ph_logs | Rose's Sickfic Plague Pit

"Sure t'ing! But until then, bed only."

With a little hum, Hector totes Capochin all the way up the stairs, depositing him into the bed once he's crossed their cozy little bedroom. He takes a few extra moments to find some particularly cozy pajamas and piles them into the bedside.

"There! Yew get changed n' get all cozy in bed, and I'lllllll..." He trails off thoughtfully, bringing a hand to rub at his chin. "See if we got anything good for soups! An' maybe some tea. Sham'o'meals is good for dis kind of thing, I think. Or the minty types. Yew want anything in part-ick-yew-lure?"

"Honey," Capochin wheezes. "S'good for sore throats. I could really use it in the tea. N'chammomile's good for sleep, so I'll take dat."

With a groan, he peels himself off the bed, feeling like he weighs a million pounds. But he won't be stopped by a change of clothes, even if his body would very much like to give out on him.

"Okie-dokie, yew got it. I'll be back here in juuust a lil' bit!"

And he's off. There's some clattering down in the kitchen, the sounds of him singing to himself, and occasional sounds of the front door opening and light conversation had with the Bizzyboys, but, true to his word, he returns after about an hour.

It's by no means marvelous--- he hasn't cooked for himself in some decades, only still yet fetching himself snacks--- but the chicken in the soup is cooked through, even if the broth, at this point, is lukewarm, and the noodles are a bit chewy. The tea smells more of honey than it does of chamomile; it's hard to say if it's because chamomile has a subtle smell, or he just used a fair bit of honey.

"Caaaaappy, yew still awake?" He calls gently into the room, nudging the door open with his hip to walk the little tray in sideways. "I got yewr healin' liquids all ready for yew!"

Capochin changes clothes as quickly as he can, into loose cotton pants and a matching button up. Then he collapses back into bed, just resting his eyes, unable to sleep for the racket but enjoying the sound. He loves listening to Hector sing. He's got a gorgeous tenor voice, and sings like no one's listening just any old time. There's such a warmth to the sound that all of the stress and discomfort just melts right out of Capochin to the point where he's lulled into something not quite sleep, just a gentle meditation.

The smell brings him back to himself, somehow penetrating his congestion. Maybe it's the steam carried with it. His eyes drift open slowly. "Mm, my liquids..." he mumbles, too delirious with exhaustion to realize how goofy he sounds. He heaves himself upright slowly. "Yeah, m'awake. You make all dat for me?"

"Who else, silly thing?" Hector teases, but waits until he's all the way upright and settled before he passes over the tray, fishing into the pocket of his pants where he'd stowed away the silverware to ensure he wouldn't accidentally leave them.

"Yew need anything else? Water, lil' treats, extra pillow? I could even borrow da desk over there n' work up here to keep yew come-pan-ee, if yew want."

The silverware in the pocket makes Capochin laugh softly, and he starts in on the soup. Sad that it isn't all that warm still, but his nose is too stuffy to notice any issues with the taste, and the noodles being a little bit too al dente is a Hector special. Awful if anyone else did them like this, but when it's Hector, it tastes like home.

The tea is nice and warm. Too sweet, but that's alright. Capochin isn't above guzzling honey straight if it means supressing his cough, so he drinks it fine.

"I'd worry 'bout you catchin' what I got if you hang around too much..." But it sounds like maybe he'd rather not be alone.

"Pfff, I'll be just fine if I work over here n' yew rest over there!" Hector waves off the concern. "Yew sit tight for just a minute, and I'll be right back!"

Out the door he goes once again, and after a trip down the stairs, and back into their office, he comes back up with a bundle of papers and writing implements tucked into his arms. The desk at the other side of the room is more of a place to catch assorted objects, so it takes some shuffling to clear it, but once things are set out of the way, he's able to get himself set up without too much fuss.

"I figure dis works better, anyhow," he prattles as he gets everything arranged. "That way, if yew need somethin', yew can flag me down real easy! But no backseat note take-king, yew hear me?" (The chiding is playful, of course, but this is something that's happened more than once in the past. The curse of being two people who have particular but very different ways of going about these things.)

"Yeah, yeah," Capochin grumbles, but there's no venom to it. He slowly eats his soup and drinks his tea, letting the steam break down some of the fog in his head.

