fancy meeting you all here!
*dodges bullets*
ok, yeah, I understand I am in dire need of an apology to you guys. firstly, to the lovely ember53608, who me and my friends never got to submit our competition pieces to. and secondly, to all those who read and reviewed my story No Pain No Gain, for me not updating and seemingly dropping of the face of the planet.
explanation? yeah, I actually have one. my good old friend anniepear had a death in the family, and needless to say she needed some help and support and none of us (her, me, or cLeoo) had much time to worry about stuff like fanfiction. when a friend needs help, you give them help. that's that.
so yeah, we were all out of commission for a bit, but it's been a few months and anniepear is back on track and encouraging me to start up my writing again. instead of jumping right back into No Pain No Gain (which some of you who read might remember got deleted when my old laptop broke, meaning I had to rewrite all of the chapters, which hasn't happened due to the circumstances), I decided to ease back into this whole thing with a nice, lengthy one-shot I wrote a week ago when it was raining and I felt nostalgic and a little bit sad.
so yeah, here's that. enjoy, and expect more activity from me over the next few weeks!
-Don't Go-
Mid-stretch, Puck frowns, squeezing his shoulders backwards and resting a hand on the small of his back. The motion pulls his shirt up tight against his chest, outlining lean muscles before he slouches down again, shirt sagging against his waist.
Sabrina glances to the right, raising one eyebrow. "You alright, Curly?"
Puck nods, though he's still frowning, lips curving down the slightest bit and eyebrows furrowed enough to create little creases in his forehead. "Yeah, I'm fine. My back just started hurting for no reason."
"For no reason, huh?" Sabrina says, smirking lightly, and Puck seems to catch the reference for what it is – a jab at his fall during their flag-football game in PE that morning. He rolls his eyes and his frown disappears, muscles in his face loosening.
"Really, that again? It was snowing outside, ok. It's hard for tennis shoes such as mine to get traction when it's all icy."
"Oh, is it now? My shoes sure had no problem."
"You're just jealous that my team won."
"We were on the same team, idiot."
Puck blinks twice, then shrugs. "Oh. Well, I guess that's proof of your insignificance to me then," he chirps.
Sabrina shoots him a glare, rolling the pen in her mouth as she looks back over to the math problem Puck had marched up into her room with when he couldn't figure it out himself. Sabrina can't say she was surprised. Math, among most other school subjects, just wasn't Puck's forte.
She's in the middle of finding the vertex of the parabola, because yeah, math, when Puck settles down comfortably next to her on the floor. Their arms nudge, then their hips, and then Puck's pressing warm and heavy against Sabrina's side. "You done yet?"
Sabrina bites down on the pen, and Puck's breath tickles her cheek when he talks, head nuzzled into her shoulder the way it is. "Almost. I've just gotta divide out the variable real fast…"
"Sweet," Puck answers. He rubs absently at his nose, and Sabrina glances sidelong at him.
"You sure you feel ok? I think you might be coming down with something." She pulls away only to get a better look at Puck's face, squinting and leaning in closer once he's off her shoulder. Puck's cheeks show red beneath his freckles, and as Sabrina lifts up a hand and presses it against his forehead, the redness brightens. "You're kind of warm."
Puck bats Sabrina's hand away, narrowing his eyes at her and scooting back a bit. "Please, I haven't been sick in ages. Must be my Everafter-ness. No virus stands a chance against Puck Goodfellow's magical red blood cells." He puffs out his chest importantly, as if to prove his point.
Sabrina snorts. "Yeah, that would be your ego speaking. And by the way, it's white blood cells that fight off infection, genius."
Puck mumbles something about the irrelevance of color as Sabrina finishes up the problem, snapping the paper in Puck's face when she's done. "You're welcome," she says as Puck grabs it out of her hand.
"Yeah yeah, just don't tell the Old Lady about this. She always gives me talks about getting a tutor when you help me with school."
"Please, I practically already am your tutor. As a matter of fact, I should probably start getting paid for this."
