A/N: I'm so sorry for taking so long to complete this chapter I've been super busy with a lot of stuff. I also got sick with bronchitis a couple days after I posted the first chapter, so that set me back a lot but I'm doing good now and I have a few breaks coming up so hopefully posts will start to come out faster! There will probably be only one or two more chapters to this story and then I'm gonna move on 3
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Remember how I thought I would feel better when I woke up? Yeah... I lied.
The sunlight was bright as it beamed through the window overhead of the couch, shining in from the old and broken blinds. I was curled in on my side, submerged in the few blankets that must've been laid on me as I slept throughout the night. Though for whatever reason, I was freezing. I feebly tugged at the blankets on top of me and pulled them closer to myself, burrowing some of my face underneath to soothe my shivers. As I realized the voices that wavered in from the kitchen, I squinted my eyes open against the bright light that broke through the blinds and scanned the room slowly. My body was sore as I adjusted my legs on the couch, the muscles that had overworked themselves the night before smarting as they were put to use once again. I suddenly clenched my eyes shut and coughed dryly into the blanket, my chest feeling oddly heavy as my throat felt backed up. As I reopened them, I noticed a figure walking into the living room from the kitchen, and their footsteps were soft as if they wanted to be careful not to make too much noise.
"Pony?" The person spoke, and I recognized the person as Soda through my hazy vision. My sight became clearer as he laid a hand on my forehead, his palm cool in contrast to my abnormally warm forehead. He wears a concerned expression as his warm brown eyes scan my face.
"How do you feel, kid? Heard you had a rough night." He asks me as he kneels to be at my level on the couch. I lift my head slightly from the blankets so that my whole face is shown and not hidden. He takes his hand off my head and rests it on the edge of the couch, smiling lightly though I could see the distress through his features. His dark blonde hair is disheveled as if he skipped his morning routine, along with his outfit of choice, which is just his pajama clothing, which are sweatpants and a t-shirt, with an old hoodie thrown on top. There are dark circles under his eyes, and body language is tense as his fingers lightly pick the couch's fabric every now and then.
"I'm fine," I say thickly, my nose feeling stuffy and my voice scratchy. Soda gave me a knowing look and raised his eyebrows. "Honestly, I'm okay. It's just a cold." I tell him reassuringly, and begin to sit up in order to prove my point. Soda supports my back as I prop myself up by my elbows and rest against the arm of the couch, and I can feel my heartbeat in my chest a little faster than normal at the effort.
"You okay?" Soda asks me, concern evident in his voice as he takes his hand off my back and rests it by my leg. I adjusted the blanket on my lap, pulling it up a little so that I could be covered from the coldness of the living room.
"Mhm," I nodded, swallowing to soothe my throat. "What happened?" I asked him, feeling slightly bewildered as I looked around the room, noticing the silent TV and radio. I mean, of course I remember what happened, how could I forget? But our house was never this silent, and the only apparent noises I could hear were plates and silverware clinging together from the kitchen, and the faint sound of a shower running in the bathroom. Normally, the house would be bustling with energy, with the radio and television on full blast with somebody hollering at another to top it all off. But this morning, it was unusually quiet.
"Well, since last night?" Soda answered, shrugging and looking away. "Not much. Johnny stayed over so he didn't go nowhere else if you're worried. After we couldn't find you last night, Steve and I came back to find you here. He stayed over and Darry and I crashed in the living room with you. Not that he got any sleep, though. You got sick overnight." He told me, running a hand through his unkempt hair. He sighed and met my eyes before opening his mouth to speak again.
"Darry's awful sorry, you know. He was up all night looking out for you." He told me, his voice soft. His brown eyes were staring into mine intently, and although they were warm and comforting, I had to look away. "I mean, you're allowed to be mad- hell, I am too. But... don't hate him. He loves you." I nodded silently, thinking back to the night before when he practically crushed me in that good-natured and strong hug of his, his body overwhelmed with relief as his shoulders shook with a flood of emotions. Of course he doesn't hate me. I don't hate him either.
Suddenly, heavy footsteps come into the room and Darry appears from the kitchen doorway, dressed in a gray t-shirt and jeans. He carries a platter of steaming soup, a glass of water, and some other things that I can't see from where I'm seated on the couch. Soda moves over to sit next to the couch instead of directly in front of me so that Darry can place the tray down on the coffee table.
