No prompts for this one, loves. Just a flu myself and a marvelous friend who can't make soup (although, thinking about it this may be a real, lifesize prompt of its own).

Disclaimer: I don't own The History Boys, but, lord, I wish I did.

Also, this includes a gay couple, if you didn't read the summary. Now personally I love them and want to marry them both but if you don't like then don't read.

Posner was sick.

It was just a light flu, but the day Posner fainted in English class Scripps' hands didn't stop shaking and, Rudge told him later, he wouldn't bloody shut the hell up. As a matter of fact, Scripps had no memory of saying anything at all -- rather, all he remembered was one thought going round and round in his head, hitting against his skull painfully; He'd better be okay. He'd better be okay.

Posner was okay; he was sent home for some long-needed rest, and at the end of school Scripps instantly volunteered to bring Posner his homework, yelling and waving his hand higher than everyone else's, especially once he realised Posner had probably crashed at his house since it was closer to the school.

When he got home, throwing the door open with a bang and rushing into his bedroom, Scripps found Posner drowsily watching Twelve Men and eating a carton of ice cream with a light blush on his cheeks. Scripps would've flipped completely had Posner not chosen that moment to look over at him with his puppy eyes and say sadly, "I couldn't find any hot food in the fridge, and I was too tired to make anything."

Of course you didn't find any hot food in the fridge, it's a fridge after all Scripps wanted to say, but the look on Posner's face nearly broke his heart. Instead, he said hurriedly, "I'm going to go make you some soup. Stay here."

It was only when he'd reached the kitchen and stared at the cabinet for a minute as though it would magically sprout an instant Cup O' Noodles package that Scripps suddenly remembered he had no idea how to make soup. At home his mother had always cooked and now Posner usually whipped something up for them or they ordered takeout.

It must've been the combination of a hopeless fridge and desolate Posner that finally made him crack, because five minutes later Scripps found himself pounding on Lockwood's door, unbelievably out of breath and completely forgetting to lock up his bike.

He would never know exactly why he'd gone to Lockwood's; it was a split second decision, an instinctual choice. Apparently he'd made a good choice because after pounding for around a minute a livid Timms, who happened to be a fair cook, opened the door roughly while shouting at whoever you are to WAIT ONE SECOND!

When he saw Scripps leaning on the doorway, red-faced and watery-eyed with his bike dropped halfway into the street, he apologized instantly and, wrapping a large hand around his wrist, yanked him in. "'Ey, Woody!" he yelled down the hallway. "We've got company!"

"My name's not Woody!" Lockwood screamed in reply, strolling into the hallway himself. "Evenin', Scripps! What brings you here on this lovely--"

"Posner needs soup," Scripps interrupted, and a moment later mentally kicked himself. Why had this seemed like such a big deal just a moment ago? It sounded pathetic when he said it now.

As if to emphasize his realisation, Lockwood shoved his hands in his pockets and turned his chin up, looking through his dark lashes at the blond curiously. "Alright?" he prompted, waiting for Scripps to explain himself.

Scripps opened his mouth, and sneezed.

A/N: Next chapter coming up soon! My first multi-chapter story, oh the beauty of it. I hope for your blessing and corrections, reviewers!