Thin Skinned [Boy x Boy]

Chapter 9

Horn P.O.V

I am so happy that Cuts accepted my proposal. He makes me very happy. There is no one else I would rather spend my life with.

Cuts seems very happy as well. He's been hugging me a lot more. He's positively adorable when he clings. I know sometimes he thinks that it's annoying, but that's not how I see it.

Today, however, is different. Cuts is sick. He's been nauseous all morning and doesn't want to be touched at all. He hates physical contact when he's sick.

"Cuts, you should rest before you make yourself even worse," I tell him while carrying him to the couch.

I caught him trying to cook a nice breakfast that would most definitely be hard on his stomach. I may not be as good of a chef as him, but I can still cook.

I lay him on the couch and cover him with a light blanket in case he gets cold. He doesn't feel like he has a fever but I wouldn't be surprised if he gets one later.

"But I was making breakfast," he whines softly before rolling onto his side.

I roll my eyes and give him his phone. "Write something cute," I tell him.

He turns on his phone and opens up his notes. "You know I don't write cute stories," he mumbles under his breath.

"I know."

I ruffle his hair and walk to the kitchen to make something that hopefully won't make him sick. Normally he doesn't even want to eat when he gets sick.

"Are you sure you want to eat? That normally makes you more nauseous," I remind him.

He thinks for a few moments before sighing. "I don't know. I thought I was hungry, but now I feel like throwing up," he admits while running his fingers through his hair.

"Maybe you should just drink some water then," I suggest while bringing him a water bottle from the fridge.

Cuts takes a sip and sets it on the coffee table. He now seems like he doesn't want anything at all. He seems like he might have the flu.

Suddenly, Cuts gets up and runs to the bathroom. It's better that he didn't eat breakfast now. Food is much worse coming back up than going down.

I follow Cuts to discover him hunched over the toilet. He's heaving but because he hasn't eaten the only thing that comes up is bile.

I sit behind him and rub his back and shoulders to soothe him. He whimpers softly before heaving once again. Hopefully, he won't be sick for too long. I know how much he hates it.

Cuts gets sick fairly often. His immune system is very weak. I normally almost never get sick. I end up taking care of him while he's sick, much to his disliking.

He tells me that he doesn't like being taken care of because he begins to feel like a burden. I reassure him that he isn't and that I'm happy to take care of him while he's sick. I love him and the more I help the sooner he gets better so he can be happy again.

After a few minutes, he manages to lean back and takes a few deep breaths. He's certainly worked up and exhausted. I continue to rub his back to help him relax.

He leans forward for a moment and spits some blood into the toilet. I don't panic because I know he isn't dying. His entire body is pretty weak. The vomiting scratched his throat and that's why he's bleeding. It's happened before.

"I hate being sick," he groans softly while trying to relax.

"No one likes being sick," I tell him.

I brush some hair off his face. It's hard to tell if he actually has a fever right now because he's so worked up. I'll have to check when he calms down.

"I think that if you don't get better in a week that you should go to the doctor," I tell him.

He lets out a small sound of distress after I mention doctor. He has a phobia of doctors. He's told me small details but never the full story. He doesn't like to talk about it. It can trigger a panic attack. The last thing I want to do is cause him distress.

"If you're not better in a week. You still have six days."

He still doesn't look happy about my suggestion. Unfortunately, he has no choice. I'm not going to let him go untreated if he can't get better on his own.

He groans and crosses his arms as I carry him back to the couch. I know he doesn't want to even hear the word doctor. He hates it.

"You won't have to worry until the week is up," I remind him.

He sighs and pulls the blanket up over his head. I pull it down and ruffle his hair. He shares a small smile that shows how tired he is.

"Rest," I tell him softly.

Cuts nods and nestles into the blanket. I sit down next to him and play with his hair. He rests his head on my lap and sighs softly.

"Don't make yourself worse by worrying," I warn him.

He nods after a moment and closes his eyes. He's finally beginning to relax. I'm glad that he isn't stressing at the moment. I don't want him to get worse.

I tease his hair while he sleeps and smile. He's relaxing and seems calm. He doesn't need to stress while he's sick. It only makes him worse.

I hope he gets better soon. I don't want to have to take him to the doctor. He started having a panic attack when I had to take him to the hospital. Doctors were forced to sedate him to calm him down. I never want to see him so distressed again.

I would prefer to keep him at home but if he doesn't get over his sickness then the doctor may become a necessity. I just hope it doesn't get to that point. I don't want him to stress over something like this.