Written for Sick Days! 23: Not the Norm a couple of years ago. Content warning for vomit. Enjoy!
"Are you feeling okay, Soul?" Maka asks, frowning. She reaches over and attempts to brush his snowy white bangs out of his eyes so she can get a better look at his face, but Soul swats her hand away. "I was expecting you to be going on about how 'cool' this car is, but you're awfully quiet."
"I'm fine!" Soul snaps back, his ruby red eyes flashing in annoyance. "It's cool to be quiet, you know. Not all of us need to be obnoxious chatterboxes all the time."
Maka folds her arms across her chest and huffs angrily at the obvious dig, brushing an ash-blonde pigtail out of her face. Soul might be acting exceptionally rude, but it's obvious that something is wrong. His skin is deathly white, somehow even paler than usual, he keeps swallowing, and he seems uncomfortable in general. Maka can't quite put her finger on it, but something definitely seems off.
They don't usually take cars when they go places; Soul's motorcycle is their preferred mode of transportation. But Lord Death had insisted that a car take them for this mission-apparently, Soul's motorcycle would be way too inconspicuous. Maka hadn't really thought about it too much at the time, but Soul had definitely resisted the idea. He hadn't argued much with Lord Death, just a few token requests to use his motorcycle instead. Throughout the entire argument, Maka had been able to tell that Soul was been tense, and there was a certain desperation in his eyes.
In the end, Soul had agreed to take the car and Maka had pushed the entire scene out of her mind. She had been too busy preparing for their latest mission to really give it much thought. Now, looking at Soul, who is clearly not well, Maka wishes that she hadn't let it slip.
As the car winds through the trees and takes several more sharp turns, Soul's already ghostly white face somehow pales even further. Before Maka can ask if he's okay again, he raises his hand to his mouth to stifle a belch. The gesture is only partially successful, and Maka's eyes widen slightly at the noise, tendrils of suspicion forming in her mind.
"Soul, are you-"
"Sh-shut up!" he growls. The rough tone triggers another burp in his throat, too quick to be hidden this time. Maka is about to open her mouth and demand to know if he's okay when his stomach gives an audible gurgle. It's the only warning either of them get before Soul is lurching forward with a gag, vomit spilling over his fingers and decorating his shoes. Another retch brings up more puke, which splashes on to the car's immaculate carpet.
Wincing in sympathy, Maka rubs his back and makes soothing murmuring noises. The lack of heat coming off his skin confirms Maka's suspicions: he's carsick. No wonder he always insists on taking his motorcycle everywhere.
Soul dry heaves for a few more minutes before sitting back and wiping his mouth on the back of his hand. His eyes are bloodshot, but there's a little more color in his face now. "Sorry," he croaks, blushing a little. "That wasn't cool."
"It's fine," Maka reassures him, patting his shoulder gently. She motions for the driver and tells him to pull over at the next gas station so they can clean up the damage. "Hey, Soul?"
He glances over at her, surprised. "Yeah?"
"Next time, please just tell me that you're not feeling well-at least for the sake of the car."
Thank you forreading! Please leave a review if you liked it.
