Exhausted [1/1]
The Archuleta-Cook household was unusually quiet this one particular day. The usual laughter, due to antics or jokes that were exchanged, did not fill the air. No music resonated from speakers, the bass not vibrating the entire apartment. No friendly conversations were taking place during this time. The apartment was not bustling with activity. No one was running around like a crazed person, wondering where he placed his cell phone last or worrying about how much food they had left and when it was time to go food shopping again. No one was rushing to answer the phone when it was ringing incessantly but they were on opposite sides of the house, or they were kissing each other senseless that neither wanted to bother to get up. They knew one of them had to get up though, so that no one would wonder what the hell they could be up to, but also utterly regret the thoughts that sprung into their minds. But ‘quiet’ was usually the last word to associate with ‘Archuleta and Cook’s house’, since usually it was bustling with energy supplied by both men and their counterparts of choice. There was never a dull day around this place, and if for some strange reason if there was, it usually meant bad news.
Bare feet padded about in the kitchen, the owner keeping as quiet as possible for the sake of his boyfriend. He moved about, opening and closing the oak cabinets as gently as he could, making as little noise as possible. The busy streets of Los Angeles were always making a raucous, but both men had grown used to the loudness and excitement, it merely background noise now.
Plugging in the electric can opener, David Cook attached a can to it, the magnetic top keeping the can in place. Cook pushed the can up so that the blade would appear and with a whirl of gears moving, the can began rotating as the top was sliced open. The can stopped, signaling it was okay to take it down. Cook unlatched the can, spilling its contents into a yellow and green squarely patterned bowl. Cook picked up the almost full bowl carefully, crossing the kitchen to where the microwave was located. He opened the door of the black microwave with a small popping of its door. He set the bowl on the rotating circle, before shutting the door and punching in a time, before promptly pressing the start button. The bowl spun in slow circles as it was thoroughly cooked. While the soup was being heated up, Cook dug through the refrigerator, browsing through the objects that sat on the shelves. His brow creased as he searched for something, before his expression lit up and he grabbed his prize from the top shelf: a carton of Tropicana orange juice. He shook the juice carton well, before pulling a glass down from a cabinet and pouring the substance into it. The microwave now beeped loudly and obnoxiously, informing Cook that the soup in it was now ready to be eaten. Cook took the bowl out of the microwave, though under estimated how hot it was.
“Ow, ow, ow, ow fuck this is hot.” Cook hissed and swore under his breath, trying not to drop and have the glass bowl shatter into a million pieces, cause damn that would just suck.
Luckily, Cook made it to the counter before it was able to slip from his hands. After he released it, he shook his hands out, wondering if he still had finger prints or not. Deciding that maybe he still did, he stopped screwing around and went back to the task at hand. Cook loaded the bowl, accompanied by a spoon and the orange juice, on to tray. He started carrying the tray up the stairs, the familiar faint creaking sounding as he did so. Though, why he was making his way down the hallway to his destination, Archie and his bedroom, suddenly a thought struck him. He stopped outside of the bathroom, putting the tray down smoothly before walking through the door way. He opened their medicine cabinet, and after poking around Arch’s allergy medicine and Cook’s sleeping pills (for those nights insomnia would haunt him) he found exactly what he was looking for, and took small container of pills with him as he finally approached the bed room. He’d left the door slightly ajar knowing that his hands would be full when he came back. He pushed open the door with his hip, careful not to disturb the person on the other side. Cook was eventually in the room, and simply stood there quietly, marveled by the boy who lay in the bed.
David Archuleta was curled up in a ball, wrapped up warmly in the soft comforter. He was hugging a pillow, with the left side of his face up, with the right side of his face snuggled into the pillow nicely. His long eyelashes lined his eyelids, closed while he slept. However, his breathing was slightly ragged and very nasal, and his lips were parted, resulting in a small, soft snore. His rather pale face was flushed from a fever, and his small, round nose was colored red. David was tired enough not to stir when Cook entered, but hell, he wouldn’t have stirred if a earth quake racking up high numbers on the seismograph was to shake California as this very moment. It was that David Archuleta was indeed suffering from the flu.
