Late Night; Early Morning - Secret Santa for kendisima! (M) (Part 3 of 3)

[MaiMai]

Happy Holidays, @kendisima~! I'm your Secret Santa this year! I really hope you enjoy the story - there is a little plot, but I tried to cram in as much fluffiness and denial as I possibly could! (It'll get fluffier in subsequent parts, too, promise!)

Here is a quick summary of the characters!

Tyler - He's a radio presenter in his early twenties who, despite being a total morning person, somehow ended up working the graveyard shift for a local indie/rock radio station. (His flatmate thinks this is the stupidest thing ever and consistently tells him so.) He's pretty upbeat, a bit gruff but basically a complete bashful softy. He's very passionate about his work and can be stubborn when it comes to it (not that this is going in any particular direction  ), and a little like a cat in that he is very hard to make do what you want him to. He's also probably a bit of pain to have as a flatmate, because he tries his best but he's sort of hopeless at a lot of domestic things and occasionally has to be rescued from microwaves and such.

Alistair - Tyler's aforementioned flatmate! He's in his early/mid twenties, an English Literature PhD student. In contrast to Tyler, he's a night owl and is not a morning person at all. He's pretty cynical/sarcastic, but he's basically a nice guy and kind of a dork, though he's often exasperated and/or stressed about something. He's a ridiculously good cook when he puts the time into it, though he also has some weird habits (see: falling asleep crying over various works of literature at the kitchen table at 4 am.)

Lola - Works with Tyler at the radio station, in her mid/late twenties. She's also passionate about what she does, but can be a bit off and on with whether she actually turns up, because she travels around playing gigs a lot. She swears a lot and their manager keeps threatening to fire her for it, but she reckons it doesn't really matter, because she works the graveyard shift, so how many people really care? She also uses nicknames a lot and has a lot of weird and wonderful life experience.

Merry Christmas, and I hope you like this first part! More to come soon!  (I also apologise for the title, because as anyone who knows me is aware, I cannot title stories to save my life. )

 

Late Night; Early Morning

Part One

This morning.

Tyler could have sworn it hadn’t been half as bad this morning.

“-and let’s go to our next caller. I believe my darling colleague will deal with that once he’s stopped coughing, won’t you, honeybun?” Lola nudged him and winked, both hands fiddling with the dials atop the desk.

“Always-cough-shirking responsibilities,” Tyler complained in a strained voice. He purposefully avoided addressing the comment about the coughing, feigning an intense and disproportionate fascination with the simple task of connecting the next caller.

“Hello! You’re through to-…” He blinked – though perhaps ‘blinked’ was too generous a description. It was more akin to a momentary flutter of the eyelashes, a small crinkle appearing in the space between his nose and his eyebrows. “-to Stationd Six. What sondg would you like to request?”

“Hi, yeah, I’d like to request ‘R U Mine’ by the Arctic Monkeys.”

“Huh. Dnice choice,” Tyler said approvingly, “And would you like to dedicate it to adyone?”

“Actually, there is someone I’d like to dedicate it to. My flatmate: his name is Tyler and he’s a radio presenter at Station Six, and he’s a stubborn ass who should have taken his flatmate’s advice and not have gone into work today.”

Tyler couldn’t decide whether to laugh or threaten Alistair with immediate death, to occur the second he got back to the flat. Lola had already chosen the side of laughter: she was cracking up silently next to him, the faded magenta tips of her fringe brushing the desk as she crumpled up in mirth.

“Right, okay,” Tyler laughed awkwardly, “This goes out to, uh…Tyler. Thadks for calling, Ali-erm, caller.”

He hit play on the song, muted his microphone with a practiced flick and slipped his headphones down around his neck.

“Someone you know?” Lola asked innocently, but she was smirking in a manner which was difficult to reconcile with her tone of voice.

“Dno,” Tyler denied with a shrug, “I have dno idea who…who that could have beend.”

“Riiiiiight. You have no clue who Ali could have been whatsoever, that right, hun?”

“Alistair,” he mumbled in automatic correction, shortly looking aghast and amending: “I bmean, no, d-dnot at all. Do you…do you dknow where the track list has gone for the dnext segment?”

It was a long-shot distraction, but one which, miraculously, actually worked. It shouldn’t have been much of a surprise, given that this far into the show, their shared studio tended to resemble a bomb site more closely than anything else. (That was one of the main reasons for which their manager refused to give them a bigger studio. In her words, all they would do with the increased space was create chaos on a bigger scale than ever. Neither of them had yet come up with a suitable argument against that reasoning, and so in the cramped studio they remained.)

“’Course I know where the track list is. It’s right-oh…”

Tyler smiled slightly as Lola ducked beneath the desk to search. It was a flickering, temporary spark of a smile; he found himself burying his nose in his jumper sleeve, almost automatically. He supposed it should have been a concern to him, that the movement was becoming so familiar it was practically mechanical.

“huhh…huh’EHKShh!-heh’mpSHH!-huuhh…”

It trailed off into oblivion, culminating less in relief than it did a lingering, unsatisfactory itching somewhere behind his eyes.

Tyler dropped the sleeve away from his face only after a moment. To do so was like relinquishing a fleeting warmth and safety: his sleeve was a little too long and he had unwittingly covered his eyes in part, plunging himself into a comfortable, isolated patch of darkness, reminiscent of the underneath of blankets in his own bed.

“Bless you,” came the inevitable response from under the desk – Lola was still searching, now on her knees and in danger of smacking her head against underneath of it. Tyler chose not to point out the potential safety hazards of her current position on the basis that if she was hidden beneath the desk, at least that way she couldn’t watch him screw up his eyes and rub wearily at his nose with a balled up fist.

“Finally. Goddamn this thing. I swear to god, I’m gonna staple this to my own forehead next week. Maybe yours, if you stand still for long enough and I can get the staple gun close enough.”

Tyler grimaced, “Yeah, I dodn’t thidk so. I vote you do the former.” He snuffled involuntarily in the wake of his statement.

“Tyler, honey.”

