Fever Hedgie’s Shorts and Drabbles – mostly original

[Hedgehog]

Pair Skating

I was inspired by this wonderful picture by @coffeecream ( kotyonoksnz on tumblr)

Fandom: Yuri!!! On Ice
Characters: Victor Nikiforov and Yuuri Katsuki
Sneezer: Victor

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“Victor, be reasonable, please. If you think, you must accompany me to the ice rink, stay at least away from the ice. You will make yourself worse…”

“It’s nothing, my little pumpkin, don’t worry. It’s only a five-minutes-program. And don’t forget - we have trained for it for weeks.” The Russian answered in a cracking voice before a long, deep coughing fit escaped him.

“It’s ‘nothing’? Vitya – look at yourself, listen to yourself. You’ve been sick for five days. You have a fever of 38.7… Also – it isn’t even important, no competition. Only a show program. And nobody knows about it as we kept it a secret. So, nobody will miss you on the ice if you don’t perform!”

Victor slowly went over to Yuuri – a smile behind the feverish shine of his eyes – and took him into his arms. “Exactly, it’s a show program. And it will not only announce my return to the ice; it’s also meant to show the world how much I love you; and that we two belong together. I was looking forward to this moment for quite a long time; and won’t let a stupid cold ruin it.”

Unable to find a proper argument against his fiancé’s words, the Japanese skater shook his head. “You are terrible, Victor… Terrible and stupid and unreasonable and… I don’t know why I love you so much.” He was sighing - upset and worried; and still hoped, his fiancé would give in and abstain from going to the ice today. “Anyway… we have to go now.”

“Yes… I…” Victor rubbed his nose furiously as his breathing hitched and his eyes flattered. He took his hand away when he believed, the threat was over but… “…hhhA’KTSHEWW… HHHH’KTSHUUUH…. ‘KSCHEWWW…” the desperate sounding sneezes ripped his throat and dragged in his lungs. His eyes teared. He wiped them as well as his bothersome nose. “…right behind you…” he finished his sentence somehow, voice breathy and congested from the force of his sneezing.

[Hedgehog]

La Bohème

----------------------------------
Original story
Characters: Joseph and Virginia
Gender of the sneezer: male

This one is for @Kaze wo Hiku - happy birthday, my friend!  

Spoiler

 

Character sheets  – Effective May 2017 - It's not necessary to read them to understand the story:

Joseph Dicalussi – age 33, opera singer and part-time professor for music and composition at the University of Arts in Berlin; Italian roots; sings baritone and plays five instruments; medium height, slim, fine brown chin-long hair, dark brown eyes, tanned skin; he’s divorced and has a six-year-old son (Dante) who lives with his mother; engaged to Virginia since Dec. 2016

Virginia Urban – age 45; opera singer; colleague and fiancée (since Dec. 2016) of Joseph’s; sings contralto; long ash-blond hair – tinted to hide the first grey streaks, a fine bright face that looks much younger than her age; corpulent but still very feminine; she was never married, but has an adult daughter (Camilla, 23). Virginia is friendly and very caring.

 

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With the start of May, the open air season of the opera ensemble had started. This year’s top act was their adaption of Puccini’s La Bohème. Together with their conductor Achim Kronenberg, Joseph had changed the main roles to adjust them to Virginia’s voice and his own. He’d always wanted to sing the Rodolfo; and his darling was a wonderful Mimi in contralto. In spite of all the concerns of their intendant, they were celebrated by the audience. Every performance was sold out.

However, the open-air season was a challenge for everyone in the ensemble – on hot days, they were sweating in their warm costumes but had to look like they were freezing in winter in front of a cold fireplace; so that the writer Rodolfo was forced to burn the play he had just written. But in the last scenes, the same author sold everything he had – up to his coat and shirt – to help his gravely ill love Mimi.

Last week was cold. Like the weather had forgotten it was May and switched back to March. There was freezing rain, wind; in the Alps, even fresh snow was falling.

Joseph was shivering heavily during his performance of the last act when he was bar chest in the rain. Everyone told him, he didn’t have to take the stage directions too serious. “Nobody will care if you keep your clothes on – at least a part of them, Liebling,” Virginia told him when she wrapped him into a thick blanket behind the stage.

“No, the scene is perfect; I don’t want to have it any other way.” But his throat felt sensitive, his sniffly nose cold as his complete freezing body.

Joseph needed a long time to fall asleep that night. He was shivering so much; and Virginia who was still at the opera for another performance couldn’t help. Body trembling, teeth chattering, the young baritone lay in his bed and thought about the things his fiancée would do if she was there – making him tea, preparing a hot water bottle… He smiled – this imagination helped for a moment; until the next fierce shudder was running down his spine. Unfortunately, he was too exhausted to go to the kitchen for preparing tea. All, he could master was putting on some socks and a cardigan. That wasn’t much, but enough to finally drift off…

After midnight, Virgie eventually came home as well; and bone-wearily snuggled up to her love. When she saw the cardigan, she sighed as she knew what this meant. Rubbing her sleeping fiancé’s arms in a caring manner, she fell asleep herself.