Cook shut the door with his foot, placing the tray on the floor once more, before walking to the side of the bed. He shook David’s shoulder, careful to use as little force as possible. Fortunately, David did sleep soundly yet lightly. It wasn’t long before the younger boy’s eyelids fluttered open reluctantly. David glanced up at his boy friend with sleepy, droopy eyes.
“What do you want?” Arch mumbled, burying his face in his pillow once more. Cook shook his head, sitting down on the edge of the bed, this time rubbing his shoulder comfortingly. Arch sighed, muffle by the material he was shoving his face into.
“You need to eat something, or at least drink something, so that you don’t get dehydrated,” Cook said to him, patting his back before getting off the bed and the only reason Archie knew that is because he felt the weight shift as he got off. Cook wondered back over to the tray equipped with food and David’s medicine, and picked it back up.
“Crap…I should have brought some water,” Cook suddenly realized, as he stared the cup of orange juice. Maybe he could just run down stairs and get Arch some water real quick. As he turned, about to leave, Archie struggled to reach out and grasp his arm, but proceeded in only having his fingertips brush against Cook’s bicep. Cook luckily turned back around.
“What?”
“It’s okay…I’ll take it…my medicine… with orange juice…no problem…” Archie managed to say in a barely audible whisper, for if he spoke any louder his voice would be just as husky but cracking repeatedly. His throat ached, so unfortunately that meant no singing for right now. David hated being so limited vocally like this, but with vocal and paralysis and all, he just couldn’t risk it.
Cook helped David sit up, since this action usually made David’s head spin from being in a lying position for so many long increments of time. Once Archie was in a sitting up position, thankfully with the help of some nice pillows, he leaned his head against the headboard of the bed. The brown, wooden piece had many swirls carved into the smooth surface which now supported David’s head. Cook plopped the tray into his lap once he was comfortable. David eyed it, frowning in dismay at the liquid substance that had come from a can. He had been living off of soup for about four days now, and frankly he was tired of it. The warm liquid would slide down his throat, but it would be awfully weird since he couldn’t smell it nor taste it. So it was almost like living off of different phases of cardboard. It didn’t taste like anything, yet you could feel it there.
“Cook, I’m not really hungry,” David said, coughing at the end of his sentence. Cook ruffled his hair, smiling a bit while doing so. He had told him the same thing for the past couple of days, but Cook wouldn’t take no for an answer and always made sure David ate something.
“You may not be, but you have to eat. Or else I’ll make your mom come down here and force feed you,” Cook said smiling cheekily causing David to simply roll his eyes at him. He wanted to retort sassily but he also wanted to save himself from talking in order to save his voice. He picked up his spoon reluctantly, dipping it into his bowl, and shoving the spoon in his mouth. As he swallowed, Cook opened his prescribed flu pills and handed him one. David put the pill in his mouth and swallowed it with a swig of orange juice. He continued to eat slowly while Cook got in on the other side of the bed, tossing an arm around David shoulders and giving it a comforting squeeze. David paused to smile up at Cook, before he spooned more soup into his mouth.
“Are you feeling any better? I hate seeing you like this,” Cook asked after a little while. David looked up at him once more, shaking his head from side to side in response.
“Not really…I don’t like being in bed all day, even though it is kinda nice.” David responded and Cook winced at his tone of voice. The scratchy, hoarse tone is what made him feel bad, and he wanted to stop asking questions.
Time crawled by while David ate his soup, but after a bit David pushed the tray away with half of his soup uneaten. Cook looked at the half-filled bowl and frowned once more, before glancing at David.
“Are you full? I hope you are since I nearly burned my flipping hands off making that.” Cook smiled, even putting up his hands to show how much he meant it. David shook his head, letting a hand rest on his stomach.