Uh-oh. Not good: Lola had taken on the sugar-sweet tone that meant she was about to try and have some sort of heart-to-heart with him. Actually, Tyler didn’t mind that, usually. Under normal circumstances, he would be perfectly content to sit somewhere with her and simply talk for hours. But today, he had the unerring suspicion that he knew what her topic of conversation was going to be, and no desire whatsoever to broach it.

“Don’t you think your flatmate was right? Don’t you think that, maybe-”

Tyler’s eyes lighted on the monitors to a rush of relief.

He grabbed his headphones, motioning for Lola to do the same, “Bmy flatbmate is going to have all his cereal eaten whend I get home whether he likes it or not, and that’s all that matters.”

Lola didn’t have a chance to respond before they were back on air, Tyler introducing them in a manner which was both unobtrusively practiced and smoothly spontaneous (tonight, with the additional touch of a literal rather than figurative stuffiness.)

 “That was R U Mine by The Arctic Monkeys. And you’re back to Friday dnight on Stationd Six, with the indomitable Lola-”

“-and the usually suave and darling Tyler, who tonight happens to be si-”

“-absolutely and perfectly healthy, and hotter thand anyone has ever seend him before,” Tyler interrupted with an almost imperceptible tightening of his lips at each corner. He sincerely hoped that Alistair had stopped listening.

The irony of the statement struck him only when, a few minutes later, he ran a hand through his hair and found that his fringe parted reluctantly from his forehead in clinging, inelegant half-curls.

“Tyler, honey, would you do the honours of introducing the next song, with your absolutely-sublime-hotness tonight?”

Tyler cringed: he had the distinct impression that he had dug himself into a hole with that last-ditch attempt to save himself from the embarrassment of Lola announcing to their entire audience…well. That. That thing that definitely wasn’t, uh, true. So untrue that it didn’t even bear mentioning.

“Of course. Up dnext is-…” he faltered a little. Had Lola caught his expression exactly then, she doubtless would have been able to read the utter despair on his face as he stared blankly at the track list. Of all the consonants for him to have to pronounce…

“-uh, ‘Bmad’, by-hh-by Bmuse.”

The hesitation that time was less loss of words, and more attributable to loss of breath. Tyler yanked off his headphones, hurriedly and almost dropping them in the process, only have to hold on to them with one hand whilst the heel of the other was crushed to his nose.

“huhh…huh’ehSHH!”

He stubbornly fought the urge to snuffle, and opened two bleary hazel eyes in a squint.

“Bless you again!”

Tyler made no response. Logically, he knew that he should have learnt by now that Lola and her incessant desire for pointing out the obvious would not simply disappear if he were to ignore her. Illogically, he still hoped that she might.

“Tyler, you know…”

He gritted his teeth and interrupted, again. Again, again, again.

“Hey, could you pass bme the water, please?”

Wrong choice.

“Throat sore, hun?”

“Dno. I’mb just thirsty, that’s all.”

“Riggggght. Nothing to do with the fact that you’re, you know-”

“Lola, I have dno idea what you’re-”

“-blatantly sick. And, therefore, you’re not standing in for Kenny tomorrow night, right?”

Tyler shifted uncomfortably. He had forgotten, quite forgotten, about the agreement he had made with Lola to stand in for her lead guitarist the next night. He felt a little dizzy at the mere prospect of climbing up on stage, yet gritted his teeth, replying determinedly:

“Lola, I told you. I cand still play tobmorrow dnight. It bmust just be somethidg ind the air. I was perfectly fine before I got here. Weird, right?”

She gave him a steady stare, before stepping forward to poke the mole next to his left eye – she had a habit of referring to it as his ‘beauty spot’ – and pointing out with a mixture of affection and exasperation:

“You know what I don’t need? One guitarist with a broken arm, and one with pneumonia. Besides, what was the deal with Ali?”

It grated on Tyler that she had already given him a pet name.

“Alistair has beend up to his eyes ind twelfth century literature for the past two weeks, and probably wouldn’t dknow what was happending ind the twentieth century if it rose up and sbmacked him ind the face.

“Tyler?”

“What?”

“We’re in the twenty-first century, honeybun.”

Tyler felt he had no suitable comeback to that, and so he simply sighed.

[Hedgehog]

Radio presenter is a perfect choice for a sick man in denial!  Can't wait to see where this is going to.

[Sophie<3]

Awww, you've posted it, yay!! I agree, radio presenter is the perfect choice for a sick man in denial! Alistair really cracked me up with that call, and so did the conversation in the end! Tyler thinking he's living in the twentieth century and Lola correcting him and calling him "honeybun", I am still giggling!  

And just... the denial. And the stuffy talk. And the spellings... I'm really excited for the next parts, too! <3

 

[kendisima]

OH MY GODD!  First of all, MaiMai, THANK YOU SO MUCH!  This pushes literally all my buttons I adore Tyler; that level of denial is so cute, and I love how snarky Lola is with him.  I can't wait to really meet Alistair, because he seems so sassy.  This is amazing.  I'm going to go ahead and quote my favorite parts now

6 hours ago, MaiMai said:

Tyler dropped the sleeve away from his face only after a moment. To do so was like relinquishing a fleeting warmth and safety: his sleeve was a little too long and he had unwittingly covered his eyes in part, plunging himself into a comfortable, isolated patch of darkness, reminiscent of the underneath of blankets in his own bed.

 

 

“Bless you,”

Uhghhh, I love that emphasized bless you... also, Tyler, go home you poor kid

6 hours ago, MaiMai said:

 “That was R U Mine by The Arctic Monkeys. And you’re back to Friday dnight on Stationd Six, with the indomitable Lola-”

 

 

“-and the usually suave and darling Tyler, who tonight happens to be si-”

 

 

“-absolutely and perfectly healthy, and hotter thand anyone has ever seend him before,” Tyler interrupted with an almost imperceptible tightening of his lips at each corner. He sincerely hoped that Alistair had stopped listening.

I actually laughed out loud when I read the 'hotter than anyone has ever seen him before' part   btw, your stuffy talk is on point. 