The next morning greeted Joseph with a sore throat and a stuffy nose. Every swallowing hurt like there were needles in his larynx; and he rubbed the back of his hand against his ticklish nose but couldn’t prevent a first sneeze escaping him. Hap’TPCHIESH… He sniffed, his hand searching for a tissue. Hap’TSHEWWW… Another one.

Next to him, Virgie stirred; then blinked her blue-green eyes open and sat up, looking at him worried. “Jo? Liebling? How are you feeling? You’ve caught a cold, haven’t you?” She laid a fair hand on Joseph’s back, rubbing it softly as the man sneezed once more into a tissue he’d finally found. “Don’t worry, tesoro,” he sniffed. “I’m fine.” His voice sounded scratchy and a bit congested. He tried to blow his nose without much success.

“Of course, you are…” Virgie said, smiling sadly. She still had her hand on his back, was rubbing his shoulder now. Then, she felt his forehead and cheeks – he felt a bit warm…

“Stay in bed, Liebling. I’m going to prepare you a nice tea.” She kissed his cheek before she left the bed with her soft, flowing moves.

Jo quickly turned away, “Ah, no! Don’t kiss me, tesoro! Don’t want you to catch this.” He coughed into his hands.

Virginia shook her head, chuckling a bit, ash-blond hair falling on her shoulders. She ran her fingers through Joseph’s brown curls and kissed his warm forehead. “Back with tea and medicine in a minute,” she whispered, then left the room.

[Kaze Wo Hiku]

Hhhnnnggghg sick!Joseph is ALWAYS so lovely. God I love that she calls him Leibling, so adorable.

Also LA BOHÈME!!!!!

Thank you soooooo much hedgy this was wonderful!!

[Hedgehog]

8 minutes ago, Kaze wo Hiku said:

Also LA BOHÈME!!!!!

Thank you soooooo much hedgy this was wonderful!!

Right? This opera is a complete whump-feast of its own. If Puccini was one of us?  And - you're welcome, dear!

 

[Hedgehog]

Victor in a flu-mask

Spoiler

Written as a Christmas-surprise for a tumblr friend. They wanted to see Victor in a flu-mask.

Fandom: Yuri!!! On Ice
Characters: Victor Nikiforov and Yuuri Katsuki
Sneezer: Victor

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It was the 21st of December; and Victor was waiting at the Domodedovo International Airport near Moscow for Yuuri’s arrival. His fiancé came to visit him for his birthday; and would stay until the 7th January when Christmas was celebrated in Russia. They would also practice together with a famous Russian coach.

The two hadn’t seen each other since the Grand Prix Final in Japan earlier in December. Yuuri had stayed there to visit his family while Victor went to Russia to immediately start his practice for the Four Continents Championship in January.

The silver-haired figure skater sniffled and stepped from one foot to the other – partly from being impatient and partly from being cold. The airport wasn’t heated so much as everyone was wearing their jackets and scarves; and outside, there were minus 25°C. Vain as ever, Victor still wore his fancy coat that was made for much milder weather; and he had no hat despite the icy temperatures.

There was some movement behind the glass doors; and Victor looked up, eager to see his love among all the other passengers. And there, he was coming – wrapped in a thick quilted jacket, mittens, a long scarf, a wooly hat and… the obligatory flu-mask the Japanese always wore when he was among big crowds of people.

Victor smiled seeing him. His fiancé looked and moved like a teddy bear – it was so cute! How much he loved this man – also for his complete lack of vanity. Sometimes, the Russian wished, he could be a bit like that – so unaware and innocent concerning his own appearance.

It seemed, the Japanese hadn’t seen him yet. He was busy with all his luggage. One of his trolley bags didn’t move as it should – it stopped and stumbled and threatened to tilt. The perfect opportunity for Victor to hoax his boyfriend: He pulled his white scarf up and bound it over his mouth and nose that it looked like a flu mask; sneaked up to Yuuri and tapped his shoulders: “Here’s the disease authority – do you have any germs to declare, sir?”

Yuuri turned around in shock. His face didn’t calm down much when he saw his fiancé standing with this scarf-mask. “V…V…Victor… are you… making fun of me?”

The Russian started laughing out loud while he clapped his hand on Yuuri’s back, “Don’t be so serious, Yuuri. It’s just a joke!” He sounded muffled behind the scarf. The fabric also dampened the slight hoarseness in his voice. “Come, let’s kiss,” he added, his eyes still gleaming cheekily. He pressed his scarf mask tightly on Yuuri’s flu mask, then pulled back, “hm… you taste like wool, love.”

The Japanese didn’t answer. The black eyes over his mask looked hurt and wet – as if he was starting to cry. The whole taxi ride over to Victor’s apartment, he remained silent while the Russian was talking a lot – the husky touch in his voice more obvious now.