Puck scoffs. "Yeah, ok. For the record, if I was going to actually pay someone to do this, I'd at least make sure she was hot."
Which earns him a hard elbow to the ribs. Puck falls over dramatically, clutching his stomach.
"Geez, why is your arm so skinny? Is that part of your new fitness plan – sharpening your elbows?"
"Whenever you're done rolling on the floor, could you go? I have an essay to finish here."
Puck stops moaning, but stays flat-faced on the floor, coughing pathetically.
…
Sabrina pulls away from her desk and sits up straight in the chair, reaching her hands for the ceiling and stretching her feet out as far as possible, so her toes just graze the wall. Her shoulders pop, then her ankles, and finally her neck. She puffs out a long breath and lets her head hang down against her chest for a moment. It's times like these that she's convinced that high school is actually going to be what finally ends her.
She sits like that for a moment, body stretched as far as possible, tension unknotting between the blades of her shoulders. Then she pulls her legs under her, squeezing into the chair criss-cross-apple-sauce, burying her hands in the nook between her thighs and letting out a long breath. Her room is cold, the kind of cold that makes her regret forgetting to put on socks but also makes her dread unfolding from her own body warmth to walk all the way to the dresser and grab a pair. The hot chocolate that was once steaming beside her laptop is only half-gone and already lukewarm, and the light glowing under the keys of her laptop illuminate a few drops of it collecting besides the space bar.
Puck's been gone for a few hours now. Ever since Sabrina's family moved back to New York City, Puck's taken to living with his family, or rather, what's left of it – Titania and Mustardseed. Sabrina's happy for him, really. With Mustardseed and Titania happily ruling Faerie on their own, he doesn't have to worry about being king, a responsibility Sabrina's not sure he'll ever be up to. Not only that, but he gets to mend everything broken between the family when he was banished. Sabrina honestly enjoys hearing Puck talk about the new recipes Titania's been cooking for him and the baseball games Mustardseed brings him to as often as possible.
If she does miss him hanging around the Grimm household 24/7, well, there's no way she's ever going to admit it. Besides, he comes home after school with them most days, spends a few hours whining about his homework and stealing whatever he can from their pantry. It's nice, in a way, even if he does rub off a bit too much on Basil for Sabrina's liking.
Sabrina looks back over to her laptop, at the halfway finished essay staring back at her. She's in no mood to write it really – she's been typing sentences and then deleting them for an hour now. None of the words feel quite right, and she doesn't know why. The computer clock reads 8:21, meaning yeah, she's got time to stall a bit. So instead of forcing out more bland, short-lived sentences, she leans forward and grabs her phone off her desk.
"How's your math going, hot-shot?" she texts rapid fire to Puck. The sound of the message being sent is accompanied by a subtle blip, and she sits there, running her finger along the grooves of the volume buttons on the side of the phone as she waits. 8:21 becomes 8:22, and the screen dims at the lack of activity. Sabrina frowns, tapping the phone so it lights up again, but soon it's 8:23 and there's still no sign of an answer.
Sabrina feels something strange, upset even, twist in her gut. Puck always answers her within the minute, and she knows for a fact that his phone is in his left front pocket 100% of the time. If he wants to ignore her, fine. She puts her phone face-down on the desk, a little more forcefully than necessary, and not even a second later it vibrates. She feels guilty for a second before she picks it up again.
"it's not going." Puck writes. "tired. going to bed early. wanna finish it tommorow?"
Instead of correcting him on his horrid spelling of tomorrow or letting him know she was under no obligation to finish his homework at any time, thanks, Sabrina quirks an eyebrow. "You? Going to bed early? Since when?"
He doesn't respond, and Sabrina sits with her still and silent phone for ten minutes before she switches tactics. She clicks the call button, and the line rings metallically twice before Mustardseed answers.
"Sabrina? You do realize this is Mustardseed you just called, not Puck."
"What, I'm not allowed to want to talk with you too? What else are friends for then random calls at," she checks her laptop clock again, "8:35?"
