Work Text:
Chai wakes up groggy, sweaty, cold, and with his whole body aching. His nose is stuffed up and his throat is scratchy. The beat is crazy fast. He feels like he just ran a ten mile marathon, but he's still running even though it's over.
Coughing, his body jolts. He hates the fact that each one is in-time.
His first thought is goddammit. His second is I need a nap. Which is followed up by wait, I just woke up.
A beat passes.
Rolling over, he pulls the blanket up over his head and tries to go back to sleep.
Something fuzzy rubbing against his face wakes Chai up. He groans. Someone says something. He can't make out the words. But the voice is familiar. Probably Peppermint. The fuzzy thing disappears after a second.
"Chai? You awake...?" Peppermint asks.
He grumbles in response, too tired to form a coherent sentence.
"...I'll take that as a maybe."
A few beats pass.
Then, she says, "You're gonna have to, y'know, get up soon. Don't you have a meeting today?"
Does he? Chai really can't remember. His brain feels like it's full of bees. Or it's made of soup. Bee soup...
"Hello? Chai?"
"Whuh?"
"...Are you okay?"
"Meh...m'fine...don' worry 'bout it," he mumbles.
About half a beat passes before Peppermint says, "So what you're saying is you're definitely not okay."
He frowns. "No...? S'not what I said...at all."
She sighs.
The fuzzy thing is suddenly back. This time it's rubbing against his arm—and meowing.
Oh. It's just 808.
He slowly opens his eyes and is greeted by the sight of Peppermint looking down at him, her arms crossed. Shifting, he looks down towards 808. Her glowing eyes and LEDs, paired with the light creeping in through the open door, make him squint and grimace. He shuts them again.
808 mewls, nuzzling into the crook of his elbow. With a fond huff, Chai wraps his arm around her and pulls her up toward him, nestling her against his chest. She starts purring a beat later.
Something touches his forehead. It quickly pulls away.
Peppermint mutters something. Then, she says, "You're definitely sick. You really need to take better care of yourself."
Chai has no idea what that's supposed to mean. He takes great care of himself. Eats, drinks, sleeps, showers, vibes...all the things you're supposed to do. Besides, she's one to talk! Need to take better care of myself...psh...
Him being sick doesn't have anything to do with how well he takes care of himself. He probably caught something during one of his concerts. Being around a huge crowd of people does that to you. Plus, there's been, like, a bunch of new human employees that he could've gotten sick from. Hmph. Need to take better care of myself...yeah, right.
"What're you muttering about?"
...Was he saying all that out loud?
...
Doesn't matter. He takes good care of himself, which is what does.
"...Hello? Earth to Chai?"
"Nothin'. Don' worry 'bout it."
"Bit late for that," she dryly replies.
With a sigh, she says something about 'calling for back-up' and breakfast. Chai hums in response.
He assumes the back-up is just a work-related thing.
As for breakfast...the thought of eating right now isn't super appealing. He'll get himself something later. Right now, he mostly just wants to go back to sleep.
So, rolling over, he cuddles 808 and tries to do just that.
The feeling of something cold and damp being placed on top of his forehead jolts Chai out of his slumber. He grunts, eyes fluttering open. They widen when he's met with the sight of Macaron. There's a familiar anxious expression on his face. But he perks up a little when he notices Chai looking at him.
"Hey, little guy. How're you feeling?"
Everything aches. His mouth feels like it's full of sand, and his throat is itchier than a flea-covered dog. The entirety of his body feels disgusting. Sweaty and greasy and just overall horrible. He's cold and too hot. His stomach and head are starting to hurt. It's hard to breathe. The beat is so fast. Whatever song is playing is both too loud and too quiet. He's too tired to even guess the genre.
But he does feel slightly better than he did...however many hours ago. Just barely.
"Like dogshit," is what part of him wants to say. The truthful, exhausted, hurting part.
Instead, he croaks out, "Eh. Could be worse."