 

The next morning, Yuuri woke up alone in Victor’s bedroom. The Japanese needed a minute to remember where he was; then, he wondered were his fiancé could be. The sun was shining through the thin curtains – he must have slept for a quite long time.

Suddenly, the door snapped open revealing Victor carrying a tray with rolls, marmalade and coffee. “Breakfast for my sleeping beauty,” he called out, opening and closing the door with his feet while he entered the room with sweeping elegance. His voice seemed to be huskier than the day before; although Yuuri wasn’t sure as it was muffled by the fabric of a … flu mask. The Japanese’s face fell. The hurt expression was back in his dark eyes. “You’re making fun of me… again?”, he asked, lips and voice wavering.

Victor sat the tray down on the bedside table and quickly turned t the side to sneeze harshly into the mask. Then, he rubbed his nose through the fabric. “Actually… I feel like I’m coming down with something,” he said with a sniffle, “and I don’t want you to catch it.”

“Oh…” The Japanese still wasn’t sure if Victor was telling the truth or still teasing him. But then, he recognized, how pale he looked over the mask and that his eyes seemed a bit glassy. “Oh, Vitya…” he then said worried and walked over to his fiancé and touch his cheek and kiss his forehead. He felt a bit warm. “Then let’s have breakfast in bed together.” He invited Victor to lie down and pulled the blanket over him.

While sipping his coffee, a small grin hushed over Yuuri’s face. He knew a saying about small sins that were punished promptly. Maybe, this small cold served Victor right for mocking him about being careful.

[Hedgehog]

A Casual Meeting

It’s one day before Christmas. The streets of Berlin are full of frantic people that run around for their last-minute Christmas shopping. None of them looks happy. Maybe it’s the weather that’s far from the white wonderland everyone would like to see. The temperatures are just above freezing point – chilly and unpleasant but not cold enough for snow. The clouds are hanging deep in the black sky, there’s a gusty wind and that thick, heavy rain that drenches all your clothes and your shoes in a second.

The car drivers don’t take care – everyone is in a hurry – cars splash up the dirty water from the puddles on the street – so, not only my jacket is wet but also my trousers. Hence, my mood isn’t any better than that of the shopping people around me. I’m waiting at the bus stop; and my bus is late. All the busses are late. The digital destination board changes all few seconds – from four minutes delay to six to eight… Many other people are waiting with me; and at least one of them shouldn’t be outside in this weather.

A young man who keeps sniffling and rubbing his nose is standing a few feet away from me. I can’t help watching him – as unobtrusive as possible of course.  Some furtive gazes out of the corners of my eyes. He might be around thirty, good looking, medium size. He’d got fine brown hair that falls in his high forehead and over his ears. It’s a bit curly but not much. He wears a long, dark-grey coat and a red scarf. Somehow, he looks familiar; but I can’t remember from where I know him – from my childhood, one of my earlier jobs, my neighborhood? I can’t place him.

And I can’t let my eyes off him… He’s shivering, clearing his throat. He’s rubbing his nose more fiercely; and I can see his breath hitching. He tries to stifle but fails. His body is jerking with the force of a desperate sneeze that he can catch in the tissue that’s in his hands all the time. A visible shudder is running through him starting at his shoulders. The poor man must feel miserable.

“Gesundheit,” I hear myself saying and blush when I notice, it wasn’t only thought. I spoke in a low voice but obviously loud enough for the young man to hear it. He turns around to me and I’m blushing even more. His long, elegant nose is red and chapped; his handsome face as pale as I suspected. He’s got beautiful dark-brown eyes; but they look glassy and tired. Again, I ponder from where I know him.

The man, at least, doesn’t seem to recognize me. He smiles and says “Danke,” in an awfully congested, husky voice that’s scratching so much, I can hear how his throat must hurt. Some coughs follow – deep-seated and barking.

I’m flinching in sympathy. “That sounds like a terrible cold, sir,” I hear myself saying. I have no idea where my courage comes from to speak to him. I feel the heat of my face’s blushing.

“I had better,” he gives back jokingly and catches another heavy sneeze in his tissue. “Take care you don’t catch it. You look a bit red,” he adds; and his poor voice crackles over every second word. Another of his ugly coughs follows. I’m chewing my lower lip not knowing what to say next.

A bus arrives. It’s not my number; but the young man looks up and starts walking to the door where a long line is forming. He’s wiping his nose, then he’s turning around to ask, “What’s your name?”

“Sophia,” I say and forget to ask back.

“Merry …hnnnxsh… hnxsh…. HAWKTSHUHHH… Christmas, Sophia,” he says reaching the bus door.

“Gesundheit,” I’m whispering.

From inside, he waves at me; and I can see him sneezing once more. I’m looking behind the bus for a minute and hope, this young man will be home soon with a warm bath, some tea, medicine and someone caring for him.