6 hours ago, MaiMai said:

“Hey, could you pass bme the water, please?”

 

 

Wrong choice.

 

 

“Throat sore, hun?”

 

 

“Dno. I’mb just thirsty, that’s all.”

 

 

“Riggggght. Nothing to do with the fact that you’re, you know-”

 

 

“Lola, I have dno idea what you’re-”

 

 

“-blatantly sick. And, therefore, you’re not standing in for Kenny tomorrow night, right?”

 

 

Tyler shifted uncomfortably. He had forgotten, quite forgotten, about the agreement he had made with Lola to stand in for her lead guitarist the next night. He felt a little dizzy at the mere prospect of climbing up on stage, yet gritted his teeth, replying determinedly:

 

 

“Lola, I told you. I cand still play tobmorrow dnight. It bmust just be somethidg ind the air. I was perfectly fine before I got here. Weird, right?”

Oh my god, that commitment I absolutely can't wait to see him attempt to perform when he's already a mess

 

6 hours ago, MaiMai said:

“Alistair has beend up to his eyes ind twelfth century literature for the past two weeks, and probably wouldn’t dknow what was happending ind the twentieth century if it rose up and sbmacked him ind the face.

 

 

“Tyler?”

 

 

“What?”

 

 

“We’re in the twenty-first century, honeybun.”

 

 

Tyler felt he had no suitable comeback to that, and so he simply sighed.

Poor guy!  So out of it, he can't even remember the century

Long story short, I adore this and am pumped for the rest.  THANK YOU THANK YOU THANK YOU soo much for this!! <3 Happy holidays!!!

[Melody]

This is SO adorable! Can't wait for more! 

[Werewolf Sniffles]

This is just wonderful! I just can't wait to see what happens next. This was just the thing I needed to brighten up my some what gloomy start to a day.......... Even though it's early morning where I am........ Anyway keep up the fantastic work!

[MaiMai]

@kendisima I am so so glad you enjoyed the first part! And that you're enjoying the things I've put in, I'm so glad to hear that, I tried hard to include things you would like~! (We also have very similar preferences, so that helps. ) I hope you enjoy the subsequent parts, too!

@hedgehog Aww, thank you! I think radio presenter set ups can be pretty adorable in this sort of context, haha!

@Sophie<3 Omg, it's so sweet of you to comment on this, especially since you've already sort of read the first part before! Thank you!

@Melody Thank you so much!

@Werewolf Sniffles Aww, that's so lovely of you to say that it brightened up your day, thank you!

Anyway, here is Part Two~! It's pretty much fluff between Tyler and Alistair, who you get to meet properly here!

Hope you enjoy, kendisima, and that you're having a wonderful day today!

 

Late Night; Early Morning

Part Two

For most people, the haze of dawn symbolised the start of the day.

For Tyler, it was the bleary-eyed end, stumbling sleepily into the apartment with ears ringing with songs played on the show and an aching throat from announcing.

He treaded as if in a dream, to the kitchen which was all at once dark and light with the wrong type of early, early morning light.

A familiar sight greeted him: Alistair was asleep at the table. It was unclear for how long he had been there, one arm curled beneath his cheek, a huge anthology acting as his pillow and his long blonde hair escaping its ponytail.

Tyler had no wish to wake him. As a rule, Alistair was practically nocturnal – ironically, not the one working the night shift, but nevertheless the one to be found wide awake and figuratively howling at the moon every night. Once he was asleep, though, he was asleep. (Tyler did sometimes wish he would reign in his habit of falling asleep at the kitchen table. It looked uncomfortable, and he had occasionally discovered damp patches on the woodwork later the next morning which he heavily suspected to be drool.)

Consequently, he kept quiet. Opened and closed the cupboard doors slowly, slowly, to avoid the sharp snap of wood on wood. Pressed the switch of the kettle rather than flick it, and pray that the soft ssshhhhh of escaping steam wouldn’t be enough to raise the dead – see synonyms: his slumbering flatmate.

Searching about the cupboards, Tyler’s hand nudged a box, and he had to move fast to keep it from toppling. He squinted in the half-light: Alistair’s cereal. He sighed, and righted it. Despite his threats, he could only imagine that cereal would feel transformed to the consistency of saw dust when in contact with his achingly stinging throat.

“Going t’ make good on y’r threat…?”

The voice was dull with sleep and muffled in the curious way of sound against paper. Alistair’s words whispered and brushed up against pages which neither absorbed the sound nor reflected it; rather, they refracted it into a marginally softer, indistinct register.

“I was condtemplating it,” Tyler admitted.

“And deciding against it?”

Alistair’s eyes glinted blue-green in the dusky kitchen.

“Bmaybe in the bmorning.” Finally, he located what he had been searching for. Tyler grabbed the box of tea with a sigh of relief.

“Are you pissed at me because of earlier? Because if I was you, I would probably be pissed. Unless your sainthood is even more superior than I realised.”

“I am pissed. I’mb just…too tired to-to take it out on you right dnow,” Tyler muffled a cough mid-sentence, “I’ll get bmy revenge ind the afterdnoon, okay?”

“Right, revenge in the afternoon. Sounds great.”

Removing the tea bag from his mug with delicate fingers, Tyler frowned.

“You okay? You don’t sound…right.”

“Oh, yeah. Yeah, I’m fine.”

There was a strange moment, in which he thought that Alistair might be coming down with whatever bug it was he (definitely hadn’t) picked up.

Would serve him right if he has, Tyler thought vindictively, before he twigged what it was that was throwing him about Alistair’s voice.

“Have you been crying over literature againd?”

“It was emotional. Robert Frost’s poetry is moving, okay? Stop judging me.”

“Of-hh-of course.”

A hand came reflexively to scrub at the underside of his nose. In retrospect, perhaps the tea would prove less a blessing and more a curse: the soft curls of steam were enough to prompt the deep-set itch in his sinuses to flare.

“Honestly, it is. You should try reading it sometime, you uncultured yob.”

“Hmm.”

