He was dying.
He was dying. He was going to die. Right there on Usnavi's couch. Just...just fucking pass out and die. It would be horrible. No one would even be there to wish him off into the beyond. Their loss. He was pretty damn cool to not be wished off into the beyond.
Everything hurt. His eyebrows hurt. And honestly, dying sounded like a better plan then living through this. Maybe he could get someone to poke him with a needle that'd knock him out for a few days. Until it was all gone. He was young. It shouldn't take long for this to pass, right?
Well. Seeing as this was the fifth day of this total disgusting feeling of sickness, he was beginning to doubt that, actually.
He didn't even have enough energy to reach over and grab the medicine bottle from the coffee table every two hours, so Usnavi had to come up from the store and give him medicine. Because everything. Fucking. Hurt.
His head was no excuse. So when the front door banged open--Usnavi never made that much noise, so he ruled him out immediately--he let out a long, low groan, because he wasn't capable of making too loud of noises. Who doesn't knock, really?
"Yo! Sonny!" It was Graffiti Pete. Well. Okay. At least it wasn't Vanessa. She'd been bugging him with her frequent visits lately. He was pretty sure that she really did think he was going to die.
He opened his mouth to say something but then figured that was over exerting himself, so he was just going to wait there. Wait there until he was spotted. Pete came into the room and it only took him a second before he noticed Sonny laying on the couch. He paused, blinking. "You like like shit."
Sonny sent him a glare and raised his hand weakly to stick up his middle finger. "Ass." That proved to be an unwise decision because his body yelled at him a minute later for moving.
"No, seriously, what's..." He came forward, shrugging off his backpack and kicking off his shoes easily as he did so. Impressive he didn't trip, Sonny thought absently as he kneeled beside the couch to come to eye level with the younger boy. He looked at him carefully and tilted his head to the side.
"I got the flu. Or somethin'." Sonny grimaced at the pain that shot through his throat. He hadn't spoken in a few hours. Mostly to avoid this.
Pete raised his eyebrows and looked him over again. "Swine Flu?"
Sonny debated reaching out to hit him and decided that it wasn't worth the effort. "Epidemics are nothin' to joke about."
"It's a pandemic." Pete corrected him, propping his head up in his hands. When did he get educated?
"Shut up." Sonny sighed, glaring at him.
"You know the dude from Harry Potter had Swine Flu? Ron?" Pete informed him conversationally.
"Do I look like I care?" Sonny deadpanned, raising an eyebrow tiredly.
A smirk spread across his friend's face and he put a hand on his forehead. Sonny was honestly too tired to tell him not to touch him. And he didn't entirely mind. Let's just say it's the first one, though. "You're pretty warm, dude."
"Do you need medicine?"
"Usnavi brings it to me." He sniffled and closed his eyes, burying half of his face in the pillow.
"'kay. So why'm I here?"
"I'm trying to figure that out."
"You a bitch when you sick." He seemed delighted. Sonny was so glad he found amusement from his suffering.
"Imma cough on you." Pete didn't respond to this. An eye opened. "Go 'way." The eye closed.
Footsteps faded away and he half-smiled to himself. Moments later, he heard movement in the kitchen and he drew a breath to yell, but when he did, he erupted into a fit of coughing and wheezing and it was not pretty, so he gave up. Apparently Pete was making himself at home. But he could be throwing a party for all Sonny cared. As long as he didn't have to move. So he just kept his eyes shut, and tried to make himself as comfortable as he possibly could. Which proved to be very hard.
He must've dozed off, because when he woke up, the sky was dark and the only light was from the streetlights outside and the light coming from the kitchen. He made a noise in the back of his throat that was something between a whine and a low groan. He didn't know he managed to do that, but it hurt, so he reminded himself never to do it again. Pete came into the room and peered at him from above, he grinned widely. "Hey, you're up."
"You're happy." Sonny muttered, staring at the bowl in his hands. "Wuzzat?" He said in between a short yawn.
Pete raised the bowl in the air a bit. "Soup." He set it down on the table and got back into his previous kneeling position beside the couch.