"Hey, kiddo. How're you feeling?" Darry asks me, and after placing down the tray he kneels next to me where Soda was sitting before. He twists behind him towards the coffee table and grabs a thermometer off the tray.
"Okay," I say once he turns back to me, shrugging my shoulders. He scoffs good-heartedly and pats my shoulder.
"Yeah, well, I'm gonna take your temperature real quick. You were as hot as a furnace last night but you don't seem so bad now at least." He explained, letting his hand rest on my shoulder as he flicked the cap of the thermometer off. I nod wordlessly, already feeling drained from the minimal interactions I had within the last 5 minutes. I blink tiredly as I watch him quickly shake the thing and tell me to open up. After a moment or two, the sound of quiet beeping fills the living room and Darry pulls it from my mouth. His lip twists into a slight frown and Soda peeks over his shoulder. After a second, Darry shares a glance with Soda and whispers something to him, quietly enough so that I can't hear through the pounding of my head.
"What was it?" I question him, my voice sounding raspy as if I've been screaming for a day straight. Darry must be able to tell because I could see his mouth twist into a grimace, along with his eyebrows which faintly furrow together.
"Uh," He says, his eyes darting from my face back to the thermometer. "101.8. Probably better than last night but…" He trails off, then pops the cap back on and places it back onto the table behind him.
"Why don't you have something to eat? I made you some soup," He asks, but in a way where he's making no room for questioning. Despite this, my stomach doesn't exactly feel settled right now and my throat hurts just to swallow. He picks up the bowl anyway, and the rising steam and the warm smell of chicken broth are uninviting to my senses and make me want to push it away.
"Do I have to?" I ask sullenly, eyeing the bowl and crossing my arms. I don't mean to sound bratty, but Darry doesn't seem to understand and gives me a look anyway.
"Yes. At least some spoonfuls," He pushes. "Can you hold it yourself? I'll spoon-feed you if I have to." He urges threateningly, his eyebrow raised as he holds up the spoonful over the soup, as if ready to put it in my mouth. I must look appalled at the notion because he smiles knowingly and holds out the spoon to me, but doesn't me the bowl and instead holds it near my chin. I reluctantly take it from him and dip it in, beginning to sip slowly. I meet his eyes one last time and it looks as if he wants to say something, but after a second he must've refused it as he simply motions for me to continue eating.
After another minute or two, Soda walks back into the room carrying a couple of white, wet, rags in his hands, along with a bottle of Aspirin resting on top. At this point, I've given up on eating, and after asking about a thousand times, and about a thousand "one more bites", Darry finally gets up to enter the kitchen and put the bowl in the sink. Somehow, I had managed to eat almost half of the bowl before it was put away, but the heat of the soup made my nose run and my body feel hot, further bothering my symptoms and making me tired. I didn't even realize I'd fallen asleep again until a gentle hand was on my shoulder and shaking me awake.
"Pony? Come on, have some medicine." I hear Soda say, who must've come back into the room sometime during the short time I was sleeping. His hand is gently on my shoulder I squinted my eyes up at him, the blue bottle of Advil clutched in his other hand. On the table, is a folded pile of two or three of the white hand rags from the bathroom, along with a glass of water and the thermometer.
"I'm sorry I had to wake you, but you can go back to sleep after, okay?" He tells me white pushing my hair back from my forehead, his cool hand feeling good against my feverish skin. His voice is soft and his eyes look worried as he looks down on me.
I only nod as I watch him unscrew the cap from the medicine bottle and take out two pills. He takes the glass of water from the coffee table and helps me sit up slightly on the couch again so I won't choke on it. He hands me the pills and I cup my hand to my mouth and shove them in. I take some water and swallow it down, but not as easily as it normally would be. I take Advil often for my reoccurring headaches and sometimes prescribed stuff to help me sleep if I need it, so I'm pretty accustomed to it. But then again, my throat usually doesn't feel like something has been clawing at it from the inside.
After I swallow, I quickly sink back into the couch, and pull the blanket closer to me. I go back to sleep seconds after I close my eyes.
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A/N: I was planning on making this chapter longer but I just got sick of working on the same thing so I'm just gonna end it here Sorry not a lot happened but I promise something will next time! I also didn't proofread it so if you see any mistakes ignore them 3