She hears Mustardseed snort, and smiles, glancing out the window looking over the expanse of the city beyond. It's just barely snowing, and the lights of the night illuminate each white speck that drifts past the glass.
"Ok, let's skip the pleasantries. What's up? You never call."
With the hand not holding the phone to her cheek, she taps absently on the arm of the chair. She thinks briefly of the picture tucked in the bottom drawer of her desk, and her stomach tightens a bit.
"I was just wondering if-"
Before she can finish, she hears another voice on the line, indistinct from the distance but still decipherable.
"Mustardseed, who is that calling?"
She hears the phone being rustled a bit before Mustardseed is responding, voice muffled in what she guesses is the phone held away from his mouth. "It's Sabrina, mom!"
"Oh! Well tell her I said hi!" Titania says, and Sabrina grins again. Sabrina's heard enough of Oberon to know he wasn't the ideal parent. Titania, on the other hand, she can't help but like. The woman's headstrong and snappy in the fondest way possible, and she's made it her personal mission to make Sabrina, and anyone for that matter, feel welcome enough to be a part of her family
"My mom says hi," Mustardseed relays.
"Yeah, I heard."
"And ask her how she's doing with Mr. Barni's English class – Puck hates it."
"Tell her I hate it too."
"Mom, she hates it too!"
"Great. If Sabrina hates it, you know there's a problem. Oh, ask her if-"
Mustardseed interrupts Titania with a light cough. "Mom, I'm trying to have a conversation here."
"Alright then, young man. Wouldn't want to inconvenience you, now would I?" Titania says with a heavy load of sarcasm. Sabrina stifles a laugh and Mustardseed sighs.
"Sorry about that – what were you saying?"
"It's fine – I kinda love your mom. And I was just wondering if I could talk to Puck."
Mustardseed laughs. "So in the end this was about him then. Should've known."
"Yeah sorry. He stopped answering my texts though and I was just wondering-"
"Yeah, he's asleep, not feeling so well either. Must've caught the flu bug or something."
"Oh."
"I'm sure you'll see him at school tomorrow though – he's probably just being melodramatic. You know Puck."
And yes, that's at least one thing Sabrina can attest to. She does know Puck, too well, she thinks, at times. They're best friends, true, but should she really know that he rubs his pointer finger against his thumb when he's nervous, or that he always bites his lip when he turns the steering wheel? That his shower song of choice is Story of my Life by One Direction (even though he'd never admit it), that he can't handle a crease in his napkin, that he won't drink anything unless it's through a straw, that he tilts his head a bit to the left when he's laughing?
Part of Sabrina thinks that these aren't things that 'just friends' notice about each other. The other part refuses to even acknowledge it.
Mustardseed and Sabrina say their goodbyes, and Sabrina stares at her laptop screen for another hour – she finishes the essay, but it feels thoughtless and bland and she doesn't even have the care to really hunker down and try to improve it. Her mind feels like it's running everywhere and nowhere, like there are thoughts trying to catch up with her but she's too busy to stop and notice. She goes to sleep feeling an itching somewhere inside of her, and it's uncomfortable and strange when brought to the light, but she can't help but wonder if it's always been there.
…
Sabrina shows up at school that Friday, but Puck doesn't. It shouldn't affect her that much, really, but she sits through the three classes she normally has with him that day feeling like the world is slightly off-kilter. Puck's been absent from school before, and it's not that Sabrina's all that worried, it's just… strange. Everything's felt strange with Puck for a while now, and she can't put her finger on exactly why.
She heads home that Friday with the work he missed in her book sack. She does his math homework for the weekend before her own, forging his handwriting with practiced ease. She doesn't think about it, doesn't overanalyze it, because if friends can't help each other out then what are they there for? Besides, math's Puck's least favorite – if he even has a favorite as it is.