My own bus arrives soon after. Miraculously, I find a place by the window, sit down, put in my ear plugs and start my music. I’m looking outside into the dark, rainy city, see Christmas decoration, shops, a lot of running people and advertising panels. Passing another one, my heart skips a beat, my eyes grow wide and my mouth drops open. Now I know where I know that young man from – he’s an opera singer! I pass the opera house every day on my way to work and back. And there are these huge panels – at the moment they announce the New Years concert. And in the middle, there’s the young man from the bus stop – Joseph Dicalussi – obviously one of the stars of the ensemble. Poor man, I think, an opera singer with such a bad cold – that can’t be fun.

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Merry Christmas @Kaze wo Hiku! I hope, you like this little drabble I wrote for you. 

Also to SCW, Joal 555, tma, Juto, to all my friends and lovely members here - Happy Holidays - whatever you celebrate!

[Kaze Wo Hiku]

OHHHHH MY GOODDDDDDD HEDGIE!!!!!

I LOVE the first person take on this, it makes it to relatable. Oh Joseph, you've such an awful cold

Thank you SO MUCH my friend

[Juto]

Awww hedgie, this was lovely *hearteyes* 

I agree, first person POV was great and the read felt natural and very VERY intriguing  

happy belated Christmas darling  

[Hedgehog]

I'm glad you liked the drabble @Juto  So, you found it "intriguing"? Well - I could place it earlier in time - somewhere in the time when he was already divorced but not together with Virgie yet. I could write a continuation... 

[Subtly Clashing Wishes]

This was great. I love the way it read almost like an observation and then to find it was an “observation” of sorts of one your OCs was amazing. Very clever. 

[Hedgehog]

On 25.12.2017 at 4:37 PM, Kaze wo Hiku said:

OHHHHH MY GOODDDDDDD HEDGIE!!!!!

I LOVE the first person take on this, it makes it to relatable. Oh Joseph, you've such an awful cold

Thank you SO MUCH my friend

Awwww. I'm so happy, you liked it.

On 31.12.2017 at 6:01 AM, Subtly Clashing Wishes said:

This was great. I love the way it read almost like an observation and then to find it was an “observation” of sorts of one your OCs was amazing. Very clever. 

Thank you @Subtly Clashing Wishes! I'm glad you liked it. 

 

 

Here's something new featuring my Greek Angelo (from the Athens story) and one of his many lovers. (Written as answer to a chest-infection request)

Spoiler

Angelo alias Kyreos, here 22, native Greek, speaks fluent English, good French, 1,80 m (5'11''), brown curly hair, blue eyes, no allergies, prone to chest infections and fever

Jean Demarché, here 25, lives in Paris, native French, speaks fluent English, 1,75 m (5'9''), very short brown hair, green eyes, allergic to dust and pollen

 

Cold at Easter

 

It was the Thursday before Easter; and an icy rain was pouring down relentlessly. Angelo was on his bike. This was the fastest way to get through the crazy traffic of Paris – better than walking, taking a car or the metro; but it wasn’t the most pleasant way on a day like this. Why was it even so cold? It was mid of April! In Greece, everything was in bloom around this time…

A wave of homesickness hit the Greek in all his freezing misery. The wind was too strong for a hood and he never wore a helmet; so his chin-long brown curls were dripping wet, water was flowing down his ashen face, his head and neck, passing the collars of his jacket and shirt and running further down his shivering back and chest.

His clothes were drenched. His dark-grey jacket ignored its claim to be showerproofed and was as soaked as his shirt, trousers and shoes. The student was coughing openly although he was able to cycle free-handed. But that was something, he saved for nice summer days. Now, he wanted to be fast. And he was faster with his hands on the handlebars.

It was a quarter past seven when Angelo reached Jean’s place. He had keys but not the patience to search for them. His lock-picking tools were always at hand, and he was quickly inside. His deep, barking coughs echoed through the staircase. As much as he flinched at the sound, he couldn’t stop. His chest was burning from exhaustion and the pain of what was probably his third bad bronchitis of this winter.

He brought his bike to the cellar, then waited for the lift that would take him to Jean’s apartment. Usually, he took the stairs; but today, he was too exhausted. He felt weak and dizzy, was shivering badly; and the cough continued giving him only very few breaks to take a breath.

~*~

“Gosh, tu as l’air tellement malade,” a slender young man with short brown hair said when Angelo entered his apartment. He had the keys in his hand now – Jean didn’t know, he was a thief.

The young Frenchman was half a head shorter than the Greek, his green eyes under thick brown eyebrows looked worried. “Viens ici, mon chaton.” Contrary to his words, Jean didn’t wait for Kyreos to come nearer but rushed to him to take his bag from his shoulders and help him out of his wet things while the younger student didn’t stop coughing.