Tyler sincerely hoped that Alistair was too involved in his poetry tirade to notice his preoccupation. He felt that if he was just to look at him right now, even with Tyler facing away from him he would be able to read his itchy restlessness from the way his shoulders rose and fell. By the way he placed the mug back down on the counter, overly careful and too premeditated to be absent minded.

“-I wouldn’t start with that one though, personally. It made me cry the most. The best one to go for would probably be-”

“Alistair-” A sentiment along the lines of please shut up, I’ve been working all night and I’m tired and I just want to go to bed was on the tip of his tongue, and that was where it remained, his words caught up and swallowed irrepressibly by the insensible itching behind his eyes. “huhhh…hh-…”

Alistair was still talking. Still. His voice had become distant, somehow.

“hhn’etSHHh!-huhhh-huh’TTSHH!”

“Bless you.”

Tyler ignored him.

“You know, there’s some cold medicine in the cupboard.”

Again, Tyler ignored him.

“Tyler? You should take some.”

Tyler knew for a fact that there was cold medicine. A small, slightly tattered box, hidden just behind Alistair’s cereal. 

“There’s dnone left. And I’mb going to bed; I’mb too tired for bmore talking. I’ll see you later.”

It wasn’t until he reached his room that he realised he had left his tea to get cold on the kitchen countertop. The thought made him unbearably sad, somehow. And that the thought made him sad made him surmise that he desperately needed sleep.

Pulling the sleeves of a clean pyjama top over his hands, however, his eyes lighted on his guitar, half-hidden in a corner of his room.

Perhaps just a little practice before he crashed out…

Tyler took it by the neck, sitting down on the edge of his bed. He plucked a few strings and listened intently. The tuning was almost perfect.

He slid his fingers along the fret board; strummed a C chord. Somehow, the gentle ringing of the notes made him even sleepier than before.

Without really making a conscious decision, he slumped over to one side, his head landing just below his pillow. His hands became lax and his arms curled into the unknowing embrace of sleep.

Alistair would find him later that day, tangled up in blankets and peacefully hugging his guitar.

[Hedgehog]

Tyler needs some cuddles - poor stubborn, sick idiot he is...  Also - I don't understand why Alistair didn't bring him the tea he forgot on the counter. Not really the caring type, is he?

 

[Werewolf Sniffles]

ASDFALKangmjafkl;d.l,kfhbjndklBJFNMakfmaknfdmks,.,KLJNHBGVFCDAZZQSDFGHJKL

Translation:

Love it. Love it. LOVE IT!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Your writing style is just beautiful! I can really connect with the characters! It's like I'm being a creepy stalker and watching the scene play out in real life.

Not that I would do that.............

Anyway!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Even though this story isn't meant for me I can't wait until you post the next part!
 

 

[kendisima]

Ughhh i just love your writing....the denial, the refusal to take medicine, the ASKING ALISTAIR IF HES OK omg way to try to take the eyes off of yourself, Tyler. So good. Cant wait for more!! Thank you a million Times times over again!!

[MaiMai]

@kendisima I'm so glad you enjoyed the second part too!! I'm sorry it's taken me a little while to get the next part up! I was originally going to do four parts, but the last part works better as one part rather than two, so this is the third and last part! I've had a lot of fun writing this, and I hope you like it too!

@hedgehog Alistair is a little bit...awkward about caring for people, I'd say. Not for lack of will, though. (And he can do it when he puts his mind to it.  ) Thanks for catching that error, by the way.

@Werewolf Sniffles Ahh, I'm so glad you've enjoyed it so much too!

Anyway, here, the third and final part! Merry Christmas again, kendisima!

 

Late Night; Early Morning - Part Three

The place was a beaten up pub, a twenty minute or so walk from Tyler and Alistair’s shared apartment.

Tyler had attempted to walk there. ‘Attempted’ being the operative word: Alistair had put his foot down, wrapped him about a billion layers, and bundled him forcefully into his car.

He didn’t appreciate being driven like a kid to school. Even less so when, on pulling to a stop, Tyler reached to loosen the scarf which was wrapped about his neck and was immediately thwarted.

“Tyler. Keep it on, or you’ll freeze to death,” Alistair admonished, slapping his hand away gently.

Tyler responded with nothing more than an indignant glare. That was, until he caught sight of himself in the wing mirror. His reflection glowered back at him, seeming to almost pout over the collar of paisley scarf. He ceased hastily, and tried to keep some semblance of maturity and control in his voice.

“Okay, okay. I’ll keep it ond udtil I get indside. Are you happy with that?”

Alistair’s expression said differently, but he nodded all the same.

“Yeah. Just promise me you won’t do anything stupid, okay? This is already stupid enough.”

“Whend have I ever done adything stupid?” Tyler asked, unbuckling his seatbelt.

“Wow, you really want the list? First of all, do you remember that time you stuck an entire stick of butter in the microwave without taking the foil off, and it set fire and you had to stop it before the entire thing went up in flames? I’d call that pretty stupid, you could have burnt the whole building down-”

“Alistair-”

“-and then the time you set the smoke alarm off toasting a marshmallow over our gas hob and setting fire to it by accident. How you set fire to it, I’ll never know-”

“Alistair-!” Tyler tried again, in an effort to quiet him. His breath caught in his throat and he bent at the waist to cough into his gloved hands.

“Oh. Sorry,” his flatmate cringed, hesitating. Finally, he placed a hand upon Tyler’s back, presumably in a gesture of comfort. By this time, the coughing had mostly died down anyway, leaving Tyler wheezing softly and heaving deep, steadying breaths. He appreciated the gesture all the same.

“S’okay. Are you goidg to let bme go?”

There was a strange moment where their eyes met; Alistair looked as though he would say no. Tyler abruptly noticed how low he had turned down the music on the stereo.

“Yeah. Go and get pneumonia, or whatever it is you’re going to do,” Alistair said with a rueful smile, “Don’t forget your guitar.”

Tyler made a face, “Of course I wond’t forget bmy guitar.”