“My stomach actually kind of hurts,” David said which instantly stuck the worry nerve inside Cook. Though he than remembered that the flu was accompanied by nausea, so it was almost…ok. But he hated seeing David suffer like this. Sure, it wasn’t the end of the world, but hell, who likes being sick? No one does and no one certainly likes seeing other people sick. Though Cook let David lean his head on his shoulder for he had no fear of catching the sickness. So what if he got sick? He just wanted to take care of Archie. All was silent for minutes on end. But, at one point, David abruptly took his head off of Cook’s shoulder, his breath picking up pace as he stumbled to his feet.
“David…? David, what are you doing? What’s wrong?” Cook questioned, but David simply fast walked out of the room, gripping different things for support as he went through the door way. Cook sat in bed, frozen and beyond confused, before he heard gagging sounds emanating from the bathroom. Oh God…Oh God no… Cook thought to himself hopping off of the bed and running to the bathroom. He overshot his destination, but was quickly back where he needed to be. When he finally reached the doorway, he saw David retching helplessly into the toilet.
Cook frowned in dismay at the site set before him, walking into the room and rubbing soothing circles into his boyfriend’s back. Finally, Archie’s body stopped tensing Cook put his hands on his upper arms, helping him up and off the ground. Cook handed Arch the towel that was set on the counter, David wiping off his mouth. Cook handed him a cup of water and Archie swished the water in his cheeks and between his teeth before spitting it out. Cook, putting a hand on the small of his back, helped him back to the bed.
Once everything had settled down, they had resumed their previous positions. They were sitting up next to each other, Cook hugging Arch close to his body, while Arch laid his head upon Cook’s shoulder. All was quiet once more, the air verging on awkward. Cook decided to break the silence.
“Are you sure you’re okay?” Cook simply questioned. David exhaled heavily, burying his face in Cook’s shoulder. Cook frowned once more, eye brows knitting together in confusion and worry.
“What’s the matter, babe?” Still no verbal answer came from his lover’s mouth. Cook was tacit, looking down at the head of silky, soft, jet black hair. He reached across with his right hand to run his fingers through it. After a couple of seconds, Cook registered a damp feeling on his shoulder. He glanced down in concern; maybe he was sweating. But Arch’s forehead did not glisten with such perspiration.
“Why are you crying?” Cook stuck his finger under David’s chin, making Arch look him in the eyes. Bright, teary green met darker, confused green. Cook had noticed that many hazel-eyed people had very bright green eyes when they cried, and David was no different. That was Cook’s technique in order to figure out if something was wrong.
“I-I’m not quite sure why…” Archie whispered, staring down at the bed spread that was suddenly very interesting. He scrunched the bed sheets in his hands while tears still fell steadily down his cheeks. Cook made him look at him once more, and David let his eyes flutter close as Cook pressed his lips to his forehead.
“No, you have to be for some reason. What’s wrong?” Cook usually wasn’t one to prod, but he wanted an answer since it was so sudden. He wasn’t upset or anything…was he?
“I’m just…exhausted. This whole entire process has been exhausting.” Arch finally spoke up.
“I know its tough being sick-“ Cook was cut off by the small, cracking voice.
“Not being sick…that’s not the problem. Everything is exhausting…Idol was exhausting; Tour was even more exhausting…I barely had time to catch my breath and look back when I want to. Sometimes I wonder if this is even worth it any more…” David trailed off, letting a shaky breath escape his lips. After a moment of silence, Cook gathered his thoughts and spoke up.
“Don’t say that…this will always be worth it. It’s about doing something you love, and leaving your mark in the world. You’ve touched so many lives, David. This is entirely worth it.” Cook replied to the ludicrous statement. Arch breathed in the words, processing and analyzing them in his mind.