Being the mature sixteen-year-old Sonny is, he made a face and pouted. "I don't want soup." He whined, sending Pete an annoyed half-glare. If it could even be considered half. It was too tired looking to be considered anything.
"Tough shit. Sit up."
"Why you layin' like that anyway?" He tilted his head and eyed Sonny skeptically. Ah. He was referring to the position that Sonny was currently in, and had been in, since he'd fallen asleep. Well, the reason for the strange position was because if he laid just so (pillow under his neck, head tilted to the side, half laying on his left side, half on his back, leg hanging off the couch) the pain was at least tolerable. It'd taken him twenty minutes to find this spot and he wasn't moving unless there was some sort of apocolypse. Even then, he wasn't making any promises.
"Don't look comfortable."
"Didn't I tell you to go away?"
Pete grinned and nodded. "Yeah, but has that ever stopped me?" Sonny didn't respond, he just shut his eyes again and made his face comfortable in it's pillow fortress. "Sit up."
"Fine." Sonny didn't know what the meant, but he didn't really care to find out. But then Pete was lifting him into a sitting position and he kind of wished he had found out so he could've slapped him in advance.
"Yo! Shit! God, Pete, stop!"
His friend just rolled his eyes at him. "You need to eat something."
"What d'you know?" Sonny mumbled, leaning his head against the back of the couch tiredly. "I'm not hungry."
"Eat it anyway," Pete grabbed the bowl and held it out to him. Sonny stared at it. Pete stared at him. "Now you take it."
"I don't want soup." Sonny pouted again and looked at the bowl with distaste.
Pete smirked and looked at him funny. "What, do you want me to feed you?"
"I hate you." Sonny sighed as Pete put the bowl carefully in his lap and then went over to sit next to him on the couch. He bowed his head and looked into the bowl. Chicken Noodle. How fun.
He looked at him with raised eyebrows. "Am I five?"
"Do you really want me t'answer that?" He reached out and grabbed the remote to turn on the TV. "It's good for you. Promise."
Sonny groaned and dragged the spoon through the soup, groaning again, but Pete was just ignoring him now. Finally, he lifted the spoon to his mouth and took a sip.
He blinked. It wasn't terrible. It was actually, like, really good. He blinked again and looked over at Pete, who was just watching the TV with a knowing smile. You don't get that kind of smile from Deal or No Deal, so Sonny figured he kind of knew that he'd love it. The bastard. Sonny looked back at the bowl and took another sip. The bastard made good soup. Definitely not out of a can.
Sonny aimed a raised eyebrow in Pete's direction. First he gets smart, then he starts to cook. In his sickness, it seemed that Sonny was missing a lot. "It's Abuela's recipe. She gave it to me the last time I was sick."
He had to crack a smile at that. He nodded, then sipped at it again. The warmth from it was spreading through his chest, easing the pain and clearing things up just a bit. He lifted the spoon to his lips again to take another bite, but his stomach started rolling in protest. He winced and looked at the soup sadly before placing it back on the table. He pulled his blanket tighter around him and let out a short moan of pain.
"It's cool. Just my stomach." He offered a weak smile.
Pete stared at him for a moment before reaching out. "C'mere." Before Sonny could blink, Pete had laid down and pulled him to his chest, one hand in his hair, and the other resting on his back.
"What're you doin'?" Sonny murmured. He decided a moment later he didn't care and made himself more comfortable, head buried in Pete's shirt and his arms wrapped around his back in an embrace. The hand on his back started rubbing up and down in slow circles. He sighed, pulling the blanket up around his shoulders, even though Pete was keeping him pretty warm. "Man...'m gonna get you sick."
He felt the vibrations of Pete laughing, and decided he quite liked that feeling. It relaxed his aching muscles even more. His eyes shut slowly as Pete's hand started to card through his hair. Sonny decided that he was just going to have to deal with getting sick, because this was the most comfortable he'd been in days and he was about in seventy seven percent less pain too, which is always good.
"Well," Pete murmured into his hair. "Then you can take care of me." Sonny muttered his agreement as Pete's soft, comforting hands lulled him to sleep.