So this is what it feels like to be loved. He'd nearly forgotten, in all this time. It feels so, so nice.

Finally, Capochin lays down and starts to actually go to sleep.

"Hey Hector?" He mumbles.

Edited 2025-04-21 19:34 (UTC)

"Mhm?" Hector's reply comes as a content little hum, the scratch of pen to paper stopping while he takes a glance back over his shoulder. There's a warm pride at seeing that his food went over well, and a fondness that's written all over him. "What'cha need?"

Feverish and dreamy, Capochin looks at him with heavy eyelids and a sluggish grin.

"I really, really love you. You're my favorite guy."

Hector's tail curls into a ridiculous little delighted curl, and that smile of his widens.

"Dat's a funny co-ints-ee-dents, because yew're my favorite guy, and I love yew, too," Hector turns a bit for a moment as he speaks, just to get a better look at Capochin. It's not often that he looks this relaxed, even if it is due to his illness. It's a lovely sight; hopefully, with time, Hector can get him to take a load off more often, without having to be convinced by a disorienting fever. "Get some good sleeps, love-lee."

Safe and warm despite the discomfort of illness, full of food and tea, and so in love, Capochin drifts off almost immediately. He snores loudly, his nose plugged by congestion. But he sleeps deeply, looking a bit like a teddy bear.

Perhaps when Hector is done working, he'll be willing to risk his own nose to get some cuddles.

The scheduling doesn't take all that long to complete, nor do the report reviews. There's probably more to be done, but when he stands up, taking a moment to be satisfied with his work, he takes a little look over to the bed. Capochin's out like a light, and looking incredibly cozy.

He shouldn't. He might wake Capochin up, there's other things to be done, the Bizzyboys working today really should have one of their bosses to look to for instruction, and there's a very solid chance that whatever he has, Hector could easily catch...

...But, on the other hand, the bed's looking awfully comfortable, and surely Capochin could use a little bit of morale-boosting snuggling?

Ah, what the Drain. Surely a few minutes won't hurt.

Boots kicked off and glasses set aside, Hector piles himself into his side of the bed, pulling himself close enough to pull Capochin into the last bit of closeness. Arms find their way around him, his chin sets atop ruffled hair, and his tail latches onto Capochin's own.

~~When he starts sneezing in a few days, it'll still be completely worth it.~~

The moment that Hector is in the bed, Capochin latches onto him without even really waking up, mumbling incoherently. His tail winds even tighter to Hector's. He's running hot, and sweat has soaked his clothes. But he is loved, and he loves deeply in return.

"Mmgh, soft," he mutters.

Edited 2025-04-22 19:31 (UTC)

"Mhm, gotta stay nice n' soft n' cozy," Hector murmurs, quiet and affectionate. "Yew get some good rest, Cappy."

-

A few days pass, and Hector does what he can to dote on Capochin through the worst of it - as soon as that fierce determination to be self-sufficient comes back, though, he's in no place to argue with it.

Not only because it's easier to let Capochin do things they way he prefers to, though, but due to the slow decline into feeling awful Hector's been inching into.

Back in his mortal life, before he'd ascended to godhood, he didn't get sick often; as it was with anything he struggled with, however, he muscled through it any way he could possibly manage, assured people that nothing was wrong, and saved sinking away and rotting in bed for his scarce few moments of downtime.

After several decades of not getting sick, and his instincts to keep his vulnerable parts hidden away now at war with the parts of him that are so desperate for his suffering to be seen, he's handling it... not especially well.

Despite waking up feeling worse than he'd gone to bed, the illness deciding to truly start to settle in, the former of those two instincts is the winner for the moment. He does what he can not to get too close to any of the Bizzyboys in particular to keep what he's got from spreading too much, but he maintains cheer where he can, writing off any concerns as allergies catching up to him.

This doesn't persist to when he's alone at his desk, charting out some plans to assist with some local gardening efforts, when the brainfog and fatigue gets the best of him, leaving him staring in a perplexed daze that teeters on anxious at the paper in front of him.

(The writing on it is borderline incomprehensible, and that isn't helping him sort out how to proceed literally at all.)

Rose's Sickfic Plague Pit

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skipping ahead a couple days! :3c