“Bonsoir, mon poussin.” Angelo greeted Jean with short kisses on each cheek. “I need a shower,” he rasped shaking with chills, his teeth chattering. His voice had already been bad in the morning. Now, after a whole day of coughing, it wasn’t more than a weak, croaky whisper. The few words were followed by another fierce coughing fit.

“Oh, mon chat… come on… let me ‘elp you.” Jean took Kyreos’s arm and led him gently to the bathroom. The Greek’s skin felt insanely hot. “Mon dieu, you ‘ave such a fever,” Jean voiced his worry. The Frenchman exaggerated his accent on purpose.

Kyreos had been in France for eight months. He spoke a quite good French already. Jean still liked talking in English to him. The handsome Greek said, he’d find his accent ‘sexy’. This time, however, Jean didn’t get any saucy remark, not even a lascivious grin. This was a clear sign for how awful Kyreos must feel. Jean gave him some big towels to bundle up while he flooded the bathtub with warm water.

The steam let Angelo cough even more. He was glad about the towels and gave a relieved moan when he finally could dip his freezing feet into the warm bath. The sick student slid inside enjoying the warmth encasing his shivering body. He closed his eyes and leaned back against the rim of the bath. Some coughs still bubbled out of him, his breath was wheezing.

“Chéri, you shouldn’t stay too long inside there,” Jean said, a worried wrinkle between his thick eyebrows. The Greek’s face was getting red and felt even warmer than before. Jean rinsed a cloth in cool water and put it on Kyreos’s burning forehead. The sick student shuddered and opened his tired eyes. “Just a few minutes,” he whispered, “can you make me a tea, please?”

“Bien sûr, mon chat,” Jean kissed Kyreos’s elegant fingers before he went to the kitchen.

Angelo followed him soon in his dark-blue bathrobe. His brown curls were toweled but still damp. After the bath, he wasn’t shivering so much anymore, but his limbs were aching, and he felt drowsy. The student tried to swallow his coughs as they were exhausting and painful. But the urge was heavy. So, he succumbed to another bad fit when he was just opening his lips to thank Jean for the tea. Bent over the kitchen table, pressing a hand to his aching sternum, he needed long until he could catch a breath again.

“Oh dear… mon chaton… come, sit down,” Jean whispered and softly rubbed Kyreos’s back. “Why don’t you go to bed, chéri? I’ll bring you medicine. You need to rest.”

The sick student shook his head. “Merci, ma puce,” he rasped and kissed Jean’s hand then took the mug of tea and went to the study. He had his own desk there – Jean had arranged it for him. There, he sat down and opened his laptop, then searched for a file. Despite the bad coughing fits that kept shaking him and despite the heavy fever chills, he wanted to work.

Jean had followed him. “What are you doing ‘ere?”, he asked, his arms crossed.

“My dissertation… doesn’t write itself,” Kyreos answered followed by a long hacking fit into the crook of his arm.

“But you don’t ‘ave to ‘and it in tomorrow,” Jean said laying a hand on the Greek’s shoulder. “Look at yourself… You’re much too sick, mon chat. I don’t think you can write a lot like this anyway.” He bowed down and laid his hand on Kyreos’s chest when the student was just hacking terribly again.

Angelo moaned and closed his eyes. Jeans soft, cool hand rubbing his aching, tense chest was such a wonderful sensation that he just rolled his tired head, so that it rested against Jean’s shoulder. His lover’s touch was the first and only thing that was able to soothe some of the soreness, the itching, the burning pains in his lungs which had tortured him all day and had caused these evil coughing fits.

Jean – proud about his triumph – laid his arm around Kyreos’s back and gently pulled at him until he stood up and followed the Frenchman to the bedroom and into the bed. There, Jean continued rubbing Kyreos’s chest through all his fits and soothed him with soft whispered words until the Greek’s fevered eyes finally fluttered close, and his sickly breaths evened.

 

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language help:

tu as l’air tellement malade = you look so sick

bien sûr = of course

chéri = dear

mon chat, mon chaton, mon poussin, ma puce = pet words (quite literally ;))

 

[Hedgehog]

Another short drabble. This time, it's one about Igor and Markus who belong to the "Angelo-Universe"

 

Backstage

----------------------------------
Original story
Characters: Igor and Markus (+Angelo, + one of his many lovers)
Gender of the sneezer: male

Spoiler

Igor and Markus – friends of Angelo. They live in Germany, are married and both actors belonging to a small theatre company. Igor: a handsome, medium-sized man with green eyes and brown hair - came from Russia. Markus: German; a tall, athletic man with friendly, grey eyes. Both are about 30 years old here.

______________________

“Did you like it?” Angelo asked his friend Maurizio after the theatre performance. The Italian was in a solid relationship with another man. This hadn’t withheld Angelo from flirting with the handsome architect and inviting him to visit this performance in Verona with him.

Angelo had eyed Maurice furtively – the man was visibly moved. “It was amazing,” the architect answered. He raised his frameless glasses to rub his nose bridge; and secretly wiped some tears away.

