Funny Business, V
Funny Business, V
Johnny Weir/Stephane Lambiel, G, 684. Johnny is sick.
Johnny woke up with a headache. His eyelids were ridiculously heavy, the sun was too bright; his whole head was throbbing and felt like it weighed a tonne. His lips, the entire lining of his mouth- all completely dry, dry like paper, dry like fallen leaves.
He needed water. His bed was too hot. He kicked the bedsheets irritably and sat up in his bed. His head weighed even more from this angle and his limbs felt like they were made of rubber.
“This was much worse than a hangover,” Johnny thought. His body tensed up suddenly, and Johnny let out a most ungraceful sneeze. Sniffling heavily, Johnny decided to sleep again, briefly wondering if Stephane was awake before succumbing to unconsciousness.
Stephane woke to silence. Absolute silence, silence that makes a pin drop echo as it hits the floor. Weird, Stephane thought, considering it was Saturday and he's usually at Johnny's, with a kitchen blaring with Top 40 charts on the radio and Johnny in an apron and everything smelling like pancakes and honey and maple syrup.
It was then that Stephane realised that he WAS at Johnny's.
And breakfast was not made. And the radio was not on. And the kitchen was virtually untouched.
“Don't panic,” Stephane muttered, uneager to disturb the silence hanging about the room. He checked the coffee table and the kitchen bench to see if Johnny had written a note for him to say he'd gone out. No note. He checked the balcony. No Johnny. The bathroom was empty too.
Which meant the last remaining place would be the bedroom.
Stephane found himself staring at Johnny's bedroom door. He knocked, hoping to hear shuffling, anything. He heard only silence. He knocked again. Still, nothing. “Maybe this was the time to panic,” thought Stephane. He had never been invited inside, much less enter on his own accord. There was probably no one in there anyway; Johnny must have stepped out without telling him because he had been asleep. He'd just open the door, make sure he wasn't there, and close the door again. Johnny would never know.
Stephane gripped the handle and twisted it silently, pushing the door open slowly so it didn't creak.
Johnny was there, fast asleep.
Stephane could have laughed aloud. He thought Johnny had gone! Left him alone and unable to get back to Galina's and his bags still in the back of Johnny's car! Stephane wanted to throttle him with one of the big heart-shaped pillows in Johnny's room!
"Steph?" Johnny was stirring. “Stephane, I'm sick. Go away."
His voice was sounded rough, grating. Stephane touched a hand to Johnny's forehead. ("Stephane, please," Johnny said, trying to swat Stephane's hand away. Stephane would have none of it.)
"You're sick." Stephane said. Johnny smiled warily.
"I know."
"You're really hot," Stephane continued.
"I know that too," (really, Johnny could not resist).
"No, no," Stephane sighed, exasperated, "What is it? Like hot on your skin? Heating up, you're heating up?"
"I think I have a fever," stated Johnny, "plus or minus sinus problems. A cold or something."
"I will get a doctor for you-"
"No, no, no doctor," Johnny said quickly -
"Galina?"
"God, no, don't-"
"Your mother?"
"Lambiel, are you nuts? Calling my mother is letting Galina know and the doctor know and Tanith will probably find out-"
Stephane looked a mixture of disappointment and confusion.
"You want me to call nobody for help and me to go away? Do you want to die??"
"Steph, for fucks sake-,"
"I said, no 'Steph'-"
"-Stephane Lambiel, for fucks sake, I am not trying to kill myself-"
"-I'm not going to go away."
Johnny opened his mouth wordlessly before shutting it again. "Okay, I'm done talking. You can stay but I'm warning you, I'm probably sleeping till late afternoon. Princess needs a rest."
"I'll stay. I’ll help. You need cold towels to make your body less hot, stop heating up. And tissues.."
"You have a Prince-needs-to-rescue-Princess complex, you know that," Johnny muttered, but he was drifting back to sleep and Stephane could not hear him, already headed out the door.