“You’re right…” Arch finally said, meeting David’s eyes once more. Cook put his hand to Arch’s face, wiping away the remnants of tears with the pad of his thumb. Arch leaned up, pressing his lips against Cook’s, a kiss full of passion and a hint of lust.
“Thank you.” Arch whispered against Cook’s lips once they pulled back, and Cook shivered at the warm, fleeting breath that tickled his face. Arch once more rested his head against Cook’s shoulder. Cook wrapped his arms around David. The two shut their eyes, letting darkness envelop them and coax them into a peaceful, deep sleep.
~FIN~
Bare feet padded about in the kitchen, the owner keeping as quiet as possible for the sake of his boyfriend. He moved about, opening and closing the oak cabinets as gently as he could, making as little noise as possible. The busy streets of Los Angeles were always making a raucous, but both men had grown used to the loudness and excitement, it merely background noise now.
Plugging in the electric can opener, David Cook attached a can to it, the magnetic top keeping the can in place. Cook pushed the can up so that the blade would appear and with a whirl of gears moving, the can began rotating as the top was sliced open. The can stopped, signaling it was okay to take it down. Cook unlatched the can, spilling its contents into a yellow and green squarely patterned bowl. Cook picked up the almost full bowl carefully, crossing the kitchen to where the microwave was located. He opened the door of the black microwave with a small popping of its door. He set the bowl on the rotating circle, before shutting the door and punching in a time, before promptly pressing the start button. The bowl spun in slow circles as it was thoroughly cooked. While the soup was being heated up, Cook dug through the refrigerator, browsing through the objects that sat on the shelves. His brow creased as he searched for something, before his expression lit up and he grabbed his prize from the top shelf: a carton of Tropicana orange juice. He shook the juice carton well, before pulling a glass down from a cabinet and pouring the substance into it. The microwave now beeped loudly and obnoxiously, informing Cook that the soup in it was now ready to be eaten. Cook took the bowl out of the microwave, though under estimated how hot it was.
“Ow, ow, ow, ow fuck this is hot.” Cook hissed and swore under his breath, trying not to drop and have the glass bowl shatter into a million pieces, cause damn that would just suck.
Luckily, Cook made it to the counter before it was able to slip from his hands. After he released it, he shook his hands out, wondering if he still had finger prints or not. Deciding that maybe he still did, he stopped screwing around and went back to the task at hand. Cook loaded the bowl, accompanied by a spoon and the orange juice, on to tray. He started carrying the tray up the stairs, the familiar faint creaking sounding as he did so. Though, why he was making his way down the hallway to his destination, Archie and his bedroom, suddenly a thought struck him. He stopped outside of the bathroom, putting the tray down smoothly before walking through the door way. He opened their medicine cabinet, and after poking around Arch’s allergy medicine and Cook’s sleeping pills (for those nights insomnia would haunt him) he found exactly what he was looking for, and took small container of pills with him as he finally approached the bed room. He’d left the door slightly ajar knowing that his hands would be full when he came back. He pushed open the door with his hip, careful not to disturb the person on the other side. Cook was eventually in the room, and simply stood there quietly, marveled by the boy who lay in the bed.
David Archuleta was curled up in a ball, wrapped up warmly in the soft comforter. He was hugging a pillow, with the left side of his face up, with the right side of his face snuggled into the pillow nicely. His long eyelashes lined his eyelids, closed while he slept. However, his breathing was slightly ragged and very nasal, and his lips were parted, resulting in a small, soft snore. His rather pale face was flushed from a fever, and his small, round nose was colored red. David was tired enough not to stir when Cook entered, but hell, he wouldn’t have stirred if a earth quake racking up high numbers on the seismograph was to shake California as this very moment. It was that David Archuleta was indeed suffering from the flu.
Cook shut the door with his foot, placing the tray on the floor once more, before walking to the side of the bed. He shook David’s shoulder, careful to use as little force as possible. Fortunately, David did sleep soundly yet lightly. It wasn’t long before the younger boy’s eyelids fluttered open reluctantly. David glanced up at his boy friend with sleepy, droopy eyes.