“Come,” the Greek said smiling when the curtains closed, “Some of the actors are my friends. Let’s meet them.” He led the tall Italian behind the stage. “Igor,” he called and waved in the direction of a man around thirty of medium height. The addressed actor turned and waved back when he saw his friend.

Igor was still in his costume and had only just started to wipe his make-up away. Angelo wondered if this was the reason, his handsome face looked so pale and his nose so red. He embraced the Russian and introduced him to Maurizio.

"How are you, dear friend? You look a bit run-down," he said and took a closer look at the actor.

Igor smiled at him; then coughed into his fist. "You should better stay away from me," he said in an awfully scratchy and stuffy voice. "I've got a horrible cold." He turned away and sneezed wetly into some tissues in his hands.

 "Oh, I'm sorry to hear that," Angelo answered and rubbed his friend's back. "Where is Markus?"

"My baby’s got the same bug,” the Russian sighed when he gave his nose a gurgling wet blow. It looked even a deeper shade of red when he moved the tissue away and sniffed. “Markus felt worse than me. He went directly to our hotel after the performance. But he wants to meet you for dinner tonight. After some meds and an hour of rest; we both will be alright," Igor hurried to assure the Greek. His voice slipped triggering some congested sounding coughs.

Sitting down at a round table with the two men and drinking a tea with them, the Russian actor told Maurizio about his life. Igor came from Russia. He not only had been chased away by his family; he had also been in prison for some weeks because of his homosexuality. And several times, some strangers would batter him and his boyfriends on the streets when they dared to go hand in hand. Eventually, he left his homeland and escaped to Germany where he now lived with his husband Markus.

"The last few weeks we toured in Germany with our play - the weather is terrible there - rainy and stormy in the summer! And then all the open-air performances... HAK'TSHEEEWW... sorry..." He sneezed again, then sniffled thickly.

[Kaze Wo Hiku]

Im glad Igor and markus got a drabble. You know I like them I'd love a story how they met, epsc since Igor's past sounds so sad

[Hedgehog]

On 3.4.2018 at 9:11 PM, Kaze wo Hiku said:

Im glad Igor and markus got a drabble. You know I like them I'd love a story how they met, epsc since Igor's past sounds so sad

Thanks, dear! And I see this as a prompt (it's on my list now ;))

Apropos prompts... You've sent me another nice one, dear @Kaze wo Hiku; and I was more than happy to write something for you...

Prompt:

Quote

"Yikes your fever really came back with a vengeance, huh?" And I request Joseph and Virginia. ^^

(no sneezing but fever, hoarseness, sore throat and some coughing in this story)

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Toreador Song

 

“I am fine, Tesoro. I assure you, I can do this.”

It was the first morning in days that Joseph woke up able to breathe through his nose.  He still couldn’t smell the coffee his fiancée Virginia was drinking but he felt better. A bad cold had forced the brunet baritone to cancel three performances last week; He didn’t want to miss another one, especially as the opera company was in trouble. Many were down with the flu including the director, some musicians, some singers and half of the choir. Joseph wanted to help and he was sure he was well enough to do so.

Virginia looked skeptical, a fine wrinkle of worry showing over her delicate nose. She walked around the breakfast table to feel Joseph’s forehead with her soft, fair hand. “Hmmm, not warm anymore…” The contralto checked his cheeks and neck as well. “I don’t know, Jo… You still had a fever just last night. I think it’s too early.”

“But Virgie… you said they need someone who can sing the Escamillo. I know him by heart and it’s not even a main part.” The baritone struggled to suppress a cough that threatened to escape his still sensitive larynx. He took a drink of water to stop the urge.

“Escamillo is a main part, Jo. And you weren’t in any of the rehearsals last week…” Virginia sighed. She whipped a streak of her long, ash-blonde hair behind her ear when she shook her head. “Also, please save your voice, Liebling. You’re still quite hoarse.”

Joseph smiled. He knew his fiancée; This was almost a ‘yes’ from her. “My singing voice sounds better, Tesoro. I can show you…”

“No! No. Please,” Virgie quickly interjected, “I believe you. Just… I can’t be at your side tonight. I need to replace Achim.”

“I know, Tesoro, and you’re a splendid conductor.”

Virginia didn’t look happy when she breathed another deep sigh. “Okay… Alright, Jo… but no more words now! Save your voice. I’m going to make you a hot lemon* with honey.”

~*~

The rehearsal in the afternoon went well. Joseph’s voice wasn’t perfect, but it would be fine. He still sounded better than many other singers when they were healthy. The baritone was exhausted though. A fatigue had settled in his limbs, his head and throat were aching. He started feeling cold as well but he kept it to himself. Joseph knew if he  said even one syllable about how he felt Virgie would cancel everything.

They were mostly silent during their dinner break.

“It’s better that you don’t speak, love,” Virgie said, her gaze was concerned. “Jo… you would tell me if you start feeling worse, wouldn’t you?”