At dinner time Granny Relda visits with Pinocchio and Red. The family catches up over dinner, and then Daphne and Red spend an hour lounging around in Sabrina's room, talking about pointless nonsense that feels so important in their company. The topic shifts to boys almost distressingly quickly, and then Red is shifting a bit from her spot on the floor to better see Sabrina. Her legs are propped up on Sabrina's chair, her brown hair fanned out around her head, and she has to tilt her head backwards to fix Sabrina with her upside-down stare.
"So Bri, are you and Puck finally past the point of denial yet?"
Sabrina feels like the words shouldn't shock her, but they do. She can't answer for a few seconds and she sort of lays on her bed opening and closing her mouth like a fish out of water until she finally gathers herself enough to respond.
"Huh?"
Of course, it's nothing intelligent or composed, but at least she manages to say anything. Red's lips twitch up in a knowing little smirk, and then she shakes her head.
"Oh, I guess not then. Nevermind."
The conversation continues like nothing happened, but Sabrina has a hard time paying attention, too busy thinking about what Red meant. How could Red possibly believe they were anything more than friends? Because they weren't, and Sabrina has never and will never see Puck in that way. Never.
Of course, it seems she can't keep her somewhat frantic musings to herself, because it's about fifteen minutes later that Sabrina blurts out, "What did you mean, denial? I don't like Puck, you know. He doesn't like me either. It's not… it's not like that."
Red blinks once, and Daphne's watching Sabrina weirdly, and Sabrina forgets that that conversation has been over for a while now. She swallows, and hopes she looks less stupid than she feels.
"Sorry, I didn't realize. Sometimes it just… seems like it, you know?"
No, Sabrina doesn't know. She doesn't understand what anyone sees, because Puck obviously has no interest in her, and she's pretty sure she of all people would know if she had anything other than platonic feelings for him. She can't shake the feeling that she's missing something huge, and judging by the look Red and Daphne share, it's more than just a feeling.
"I guess I was wrong though."
"I guess so," Sabrina says, trying to laugh it off, but it doesn't sound too convincing. Gradually everything falls back into normalcy, and Sabrina manages to forget about everything long enough to finish the night on a good note. Granny Relda, Pinocchio, and Red end up heading back home, to where they now live on the other side of the city. It's 9:43 when Sabrina gets the sudden urge to text Puck, see if he's alright, tell him she got his work.
But something stops her. Curled up on her bed with her lamp shining a warm dull light and the blankets in a cocoon around her, she has a sudden anxiety where there shouldn't be one. Her finger hesitates over the letters, and she stares at the last text bubble from Puck, saying he was going to sleep early, and then the text from Sabrina he never responded to. On a sudden impulse, she scrolls higher, reviewing messages between her and Puck, eyes peeled for something, anything – what, she doesn't know. Their conversations seem simple, light-hearted, but for some reason she feels like there's an underlying theme she should be seeking out, something that explains Red's words, that itch in her stomach, the sudden tension when she thinks of Puck.
In the end she texts nothing. She puts up her phone, turns off the light, and goes to sleep far earlier than acceptable for a Friday.
…
It's Saturday, and the first thing Sabrina does when she wakes up is text Mustardseed. She thinks maybe if she acts like nothing's different, like nothing feels weird about the question, like she doesn't rewrite the text five times to make sure it doesn't sound imposing or desperate or anything other than mildly curious, then all of these weird feelings will slowly dissipate.
"Hey Seed, how's Puck?"
Unlike his brother, Mustardseed responds in two short minutes.
"Good to know your reasons for texting me are the same as your reasons for calling me."
Sabrina finds herself smiling a bit, but really hopes he's just joking around. It's Mustardseed though – he's about as easygoing as they get, so she assumes he won't be offended by something so trivial.
"And I'm not sure about Puck. He hadn't changed much this morning, but Titania and I both had to go to a meeting in the kingdom and will be there all weekend, so he's mostly just going to be chilling in the apartment. Don't worry, I'm sure he's fine!"
Sabrina doesn't know why, but a quick spark of anger flares up in her at Mustardseed's carefree attitude. Puck could be hurt and in pain and Mustardseed and Titania decided the best course of action was to leave him alone for the weekend.
