"esmerelda. i told you, i would be fine. i don't need a babysitter, and i especially don't need that babysitter to be clopin."
"okay, you're the one using the word "babysitter" so that's your problem, and second, i don't want you to wake up again and get scared because there's nobody in the house."
"that is not what happened last time."
"that is absolutely what happened last time." esmerelda said to her partner, a deadpanned look on her face.
"i don't need-" phoebus started, whining.
"it's too late," esmerelda laughed, "he's gonna be here in like three minutes. look, i have to go, just let him in when he gets here, i'll be back in a few hours." esmerelda said, grabbing her bag and heading to the door.
"hours?" phoebus said, a worried look flashing across his face. god, he was such a baby sometimes.
"yes. hours. you'll be fine," she assured him placidly, squeezing his hand. "get some sleep." she told him, kissing his cheek before disappearing out the door of their apartment.
phoebus de martin was left alone, wrapped in the bedsheets, with a sniffly nose and pesky cough that didn't want to go away.
he'd been sick for a week now, running a high fever, and unable to keep much food down at all. he slept the days away, often waking up drenched in sweat from fever dreams that bordered on nightmarish, yelling for esmerelda. the one time esmerelda hadn't been there, she'd come home to find him shaking and hyperventilating in the bathroom like a traumatized cat.
circumstance forced her to leave the house, but her love life forced her to stay, and she couldn't do both at the same time now, could she? so she called up clopin, and asked if he would be able to stay at her apartment while she went out to run errands. the jester agreed and here he was arriving at his dear friend's apartment not five minutes after she had already gone out the door.
when he knocked on the door, it was opened almost immediately by phoebus who had been waiting like a dog for his owner to come home.
he looked like living hell.
his face was flushed, with dry lips and tired eyes. his hair stuck up in odd places but was matted down by sweat in others. the man looked like a zombie with a comforter, and clopin gave him an odd look, tentatively stepping into the apartment.
"hey...are you good?" he asked, taking his shoes off.
"oh yeah, just peachy. i'm going to bed. esme said you could help yourself to anything just...let me sleep." phoebus groaned.
YOU ARE READING
Misc.
General Fictionalas! a wild virtual junk drawer! what heinous social commentaries will he write? what sad self inserts will be created? literally dont take anything in here seriously, half of this shit is the aftermath of my preteen angst