He swung open the car door, trying in vain not to visibly shiver as the cold air hit him, even through the layers Alistair had thrust upon him. It was a different sort of shivering to the one which had been plaguing him all evening. This crawled up his sleeves, made his teeth chatter and goose bumps prick his arms. The other seemed to be beneath his skin, a constant chill which brought with it weakness and a strange, restless exhaustion.

The two together made him clumsy. It took Tyler several tries to swing his guitar case over his shoulder, after which he gave Alistair a self-conscious thumbs-up and turned towards the bar.

It was too early, still, for it to be lively. The place had a shuttered, faintly deserted feel. Windows lit, but curtains still drawn in places; door firmly shut.

He extended a hand to try it, doing his utmost not to notice how his hands were shaking. It swung open easily.

Inside was dark wood floors and black swirling wallpaper, dimmed lights and a large, low stage.

Lola jumped down to greet him, quirking an eyebrow at his get up.

“A-Alistair b-bmade bme-” he explained rather lamely.

“I’m glad he did; you look freezing, hun. Come on, put this down and warm up.” She took his guitar from him carefully, setting it down amongst the rest of the set up for that night.

“Th-Thadks.” Tyler pulled off his layers – scarf, gloves, coat, jumper. The only thing he had managed to get away without was a hat, but that was because Alistair hadn’t been able to get him to stand still for long enough to shove one on him. He had eventually gotten bored and decided that okay, I guess that’s one thing you don’t have to wear.

“Do you dneed h-help setting up?” he asked, wrapping both arms around himself and clenching his teeth to mute their chattering.

Lola’s dark eyes flicked over him, giving him a critical look over. It took all of Tyler’s willpower not to fidget as she did so. He knew well he looked terrible; he had seen it in the wing mirror. He had neatened his hair and pulled on what he judged to be appropriate clothes. What he couldn’t do anything about were the dark bruises beneath his eyes, the flush of his nose and cheeks, or the way he had to constantly breathe through slightly parted lips.

“Nah. No offence, babe, but you look like you’d collapse if I tapped you on the shoulder. We’re almost done, anyway.”

There was nothing Tyler could think of that would effectively rebut that, because secretly, he suspected the same. The cold wood floor felt sloping beneath his steps, even though he knew from memory it was perfectly flat. At the first opportunity, he sat down on the edge of the stage, taking little reassurance in the way he couldn’t resist sinking down into a slouch, as though he would never get up again.

“Hey, Tyler. Nice to see you again.”

“Yeah, nice to see you. It’s been too long.”

The first was Nick; bassist. He looked rather scarily similar to Alistair, except with much shorter hair which was buzzed at the sides.

The second was Mariah, drummer, who got up from where she had been untangling wires on her knees to give him a brusque, one-armed hug.

“It’s beend, what, less thand a bmonth?” Tyler clarified with a cough which was meant to be a laugh.

Mariah returned the laugh, “However long, I don’t care. I just know it’s been too damn long.”

A little dazed, Tyler nodded. He was trying rather desperately to ease the twinging at the tip of his nose, scrunching it up, rubbing roughly with his knuckles when he thought no one was watching (or at least, when he hoped no one was watching.) Soon, much too soon, he resigned himself to turning his face away, left shoulder at an awkward angle as he tried to disappear into nothingness.

“huuhh…huh’ehh-tsh!...hh-…” He blinked, a brief flitter of his eyelashes, before succumbing to a second and a third. “huh’ehHSHH!-hh’ehKSHH!”

“Woah. Bless.”

Mariah was the one to respond, but it was Lola’s eyes that he met. Over their time of working together at the radio station, they had gradually developed an almost intuitive knowledge of what the other was thinking at given moments. This was one of those moments, where Tyler swore he could feel her thinking at him furiously:

I told you, I don’t want a guitarist with pneumonia. Go home, honey, please, before I have to save your ass from swan-diving off that stage.

Or perhaps he was merely feeling the effects of a raging fever and his mind was far too adept at mimicking her voice. He had certainly heard enough of it to last him a life time.

“Thandks. Sorry,” he apologised sheepishly. There was a beat where he knew he could have given an excuse – something in the air, no idea, really – but it sounded lame even in his head, and so Tyler simply said nothing.

“Here. Get yourself set up.”

Lola threw an aux cord towards him, and he fumbled it, despite the short distance between them. His reflexes, his responses; every one of his movements felt off, like he was moving through a dream.

“Right, yeah. I’ll do that.”

He had to stand for a moment, feet planted in the floor, to allow the dizziness to clear. Tyler caught Lola watching him; he gave her a reassuring grin, in return for which he received an eye roll and the edge of a smirk. That was the closest she would get to giving him a returning smile, he felt.

He tuned his guitar, plugged it in, messed around with the dials on the amp. It was a little different to the one he was accustomed to, but he caught on fairly quickly. The others kept up a constant stream of intermittent chatter, and he just barely kept up, replying where he was spoken to between sniffling and trying not to sneeze too loudly.

It wasn’t long before more people began to populate the bar. All of a sudden, there was a positive crowd, and he was wondering whether he was really going to be able to hold it together sufficiently to take on such a number of people.

Tyler shook himself out of that thought almost as soon as it crossed his mind. Alistair was the pessimist, not him. When he had left the car, Alistair had been wearing an expression that suggested he had no high hopes for him surviving the whole gig, like he was anticipating a call barely an hour in telling him he had passed out or something. Tyler knew that wasn’t going to happen. Even if it was sheer stubbornness that got him through the next few hours, he would make it, just to spite Alistair for thinking he couldn’t handle himself.

Petty? Yes. But motivating? Definitely.

He shivered and set his mouth into a tight line, turning and almost running straight into Nick.

“Oh, damnb, sorry,” he laughed hoarsely, and regretted it immediately. The rush of air was like sandpaper against his throat.

“Oh, no, my fault,” Nick shrugged it off easily, one hand wrapped around the neck of his bass, and the other clutching the handle of a faintly steaming mug. “I grabbed this for you from the bar. It took me a bit of convincing that they knew how to make tea – I’m not entirely sure they got the concept, one of the bartenders kept trying to tell me it wouldn’t be any good without a shot of something in it-” he lifted his eyes to the ceiling in flagrant disbelief. Tyler had the impression that if he had at least one hand free, he would have been gesturing indignantly and dramatically. “But, hey. They got there in the end. Figured it might do you some good before we start.”

