"I wish I were dead," She groans lifting her head out of the toilet bowl to gasp for fresh air. She slaps the flusher desperately.
She shivers as she feels Drew sit beside her, handing her a cool damp wash cloth. Gratefully she wipes off her face. Better still when he hands her a glass of lukewarm water which she swallows greedily, trying to get rid of the wretched taste in her mouth.
"You're not sick," She mutters accusingly, leaning against him because she's tired not because she wants some comfort because she's been heaving her guts out in worship to the porcelain goddess.
"Nope… guess my immune system is used to foreign foods."
"I hate you," she manages to grunt out before ducking her head into the toilet again. "You've murdered me."
Drew laughs at that – if her arms hadn't been replaced by noodles she would've hit him.
"Maybe if you ate more than crap that you can get out of the vending machine you'd be able to handle my kim chee—" Drew laughs. "Speaking of which, it's even better a day later—"
She plots his death between each heave.