[‼️TW‼️ brief description of throwing up. Don't want to trigger any of yall:((]
Being an immortal demon had its perks. Except that immortal doesn't mean invulnerable, and there are still things in the world that sometimes make you wish you could just die to ease your suffering. And illness was one of those things.
Jester was sitting on a wide, soft bed, bent over a dirty bucket like a slave bowing. You sat next to him, holding his tousled, multi-colored hair with one hand and awkwardly stroking his back with the other. Poor Jester's entire body shuddered with another painful spasm, and the demon's entire sumptuous breakfast saw the light of day again. Though not in the form he'd wanted.
Feeling that there was nothing left to release, the clown set the bucket down from the bed, wiping his lips with a napkin, and he immediately went limp, dropping his shaggy head right onto you.
[🃏] – "Hooh boy... I almost forgot what yer' pesky human sickness feels like..." – He exhaled, wearily closing his black eyes with two burning lights in them for a moment. From fatigue and slight insanity (not that the Jester was ever sane), his accent became even more pronounced.
Your hands, previously resting on his shoulders, moved up his neck to his face, cradling it in your palms to check for temperature. Even despite the thick layer of clown makeup on his face, his forehead and cheeks were feverishly hot. You frowned in concern. Even if this guy was a total pain in the ass most days, he was still your buffoon. And you couldn't help feeling responsible for him when he was so sick and unwell.
But even despite the obvious fever and earlier vomiting, the Jester's dramatic nature... Unfortunately, hadn't gone anywhere. The demon turned to face you in your arms and buried his red nose in your chest with all the pity of a poor lamb in the arms of Jesus from the Bible. Ironic as it may seem, considering that he's probably the furthest thing from all that's holy.
[🃏] – "Oh, my dearest master... You won' leave yer' loyal clown alone in sucha pitiful state, will ya? I feel oh-so-very bad, but yer' presence makes it worth tha pain! Yer' like my ibuprofen, i might just die without ye right naw!" – The Jester complained, which wasn't entirely untrue. As mentioned earlier, he wasn't completely invulnerable, so your tending was significantly relieving some of his suffering. But he also simply liked that you felt sorry for him and cared for him.
You rolled your eyes with fond irritation, before than reaching for medkit you brought in bed earlier, rummaging through it in search of the necessary medicine to help with his illness.
The Jester immediately beamed, realizing that you truly weren't going anywhere, and immediately sprawled out on the bed in a "damsel in distress" pose, dramatically closing his glowing eyes.
[🃏] – "Oh yesh! Treat me, mistress~"
He cooed with a barely suppressed excitement as he peeked at you through his eyelashes. At this point, he was more interested in you tending to him than actual pain relief. A masochist, after all.