(no subject)
Who: Wolfram von Bielefeld flaming_for_yuu and Shibuya Yuuri is_the_catcher
Where: Their room.
When: Geostigma event, day 3.
Rating: PG-13 for probable angst
Summary: Wolfram's getting sicker.
the Story: If looks could kill, Wolfram's left knee would have been very dead. It had just committed the unforgivable sin of failing and dumping him on his rear right in front of Yuuri, sending a jolt of pain through his body. He bowed his head and fought for breath against the potent combination of illness, the agony of that disgusting sore on his chest, and wounded pride.
He wished he would at least stop hallucinating. That silver-haired man babbling about reunions and equally ridiculous tripe kept flashing across his vision, and the voices were so loud that he couldn't tell if Yuuri was saying anything or not.
"I'm fine!" he announced, his voice too loud. "I just tripped!" His hands balled into fists, refusing to try and rub at his chest for relief of the pain. It wouldn't help, anyway. He'd tried the last time Yuuri left the room and he'd changed the gauze. It just made it hurt worse, and then the ooze got under his fingernails and he had to scrub them clean.
Wolfram stared at the carpet (which on and off turned into the face of someone he didn't know: why couldn't this come with pleasant hallucinations? Like Yuuri shirtless- he wasn't thinking that, really.) He wished he hadn't talked to that doctor. Of course this wasn't going to be fatal. He didn't have a weak human body. He'd be feeling better soon.
Really.
He swallowed back the sharp burn of bile at the back of his throat, and just in case Yuuri had said something, repeated firmly, "I'm fine."
Where: Their room.
When: Geostigma event, day 3.
Rating: PG-13 for probable angst
Summary: Wolfram's getting sicker.
the Story: If looks could kill, Wolfram's left knee would have been very dead. It had just committed the unforgivable sin of failing and dumping him on his rear right in front of Yuuri, sending a jolt of pain through his body. He bowed his head and fought for breath against the potent combination of illness, the agony of that disgusting sore on his chest, and wounded pride.
He wished he would at least stop hallucinating. That silver-haired man babbling about reunions and equally ridiculous tripe kept flashing across his vision, and the voices were so loud that he couldn't tell if Yuuri was saying anything or not.
"I'm fine!" he announced, his voice too loud. "I just tripped!" His hands balled into fists, refusing to try and rub at his chest for relief of the pain. It wouldn't help, anyway. He'd tried the last time Yuuri left the room and he'd changed the gauze. It just made it hurt worse, and then the ooze got under his fingernails and he had to scrub them clean.
Wolfram stared at the carpet (which on and off turned into the face of someone he didn't know: why couldn't this come with pleasant hallucinations? Like Yuuri shirtless- he wasn't thinking that, really.) He wished he hadn't talked to that doctor. Of course this wasn't going to be fatal. He didn't have a weak human body. He'd be feeling better soon.
Really.
He swallowed back the sharp burn of bile at the back of his throat, and just in case Yuuri had said something, repeated firmly, "I'm fine."