“What do you want?” Arch mumbled, burying his face in his pillow once more. Cook shook his head, sitting down on the edge of the bed, this time rubbing his shoulder comfortingly. Arch sighed, muffle by the material he was shoving his face into.
“You need to eat something, or at least drink something, so that you don’t get dehydrated,” Cook said to him, patting his back before getting off the bed and the only reason Archie knew that is because he felt the weight shift as he got off. Cook wondered back over to the tray equipped with food and David’s medicine, and picked it back up.
“Crap…I should have brought some water,” Cook suddenly realized, as he stared the cup of orange juice. Maybe he could just run down stairs and get Arch some water real quick. As he turned, about to leave, Archie struggled to reach out and grasp his arm, but proceeded in only having his fingertips brush against Cook’s bicep. Cook luckily turned back around.
“What?”
“It’s okay…I’ll take it…my medicine… with orange juice…no problem…” Archie managed to say in a barely audible whisper, for if he spoke any louder his voice would be just as husky but cracking repeatedly. His throat ached, so unfortunately that meant no singing for right now. David hated being so limited vocally like this, but with vocal and paralysis and all, he just couldn’t risk it.
Cook helped David sit up, since this action usually made David’s head spin from being in a lying position for so many long increments of time. Once Archie was in a sitting up position, thankfully with the help of some nice pillows, he leaned his head against the headboard of the bed. The brown, wooden piece had many swirls carved into the smooth surface which now supported David’s head. Cook plopped the tray into his lap once he was comfortable. David eyed it, frowning in dismay at the liquid substance that had come from a can. He had been living off of soup for about four days now, and frankly he was tired of it. The warm liquid would slide down his throat, but it would be awfully weird since he couldn’t smell it nor taste it. So it was almost like living off of different phases of cardboard. It didn’t taste like anything, yet you could feel it there.
“Cook, I’m not really hungry,” David said, coughing at the end of his sentence. Cook ruffled his hair, smiling a bit while doing so. He had told him the same thing for the past couple of days, but Cook wouldn’t take no for an answer and always made sure David ate something.
“You may not be, but you have to eat. Or else I’ll make your mom come down here and force feed you,” Cook said smiling cheekily causing David to simply roll his eyes at him. He wanted to retort sassily but he also wanted to save himself from talking in order to save his voice. He picked up his spoon reluctantly, dipping it into his bowl, and shoving the spoon in his mouth. As he swallowed, Cook opened his prescribed flu pills and handed him one. David put the pill in his mouth and swallowed it with a swig of orange juice. He continued to eat slowly while Cook got in on the other side of the bed, tossing an arm around David shoulders and giving it a comforting squeeze. David paused to smile up at Cook, before he spooned more soup into his mouth.
“Are you feeling any better? I hate seeing you like this,” Cook asked after a little while. David looked up at him once more, shaking his head from side to side in response.
“Not really…I don’t like being in bed all day, even though it is kinda nice.” David responded and Cook winced at his tone of voice. The scratchy, hoarse tone is what made him feel bad, and he wanted to stop asking questions.
Time crawled by while David ate his soup, but after a bit David pushed the tray away with half of his soup uneaten. Cook looked at the half-filled bowl and frowned once more, before glancing at David.
“Are you full? I hope you are since I nearly burned my flipping hands off making that.” Cook smiled, even putting up his hands to show how much he meant it. David shook his head, letting a hand rest on his stomach.
“My stomach actually kind of hurts,” David said which instantly stuck the worry nerve inside Cook. Though he than remembered that the flu was accompanied by nausea, so it was almost…ok. But he hated seeing David suffer like this. Sure, it wasn’t the end of the world, but hell, who likes being sick? No one does and no one certainly likes seeing other people sick. Though Cook let David lean his head on his shoulder for he had no fear of catching the sickness. So what if he got sick? He just wanted to take care of Archie. All was silent for minutes on end. But, at one point, David abruptly took his head off of Cook’s shoulder, his breath picking up pace as he stumbled to his feet.
