Weird is the wrong kind of feeling
Request: That’s it. If you throw up one more time we’re going to the hospital.” With klance sick Keith, college au bc Im a huge sucker!! And you’re writing is amazing, I know I tell you this a lot but it is -Rae
Summary: Finals week is coming up fast, and more than anything, Keith just needs to study. So when a stomach bug hits him hard, there’s nothing he can do but try and ride it out. But there are only so many times Keith can puke before Lance is forced to take charge, and arrange a little day trip to the local ER.
(Look who finally got their shit together and wrote a request! I’m four weeks off graduation and ready to drop. Help me.)
Keith couldn’t focus. No matter how many times he blinked his eyes and shook his head, he just couldn’t force his brain to take in the words in front of him. He was staring, forlorn and exhausted, at the text book sitting on his desk, body drooping down in his seat. The words were swimming on the page, bouncing against the margins and jumping about between each other, and in the swirling vagueness of his mind, he was convinced that if he could just convey to them his desperation, they would stay still.
But, alas, they did not listen. How he wished he could persuade them to - finals began in a week, and he had so much left to do. He just simply did not have the time to be arguing with his study books.
Sighing, he ran a hand over his face, before letting it drift down to sit softly against his stomach, his fingers curling slightly in a weak attempt to curb the bubbling discomfort he had been fending off for hours. He had already thrown up three times that day - once as soon as he had woken up, and twice more after he had forced three red bulls down his throat in a desperate bid to coax his body into functioning normally. Or at least somewhere near normally. Keith didn’t think anyone’s body could work in the way it was meant to during the run up to finals week. Even Lance had been suffering, and he was the most on-top-of-it person Keith thought he had ever met.
A disturbing gurgle from his gut cut short his little reverie, and Keith groaned into the back of his hand, internally begging his stomach to just let him work in peace. Or at the very least refrain from returning his lunch to him. But with an alarming jolt, he realised that his prayers were futile, and scurried to his feet, not caring that he had knocked his chair over in his haste.
He couldn’t have timed his collapse next to the - mercifully open - toilet better if he had tried. As soon as his knees hit the floor, he was doubling up, throat constricting and spasming with effort as yet another wave of vomit forced its way up from his gut. The sounds of it splashing into the bowl were muted by his heaving gags and coughs, and tiny, barely there sobs interspersed the violent upheaval every time he took a breath.