Tyler was reaching to accept the tea before he could think about putting up a front of denial. He hesitated, drawing his hand back as if he had been burned, but not because of second thoughts.

“huuhh…huh’EHhsh!...hh’EHKTSH!...huuh’ehSHHh!-hhh…”

He shook hair from his eyes, a tiny shake of his head which did little other than, seemingly, aggravate the itching at the tip of his nose. Somehow, from somewhere, Nick’s words reached him from through a thick fog of smarting throat and itching nose and aching head.

“Bless. You alright?”

Tyler was abruptly struck by the strange, conflicting desire to laugh and cry all at once. Of course he wasn’t alright, but he couldn’t admit to that now.

“Y-hhh-Yes, s-sorry, I’mb…hhuhh…huh’EHSHHh!...alriihh-ih’ehshh!-hh’ehsshh!”

One hand remained curled to his face, whilst the other searched absently for tissues in his pocket. To his surprise, there was a new, unopened pack in the pocket of his jeans which he was positive hadn’t been there earlier. Alistair must have slipped them in, whilst he wasn’t paying attention.

“I’mb really sorry. Thadk you so bmuch,” he said apologetically, taking the mug and opening the tissues rather clumsily with his left hand.

Nick shrugged, like it was nothing at all, “Don’t worry about it.”

Tyler waited until his back was turned to blow his nose. He had already decided that he would overlook his previous threat to steal Alistair’s cereal out of gratitude for the tissues.

He sighed and lifted the tea to his lips. The stuffiness of his nose blocked out any scent he might have gotten from the steam, and rendered guessing the type near impossible.

Even when Tyler took a tentative sip, he was aghast to find that he could hardly detect a taste at all, his taste buds apparently having been dulled beyond the point of recognition. A faint tingling at the back of his throat made him believe that it was peppermint. Either way, it felt pleasant on his throat, and the mug was warm in his hands, even if the rippling, liquid surface of its contents forced him to confront how violently the fever was making him shiver.

A few more sips were all he managed before Lola was waving him over. The barely-disguised excitement in her expression told him all he needed to know: she wanted him in place, for them to start.

Tyler looked dispiritedly down at his mug. It was starting to feel as though he was cursed never to finish a cup of tea.

Lola’s gestures were getting more spirited, to the point where she was in danger of knocking Nick straight off the stage. Regretfully, Tyler abandoned his tea, and stepped up to grab his guitar.

He strummed gently, unplugged, one last test before the gig properly kicked off. Nick did the same next to him, fingers skittering up and down the neck of his bass in some experimental rhythm.

“Oi, you lot!” Lola addressed the crowd brashly, which earned laughter from those who had encountered her before and confused smiles from the rest. “Settle down, there. First, I just wanna say thank you for coming tonight, blah blah blah, all that sappy stuff-”

Tyler half-watched, half-listened, more concentrated on not rubbing at his nose. At least no one could hear him sniffle above all the noise.

“-and also, Kenny, our usual guitarist, he’s broken his arm. Yeah, I know, the selfish git-” Lola rolled her eyes, playing off the sympathetic groans of the crowd, “-so Tyler, who is one of the most selfless gits I know, is standing in for him tonight.”

Tyler mirrored Lola’s roll of the eyes, before giving a mock bow with a flourish to match. The act of leaning over seemed to shift the pressure in his sinuses, and he straightened hurriedly with a small gasp. He waited a few moments, until Lola had distracted the attention of the crowd again by introducing Nick and Mariah, before he awkwardly turned his head to muffle a sneeze against one shoulder. “huhh’eshhhuh!...ehh’ttshh!”

Make that two sneezes. Tyler let out a long, wavering breath, wincing as even that threatened to catch in his throat.

When he dragged himself back to the reality which wasn’t centred around his stinging throat, Tyler found that Lola was already introducing the first song. Hurriedly, he arranged his fingers into an E minor chord on his fret board.

They launched seamlessly into an upbeat song, one which Tyler had played with them several times before in various stand-ins and favours. He had been practicing it in his room and sometimes in the lounge, just to annoy Alistair, for the past week. It felt entirely different, up on stage.

For one thing, facing so many people was always difficult to imagine.

For another, he hadn’t envisioned himself having to sniffle every other second, and occasionally having to steady his hands as a particularly galvanising shiver wracked him.

He was exhausted and breathing heavily by the third song. Ordinarily, he had no problem simply losing himself to the music he was playing, forgetting anything and everything else. Attempting to keep up whilst simultaneously trying to find creative, covert ways to quell the clinging itch at the back of his nose – scrunching up, twitching his nose; clenching his teeth; holding his breath for a second at a time – was proving to be difficult.

“hhh…”

With what little part of his mind which wasn’t preoccupied with the itching, itching sensation drawing his breath so short, Tyler concluded miserably that his body must hate him.

“huh’ehshh!-hh-heh-heh’TSHhh!”

His fingers slipped and he hit a wrong note. Cringing, Tyler caught back up with the others, immediately blending back in. A small mercy, not entirely made worth it by the weakness of his knees. He was almost positive he was swaying. Gently; dizzily.

He just about held himself together until they had a short break which wasn’t long enough at all. They chatted, whilst Tyler drank his cold tea and tried not to feel sorry for himself.

Definitely not long enough.

One, two, three more songs.

During the last, Lola pulled him over enthusiastically, shoving the mic at him until he surrendered and sang along. He hardly knew what he was singing: the lyrics came from somewhere instinctive, some song he knew off by heart. It hurt and he had to cough afterwards.

The relief he felt on striking the final chord was overwhelming. Tyler could have easily sunk to his knees, curled up on the stage and fallen asleep.

He didn’t. He forced his lips into a grin that pinched his cheeks and echoed the applause that was making his head ache. It was none the better coming from his own hands, each clap making him wince.