“David…? David, what are you doing? What’s wrong?” Cook questioned, but David simply fast walked out of the room, gripping different things for support as he went through the door way. Cook sat in bed, frozen and beyond confused, before he heard gagging sounds emanating from the bathroom. Oh God…Oh God no… Cook thought to himself hopping off of the bed and running to the bathroom. He overshot his destination, but was quickly back where he needed to be. When he finally reached the doorway, he saw David retching helplessly into the toilet.
Cook frowned in dismay at the site set before him, walking into the room and rubbing soothing circles into his boyfriend’s back. Finally, Archie’s body stopped tensing Cook put his hands on his upper arms, helping him up and off the ground. Cook handed Arch the towel that was set on the counter, David wiping off his mouth. Cook handed him a cup of water and Archie swished the water in his cheeks and between his teeth before spitting it out. Cook, putting a hand on the small of his back, helped him back to the bed.
Once everything had settled down, they had resumed their previous positions. They were sitting up next to each other, Cook hugging Arch close to his body, while Arch laid his head upon Cook’s shoulder. All was quiet once more, the air verging on awkward. Cook decided to break the silence.
“Are you sure you’re okay?” Cook simply questioned. David exhaled heavily, burying his face in Cook’s shoulder. Cook frowned once more, eye brows knitting together in confusion and worry.
“What’s the matter, babe?” Still no verbal answer came from his lover’s mouth. Cook was tacit, looking down at the head of silky, soft, jet black hair. He reached across with his right hand to run his fingers through it. After a couple of seconds, Cook registered a damp feeling on his shoulder. He glanced down in concern; maybe he was sweating. But Arch’s forehead did not glisten with such perspiration.
“Why are you crying?” Cook stuck his finger under David’s chin, making Arch look him in the eyes. Bright, teary green met darker, confused green. Cook had noticed that many hazel-eyed people had very bright green eyes when they cried, and David was no different. That was Cook’s technique in order to figure out if something was wrong.
“I-I’m not quite sure why…” Archie whispered, staring down at the bed spread that was suddenly very interesting. He scrunched the bed sheets in his hands while tears still fell steadily down his cheeks. Cook made him look at him once more, and David let his eyes flutter close as Cook pressed his lips to his forehead.
“No, you have to be for some reason. What’s wrong?” Cook usually wasn’t one to prod, but he wanted an answer since it was so sudden. He wasn’t upset or anything…was he?
“I’m just…exhausted. This whole entire process has been exhausting.” Arch finally spoke up.
“I know its tough being sick-“ Cook was cut off by the small, cracking voice.
“Not being sick…that’s not the problem. Everything is exhausting…Idol was exhausting; Tour was even more exhausting…I barely had time to catch my breath and look back when I want to. Sometimes I wonder if this is even worth it any more…” David trailed off, letting a shaky breath escape his lips. After a moment of silence, Cook gathered his thoughts and spoke up.
“Don’t say that…this will always be worth it. It’s about doing something you love, and leaving your mark in the world. You’ve touched so many lives, David. This is entirely worth it.” Cook replied to the ludicrous statement. Arch breathed in the words, processing and analyzing them in his mind.
“You’re right…” Arch finally said, meeting David’s eyes once more. Cook put his hand to Arch’s face, wiping away the remnants of tears with the pad of his thumb. Arch leaned up, pressing his lips against Cook’s, a kiss full of passion and a hint of lust.
“Thank you.” Arch whispered against Cook’s lips once they pulled back, and Cook shivered at the warm, fleeting breath that tickled his face. Arch once more rested his head against Cook’s shoulder. Cook wrapped his arms around David. The two shut their eyes, letting darkness envelop them and coax them into a peaceful, deep sleep.
~FIN~