Thread by @philologicalbat, thinking real intensely abt xxc and sl taking care of a sick [...]

thinking real intensely abt xxc and sl taking care of a sick xy lately. abt how absolutely ALIEN being cared for really is for him. why are they being nice to him?! HE'S WEAK. HE IS SHOWING WEAKNESS. no, don't stay home from work— fuck u!!! he needs no one! NO CUDDLING.

xy comes from the tough it out school of recovering from illness, especially because he tends to work the kind of shift jobs where if you call out, you don't get paid and you can't pay your rent. but now he lives with these two bourgeois assholes?! who want him to call in sick?

"we'll cover your share of the rent" SURE THING. and xy will just— what? owe them one? accept their charity. no thank you. he is going to work; he is paying his share of the rent. he's a big boy. who admittedly collapses two hours into his shift. and has to be taken home.

bc apPARently A-Qing got xxc's phone number at some point and she doesn't think that people who aren't consistently conscious should take public transit by themselves. for some reason, xy pointing out that he has done it before DOESN'T help his case? ugh. some coworkers.

so bourgeois asshole #1 comes to pick him up in his stupid bourgeois asshole car wearing his stupid bourgeois asshole tailored suit. xy almost immediately vomits on xxc's bourgeois asshole upholstery (it's WHITE tf) and— xxc isn't even mad?

he's just petting xy's hair with one hand and telling him to hang in there and apologizing for taking the turns too fast, and honestly. honestly why can't xy pass out NOW so he can be spared this. he does slip into a drowsy nap though, listening to the mind-numbing sound of npr.

so he comes to in xxc's arms being bridal carried into their fucking apartment. xxc is profusely thanking the creepy little lady next door who has apparently helped him by unlocking their door (why does she have keys, xingchen?!) because xxc's hands are full of xy.

when they get into the apartment, xxc carries xy into the bedroom (not in a sexy way) and then— undresses him (also not in a sexy way) and leaves him there to run a fucking bath for him. xy lies on the bed, naked and gross, and does his best to stay awake bc xxc told him to.

eventually the water stops running and xxc comes back and tries to get xy to walk over to the master bathroom and that's. deeply not happening. he makes it a few steps before he has to grab for xxc's arm to steady himself. so he gets carried again.

the bath isn't as hot as he'd have made it, but it's sort of a tepid soothing warmth and he sinks into it and sighs. xxc sits there with him, even though there's still vomit in his car. even though he should go back to work. xy tells him as much and xxc tells him he doesn't care.

xy would argue normally bc how are they going to pay the rent if xxc gets fired and xy can't work, but he's just exhausted enough to let it go. to glare weakly at xxc as he pours cupped handfuls of warm water over xy's hair and washes it, rubbing at his scalp. it's nice.

afterward, when he's warm and clean, xxc bundles him into a towel and medicates him and sets him in bed for a nap and THEN, finally, that fucker goes and cleans up the vomit in his car. at least that's what xy assumes he's doing while xy takes a nap.

when he wakes up, he's sweaty and gross again, and he feels even more like garbage. xxc sticks an actual-ass thermometer in his mouth and clucks his tongue over xy's temperature. then he asks if xy wants to watch tv with him. xy squints. is this a joke? he doesn't want to MOVE.

xy says no, throwing in some choice words about the very concept of moving from the bed. instead of leaving like a SENSIBLE PERSON, xxc. climbs into bed with him. curls up behind him. strokes his hair and asks if that's okay. if it's okay if xxc holds him while he shivers.

it is. it's okay. it's more than okay. it's nice to know that someone will be there if he needs something when he wakes up. to fetch him water or meds or whatever. xy drifts off as xxc gently rubs his unsettled stomach, a warm presence against his back.

xy wakes up alone. it's awful. he's cold and disoriented and he is supposed to be at work, isn't he? did he over sleep? he sits up in a panic in the darkness, uncertain of where he is, groping for a bedside lamp. he shouts for Xingchen, for Song Lan. hears footsteps outside.

xxc throws the door open, already apologizing, tripping over things bc he doesn't bother to turn the light on. he wraps his arms around xy and hugs him just tightly enough that it knocks the fear out of him. xy sniffles gently against xxc's probably-designer sweater.

"oh, sweetheart, I'm sorry," xxc says. "zichen came home. he's cooking. we were just catching up. I didn't think you'd wake up while— I'm so sorry. how're you feeling?" xxc is rubbing circles against his back. xy actually doesn't feel half as shit as he did before he napped.

" 'm fine," xy says, surly.

xxc kisses his forehead and then presses a hand to it. he hms softly.

"does my temperature qualify me for tv watching privileges, doc?"

"do you want to watch tv?"

