked with pain and exhaustion.

As Novak's body convulsed with each retch, his fevered mind spiraled further into irrationality, the panic gripping him tighter with each passing moment.

The cycle of sickness and distress seemed never-ending, a relentless onslaught that left him gasping for breath and clinging to the edge of consciousness.

Finally, as the last vestiges of bile dribbled from his lips, Novak slumped back in his chair, his body trembling with exhaustion and his mind reeling from the ordeal.

The room spun around him, the walls closing in as if to swallow him whole, and he fought against the encroaching darkness that threatened to claim him.

Benji hovered nearby, his expression a mixture of concern and helplessness as he watched Novak's struggle.

“You really need to lie down," Benji urged, his voice barely audible over the pounding of Novak's heart in his ears.”Can I touch you to help-“

“No… please, please no…” Novak said. The thought of Benji’s, or anyone’s actually, hands on him make his skin crawl.

Novak forced himself to his feet, his legs trembling beneath him as he staggered towards the safety of his bed. Each step felt like he was walking a mile, his vision swimming and his senses overwhelmed by the sheer magnitude of his exhaustion.

But just as he reached the edge of his bed, a wave of dizziness washed over him. He felt his head tilt back, felt like his knees might buckle beneath him. He reached for the first thing he could reach, thankfully the edge of his bed. His fingers dug into the fabric as he fought to keep himself upright.

"Novak, are you okay?" Benji's voice sounded distant, as if coming from the other end of a long tunnel.

But Novak could barely hear him over the roar of his own heartbeat, his world spinning out of control as he teetered on the brink of unconsciousness.

He moved one more time. Everything gave out at once. His vision, his body, his hearing, every sensation disappeared instantly.

He felt his head hit his arm as he landed on what he could only hope was his bed.

As Novak slowly regained consciousness, the world around him swam into focus, his senses gradually coming back to life after what felt like an eternity lost in the void. His head throbbed with a dull ache, a relentless pulse that seemed to echo with each beat of his heart.

Blinking against the harsh glare of the overhead light, Novak turned his head to find Benji sitting nearby, his brow furrowed with concern as he poured over his textbooks.

As their eyes met, Benji's expression softened, relief flooding his features at the sight of Novak awake.

"Hey, man, you're finally up," Benji said, his voice tinged with a mixture of exhaustion and relief. "How are you feeling?"

Novak tried to speak, but his throat was dry and everything hurt.

“Like I got hit by a truck," he managed to rasp out, his words slurred with fatigue.

Benji nodded sympathetically, reaching out to gently squeeze Novak's shoulder.

“You've been out for a while," he explained, his voice gentle. "Like a day and a half or something. You had a really high fever and a pretty bad panic attack. I've been keeping an eye on you, making sure you're okay."

Novak's brow furrowed in confusion, his memory hazy and fragmented. He sat up slowly, pulling a knee to his chest, resting his head in his hand and using his fingers to block out some of the light in the room.

“Here,” Benji said. There was a click of a lamp, then Benji got up and turned off the lights, “That should help…”

I don't... I don't remember much," he admitted, his voice tinged with frustration.

Benji sighed, his expression sympathetic. "Yeah, you were pretty out of it," he said, reaching for a bottle of water on the bedside table and offering it to Novak. "You woke up a couple of times to drink or be sick, but you were mostly out of it."

As Novak took a sip of water, the cool liquid soothing his parched throat, he couldn't shake the nagging feeling of unease that settled in the pit of his stomach.

"I still feel... off," he murmured, his hand instinctively reaching for his head as a sharp pang of pain shot through his temples.

Benji frowned, his concern deepening. "You might be dehydrated from being sick for so long," he suggested, his voice tinged with worry. "Is there anything else we should worry about?”

“My head is just killing me,” Novak said, taking another sip of water before lying back down as the room seemed to tilt a little.

“Migraine maybe,” Benji said, “From being so sick and all.”

Novak nodded weakly, his body still heavy with fatigue and his mind clouded with confusion.

“Still tired… somehow,” Novak mumbled.

“Get some rest,” Benji said, “Trust me. You need plenty for all the makeup midterms you need to do.”

#emeto #sickfic #emeto fic #emeto cw #emeto tw #fever cw #fever tw #emetophilia #novemetober 2023 #fainting tw #fainting cw #panic attack tw #panic attack cw #i really just went ham on this poor boy and im not sorry #novemetober rescheduled

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