a delirious state. [a devereux]

synopsis: featuring a 'you came' A and a 'you called' hunter.

A likes to think they have a pretty strong immune system. Pretty strong, because every so often, there comes a time when A goes to bed perfectly fine and wakes up feeling like they've trekked through hell and back. This is one of those times.

It's five in the morning on a Saturday. A Saturday, for God's sake. They shouldn't be up, having only gone to bed a mere three hours ago (they were trying to beat the next level on this new game they got) but here they are, throat on fire and limbs aching. They let out a groan and reach for their phone, fumbling around until they hit the smooth surface of the device.

It's entirely too bright.

They check over the few notifications they got while unconscious and settle back into their blanket. Mainly spam emails and a coupon for their favourite clothing store, in which they'd been eyeing a jacket for a while now. Any other time, they would have made plans to go today. But alas…

"You're not sick," A mumbles. "You're not sick. You're going to go back to sleep and wake up perfectly fine."

It's not very convincing. Still, they pull themself up long enough to head to their kitchen and swallow a tablet, hoping that the tiny pill will somehow magically cure them over the next couple of hours.

It doesn't.

When A awakes next, they're sweating, their blanket on the floor somewhere after they kicked it in their sleep and their pillows somehow sideways in position to where they first started. They don't even have the energy to even look at their phone, which, for someone as addicted as them, is rare.

The sun is up, so it must be around eight or nine in the morning. Painfully, they shuffle around until their face is close to their device. Their eyes flutter shut as they speak.

"Hey Siri," A rasps. "Text [the hunter] 'I think I'm sick.'"

They wait for the confirmation before turning around, burying their face into something soft. Their head is ringing and they feel like they're going to throw up—no, scratch that. They don't have enough food in their stomach to get anything out. They're so fucking delirious. Maybe water would help. They want water so bad. They vaguely remember leaving a bottle on their desk, but that's all the way across the room. They're scared that if they try and stand up, they'll faint. Not exactly the kind of sight they want you to see when you enter their apartment.

Wait… Why would you come visit them?

Their forehead scrunches in confusion before they suddenly remember that they texted you. Ah. How presumptuous of them to think that you'll come inside. They'll have to listen out for the knock on their door if you drop by with some soup. They're confident you'll do that, at least.

A flips over. Their blankets are colder on this side—a blessing when they're burning up. They hear themself sigh into the cotton before they drift off again, too tired to even feel guilty about sleeping in.

"A?"

You sound like you're underwater. They suppose that's fair, considering their dream is of the two of you scuba diving. They don't know how you got there. One moment you were at work, stressing about an assignment and the levels Caine created to go alongside it—almost like Mario, except much more confusing—and the next, you were in the ocean.

"A."

It takes them a while to realize that you can't speak underwater. A pulls themself out of their sleep, blinking groggily at you as you hover over their bed, brows knit with concern. You hold a glass of water in one hand and a bottle of medicine in the other.

"[Hunter]?" A blinks again, wondering if this is somehow still part of their dream. They reach out and touch your arm, surprised at how cool it is.

You crack a smile, pushing the glass into A's hands. "Good morning."

A looks down at the water, your hand still lightly gripping the side in case they drop it. With the state they're in, they're surprised they haven't yet. Their other hand lays on their mattress, trembling from chills. They pull their blanket closer to their chest.

"You… You came?"

"You called," you answer.

As if the answer is that simple.

A stares at you, bewildered as you make room for yourself on their bed. You don't seem real. You shouldn't even be inside. You shouldn't be near them. You'll get sick. They're going to pass this horrible illness onto you. You should have stayed outside and called them to let them know you were here. You should—

"A," you prompt. Your voice is kind, eyes flickering over A like you're soaking them in. They don't know whether to hide or ask you for a hug. As it is, they do neither, staring at you blankly. "When was the last time you ate?" you ask. "You can't take these on an empty stomach."

A racks their brain, remembering how they felt like vomiting at some point in the night but not being able to because nothing was there. They try to quiet their thoughts, focusing on one idea at a time so they can reply to your question. It takes too long.

But their silence is enough answer for you.

You sigh and shake your head, but not without affection. "I'll go get you something. You stay here, drink that water I gave you." A hand comes up to flatten A's hair, smoothing it against their forehead. "Go back to sleep, okay? I'll take care of you."

"But—"

"But nothing. Don't worry, A. I'm here."

As if they could ever worry when you're next to them. The words envelop them like that much-needed hug they wanted a few moments ago. Per your instructions, they lay back down after taking large gulps of their water before. When they wake up next, you're sitting on their bed with a bowl of soup on their nightstand. It's at that moment they find themself thinking how lucky they are to have you.