She takes a deep breath, cold air burning her lungs, because she is not going to overreact and it's not a big deal and she needs to get a hold of herself, dammit. Under the blankets, she pushes her feet together, digging her toenails into her heel.
"Ok. Thanks."
It may sound a little curt but Sabrina can't bring herself to care. She tosses the phone to the end of the bed, watching it bounce once and settle in the comforter, swallowed up by the mass of blankets in an instant. She stares at it for a bit, finding the symbolism of being suddenly engulfed ironic.
She lays back down, pulling the covers up to her chin, letting her fingernails run over her face and leave soft lines down her cheeks. She brings her knees up to her chest and burrows herself further into the blankets so that the only thing peeking out are her eyes, stinging in the frigid air of her room. She can hear her heart pulsing in the silence, ticking along with the second hand on her clock. She watches the little red line make three circles around the clock before she suddenly can't take it anymore – the feelings and the hesitance and the facts that pretend to be definite as they swim around in their own hazy uncertainty.
Puck is just her friend. End of story. Red can think what she wants and her hormones can be as spastic as they desire, but Sabrina knows one thing for certain and it's that Puck is like her brother and nothing more.
And there's nothing wrong with visiting your brother when he's sick, right?
"Mom?"
"Yes, sweetheart?"
"Do you still know how to make chicken soup?"
She sits in the kitchen watching her mom heat up a pot and pretends she's doing this out of good-natured kindness and not the desire to prove or disprove the thoughts running wild in her head.
…
Sabrina expects that entering the Goodfellow's apartment will be a nice change from the bitter cold of the rest of New York, but as it has tended to happen with most things recently, she is wrong. She unlocks the door, because of course she has a key, and opens it slowly, every sound suddenly criminal in the empty quiet of the room.
The curtains and blinds are all drawn closed, and Sabrina would think no one was home if not for Mustardseed's text. She closes the door behind her, dropping off the Tupperware of soup on the kitchen counter before walking down the hallway. Second door on the left was Puck's. Even if Sabrina didn't know, the brochure of the A Midsummer's Night Dream play that came to New York a year ago with the name Puck circled in red sharpie that was taped to the door was a dead giveaway.
"Way to keep that whole Everafter thing a secret," Sabrina mutters.
She turns the doorknob and pushes open the door, met with resistance that someone else might've thought was purposeful but she just knows is one of the many piles of junk that covers Puck's floor. She shoves open the door, wading into the nightmare that is Puck's room in its natural state – a disaster scene of carelessly shucked off jeans and dirty plates.
Sabrina kicks aside a pathway for herself over to Puck's bed, laying her bag down on a miraculously empty patch of floor. Puck's golden hair sticks out from under the comforter. His face is turned down towards his pillow, and Sabrina can see sweat beading his brow. His nose wrinkles up and he licks chapped lips. "Mom?" he mumbles.
Sabrina crouches beside him. "Might want to get your eyes checked, Curly."
Puck's brow creases. He rubs his face against the pillow before he squints blearily up at Sabrina.
"Blondie?"
"I'd prefer Sabrina but yeah, it's me."
Puck sighs, burrowing further into his pillow. His mouth is parted slightly, like he can't breathe through his nose, and judging by his voice Sabrina's probably hit the nail on the head.
"Where's mom?"
"She and Mustardseed had to go to Faerie for some meeting or something."
Puck mumbles something Sabrina doesn't quite catch, and then his hand emerges from the knots of covers and rubs absently at his temple.
"Mustardseed told me you had the flu or something," Sabrina says flatly.
"Mm."
"Why didn't you get your flu shot, idiot?" she says, poking him in his cheek. His skin is hot and red, so his freckles hardly stand out. He turns away at her touch, and the simple movement seems to take far too much of his energy.
"Don't need it," he returns eventually.
Sabrina snorts. "Yeah, obviously not."
They lapse into a short silence, and then Sabrina feels her mouth turning into a frown.