Johnny Weir/Stephane Lambiel, G, 684. Johnny is sick.
Johnny woke up with a headache. His eyelids were ridiculously heavy, the sun was too bright; his whole head was throbbing and felt like it weighed a tonne. His lips, the entire lining of his mouth- all completely dry, dry like paper, dry like fallen leaves.
He needed water. His bed was too hot. He kicked the bedsheets irritably and sat up in his bed. His head weighed even more from this angle and his limbs felt like they were made of rubber.
“This was much worse than a hangover,” Johnny thought. His body tensed up suddenly, and Johnny let out a most ungraceful sneeze. Sniffling heavily, Johnny decided to sleep again, briefly wondering if Stephane was awake before succumbing to unconsciousness.
Stephane woke to silence. Absolute silence, silence that makes a pin drop echo as it hits the floor. Weird, Stephane thought, considering it was Saturday and he's usually at Johnny's, with a kitchen blaring with Top 40 charts on the radio and Johnny in an apron and everything smelling like pancakes and honey and maple syrup.
It was then that Stephane realised that he WAS at Johnny's.
And breakfast was not made. And the radio was not on. And the kitchen was virtually untouched.
“Don't panic,” Stephane muttered, uneager to disturb the silence hanging about the room. He checked the coffee table and the kitchen bench to see if Johnny had written a note for him to say he'd gone out. No note. He checked the balcony. No Johnny. The bathroom was empty too.
Which meant the last remaining place would be the bedroom.
Stephane found himself staring at Johnny's bedroom door. He knocked, hoping to hear shuffling, anything. He heard only silence. He knocked again. Still, nothing. “Maybe this was the time to panic,” thought Stephane. He had never been invited inside, much less enter on his own accord. There was probably no one in there anyway; Johnny must have stepped out without telling him because he had been asleep. He'd just open the door, make sure he wasn't there, and close the door again. Johnny would never know.
Stephane gripped the handle and twisted it silently, pushing the door open slowly so it didn't creak.
Johnny was there, fast asleep.
Stephane could have laughed aloud. He thought Johnny had gone! Left him alone and unable to get back to Galina's and his bags still in the back of Johnny's car! Stephane wanted to throttle him with one of the big heart-shaped pillows in Johnny's room!
"Steph?" Johnny was stirring. “Stephane, I'm sick. Go away."
His voice was sounded rough, grating. Stephane touched a hand to Johnny's forehead. ("Stephane, please," Johnny said, trying to swat Stephane's hand away. Stephane would have none of it.)
"You're sick." Stephane said. Johnny smiled warily.
"I know."
"You're really hot," Stephane continued.
"I know that too," (really, Johnny could not resist).
"No, no," Stephane sighed, exasperated, "What is it? Like hot on your skin? Heating up, you're heating up?"
"I think I have a fever," stated Johnny, "plus or minus sinus problems. A cold or something."
"I will get a doctor for you-"
"No, no, no doctor," Johnny said quickly -
"Galina?"
"God, no, don't-"
"Your mother?"
"Lambiel, are you nuts? Calling my mother is letting Galina know and the doctor know and Tanith will probably find out-"
Stephane looked a mixture of disappointment and confusion.
"You want me to call nobody for help and me to go away? Do you want to die??"
"Steph, for fucks sake-,"
"I said, no 'Steph'-"
"-Stephane Lambiel, for fucks sake, I am not trying to kill myself-"
"-I'm not going to go away."
Johnny opened his mouth wordlessly before shutting it again. "Okay, I'm done talking. You can stay but I'm warning you, I'm probably sleeping till late afternoon. Princess needs a rest."
"I'll stay. I’ll help. You need cold towels to make your body less hot, stop heating up. And tissues.."
"You have a Prince-needs-to-rescue-Princess complex, you know that," Johnny muttered, but he was drifting back to sleep and Stephane could not hear him, already headed out the door.