The baritone presented his fiancée one of his sweet, irresistible smiles and raised his thumb. His performance was a blatant lie. Joseph’s body craved sleep, but there wasn’t any time. He felt chilled but knew that Virgie would get suspicious if he put on a cardigan or even a scarf. He could endure it, it wasn’t so bad.

~*~

Joseph loved Virginia but he hated when she was right. As he stood backstage waiting for his next appearance the singer felt every drumbeat painfully resonating at the edges of his skull. His throat felt dry and ticklish, and a chill crawled up and down his back with a feeling of draft he knew couldn’t be true.

It was always hot onstage. Everyone was sweating under the headlights and in their mostly too heavy clothes. It couldn’t be cold. It wasn’t cold. Joseph muffled some coughs into the sleeves of his costume and drank a sip from his water bottle. The cold liquid burnt in his throat and made him shiver.

They were in the second act. Joseph waited for his turn to sing the ‘Toréador, en garde’. He watched Agatha’s performance, noting that the red-haired mezzo-soprano who played Carmen mastered her part with finesse. His turn was next. Joseph was focused, intent on hitting his entry.

The baritone stepped forward to his mark, fighting a wave of dizziness. Joseph blinked his sore eyes against the lights. Despite this he pitched his first note perfectly. His voice sounded full, rich; There were very few people who would be able to hear the remnants of his lingering hoarseness and congestion. Another chill started to creep up his spine and one of his longer notes wavered. It was enough to gain Virginia’s attention; She looked up at him from her conductor’s stand, meeting him with a gaze he thought looked furious. Joseph flushed with embarrassment but he came through the last part of his aria without any other mistakes.

The dizzy feeling didn’t leave him though. The baritone was swaying as he left his spot to disappear backstage where he was to wait for his next entry. An uneasy feeling settled in his limbs. Joseph was glad he was out of sight for now. He could rest a bit, holding onto the frame of a large background screen while the other singers and the choir were performing.  

What had started as a dull ache in the back of his head became a prominent throbbing pain behind his forehead and through his sinuses. Every little move ached so much he wanted to cry. The chills didn’t stop; He was shivering, shaking visibly and his teeth would have chattered if he hadn’t clenched his jaw tight.

The opera wasn’t over yet. He had to go on, regardless of how he felt. Joseph knew there were more parts for him to sing soon.  

He needed to walk forward to his mark for the next scene but the whole room was spinning. He felt an icy sensation throbbing its way up his chest and goosebumps were prickling across his skin. His ears were ringing with a buzzing sound and Joseph flailed about when the stage kept swaying under his feet. His legs were like jelly and wouldn’t obey anymore. Joseph inhaled sharply; Pain flared across the bridge of his nose and his vision went black. He lost control. He was falling… and then Virginia was singing the top G.

 

~*~

This evening was ill-fated. Virginia didn’t think it was a good idea for her fiancé to return to the stage so early. She didn’t believe that he was over his sickness given how pale he still looked. And yet instead of being onstage at his side the contralto had to take over Achim’s place as conductor.

The contralto mastered her additional job brilliantly. It wasn’t the first time she did it but being so far away from Joseph was hard to endure. She was worried that he would get worse again and found herself looking in his direction far too often instead of focusing on the music. Did he sway there? Was that a shiver? Why did he hold his hand to his throat?

‘Virginia, pull yourself together and stop looking at him!’ she scolded herself in her head. The whole company -  the ensemble, orchestra, singers and the choir - all depended on her work. She had to trust that her fiancé was able to care for himself.

…

 

Virginia shrieks when she sees Joseph falling. The baton falls from her hand and for a split second she feels paralyzed. Then she leaves her stand and runs out of the orchestra pit. As she climbs the stairs up to the stage in a haste her pulse is racing.

She gasps and tears spring to her eyes when she sees Joseph lying on the floor - still and pallid - one of his legs at an unhealthy angle.

“Philip, lower the curtains! Agatha, call an ambulance!” she shouts loudly. There is a lot of commotion on the stage. As the curtains fall Agatha takes out her phone and the audience begins to applaud, hesitantly.

Virginia rushes over to Joseph and crouches down next to him. She touches his face gently, with trembling hands; Her heart aches when she feels the heat seeping into her palms.

“My god… your fever really came back with a vengeance, love,” she whispers, her voice wavering. “Why didn’t you just stop? Why didn’t you say anything?” She checks his breathing and examines his head for wounds, tears running freely down her rosy cheeks.

Joseph stirs. “Tesoro?” he breathes weakly.

“I’m here, Liebling,” she rests her hand on his burning forehead, runs her fingers through his fine brown hair. “Tell me what hurts, love.”

His eyelids flutter open. “Head…” he whispers, “Knee…” He tries to move and raises a hand to his temple, a pained expression on his ashen face.  “Virgie… why are…” His gaze is confused, his brown eyes glazed over.  “The opera,” he whispers hoarsely as he struggles to sit up.