"Are those the same clothes you were in Thursday?"
Puck shrugs. He coughs into the blanket, and the noise is ragged and dry and doesn't sound good at all. She stands back up, shaking her head.
"I'm going to go get you some water. You better be changed into something that isn't soaked in your sweat when I get back."
She grabs her bag and makes for the door, navigating down her small path of cleanliness.
"What if I haven't?" Puck manages to rasp from the bed. She pauses for a moment once she's gotten there, turning back to spare a glance at Puck. He's tipped his head so he's facing her, arched throat long and slick with sweat. His eyes glint fever-bright through his eyelashes. He looks very small and very alone suddenly, lying there amongst the comforters. Sabrina turns away and takes a long breath.
"Then I'll take off your clothes myself."
"I think that's considered sexual assault," Puck attempts to joke after her.
"Just do it," Sabrina says, and leaves.
…
When Sabrina returns, Puck is actually changed. Or rather, his shirt is lying in the mass of clothes beside the bed, leaving him bare-backed amongst the blankets. It's been five minutes, at the most, but Sabrina can tell by the swelling and sinking of his back that he's asleep again.
She clutches the warm bowl of soup tighter against her chest, the heat spreading into her lungs, and maneuvers back to the bed.
"Puck."
He doesn't so much as twitch. He's facing the wall again, and if Sabrina took a step closer she could trace the arch of his spine with her finger. She bites the side of her mouth and puts the bowl of soup down on his nightstand, pushing back his lamp so she can fit the glass of water there as well. She rubs the condensation on her palm off against her thigh.
"Puck, wake up," she whispers, and against her better judgement and the sirens in her head that seem to scream bad idea, bad idea, she reaches forward and rests her hand on his bare shoulder. The skin is hot, sticky, but smooth. She feels the tension there, muscles clenched together like the lines she sees furrowed in her face as she leans a bit closer. There's a birthmark cresting his shoulder blade, and a little scar she's never seen before on the small of his back, reaching down under his shorts.
She feels her face flush red, doesn't know why, so she gently shakes his side, feeling his breath hitch under her hand before he lets out a cough that resonates deep in his ribcage. He shifts in bed, and she watches as he tosses his head limply over his shoulder, eyes flickering open, cloudy and green.
"Uh," is his answer. Sabrina rolls her eyes, reaching into her pocket for the bottle of Advil she brought from her house.
"Good morning, again, sleeping beauty," she jokes, and he doesn't react like he should, instead blinking heavily. His mouth is still open, the slightest bit, and his tongue slides out to lick chapped lips. She looks away and focuses on unscrewing the child-proof lid of the medicine, pouring out two small pills into her hand when she does. She squeezes them in her palm, nails digging against her skin, and reaches over with her free hand to grab the water from Puck's nightstand.
"Take this," she says, and it's less of a suggestion than an order. Puck looks at the pills in her hand with a face twisted in dismay.
"Don't wanna."
"Well, you don't really have a choice, fairy boy."
She holds out the medicine and, reluctantly, he pulls his arm out from where it was trapped under his hip. His hand is quivering the slightest bit as Sabrina drops the pills into it, and he turns back his head and drops them into his mouth. His throat slides as he swallows, and she looks away and hands him the glass of water.
"Sip up so you don't drown," she says as he lifts the glass to his mouth. He rolls his eyes and instead of listening, stretches up his neck to the glass. He gets two sips in before he spills most of the water down his chest. She takes in a clipped breath and closes her eyes for a moment, but doesn't say anything as he hands the glass back to her.
"Do you want some soup?"
"Mm."
"Have you eaten anything today?"
He shifts in the bed, getting closer to the wall again. "Mm."
She crosses her arms over her chest. "You know, yes's and no's are perfectly acceptable to use as well."
He opens his eyes again just to glare at her. The flush in his face is still there. "No, I haven't eaten. No, I don't want soup."
"Puck, soup is the best thing for you to-"
"Not now. 'M tired."
