Stirring awake, Phillip felt off. He lay still in bed, humming quietly to himself, trying to figure out what woke him. His face scrunched up, and he sighed. What was it?

Then, abruptly, he felt queasy. He clenched his jaw, swallowing as his mouth filled with saliva. Oh god–

He sat up, gagging. He threw the blankets off, not in the right state of mind to be mindful of the fact his spouse was sleeping beside him. He stumbled out of bed, heading to the bathroom.

Fuck, fuck, fuck– he thought, hurriedly kneeling in front of the toilet, feeling his upset stomach spew up whatever it was that had him feeling this way. He cringed at both the taste and the smell of v*mit, shuddering in revulsion at the sound. He groans, leaning his forehead against the cold tiled wall. He was panting, stomach still rolling.

"Fuck did I–" he gags again, whining to himself. Good god, it hurt.