"sure." xy does not. he does want xxc to cuddle him on the couch, though.

xxc makes him WALK to the living room, which is frankly cruel. it's an entire twenty feet. what is this, prison? by the time xy gets to the couch, he's a little tired, but xxc looks so fucking proud of him for making it barely halfway across the apartment.

xxc tucks him under a blanket and kisses his cheek. "can I get you anything?"

xy frowns at him. he's not going to ask xxc to sit with him. he's not that pathetic. "i'm fine. pick something for us to watch."

xxc smiles at him, sits down. "okay."

xxy scrolls through what seems like half the available options on Netfl*x before he picks one of the various Great British Bake Off knockoffs that xxc's probably already seen. xy definitely wouldn't watch this with him if he weren't sick. at least this one is in English.

as the episode starts, xy grumblingly shoves xxc into one corner of the couch and rearranges himself onto xxc's chest. xxc pulls the blanket back over xy and very carefully tucks it under his chin. kisses the top of his head. xy says, "gross," and snuggles up against him.

there are exactly no british accents in this show AND no N*cole Byer being horny on main, so xy isn't entirely sure what xxc sees in it. but xxc's sweater is very soft and warm under xy's cheek and he enjoys bitching at xxc when he gets too into the show and jostles xy.

he's dozing when the smell of spices drifts over him and kisses the top of his head. "mmf."

song lan says something soft to xxc, and xy doesn't care enough to try to listen. probably dinner will ready soon.

xy tries not to think too hard about having to eat song lan's (usually delicious) cooking on an upset stomach. it's oddly overwhelming. he burrows his face into xxc's chest and lets them talk over him. eventually, sl and the kitchen smell drift away. xxc says, "sit up."

"no."

"come on, zichen says you need more fluids."

"fuck that."

xxc sighs. he yells at sl to bring him a straw and— sl does. sl, who does not tolerate xy's bullshit on the best of days, brings xxc's travel mug with the reusable straw and xy drinks the water from that instead.

"did song lan put pedialyte in this?" xy asks after he's drunk half of it. he was saving that for a future hangover, thank you very much.

"maybe? I might've told him you threw up in the car."

xy tries to muster a glare. fails. "ugh."

"yeah, he's the worst."

xy sips his gross pedialyte concoction and tries to make snippy comments about mediocre bakes that xxc laughs dutifully at. eventually sl shouts that dinner's ready. on a normal day, that means: everyone sits at the table. do not fuck around. it is not fucking optional, xue yang.

tonight, sl walks into the living room, takes one look at them, and says, "do you want to have dinner on the couch?"

xy shakes his head. "fuck off, I'll eat at the table like a fucking adult."

sl frowns at him. not his angry frown. his /concerned/ frown. "if you're sure."

xxc spots him on the entire walk to the dining table as sl ferries plates over. xy clutches his pedialyte and does his best to walk like a normal person. walking has never seemed this difficult or this exhausting. fuck being sick, honestly.

he settles himself at his normal place and makes a little ta-da gesture. xxc looks genuinely proud of him, which xy hates. xy eyes the curry in front of xxc and sl's usual seats. it looks, smells, delicious. the idea of eating it makes xy want to vomit preemptively.

sl brings in xy's plate last. only it's not a plate at all. it's a bowl. it contains chicken noodle soup. not the kind that comes out of a can and goes in the microwave. it is almost certainly homemade stock, probably something sl already had in the freezer, waiting to be used.

the noodles are thick, handmade, clearly fresh. newly made for xy. there is actual chicken in the soup, little slices of carrots and celery and weird herbs and shit floating in it. xy gulps. he doesn't look up at either of them. presses a hand over his own mouth.

xxc says, "sweetheart? do you feel okay?", and xy starts to cry. enormous wracking sobs at the dinner table. shaking with them. xxc kneels next to him and asks him what's wrong, tries to put an arm around him, and that's— too much. xy slaps his hand away. no. he can't.

sl says, bewildered, "do you want curry instead? there's more. if you want it."

xy shakes his head. he's still fucking crying. fuck. he can't stop.

"I just— I thought soup would be easier on your stomach."

xy nods at him. blows his nose into a napkin like the rude fuck he is.

no one has ever, as long as he can remember, made him soup when he was sick before. he doesn't get sick much. takes sick days even less. he's sat in half a dozen shitty apartments and vomited into trashcans alone. once, maybe twice, a roommate bought him a gatorade or something.

but sl, this absolute asshole, made him soup. it's good soup. xy is looking forward to having it when he manages to stop crying. sl gets up. hugs him. lets him get snot all over his fancy hoodie. says, "it's just fucking soup, asshole." just for that, xy rubs extra snot on him.

sl wipes the tears from xy's cheeks and dabs a clean corner of xy's napkin at his freely running nose. he frowns. "you're not well hydrated enough to cry this much."

xy laughs in spite of himself. nods. somehow, turns off the waterworks.

xxc squeezes his hand. "try the soup."

it is predictably delicious. he looks up from slurping a long handmade noodle into his mouth. both xxc and sl are watching him, rapt.

sl says, "how is it?"

xy shrugs. "fine I guess."

sl fucking beams. like it's the greatest praise he's ever received. "good."

later, after xxc drugs him up again, xy curls up between them on the couch, head on sl's shoulder, feet in xxc's lap. he drifts off to the sound of the stupid knockoff baking show, which sl is righteously and loudly hating for both of them. good. sl knows nicole is best.

he slips off, warm and comfortable if a little achy. they'll be here when he wakes.

// thank you for coming to my intimacy-is-difficult-for-xy ted talk. please, let these two nice young men take care of you, sweetie. (I know I said orchid AU, but like... tomorrow? I promise?) I missed you all so mu-hu-huch. <3

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