She looks over at the bowl, irrationally irritated at the thought of just dumping it out, but it doesn't look like she has much of a choice.
"Well, if that's the case." She goes to grab the bowl, plans on dumping it out and then leaving so Puck can get some more rest, but suddenly his hand darts out from under the blankets, fingers wrapping around her wrist loosely, and she can feel his pulse through skin stretched thin, sharp and erratic.
"Don't go."
The words make her stomach flip, but she disguises it with a sardonic smile. "Oh really? And what reason do I have to stay?"
It's silent for a moment, but she feels her heart beat acutely in her chest, and then he answers. "Quiet. Alone. Don't like it."
She's about to respond that he needs to deal with it, but then she hears the catch in his throat. Remembers his half-lidded eyes, the way he whispered out asking for his mom, so hopeful that someone was there to see him, to care for him. His head is still turned against the wall, but where Sabrina's breath is choked in her throat, his is still rising and falling evenly, back tremoring slightly with the breaths that shudder the slightest bit in his lungs. His hand falls from her wrist, limp, and Puck sleeps on.
There is something unreadable, unspeakable in the stuffy silence, and Sabrina feels the weight hit her shoulders, the itch rise to a crescendo, the thoughts in her mind blaring to be recognized. She swallows, but her mouth is dry, and Puck is still lying there, thin sheets scratching against his skin as he moves the slightest bit.
"You're going to lose feeling in your arm at that rate," she says. He doesn't answer. His wrist tils to the ceiling, in a way that surely can't be comfortable with the twist of his shoulder. His lean back stretches before her, hair curled with sweat around the crisp white pillows.
She pulls out her phone and checks the time – 10:11 am. She should be heading back home soon. She has homework, a party later on today, stuff to do that is surely more important than the pressure against her ribs.
Seconds pass, and when she turns on her phone again it's 10:12, and her heart has made up her mind, without the absolute consent of either. "You're such a pain," she murmurs, "but I guess someone has to make sure you're ok." She sets an alarm for two hours, puts her phone down on the nightstand next to the discarded soup, grabs Puck by the wrist and adjusts his arm so it's curled next to the other one, and pulls the covers of the bed up. Puck makes the smallest noise, surprise maybe, or something else.
"Move over, Dorkfellow," she says, and he shifts to the right, giving her room to lay down beside him. His back is inches away, and she can feel the warmth of it, tries her hardest not to scoot in closer because warmth is all she wants right now, anything but the cold of the apartment, of the snowing sky outside. Puck shifts a bit more, and then lets out this long breath, shuddering a bit but still even, satisfied.
"Now you're gonna stop fighting me on this and get some sleep." The bed creaks under the added weight, but she ignores it. Puck doesn't answer, and she counts it as a win even though it probably has much more to do with the flu than her.
"And you're going to eat that soup later." She pulls the sheets up to her shoulders. "And clean this room."
The sheets smell like Puck, the comforter too, as she stretches it over her shoulder, around the curve of her neck. Puck – his warmth, his scent, the huff of his breath against the whirring tsk of the fan. It engulfs Sabrina, buries into her skin like she's ready to explode.
"And," Sabrina says, "you're going to thank me." Then she leans into Puck's back, skin warm against her nose, smells the faint tinge of his cologne and the apple scented shampoo the two of them bought at the grocery store a few months ago. Smells, beneath that, sickness, sweat, and the husky scent of person, of boy, of Puck. It wraps around her, warmer than any blanket.
She closes her eyes, listens to the tum-tum-tumming of her own heart against the racing of Puck's, a pendulum swinging in its case, and thinks that maybe, just maybe, it's alright like this. She falls asleep with her arms wrapped around his waist and her face pressed against his back, and the itching in her heart dies down the slightest bit.
well, I hope you all enjoyed that! it was certainly very nice to write, really relaxing and detail-oriented and different from my normal style.
like I said, expect hopefully more from me as time progresses – I'm ready to start this whole thing up again, hopefully more successfully than last time!
love you all and have a spook-tacular halloween!
-quinn the fin