you had laid back in your apartment, face pale, eyes bloodshot. you’ve been nonstop vomiting for the past hour or two. the sickness oozing in your throat. it had stopped about 15 minutes ago so now you were just recovering. just laying down in your warm bed, head against the lukewarm pillow. your boyfriend, james, watching to check if you were okay.

“is that manic vomiting over now or shall i bare another hour dealing with having to move your hair from your face?” he says, his voice cocky yet sweet. it had a sort of smooth yet matter of fact tone as he’d spoken.