At last. At very last, they were finished.

Tyler snuck away to the back of the stage, guitar unplugged and in hand. He arranged it in its case, and bent over under the pretence of adjusting the straps, letting his dark hair hide his face.

“hhh…”

Had anyone been standing behind him, they almost certainly would have noticed the set rigidity of his shoulder blades; how they shook even when he himself was so perfectly still.

There was no one behind him; so he thought. For a moment, he wondered if he might be wrong, if he might be able to feel someone else there. The inkling was insubstantial and borne in a haze of hitching breaths and fumbling to relocate the tissues.

“hih’EHKSHH!...huhhh…huh’EHSHhih!-hhuh…eh’TSHHh!”

He couldn’t find them. Had they fallen out of his pocket?

“They’re in the left hand pocket, fyi.”

Tyler span on his heel, the action making the room not spin exactly, but lose a little of its grounding in reality, and almost slammed directly into-

“Woah, woah, don’t be so jumpy. It’s just me.”

“A-Ali-ih’etshhh!-hhh…Alistair…you sdnuck up ond bme…”

One hand still clamped to his nose and mouth; one hand still shoved into the wrong pocket. Tyler flushed above his fingers.

“I thought you knew I was there. And it’s this pocket,” he sighed and tugged at a corner of the tissue packet that was sticking out of Tyler’s jeans. “Here.”

“Thadks.” Tyler could have cried, for any number of reasons. Instead, he turned his back to blow his nose.

“Great gig,” Alistair said when he was finished.

“Dno, it wasd’t. I was a bmess.”

“You could have been more of a mess,” Alistair countered, grinning. He was wearing his glasses – he must have been reading, at home – and his cheeks were flushed, but in a softer manner than Tyler’s, from cold air as opposed to sheer feverishness.

Tyler laughed, a sound which came out thick and difficult in his lungs. “You bmake a fair poidt.”

“I think I do,” Alistair agreed, “Anyway. I’ve come to drag you off home like a good flatmate- oi, no. Give me that.”

“Alistair-”

“I’m not kidding, give me the guitar. I’m ninety percent sure that if you put that thing on your back you’ll collapse like a dodgy piece of Ikea furniture.”

He could have easily taken exception to the comparison, but Tyler hadn’t the energy. Eyes down, he handed over his guitar, murmuring as they started making their way to the exit, “Thadks.”

“Hmm,” Alistair brushed off his gratefulness with a shrug that said no big deal, and added, “You should have asked me to stand in for you.”

“You?”

“Yeah. What’s wrong with that? Don’t trust me?”

“You odly played guitar for a bmonth, and that was whend you were fourteend,” Tyler pointed out exasperatedly.

Suddenly, they were both laughing without really knowing why, and then Tyler was coughing and his chest was searing and he couldn’t stop sniffling and he was horribly, horribly cold.

“Alistair?” His voice was more of a whisper than anything else.

“Yeah?”

“I feel terrible.”

“I know. You had a late night – or should I say an early morning? – too. You need some sleep.”

Tyler closed his eyes briefly as they emerged outside, shivering in the cold winter air.

“Yeah.”

The car ride back to the flat was a blur. With each individual blink, it seemed that sleep was tugging on his eyelids, compelling him to close his eyes tight.

He practically collapsed onto his bed on getting into the flat. He was just drifting off when there was a soft knock at the door, and it was pushed open quietly.

“Sorry. I just thought I would bring you this,” Alistair said uncertainly, gesturing to a large mug of tea in his left hand.

Tyler smiled faintly, “Tea. Thadk you.”

“S’okay.”

Carefully, Alistair set the mug down on his bedside table. He hesitated by the bed, before he reached out a hand to press to the overwarm skin of Tyler’s forehead. Alistair’s hand, in comparison, was cool, and so Tyler didn’t bother fighting. After a beat, Alistair lifted his hand away and ruffled his hair.

“Sleep off that fever, okay?”

“I’ll try bmy best,” Tyler mumbled. “Hey, Alistair?”

Halfway to the door, Alistair paused. “Yeah?”

“I take back what I said about stealing your cereal. Probmise I wod’t,” he said sleepily.

Alistair smiled, “I think that’s the fever talking."

[Hedgehog]

Awww, poor Tyler is so terribly ill at that point.  Good that NOW; Alistair is there for him; and hope, he gets some proper caretaking post-story. 

[kendisima]

Ahh I'm so sorry i haven't responded to the last part yet! This is so, so lovely. Oh Tyler, you silly boy... Im so about him not admitting hes sick until its blatantly obvious, haha. What a trooper *beams* and i love how motherly and knowing Alistair is, and that he watched the whole set...so sweet.

(Also, unrelated, your spellings K I L L me...omg...)

I really hope you write more with these characters sometime! They're so sweet and id love to see Alistair sick too...  

Thank you so much for the beautiful secret santa fic!! Its more than I could have ever wanted, and i adore it. You're an amazing writer! Thank you again!  

[Sophie<3]

Okay, Iiiiii am all hyped up from The Final Problem right now anyway, and it just hit me that I still haven't managed to comment on this piece of loveliness, because I am a disaster, apparently! Like, seriously, how and why did it take me this long, I do not know! I am so sorry! But I'm finally getting to it now, and awww, it's so cute!

On 25.12.2016 at 2:47 PM, MaiMai said:

“Have you been crying over literature againd?”

This! Wow, I laughed out loud! Best line, maybe? Or, you know, characters crying over poetry: best concept? Also, the deadpan delivery totally cracked me up! And needless to say, I feel a lot closer to Alistair as a character after this. Because, well, crying over literature is definitely relatable!

On 25.12.2016 at 2:47 PM, MaiMai said:

Tyler sincerely hoped that Alistair was too involved in his poetry tirade to notice his preoccupation. He felt that if he was just to look at him right now, even with Tyler facing away from him he would be able to read his itchy restlessness from the way his shoulders rose and fell. By the way he placed the mug back down on the counter, overly careful and too premeditated to be absent minded.