“Shhh. Don’t worry about this, Liebling. Stay down there.” She takes off her jacket, rolls it and puts it under his head as she softly nudges his shoulders to lie back down. “An ambulance is coming.”

“I don’t need…”

“Don’t even try to talk me out of this,” Virginia interrupts him sternly.

“It’s cold,” Joseph whispers, his lips trembling.

“I know, love. I’m sorry.” Virginia keeps caressing his searing forehead. Peter, who played the Don José, steps near. He’s taken off the cape that belongs to his costume and lays it over Joseph like a blanket.

“Danke,” Virgie thanks the friendly tenor. Joseph’s eyes are closed again and Virginia sits by him helplessly, more tears rolling down her face. She’s holding her fiancé’s slack hand, checking his breath every few seconds. It feels like eternity before the paramedics finally arrive.

---------------------

*hot lemon - a popular drink to fight a cold in Germany: pour the juice of one lemon into a glass, fill it with hot water and add a teaspoon of honey

 

[Juno]

Oh wow! I just found your Drabble thread, and they’re all wonderful. My one favorite though has to be Angelo and jean, because...

On 4/1/2018 at 3:45 AM, Hedgehog said:

Bien sûr, mon chat,” Jean kissed Kyreos’s elegant fingers before he went to the kitchen.

Just so simply sweet!

On 4/1/2018 at 3:45 AM, Hedgehog said:

Angelo moaned and closed his eyes. Jeans soft, cool hand rubbing his aching, tense chest was such a wonderful sensation that he just rolled his tired head, so that it rested against Jean’s shoulder. His lover’s touch was the first and only thing that was able to soothe some of the soreness, the itching, the burning pains in his lungs which had tortured him all day and had caused these evil coughing fits.

Such a well written paragraph and so sweet. 

I’m also a sucker for French, and     affection + french + sickness = a story to die for  

[Hedgehog]

Thank you so much @Juno. I'm glad you like Angelo and Jean. As I've just started Angelo's Paris-story there's more coming soon.

Here's another short Angelo and Jean where my poor Greek has a stomach flu. Descriptions are very mild, nothing graphic. I still say that as warning beforehand. Prompt was: "You still don't feel up to eating?"

 

The Fifth Day

Jean carefully opened the door to his bedroom. The blinds were closed and his boyfriend Kyreos still lay on the bed like a pile of misery; He was rolled to one side, thin legs pulled up to his stomach. His face was ashen, contorted with pain even in his sleep.

The breakfast Jean had brought him in the morning still stood untouched on the tray on his bedside table. Only the tea cup was half-empty. The French art student sat down on the bed and stroked a mob of brown hair from his lover’s face feeling the scorching fever heat immediately against his fingertips. It was still so high. Sighing, he slid the back of his hand over the boiling skin of his forehead and temples.

Kyreos stirred at his touch and slowly turned his head. His eyes opened a little – the sea-dark blue dulled and glazed over. “Hi,” he whispered with an attempt at a smile.

“Salut, mon chat. How are you feeling?”, Jean asked caressing Kyreos’s burning face. “You still don’t feel up to eating?”

“Non,” the Greek answered, slowly shaking his head. “Je suis désolé.”

“But it’s the fifth day, Cyri. You must eat something.”

Angelo’s smile deepened when he laid his hot cheek against Jean’s pleasantly cool hand. He liked the nickname his lover had given him. It was the shortened French version of his name. “I tried,” he whispered, “it didn’t work.”

He sat up to drink a few sips of cold tea as his mouth felt so dry that his tongue got stuck against his palate. His head ached, he felt dizzy, and his stomach recoiled even from this little bit of liquid. It was still so touchy after all these days.

Jean watched him and worried – how his hands trembled, how weak he seemed. He helped him hold the cup. “Cyri, we must see a doctor if you don’t get better.”

“Non, non! Pas de médecin. Please!” Angelo’s fevered eyes were begging. Even if Jean couldn’t understand his boyfriend’s fear of doctors, he was never able to reject a request from him.

“Okay,” Jean gave in, “let’s wait one more day. But then…”

“I will be better,” the Greek claimed, whispering. But that was what he’d promised the last few days. “Merci, mon poussin.” He returned to his curled posture in bed, knees tucked to his chest, as he searched for the heating pad to press it against his stomach and closed his eyes.

“Can I do anything else for you?”, Jean asked running his hand through Angelo’s hair. The Greek shook his head so he got up with a sigh and brought the tray to the kitchen.

There, as he looked at the tiled wall, his green eyes under his thick, dark brows were sad and concerned. His boyfriend had seemed so strong and healthy when he had first met him. But he was so often ill – terribly ill, and almost never accepted medical help. What could he do?

“Que puis-je faire?” Jean whispered to himself. Then, not knowing what else to do, he began to wash the dishes.