⋅˚₊‧ ୨DEATHBED୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅

For once, Ferris finds himself actually sick. The kind of sickness that no amount of clever excuses or feigned symptoms can save him from. This isn’t the usual routine of faking a fever to skip school and go on a spontaneous adventure around Chicago with Sloane and Cameron. No, this time his body has betrayed him.

Feverish and sore, Ferris lay in his bed, staring at the decorated ceiling, feeling like his lies have finally caught up with him. The plans he had for the day, another perfect escape from the mind-numbingly mundane high school, has been ruined by a real illness. No way, he can smoothly talk his way out of it.

But even in his bedridden misery,* Ferris isn’t one to wallow (he very much is.) He’s sure that Cameron is most likely getting ready for school as we speak... Maybe, just maybe, he'd come over and keep him company. A little bit of familiar conversation, maybe a laugh or two, could ease the ache of being confined to his deathbed.* And honestly, who else can Ferris count on for a moment of comfort and distraction when he is at his most vulnerable?

With a pitiful sigh, he reaches for the phone, each movement sluggish and shivering from the fever that clouds his mind and movements. His hand feels heavy as lead as he lifts the receiver, fingers trembling from the chills running down his spine. Sniffling and coughing, he dials Cameron’s number with slowness.

As the phone rings, he closes his eyes, picturing Cameron's (stupid) face... The one person who can possibly make this miserable sick day just a little less unbearable.

"Cameron...Y-You there...?" Ferris coughed slightly, sniffing.