Tracob Oneshots

Sick Boy

J

The sun beats down on us while we walk through the streets of Sydney, Troye's hand in mine as we window shop and look around. We arrived this morning for press this week, and it's still the middle of the night back in LA. I'm usually not that affected by jetlag, but my boyfriend is. All morning he's been complaining about being nauseous and exhausted, but I insisted on getting him outside to help.

"The light is too bright, turn it down."

"That's the sun, love. I can't do a thing about it." I grip his hand tightly while he shuffles down the street at the speed of a woman who's full term with triplets.

"I wanna go back inside." He stops, swaying on the spot. "I'm dizzy."

"The fresh air will help, keep walking, come on, there you go. Three steps. Now four steps."

I coax him through it. His eyes are half shut, face screwed up in discomfort.

"I'm gonna throw up."

"You're not gonna throw up, you're doing fine, just-"

Troye gags and rips his hand out of mine, falling to his knees by a bush and retching into it. Thankfully there's not one person around to see except me, but still. I put my hand on his shoulder, not really sure how to help because...how do you help at the point when someone's on the ground vomiting. You pretty much just have to see them through it. He straightens up, wiping his mouth.

"I told you I was going to throw up." He whines, sniffling.

"You're just jetlagged, baby. I'm sorry, I know you hate that." I take his hand and head down back where we came from, right back to the hotel. We don't get very far before he's throwing up again, this time in the middle of a sidewalk, slightly towards the edge. "Ja-" He dry heaves again before continuing to vomit.

"Baby, it's fine, nobody's looking." That's a lie, because a lot of people are looking. We're thankfully not next to any restaurants or stores, but some people are crossing the street.

A few women look over at me, concerned, and I shake my head.

"Can't handle his liquor." I smirk, watching them roll their eyes and keep walking.

"I swear." He yelps, breathing in harshly. "Sh, keep going." I rub his back soothingly.

"I wanna go take a nap now please." He requests once he's done, standing up and taking in a few shaky breaths. "I know you do, but if you sleep, your jetlag will last longer."

"I don't give a shit right now, Jacob Taylor. Wake me up before lunch or something. Let's fucking go." Okay, now he's pissed.

"Come on, we're going." I lead him away, making it to the hotel in about four minutes. He's panting by the time we get up to the room, this time complaining that he can't breathe and he's hot. I get him in the shower for as long as I can before he's dry heaving yet again, over the toilet and crying to go with it.

"I think I'm dying," tears side down his face as he slumps against the wall, wrapped only in a towel. His hands are shaking - scratch that, his whole body is shaking slightly.

"You're not dying, baby come here." I pull his clammy, sick little self into my lap and he drops his head onto my chest, breathing raggedly.

"Take a couple deep breaths, there we go. In and out, it's just temporary.

"I wanna go to sleep, will you sedate me?"

"Uh, no. I'm not gonna sedate you."

"Please, babe I'm begging you here."