“-I wouldn’t start with that one though, personally. It made me cry the most. The best one to go for would probably be-”

“Alistair-” A sentiment along the lines of please shut up, I’ve been working all night and I’m tired and I just want to go to bed was on the tip of his tongue, and that was where it remained, his words caught up and swallowed irrepressibly by the insensible itching behind his eyes. “huhhh…hh-…”

Alistair was still talking. Still. His voice had become distant, somehow.

“hhn’etSHHh!-huhhh-huh’TTSHH!”

Soooo, umm, 'poetry tirade', I am giggling! And the super slow build-up here was pretty adorable, too! Also, poor Tyler, having to endure these didactic monologues when all he wants to do is sleep after a long night, aww!

On 25.12.2016 at 2:47 PM, MaiMai said:

It wasn’t until he reached his room that he realised he had left his tea to get cold on the kitchen countertop. The thought made him unbearably sad, somehow.

Awww noo, that's so cute! Also, I know that feeling so well, when you're just beyond that point of exhaustion and suddenly, you have this strong emotional reaction to things that are actually super trivial, and sometimes, it makes you stop and think that yes, maybe now would be a good time to call it a day!

On 2.1.2017 at 0:46 AM, MaiMai said:

Tyler had attempted to walk there. ‘Attempted’ being the operative word: Alistair had put his foot down, wrapped him about a billion layers, and bundled him forcefully into his car.

Eeeee, Alistair putting his foot down and going into full caretaking mode, that is adorable! And the fact that he forced Tyler to put on tons of warm clothes, that mental image is so cozy and adorable to me?

On 2.1.2017 at 0:46 AM, MaiMai said:

“Whend have I ever done adything stupid?” Tyler asked, unbuckling his seatbelt.

“Wow, you really want the list? First of all, do you remember that time you stuck an entire stick of butter in the microwave without taking the foil off, and it set fire and you had to stop it before the entire thing went up in flames? I’d call that pretty stupid, you could have burnt the whole building down-”

“Alistair-”

“-and then the time you set the smoke alarm off toasting a marshmallow over our gas hob and setting fire to it by accident. How you set fire to it, I’ll never know-”

Hahaha, Tyler should have known better than to prompt him like this! (Also, whyyyy do I find myself suddenly reminded of Dan and Phil? )

On 2.1.2017 at 0:46 AM, MaiMai said:

The other seemed to be beneath his skin, a constant chill which brought with it weakness and a strange, restless exhaustion.

Ohh wow, yes, those fever feels of being absolutely unable to get warm, because it's more like the coldness is radiating from your bones. Also, the strange restlessness. This is so tangible, well done!

On 2.1.2017 at 0:46 AM, MaiMai said:

after which he gave Alistair a self-conscious thumbs-up

What a dork! (It's cute, though. )

On 2.1.2017 at 0:46 AM, MaiMai said:

Tyler caught Lola watching him; he gave her a reassuring grin, in return for which he received an eye roll and the edge of a smirk. That was the closest she would get to giving him a returning smile, he felt.

Aww, Lola is so cool, isn't she? I like their dynamic!

On 2.1.2017 at 0:46 AM, MaiMai said:

“huuhh…huh’EHhsh!...hh’EHKTSH!...huuh’ehSHHh!-hhh…”

He shook hair from his eyes, a tiny shake of his head which did little other than, seemingly, aggravate the itching at the tip of his nose. Somehow, from somewhere, Nick’s words reached him from through a thick fog of smarting throat and itching nose and aching head.

“Bless. You alright?”

Tyler was abruptly struck by the strange, conflicting desire to laugh and cry all at once. Of course he wasn’t alright, but he couldn’t admit to that now.

“Y-hhh-Yes, s-sorry, I’mb…hhuhh…huh’EHSHHh!...alriihh-ih’ehshh!-hh’ehsshh!”

Ohhhh my gooosh, the fact that he's still in denial during this fit, he is soo stubborn, oh wow!

On 2.1.2017 at 0:46 AM, MaiMai said:

“Oi, you lot!” Lola addressed the crowd brashly, which earned laughter from those who had encountered her before and confused smiles from the rest. “Settle down, there. First, I just wanna say thank you for coming tonight, blah blah blah, all that sappy stuff-”

Oi, you lot! I can hear it in my head!

On 2.1.2017 at 0:46 AM, MaiMai said:

“I think I do,” Alistair agreed, “Anyway. I’ve come to drag you off home like a good flatmate- oi, no. Give me that.”

“Alistair-”

“I’m not kidding, give me the guitar. I’m ninety percent sure that if you put that thing on your back you’ll collapse like a dodgy piece of Ikea furniture.”

This is both funny and adorable! <3 I also love how Alistair instantly interrupts himself when he sees Tyler wrestling with the guitar, aww!

On 2.1.2017 at 0:46 AM, MaiMai said:

“Sleep off that fever, okay?”

Hnnngggg, this line, it's so casual, and so... boyish, I feel, but also so caring and sweet?

Okay, final thoughts and compliments: I feel like the illness in this was more intense than usually, like, he was so out of it during this last part, but I really enjoyed that, even though I did feel bad for him! And it was so real! I could definitely relate to the feelings of exhaustion and just... surreality. I thought Alistair was very sweet in his caretaking, though, and I'm glad Tyler got his tea in the end!

Once again, sorry it took me forever to get to this, but I really think it super cute! And I feel pretty attached to the characters now, so if you ever write for them again... well, I hope I'll hear about it!

[MaiMai]

@kendisima Aww, I'm so glad you enjoyed it! And oh man, I'm so flattered you like my spellings! I tried to go for something I thought you might like after sleuthing through some of your fics. And I definitely have plans for Alistair for the future! I had so much fun writing this for you, and I'm so happy you liked it too!

@hedgehog I'm sure he does! Alistair is a bit...slow on the uptake, maybe, but he can rise to the challenge when he's really needed.

@Sophie<3 Aaahh, Sophie! Thank you so much for such a sweet comment! And you will definitely hear about it if/when I write about them again!