Macaron smiles weakly. Then, he turns away as he lets out a soft, "Oh!" When he turns back around, he's holding a mug and a glass of water. Steam is rising from the mug.
"Me and CNMN made you some soup," he explains as he gingerly sets them down on Chai's night stand. "It's just chicken noodle. Hope that's alright."
A memory of being sick in bed, eating Gram's homemade chicken noodle soup suddenly hits Chai, and he's left reeling for a few beats.
Shaking himself and sniffling, he slowly sits up. The wash cloth that was on his forehead falls off, onto his lap. It makes him realize that 808 is gone. Must've gotten sick of cuddling with his sorry ass. He frowns. Then, he huffs a laugh. Hah. Sick.
"Chicken noodle's great. Thanks, Mac," he replies, offering the best grin he can muster at the moment. It's ruined by a brief coughing fit.
"Of course! It's no problem."
Picking up the mug, Chai notices some bottles of medicine are also on the nightstand. There's a sticky note attached to one that reads, "Take two of each—WITH WATER!" It's signed by Pep. He smiles.
Turning his attention back to the cup, drinks some of the soup in it. Warmth quickly spreads through him. It doesn't quite taste like home—but it's close enough. Before he knows it, it's all gone.
His stomach stops hurting almost immediately. Now he wishes he had gotten up to eat earlier. Oh well.
Macaron's staring at him with wide eyes. "Good?"
"Amazing!" he replies. After a beat, he adds on, "I feel better already! Tell your co-chef I said thanks!"
He beams. "I'm glad. And you can tell them yourself—if you're feeling up to it. They're just out in the living area."
...It's probably about time he got up. Not only to see his friends, but also because he really needs to piss. Then, he can just take another nap on the couch and sleep the rest of this stupid...whatever he has away. Easy peasy.
"Gimme like...5 minutes."
"Alright! See you in a few."
Showered, changed, bladder emptied, and medicine taken, Chai limps over to the couch where Peppermint, 808, Macaron, CNMN, and Korsica are all gathered.
When he'd first left his room and hurried into the bathroom, he hadn't even noticed Korsica. He's surprised to see her here. It's not the weekend, so she should definitely be at work. Actually...Macaron and CNMN should be, too. And probably Peppermint, but she works from home sometimes so her being here isn't that weird.
Wincing from his sore body, Chai plops down next to Peppermint. 808 immediately hops from her lap to his. He pats her on the head.
Then, he looks at Korsica and asks, "Shouldn't you be at work?"
"...Hello to you, too, Chai," she says with a frown.
"What? It's Tuesday! So it's a valid question!"
"It's actually Wednesday, Mr. Chai," CNMN pipes up. "And hello!"
Oh. "Hey, CNMN. Thanks for the soup."
"It's no problem, Mr. Chai! I'm glad you enjoyed it."
"As CNMN said, it's Wednesday," Korsica states after a beat, bringing his attention back to her, "but that's besides the point. I'm here because of you."
"...Why?"
She blinks. "Because...you're my friend. And you're sick."
"...So...?"
"...So I came to check up on you. Oh, and...I handled your meeting today for you. Same with some others you had this week. Just in case."
His eyes widen. "Oh. Thanks. You didn't have to do that."
"I know. It's no trouble, really."
He looks toward the others after a beat.
"So, wait—you...all took the day off for me...?"
"Sure did, little guy."
"Yeah," Peppermint replies.
Chai's not really sure how to feel about that. There's a fuzzy feeling in his chest.
"...Thanks."
"Of course!"
"Sure."
Another beat passes.
His brow furrows. "Wait. How'd you guys even find out I'm sick?"
"I told them," Peppermint states.
"...So that's what the 'calling for back-up' thing was about!"
"Huh. I'm surprised you remember that—and that you even heard. I thought you had already passed out."
"Nah. I passed out right after."
Peppermint huffs and smiles. "Of course."